Cheese
2004-11-09,

I realised earlier that I never spoke of my little adventure earlier last month, on a photography expedition.

I've been taking a lot of photos lately. It started a few weeks ago when I began going for lunch to a park near my new place of work. I brought our camera with me because I got into this habit of taking shots of my workplace for H, and wanted to also get some shots of my new lunch site.

I also have a habit of exploring, especially in areas that at least seem to be not too frequented. Granted, it's a suburban park on the fringes of a stamp-press development, so I can�t imagine that there's been a section of the place that hasn't been frequented by adventurous children or beer-smuggling teens. Anyway, I roamed the fringes of the active section of the park and, over the course of a week or so, wandered down the various pathways that stemmed off in one direction or another. Most either led to another section of the park or into the wooded edges of a neighborhood.

One path, however, was different from the rest. It led toward a long, narrow, meadow-like area. Mostly it was just various kinds of weeds and wildflowers, flanked by deciduous on one side and coniferous on the left. Here and there, though, were clumps of saplings and small trees, in little circular areas from anywhere between ten to fifteen feet. Closer inspection revealed other things inside these tree oases, namely old farm equipment.

They were old and rusted and some half buried in the ground that, judging by the age of some of the trees, must have been sitting there dormant for at least 15 years. Strange that all this stuff should be sitting there in some sort of whacked-out, naturalist farm museum, all mere yards away from newly developed land inhabited by (if the political signs in their front yard were any indication) mainly white Republican families.

I thought this was all pretty cool, so I came back the next day with my camera. I gleefully snapped a number of shots like above, trying to find some appealing angles. I'm by no means a pro photographer, barely an amateur, never taken a class. I keep wanting to take one, but the opportunity has yet to arise (a. k. a., I haven't gotten myself to look into it yet, really). But I do so enjoy doing it. It appeals to my observational, disconnected-from-society nature. Not to mention that, being the technophile of the family, I'm the one who usually ends up taking the pictures (with due respect, my wife is 'getting there'. Sometimes she even remembers how to turn off the flash!).

So after getting these nifty shots, I continued down the line of the meadow, occasionally coming across another clump of tree-covered tools. Then I looked to my left, toward the line of pines, and got curious. Peeking through, it seemed like there were two lines of trees, all pine, forming some sort of pine-needled lane between. Who can say no to checking that out? Finding a comfortable gap, I ducked and squeezed through. Always nice to be surrounded by pines. My eyes naturally followed up along the short lane, where they could not help but see something that sent a tingle of surprise and excitement:

A dead car. A relic straight out of the late 60's-early 70's.

I know what you're saying, that this is about as exciting as stumbling onto a graveyard. But the thing seemed so out of place, surreal, that I couldn't help but be enchanted by the thing. So I snapped a few pictures. As I got closer to the car, I noticed something else-- another car, farther along the path of what seemed to be a wide oval of trees, somewhat in the shape of a race track, ironically. This next vehicle was a station wagon from around the same era. Snapping a few more shots and reaching the middle of the curve, on the opposite side of the 'track' was two more cars, one of which looked like it had been torn apart by an angry giant at some point.

As I clicked away, I couldn't help but wonder what might be waiting for me in the inner area inside the pine track. I managed to find an opening, and - lo and behold - there it was, a lonely, degenerating mid-70's VW Beetle, which looked like it may have been red at some point in its past. The poor thing had this look like it really wanted to go places, but just couldn't. It sat there, still, for at least a decade, yet one could still sense its yearning to bust through the trees and go. Blame it on the design, or Herbie movies, or some innate quality, but there's some sort of empathy that I have for VW Bugs. It made me want to hire a flatbed, haul it home and somehow mold it back into working condition.

But alas, that's not to be. Not to mention, it would feel like disturbing a graveyard. The whole thing had this feeling like a race of the automotive dead, frozen in time and left to entropy. And the fact that someone would, rather than removing the things and having them taken to a wreck lot, plant trees around them to hide them from the view of the new homes, is just astounding to me. These trees are big; granted, pines can grow pretty fast, but this was done at least 15 years ago, And so close together that there's no way to get them out of there without chopping at least one or two of them down. Bizarre.

I could tell that time was winding down on my lunch hour, so I left the track and was about to go back when, down further along the path of the meadow, I saw something nestled in among some trees and tall weeds, something largish and sun-faded. I wove my way through sharp weeds and around pits, until I neared the object, which I expected to be an old well tank or something. Turns out it was yet another car, this one a paddy wagon out of the late 30's or early 40's. It was a business vehicle of some sort, judging by the half worn away lettering on the hatch doors. This, nestled in a tree-lined meadow between two suburban lawns. It was starting to feel symbolic in a David Lynch kind of way.

I haven't been back since, mainly due to being busy, taking walks on my lunch hour, and the change in the weather. As I'm sure they're not going anywhere, I'm sure I'll be back come Spring. I already promised I'd take the boy to see them, as he was quite intrigued when I told him about it.

So anyway, I've taken more to photography recently. I've found that it's something that makes me truly, deep-down content. This is not to mean that I'd exclude all else in my life for it, but I think it's good to have something that you can truly call your own thing. H has her yoga and her orchestra. Mine is photography and the art of preserving that which has been lost or discarded or tucked away into a corner, things that get overlooked in everyday life. It's my way of peeling back the skein of reality and looking underneath. Or at least, my way of recording it.

-- End Transmission --