Healing Springs

Julia Gaines
In the last two years, my research of my family roots has reaped many discoveries, two of which are included in this photograph taken in October of 2006: Kelley, a cousin I didn't know I had, and Healing Springs near Blackville, South Carolina, a place I'd never heard of. The springs, the story goes, were bought from the Edisto Indians in the 1750's by our ancestor Nathaniel Walker, paid with an unknown quantity of maize. The Indians, who may have only understood that they were allowing Walker to use the springs, believed the waters had the power to heal and the earth and its treasures could not be owned by man. The Edistos eventually disappeared from the area and the springs changed ownership many times until Lute Boylston in 1944, agreeing that the springs should be available to all, "deeded the property to God." When I visited this spot, people with carloads of plastic bottles were constantly driving into the small, parklike area. They'd fill their bottles from the free-flowing pipes installed there, often saying a prayer as they did so. My cousin Kelley filled her own water bottle and then cooled off under one of the pipes.

The Last Picture Show

Ken Spencer

"If you see anything you want to stop and photograph, just holler," said my friend Ginger as she and Ron were driving me around their hometown of San Angelo, Texas. I thought they might live to regret their offer. I was on my way to a conference at McDonald Observatory in Fort Davis, Texas, and had stopped to visit with Ginger and Ron for several days while en route to Fort Davis. San Angelo is a medium- sized town in west Texas, and at first glance, my eyes told me there would be photographs everywhere. We began our day in a coffee shop in an old hotel, with several ranchers in Stetsons and jeans at the next table. I always enjoy listening to conversations for the differences in accent and speech. The grouping of three ranchers was not quite enough of a photograph for me to disturb their breakfast, so I let the moment pass, but it was enough to drink in the scene and listen to the conversation. After breakfast there was the interior of the old hotel to photograph, and the old hardware store, some primitive paintings on the sides of some downtown buildings, the bail bondsman's Cadillac with horns fastened to the hood, the pickup in the parking lot of a building painted like the Texas flag, the brilliant corrugated-steel Palmer Feed Mill reflecting sunlight against the clear blue Texas sky and the International Water Lilly Garden (more on that in another blog). I was burning up more space on my CF cards than I would have in several days shooting at work! Hey, this is what vacations are for, right? I find that I am absolutely energized by the thought of a new landscape to discover, and San Angelo was no exception. We continued driving around town and the outlying areas that first day, and I would guess that I had them stopping anywere between 1 or 2 blocks, or 4 or 5 miles! They were very gracious, given that they had this madman with a camera in their car. It was late in the day when we headed back into town, just before sunset. We were driving along Chadbourne Street and there it was! An extra wide street, nearly deserted, with some Texas style buildings with the overhanging roofs lit by the setting sun. "STOP!" I hollered, but I needn't have, because they had already noticed the scene and by now knew that it would be my type of photograph. Fortunately, this was not like Ansel Adams' experience with "Moonrise, Hernandez" where the sunlight went off the crosses after he shot the first piece of film. In my case the sun remained above the horizon for perhaps 10 or 15 minutes and I could spend plenty of time trying different compositions. This one is my favorite. I call it "The Last Picture Show," which it's not, but it reminds me of the theatre in the movie of the same name. These buildings are not deserted, they are actually in use as an office and a cabinetmaker's shop. Quite an end to my first day in Texas.

Ken Spencer

Beginnings

Thomas A. Ferrara


I'm starting this endeavor with an old photograph. Although I made this image seven years ago, it still feels like a beginning to me. It was shot from the stern of the Schooner Roseway, A one hundred and twelve foot, wooden, sailing vessel at anchor in Penobscot Bay, off the coast of Maine. The most beautiful place on earth. The reason why this image feels like a beginning to me is entirely personal. For one week in the early autumn of 2000, my Father and I set sail on board this ship. It was like no other experience I had ever encountered. And it turned out to be the very first of many fantastic journeys I have undertaken with my father in my adult life.
-Fair Winds,
Tom