Well folks, if nothing else, this place shore is purty.
The Blue Ridge Mountains, as seen along the Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia.
A road winds around a curve in the mountain along the Blue Ridge Parkway in Virginia.
This was a great find on the way home from Smith Mountain Lake in Virginia.
An evening sunset as I drove from Broadway back to Harrisonburg. I pulled over to the side of the road and this is what I saw. Beautiful, huh?
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Saturday, September 17, 2005
me, as a wedding photographer
For those of you who don't know, I'm working at a photography studio here in Harrisonburg. I've had the opportunity now to help them shoot a couple of weddings, and I wanted to post a few of the pictures I came up with. (My job as a photographer at these weddings is to capture the more candid, unposed moments everyone else might overlook.)
A bridesmaid waits at the window for the wedding guests to arrive at the reception.
A boy stands and watches the disco ball at a wedding reception in Weyer's Cave, Virginia.
The bride's bouquet from a wedding I helped shoot this weekend.
A candle burns in the foreground as the bride visits tables at her reception in Weyer's Cave, VA.
A bridesmaid waits at the window for the wedding guests to arrive at the reception.
A boy stands and watches the disco ball at a wedding reception in Weyer's Cave, Virginia.
The bride's bouquet from a wedding I helped shoot this weekend.
A candle burns in the foreground as the bride visits tables at her reception in Weyer's Cave, VA.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Git 'Er Done
Alright, well I went to two local fairs a few weeks ago, and never got to post all the pictures I intended to. I've been trying to decide how in the world to describe my first county fair without making it seem horribly country and redneck, but I've just given up. It was horribly country and redneck, no matter how you look at it. Don't get me wrong, I didn't mind - it was just a different experience for me. A brief example....
After taking some man's picture, I asked him what his name was. The first name - James - I didn't have too much trouble with, but the last name was a different story.
"And your last name, please?" I said.
"Heel," said James.
"Oh, heel, like the part of my foot," I said, scribbling on my notepad.
"No, it's Heel."
"Uhhh, well how do you spell it?" I asked, puzzled.
"H-i-l-l."
At this point we didn't really know what to say to each other, so I just said thanks and left as quickly as possible. How do you apologize for speaking English and yet completely misunderstanding a fellow American? I'm just glad his first name wasn't Will, because I'd have written "wheel".
Anyway, after shooting a few photos, I noticed my stomach growling at me a bit, and went to find some food. There were a few funnel cake and cotton candy booths, but nothing screamed meat like the fried chicken building. Okay, well it seemed like a building at least, compared to the other small kiosks. Fried chicken and french fries.... yummm.... Now I grew up Southern Baptist, and there's something to be said about Baptists and fried chicken on Sundays. It never fails - if a Baptist is having a church luncheon, I guarantee you they're serving fried chicken. The point of all this is, I tend to like fried chicken and tend to blame it on being Baptist. So I waited for my chicken, and when the man serving handed me the plate, he said,
"There you go, sugar. We gave you an extra piece of chicken because you looked hungry."
Excuse me? Now I could bet my camera on the fact that they didn't give the fat guy in line behind me one less piece of chicken because he looked full. Why is it that people feel personally responsible for fattening me up just because I'm a little on the slender side? People don't think twice before making remarks about my weight (or lack thereof) but I know they aren't commenting on overweight people to their faces. So what makes them think they can do it to me? I've been blessed with good skinny genes, and sometimes find it a bit offensive when people snidely point it out to me. Alright, that's my gripe for the day. I'll let it go now.
Here are some of the pictures from the fair.
Maynard pauses for a portrait at his booth at the Bergton Fair in western Virginia.
A silhouetted figure strolls past the caramel apples and sno-cones booth at the Bergton Fair in western Virginia.
This guy, Shawn, was working one of the rides at the fair. I like the photo because the background tells so much about his job. I wonder, however, are the bright colors and cartoon too distracting to the portrait?
Livestock on display at the Rockingham County fairgrounds
After taking some man's picture, I asked him what his name was. The first name - James - I didn't have too much trouble with, but the last name was a different story.
"And your last name, please?" I said.
"Heel," said James.
"Oh, heel, like the part of my foot," I said, scribbling on my notepad.
"No, it's Heel."
"Uhhh, well how do you spell it?" I asked, puzzled.
"H-i-l-l."
At this point we didn't really know what to say to each other, so I just said thanks and left as quickly as possible. How do you apologize for speaking English and yet completely misunderstanding a fellow American? I'm just glad his first name wasn't Will, because I'd have written "wheel".
Anyway, after shooting a few photos, I noticed my stomach growling at me a bit, and went to find some food. There were a few funnel cake and cotton candy booths, but nothing screamed meat like the fried chicken building. Okay, well it seemed like a building at least, compared to the other small kiosks. Fried chicken and french fries.... yummm.... Now I grew up Southern Baptist, and there's something to be said about Baptists and fried chicken on Sundays. It never fails - if a Baptist is having a church luncheon, I guarantee you they're serving fried chicken. The point of all this is, I tend to like fried chicken and tend to blame it on being Baptist. So I waited for my chicken, and when the man serving handed me the plate, he said,
"There you go, sugar. We gave you an extra piece of chicken because you looked hungry."
Excuse me? Now I could bet my camera on the fact that they didn't give the fat guy in line behind me one less piece of chicken because he looked full. Why is it that people feel personally responsible for fattening me up just because I'm a little on the slender side? People don't think twice before making remarks about my weight (or lack thereof) but I know they aren't commenting on overweight people to their faces. So what makes them think they can do it to me? I've been blessed with good skinny genes, and sometimes find it a bit offensive when people snidely point it out to me. Alright, that's my gripe for the day. I'll let it go now.
Here are some of the pictures from the fair.
Maynard pauses for a portrait at his booth at the Bergton Fair in western Virginia.
A silhouetted figure strolls past the caramel apples and sno-cones booth at the Bergton Fair in western Virginia.
This guy, Shawn, was working one of the rides at the fair. I like the photo because the background tells so much about his job. I wonder, however, are the bright colors and cartoon too distracting to the portrait?
Livestock on display at the Rockingham County fairgrounds
Thursday, September 08, 2005
she sells no seashells on the gulf coast seashore
This church, right along the beach in Biloxi, MS, was one I visited in June. Now, it has been pretty much destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. I saw a shot of it on the news the other day. The church, St. Michael's, was shaped like a seashell, and each stained glass window represented a fisherman or an aspect of the sea.
I've been a bad blogger lately. Shame on me. This is just a short update to let everyone know my grandparents are okay. It took them four days to realize they couldn't live very long without electricity or running water, and so they left for my parent's house in Tennessee. My uncle, out at sea with his job, returned to find that his entire apartment complex had flat-out disappeared. He is staying at my grandparent's house now, sweating out the 90-degree days and hoping the power will soon be restored.
Hurricanes suck.
I've been a bad blogger lately. Shame on me. This is just a short update to let everyone know my grandparents are okay. It took them four days to realize they couldn't live very long without electricity or running water, and so they left for my parent's house in Tennessee. My uncle, out at sea with his job, returned to find that his entire apartment complex had flat-out disappeared. He is staying at my grandparent's house now, sweating out the 90-degree days and hoping the power will soon be restored.
Hurricanes suck.
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