Sunset Light on Harveys Lake

“Cloudsourcing” is a term that applies to the high-tech/Intertet industry’s efforts to get you to put all of your information “in the cloud,” where you can presumably get to it from anywhere and on any machine.  It’s a little problematic if you are somewhere without Internet access and, well, if you can get it, maybe others can as well.  Don’t put your list of passwords in the cloud.  I’m just sayin’…

The cloudsourcing that I prefer began it’s season tonight, with the passing threatening weather.  I leave it to you to decide.

Clown Face House

This story is almost too improbable to believe, but here it is…

One Saturday a month or so ago, Phil and I are headed out for one of our road trips, but first we stop in to Vgoh Custom Framing so he can pick up a print he’s had framed. We’re in there for a few minutes when Ariane, the proprietress, says to me, “Mike, do you know a photographer named Frank Burnside?”

I reply, “Intimately! ‘Mike’ is a nickname. I’m him!”  (This is another story, but I’ll leave it for some other time.)

So she tells me that a gentleman brought in an old photo that he wanted re-matted and framed, and that the original mat was signed “Frank Burnside.” She still had it in the shop.  I asked to see it and when she showed it to me, I instantly recognized the picture, but cannot for the life of me figure out how it got here.  I did a little mental calculation and realized it had to be at least 40 years old.  I asked Ariane if she could tell me who brought it in. She looked up the order and told me his name was George Prehatin. I had never heard of George Prehatin, and I was very curious about how he got (and kept!) the picture. Ariane says, “Wait, I’ll call him up.”

We met for lunch a week or so later. It seems that the picture, which I have now determined was taken in January of 1970, came into the hands of the Adrian Pearsall family of Forty-Fort and Harveys Lake, where Jim Pearsall and I palled around quite a bit in the heady summer shenanigans of youth. It is quite possible that I sold or gave the print to Jim’s mom, but I honestly don’t know.  In any case, George’s aunt worked for the family and eventually ended up with the picture, which later was passed to George.

George has been living in the Boston area, but recently returned to the family home in Swoyersville to look after his dad after his mom died. George’s dad died and George has been living in Swoyersville and taking care of the old family farm in Harvey’s Lake.  When George tells me this, I am already astounded at the coincidences, but it gets better…

George’s dad, also George, was one of nine children. He ran a little market on West Union Street in Wilkes-Barre, about 50 yards from where I lived in 1972 to 1975(?). We shopped there when we needed something in between the big shopping trips. Moreover, my grandparents had an apartment on North Franklin Street, right around the corner from George’s Market, so I had been an irregular customer for decades. Young George and I had almost certainly crossed paths before.

Roll the clock forward 42 years, and George is telling me about the family farm, which had belonged to his grandfather.  It’s on a well-hidden back road in the hills beyond Hanson’s Amusement Park – a road so obscure that I was not even aware of its existence.  Until now.  It seems George is the only remaining descendent to have any interest in the place, and the ownership has descended to him through his father.  So he labors to cut the grass and keep it looking nice, looking forward to the day when he will sell it and build himself a little place on one of its many, many acres of land.

He told me he always liked the picture because it reminded him of a clown’s face, which is pretty much why I took it in the first place.  The house, as far as I know, no longer stands.  It was on a rural road somewhere in the Lehman area, but I couldn’t remember where, and I haven’t seen it in more recent explorations.

George invited me to see the place, and last Saturday, I did.  It’s a wonderful spot which takes you back in time and offers wonderful walking, wildlife and woods. As for the picture, I managed to find not only an old print of it, but also the original contact sheet, which was numbered as my first roll of film from 1970.

And that’s how an old picture created a new friendship.

The Noxen Pow-wow

Noxen is a little town at the southern edge of Wyoming County and the western edge of civilization.  Walk out of Noxen headed west, and you’ve got a long walk before you will emerge from the woods. It’s had a rough go of it recently – got nailed by not one, but two floods courtesy of Tropical Storms Lee and Irene last year.

Noxen, however, is a town that knows how to party.  People from all over come to the annual Noxen Rattlesnake Roundup, and the newer annual Pow-wow is getting just as popular.  Indeed, there are sights to be seen!

The Neighbor's Dog

I was sitting in Phil’s driveway waiting for him to come down for our day of shooting, and the neighbor’s dog came over to the fence to chat. Phil arrived anon and we ventured out, with the main attraction of the day being Brace’s Orchard (which, oddly enough, is in Orange, Pa).  The apples aren’t out yet, of course, but the blossoms have yielded to apples that aspire to greatness.

Luke Swetland's Car Collection

Classic car show at Swetland Homestead, Wyoming, Pennsylvania.  Some of the people were classics, as well.  There were, perhaps, 150 cars, ranging from a gorgeous Rolls Royce to something that looked like it might be an antique riding lawn mower. Having all these cars spread out over the lawn of a mid-18th century home seemed a bit odd to me, but no one seemed to notice.

Looking Upstream

Once in a while, when the light is nice and we’re looking for a nearby place that always has something to say, we’ll head to the boat launch in Harding, where the Susquehanna winds its way into Wyoming Valley.

A river is a little like a person in that it is always changing.  Each time we visit, it is a little different – the water level, the current, the growth and detritus on the banks. Always something new to photograph.

Arriving home, there was a nice sunset under way… Perhaps the river was dinner and the sunset dessert.

Greening Up

Spring is arriving in the woods of Northeastern Pennsylvania.  The is evident in the broad view (Lookit all that green!) as well as the close up view of new life emerging from the ground.  Look up and see it against the sky.  Look down and see it in small ways. Look not only for green, but for yellow, blue, purple and red.

These woods in which I walk are an inspiration to me, especially in the late afternoon light.

I do not consider myself a “people photographer.”  Unlike my friend, Phil, I just don’t have the, um… chutzpah to walk up to someone and ask, “Can I take your picture?” I’ve only seen him turned down once.

Still, I like shooting people (photographically speaking), and my understanding is that people in a public setting are fair game, so I go to NYC or various events and shoot without ever raising the camera to my eyes.

The annual Cherry Blossom Festival in Wilkes-Barre kicks off the season of fair weather events in Wyoming Valley. Sadly, there are few cherry trees left, but the name has stuck. It is an amiable gathering of kids, dogs, grown-ups, vendors (food and esoterica) and onlookers. I guess I’m one of the latter.

Hope you enjoy!

Around the Bend

The part of the latest walk in the woods that was not included in the milkweed extravaganza was pretty nice too.  The forsythia is still resplendent, and I encountered no bears.  The light was beautiful.

Life is good.

ps: There are several panoramic images in this collection, which are much improved by viewing the show full screen. Tap the little square icon on the lower right corner.

Longtime recipients of my visual excursions may be aware of my fascination with the lowly milkweed plant - Asclepias syriaca.  While I am unable to resist the photogenic qualities, I am also in awe of its design in an evolutionary sense. I wonder if nature has created a more perfect example of a living thing engineered to propagate. When the old plant dies, it literally releases whats left of itself to the wind on incredibly delicate parachutes.

It’s been a while since I indulged my passion, but on a walk through the back woods the other day, I came upon a rare survivor of the winter – pod, silk and all.  What would have been an hour’s walk turned into nearly two, such was my focus (as it were), on this delightful distraction.