Memories in the woods

There is something about going for a walk in an Indiana forest that takes me back more years than I would like to admit.  The musty-sweet smell, the call of bluejays in the trees, the breeze causing leaves to dip and float from their lofty heights down to the sandy floor, the peacefulness of being out in the woods - sensations that trigger memories of a ten-year old girl, fresh off of the city streets of Chicago for a Girl Scout camping weekend in what we surely thought was a wilderness adventure.   Twice each year, we had the chance to build campfires, tell scary stories, blaze trails through the forest, get lost and then get found again.  It was where I learned folks songs around a fire, how to get toasted marshmallows off a whittled stick so they could be squished between layers of graham crackers and chocolate bars, how to extract our boots from spring mud and how to use stones and sticks to mark a new trail for others to follow.   That young girl would have been pleased to know that this grown-up version lives close enough to walk these forests as often as she can . . . . and remember.

The Bicycle Project

My first bicycle photo was taken on a sunny fall day purely by accident.  We were spending a girl's day together. My mother, sisters, daughters, nieces and I had traveled up Highway 31 in search of gift shops, farmers markets and antique stores.  We had stopped at a quaint little shop in what may have been Lapaz or Lakeville or another of the small towns along that way.  I was drawn to the back of the store where an open door led out to a garden full of outdoor statues, ironwork and yard ornaments scattered among autumn's leaves and vegetation.  Leaning against the back fence was this wonderful old bike, half buried in grasses with an old metal watering can hanging from one of its handle bars, faded white seat covered in leaves and rusty carrying rack over the rear wheel.  I imagined someone riding into the garden from errands, having hopped off to lean the bike against the fence for a momentary rest never to return.

Six years later and everywhere I travel, I notice bicycles.  My Bicycle Project was born.   I am intrigued by them and the places where I find them. I have photographed them on the sandy beach of Lake Michigan, in a bar in Seattle and on a cobblestoned street in a tiny Black Forest town in Germany. I have photographed them being used for decoration, for the necessity of travel and for the joy of the ride.  A bicycle leaning against a wall signifies life, a person has been here, is nearby and will probably return.  For many of us our childhood includes bicycle adventures and we pass the ability to ride down to our children.  Bicycles never go out of style.