Scene on the Road

October 26, 2008: Can't Resist the Colors

As a lot of the photography I do for the newspaper is self-generated, I often feel like Don Quixote, attacking imaginary enemies – mostly in my own head - when trying to figure out what pictures my editors might want, or which ideas for photos that have a chance of producing a photo that will be seen by readers.

(Speaking of Quixotic quests, click on the image at left for some Eric Mencher photos shot in La Mancha, Spain a few years ago when Cervantes’ book was celebrating its 400th anniversary).

I spent a good part of the day last Friday, not quite tilting at windmills, but in pursuit of something almost as futile – trying to catch the wind.

I was chasing the windblown smoky haze coming from Tuesday’s blaze in the Wharton State Forest.

I am now working a morning “news” shift, shooting for our website as well as the next day’s newspaper. The news radio traffic reports that morning talked about the closing of Route 206 and sections of the White Horse Pike. I could smell the distinctive odor of burning wood as soon as I stepped out my front door, and looking up at the pre-dawn sky, I decided to photograph morning commuters in nearby Cherry Hill driving in as the sun rose through the haze. I could see it, and could tell that it looked different from early morning fog, but I was uncertain if I could show that in a photograph. I ended up waiting near a picturesque “S” curve in the road for a school bus to pass, figuring that would at least convey the time of day.

My colleague Chip Fox had already photographed the firefighters earlier in the week, so that was old news. What was new this day was this haze, drifting throughout the region, the smell reaching as far as Philadelphia. So I wandered along Penn’s Landing, and farther south along the Delaware River, but faced the same photographic problem. I knew it was smoke from a fire forty miles away, but it looked like a normal summer haze. Even looking at everything backlit didn’t help. About that time, I was talking to my editor who had just heard they’d closed the schools in Hammonton because of the thick smoke, and I started to kick myself that I hadn’t simply driven there two hours earlier after I’d shot the Cherry Hill commuters.

As a newspaper photographer I am constantly wrestling with similar dilemmas: Do I wait until an editor decides if we’re covering something? Will I waste time chasing after something nobody else will care about? If I do make a long drive to cover breaking news, when it might be over by the time I finally arrive? Will there be even fewer photographic opportunities if I am sent later?

So I took off for Hammonton, knowing that I can’t take pictures of kids NOT in school, but maybe the heavy smoke would still be there. I could see it off on the horizon as I drive east on the AC Expressway, and after exiting at Blue Anchor, pulled over and made a picture after I drove over the highway.

That’s something I learned years ago as a news photographer – if something catches my eye, I take the few seconds to make a photo. Over the years there have been many cases of “anything is better than nothing,” which is what I would often have if I’d waited for something really good to photograph. That advice works in almost any situation, from snapshots of the kids this week in their Halloween costume - “It’ll be better later when they have a bag full of candy,” to the sun setting over the Grand Canyon – “maybe when those tourists move out of the way, the sky will be even more crimson.” So, if you can take the time to pick up your camera and point it at something, please do yourself a favor: snap off at least one frame before you put it back down. Don’t ever look through the viewfinder and tell yourself, “it’s not perfect, I’ll wait.” If nothing else, you can look back and feel good knowing you were right, and it DID get better. You’ll also have a record or how the composition or light, or action or mood really did improve.

That wasn’t the case this day though. By the time I arrived, the White Horse Pike was open, and while I could SEE the haze, it was only off in the distance – like those shimmering highway water-mirages seen in the summertime. By the time I’d drive to where I’d seen it the haze, it just looked like any other cloudy Indian Summer day.

Then, getting off the main road I drove past Dottie’s clothesline. I passed her just as she was walking back to her porch after hanging up some white t-shirts. In the city you can just photograph people walking by on the sidewalk, but there is no way to do that when they are at the end of a long dirt road driveway surrounded by an acre of lawn. So I made a U-turn and drove up to confront her suspicious glare. I jumped out of my car, carrying my camera as I always do - a visual clue that maybe I’m not a bill collector or presidential campaign worker. We ended up talking for some time, about life in the country, her family, her jobs, my job, previous fires, and about how nothing compares to the smell of laundry dried outdoors.

Dottie had found the t-shirts in the basement and washed them to give to her son. But then added, "He probably won't want them, he's fussy. He'll say 'they smell with smoke.'" And then she had me sniff them. She was right. My jacket smelled like smoke, but her t-shirts didn’t.

But she wouldn’t let me take her picture – even after she removed select garments from the line. I couldn’t use her last name either. Had to promise a half dozen times I wouldn’t. As I finally gave up on trying to convince her with an almost desperate - “I don’t have any good pictures, you’re the only person I’ve seen today that I can connect to the smoky haze!” – she gave me her final emphatic "No."

Then she asked me if could send her some copies of the pictures.

October 27, 2008: National Student/Parent Mock Election

October 28, 2008: Milk, Food Coloring and Soap Experiment

October 29, 2008: Go Phillies

October 30, 2008: Buy Phillies

October 31, 2008: After the Parade

November 1, 2008: Can't Resist, No.2