tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51739475181288336622024-03-21T19:02:33.860-07:00Casadagio Photography, Tom WatersAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-33120322709424038452015-03-08T11:49:00.000-07:002015-03-08T11:49:45.884-07:00Tecojate Beach, GuatemalaFor a family visit five of us in Santiago, Atitlan, made an excursion to Tecojate and to the beach there. A hundred kilometers from Santiago to Tecojate by van to visit a relatively desolate beach and a dying pueble (or so it seems). The comodores were open for business. We enjoyed seafood, beer, and sunshine. The place was practically deserted it being March. No tourists (not a foreigner in sight) and only a few Guatemaltecos. <br />
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A boat ride from the public beach in Tecojate to the beach -- across a hundred yard bay -- costs Q5 for a round trip. <br />
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Comodores are basic and colorful. Most have beach sand floors. <br />
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Our van driver preparing for the return trip to Santiago. <br />
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At least half of the businesses have closed. The resulting ruins add something to the ambience, though maybe not readily apparent.<br />
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This comodor was open, or so it seemed. But the dog was a deterent, as was his companion, not shown, a rooster. <br />
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Our lunch being prepared. A seafood dinner -- fish, shrimp, fries and a salad: Q50. <br />
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Children of the comodor staff. Innocence can seem very compelling, poverty not withstanding. <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-80648488617219254252014-10-05T10:55:00.000-07:002014-10-05T11:15:45.387-07:00What I Saw In WinnipegPhotographs from a recent trip to Winnipeg, Canada with Vicki. We visited with Vicki's family and friends for 15 days during which she and I did walkabouts in the vicinity of Arlington Street. Photos are from those excursions. Winnipeg was a surprise. It is a cosmopolitan city with some incredibly beautiful residential areas and, of course, some to-be-expected poor areas. The photographs here represent a thin slice of single area in which walking was a daily experience for Vicki and me.<br />
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Viewers might want to enlarge some, or all, of these images. If you are a photographer you will know that sometimes the smaller details are the most interesting elements. The photograph immediately above is just such an example.<br />
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Above: walkway from Arlington Street to the river.</div>
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Sitting area at the edge of the river.</div>
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It was a marvelous vacation. Thank you, Mary, David, Luke, Levi, and Nick for best company and a great place to stay, and for wonderful meals. Thanks, too, to Eric, Doris, Herman, Carol, Monty and to the tallest 14 year old I've ever seen, Olive. And, to John for a special ride in the Smart Car. Vicki and I are still talking about the meals shared, the geese staging, the perfection of David's reading from his new novel, Leaving Tomorrow, and Mariam's reading from her novel, All My Puny Sorrows. AND, the best: the wedding dinner with all in attendance. A new (official) family member could not ask for more.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-83604610966181361022013-06-03T13:55:00.000-07:002013-06-04T13:28:52.681-07:00The Big Trip<div style="text-align: justify;">
Almost three years ago Christopher Scheirer and I began taking motorcycle trips together in Guatemala. Christopher got his first motorcycle and his brother-in-law taught him to ride, and gave Chris detailed safety tips. Christopher took to riding with a near mania. He was fearless, and fast. On the trips we took he was always in the lead. He would get miles ahead of me, turn around and ride back to check on me, getting some extra distance.</div>
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We rode north, south, east and west. Into the mountains, over volcanoes. To beautiful colonial cities and to modest, and poor, pueblos. Trips were usually for a day, but there were over- nighters, lasting two, three, or four days. From the outset we talked and imagined longer excursions. After awhile the idea was to take THE BIG TRIP, at least a week possibly more.</div>
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There was always a complication. Rainy season set in twice before we could get underway. Christopher had medical emergencies with children, and the birth of his third. There were delays while he took care of his coffee business and I labored in the darkroom. We made plans. We got awfully close to leaving, then the unexpected would happen, an important coffee business trip to New York for Christopher. We delayed, re-scheduled.</div>
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THE BIG TRIP became a matter of much discussion and we hashed-out venues, travel times, routes; and, importantly, how much time could we do photography and still make our daily destinations. We temporized, and delayed.</div>
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Two weeks ago we finally acknowledged the obvious. We had to set a date and stick to it. Just leave, no matter the circumstances. We were to be on the road this week. Then, a Facebook message from Christopher; he was in hospital, ruptured appendix. But he was feeling better, even with four tubes in his belly. I dashed off a quick note to him and scolded ironically (he understood better than anybody else my quirky writing ) that he was going to great lengths to get out of the ride this time. (How, now, I wish I could take back that bit of so-called humor.) He wrote me again that he was up sitting outside on a patio, that he was feeling better; in fact, he said, he was expecting to be released during the weekend. He inquired about my health. We said nothing about THE BIG TRIP.</div>
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Christopher, as a rider, was a near-perfect companion. He liked to chat up complete strangers, especially in the pueblos; this made my work much easier. We were complimentary. He stopped willingly when there was, to my mind, a good photo opportunity, or when my butt was getting sore. We enjoyed good meals at each of our destinations, we searched bookstores, and stayed in inexpensive hotels. Christopher preferred spending his cash on good food and wine. I have to point out there was one aspect of travel with Christopher that could become tiresome: his endless telephone calls home. We stopped for gasoline, he called Zaida. We went to restaurants, he called Zaida. We stopped on the roadside, he searched for a signal -- call Zaida. He and I could travel for a single day, he would call home a dozen times. (But, truly, who could fault him? -- if you know Zaida and the boys you will understand.)</div>
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If you have read this far you will know the outcome. There was no THE BIG TRIP. As I write this Christopher is on his way to Colorado, a last earthly trip. Then, for him, the really big one. I will miss him; the real trips and even the BIG one that I can continue to dream about. </div>
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Below are some images that might give you an idea of Christopher and his travels. All images can be enlarged for easier viewing. These, for me, are bitter-sweet.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christopher near Chichi looking for an old mask maker.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Always a leader.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We often had tire problems. Chris looking for a repair shop.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Talking coffee. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christopher during negotiations to get a cow moved.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With an ice cream sandwich. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chatting with an old finca worker. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exploring an old ,nearly abandoned coffee finca. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the end of Lake Atitlan, a few miles from Christopher's home.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> On an old dirt road from Los Encuentros to Totonicopan</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We stop in route to Totonicopan</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-2202403595156031152011-03-25T13:48:00.000-07:002011-03-25T20:17:35.398-07:00Excavation<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjifDC_owoqxAasXp4jO8hakoNX0x2DPlBU8y4sGfArCIMzvaGzCP7nkcgksLPJjnvWC0OsWd_u0pSq7E9eZOUbiLXUfD_5HH04xpwSptx6YgP0e94F9MeGHFkmIxKklUZfIcjkJeC0c50/s1600/img146+%25282%2529.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 397px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjifDC_owoqxAasXp4jO8hakoNX0x2DPlBU8y4sGfArCIMzvaGzCP7nkcgksLPJjnvWC0OsWd_u0pSq7E9eZOUbiLXUfD_5HH04xpwSptx6YgP0e94F9MeGHFkmIxKklUZfIcjkJeC0c50/s400/img146+%25282%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588128499820272210" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />1990 was a particularly good time to drill for gas. Federal tax incentives for exploratory drilling were about to expire and major companies rushed to get wells underway.<br /><br />That year I lived in rural Tuscaloosa County, Alabama, about 12 miles from the cities of Tuscaloosa and Northport. My house was a rented one. It was a aging house built in the early 1900s on approximately 700 acres most of which was heavily wooded, with ample pasture land. The pasture land was rented to nearby farmers who generally grew hay or pastured cattle or horses.<br /><br />I awoke one morning to the growling sounds of flatbed trucks and heavy machinery. Preparation-crews, the smell of diesel, and the sound of tracked earth-moving machines and chainsaws were present every day for many weeks. When the rigs began to drill it was a 24 hour operation. For a while I was surrounded by work crews on eight rigs and endless clanking of drilling shafts, and a surrealistic lighted landscape at night.<br /><br />Roads had to be built and drilling pads constructed. Ponds for spillage and overflow were excavated and lined.<br /><br />I decided early on that I wanted to photograph this assault on the land. I was angry. This was to be a purely documentary effort; to what end I had no idea. So, most afternoons I went to confront the enemy. I did nothing with the negatives: they were never printed, merely filed and left to gather a bit of dust. Recently I found the notebook with the negatives, not yet proofed but in good condition. Scanning the negatives was a revisit to 1990.<br /><br />Oddly, the images are not quite as shocking as I had initially thought they would be. In fact there is even a perverse beauty in some of the damaged landscape. The viewer will have to be the judge for him- or her-self whether this is true.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc8FOGlj65RFqgB-HksXRg1_jRe83KW3uoJursdCmupfGYaTEEkOtD6Fx8D7ulOJqyp-qlQocZ8iBrtEbDTlYPG93NQl4hcC4Hfmt_w_hhSSMczosKo0j6BEdw4SETui1RqC3eRe6wzzM/s1600/img139+%25282%2529.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 398px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc8FOGlj65RFqgB-HksXRg1_jRe83KW3uoJursdCmupfGYaTEEkOtD6Fx8D7ulOJqyp-qlQocZ8iBrtEbDTlYPG93NQl4hcC4Hfmt_w_hhSSMczosKo0j6BEdw4SETui1RqC3eRe6wzzM/s400/img139+%25282%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588128131431107298" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim9vQ3mCkAqIaz3xOYao6qGZnZb9Bp7Zs-OuMzYcAlxs-ys9xd2YCMX-sBfvAksdIUV91cmDQcYFRvPkLdvaB7CZHDnIcpZwweM4lFOHKJV0L8dZ4INEldaJm7XUZjrwmq410Ce5olegA/s1600/img116.jpg"><img style="display: block; 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margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlIAr7BtoCLTHJl2GBC6DnqzwcxkXZm390k8wpCFArLTUweC94CIBjGFuJ3fpX79o0hizm7OrTEQ5Czyqlf7v0SmtmCgLL6vReOYpuhmitooBAqIwfjMkwGdr_WrETYc1Rmv5M6rvQSpQ/s400/img125.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588127550075508130" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyWQMZqF1ysZlYWRHXRoJ7zu1joi5NpCDKtvzRyXfpLN_TgHUSn3MrwIOlC9_W8VJWYsBMgyBsaqf8qYrkW0fadVuc1TQzCVBhrHtDbjWHmA2-gKfu4-ZHAPIgjUzJJfY5_t32wP2zZLM/s1600/img107+%25282%2529.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyWQMZqF1ysZlYWRHXRoJ7zu1joi5NpCDKtvzRyXfpLN_TgHUSn3MrwIOlC9_W8VJWYsBMgyBsaqf8qYrkW0fadVuc1TQzCVBhrHtDbjWHmA2-gKfu4-ZHAPIgjUzJJfY5_t32wP2zZLM/s400/img107+%25282%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588127368938505682" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsCYFoA3gLIQ9m3GeBeWvTbgAO_3ZJ9W0s7D7XOFOGC4bYZ50VlGibNkwYQW6WuDNb1iJmtarlbYFBV-QYGxT1od_ggbmjxYIl25ycUDILe8-4XhyphenhyphenX8qXXYtLNlVihmqKItffcOwX4xl0/s1600/img119.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsCYFoA3gLIQ9m3GeBeWvTbgAO_3ZJ9W0s7D7XOFOGC4bYZ50VlGibNkwYQW6WuDNb1iJmtarlbYFBV-QYGxT1od_ggbmjxYIl25ycUDILe8-4XhyphenhyphenX8qXXYtLNlVihmqKItffcOwX4xl0/s400/img119.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588127140746173458" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTv1C05XBbYVq0aZDB94SgugE8djuXz0-tB_g3LH2becZlUHoBChoetfGom1MocX1EVoewafE1rLAj8NM-d5ioWO7qkZCS76RxzaRr4dDD1v2EFS3V7NbiQv7cnxKCtdA66Dzx8Khr_Vc/s1600/img120.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTv1C05XBbYVq0aZDB94SgugE8djuXz0-tB_g3LH2becZlUHoBChoetfGom1MocX1EVoewafE1rLAj8NM-d5ioWO7qkZCS76RxzaRr4dDD1v2EFS3V7NbiQv7cnxKCtdA66Dzx8Khr_Vc/s400/img120.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588126977388212882" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvR1SFDDkRKJrrNU-revPnEVmWMjvBP3527VQ9EBSWgOMQDgcGKX6ZjKooRkFENyqvy77JiaznuFkDN62z69TKXH7wk6bdtKuYEHCz9kZJlSg1PjsTv19Y5ktZYB7WYVcPqcoxQcTXjfU/s1600/img104.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvR1SFDDkRKJrrNU-revPnEVmWMjvBP3527VQ9EBSWgOMQDgcGKX6ZjKooRkFENyqvy77JiaznuFkDN62z69TKXH7wk6bdtKuYEHCz9kZJlSg1PjsTv19Y5ktZYB7WYVcPqcoxQcTXjfU/s400/img104.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588126618687435746" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV1jxPovXVgLcZfPtG0dT36h7xEu0PJGD3bE8kyVEH-w1cEfz9WU82OUA1UrQAnAYFfOc1kjAac9RlDIGA93nSE9QuuW5xANZlw7wwXrEVR5XJHiXGhGAAP-UDNRZCq5oNOO_NPEE_pWw/s1600/img097+%25282%2529.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV1jxPovXVgLcZfPtG0dT36h7xEu0PJGD3bE8kyVEH-w1cEfz9WU82OUA1UrQAnAYFfOc1kjAac9RlDIGA93nSE9QuuW5xANZlw7wwXrEVR5XJHiXGhGAAP-UDNRZCq5oNOO_NPEE_pWw/s400/img097+%25282%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588126371711459010" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNlFV3_1XtWp2mNPB30wC7FfjbbdH1SxVq898knqiH_2ylWWSg_P0teLqayYgpcG4wHCNFcey3T61s9jefwYqWfyc-FAh8liDbLW3vEyphFLRY9TmrjEm2KDgebrow3ObchgkncLLmTAg/s1600/img102.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNlFV3_1XtWp2mNPB30wC7FfjbbdH1SxVq898knqiH_2ylWWSg_P0teLqayYgpcG4wHCNFcey3T61s9jefwYqWfyc-FAh8liDbLW3vEyphFLRY9TmrjEm2KDgebrow3ObchgkncLLmTAg/s320/img102.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588126172718686546" border="0" /></a><br />I was expecting that I might feel animosity toward the workers. The contrary was true. They were friendly. They seemed fully aware of what they were being paid to do, but took no evident pride in it. At least not in the destruction. They were family men. They needed the work. They took time to rescue new-born squirrels from a fallen tree. Like myself they deplored the wanton destruction and waste of thousands of feet of timber which was buried in deep trenches beside the newly constructed roads.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTLfKP5eXVwu6U0693HQZ0lTgAN5jLCzJ3L7stdBvdFKhcMEQFE-LYEmKW3E78eLkH0ErCEJ7hKh9zdLaoWkViN-kGwtxM8Te66TgY3PK55OLq9tpBVZToOXo-46r3W0fNG8hmIEFXps0/s1600/img144.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 318px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTLfKP5eXVwu6U0693HQZ0lTgAN5jLCzJ3L7stdBvdFKhcMEQFE-LYEmKW3E78eLkH0ErCEJ7hKh9zdLaoWkViN-kGwtxM8Te66TgY3PK55OLq9tpBVZToOXo-46r3W0fNG8hmIEFXps0/s320/img144.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588125997924847842" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUYLLz_imcyomUhvJCiZSGxInmACuLj45t6WNSJRTbZGdxY_pmvsSGr5VnR00UNL1I77PkcUjac_IpZe3aReoUD0ouR4MtCgIBewRmfsL1ED5j8n6bkCVmRD0wvyFqcRv_i8iCdQSkHuA/s1600/img142.jpg"><img style="display: block; 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margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 262px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge0k31MaSafZR_95OT8QLodkY_DQx5p1UtPYNwckh9pXpmVKj-WSgRbZndQ3R9pQ2lfH3lZd0M6KeJ6PEM3EvcnlR7gsUuC8uBszDG-bsEg8Tjqdq3Plww-koyjNhfMoxvhWwePr26r2w/s400/img095+%25282%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588124911175166050" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWr_ks_lEys464cwQBxWUwhsUUbLDfy465r_RL6wqwh_9EpoeW3McYBBqtysaDQBbBI27ob7kJhuoLcgb5546fwQI498oA8xDRSinyFBKQhSVIZGNSHlBTZW8AZiWQdaYjhJ9waYzib0Y/s1600/img126.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWr_ks_lEys464cwQBxWUwhsUUbLDfy465r_RL6wqwh_9EpoeW3McYBBqtysaDQBbBI27ob7kJhuoLcgb5546fwQI498oA8xDRSinyFBKQhSVIZGNSHlBTZW8AZiWQdaYjhJ9waYzib0Y/s400/img126.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588124696583121586" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVjxKeVvcyy49A7m6ZfRArlfdB4ZqW4qOjn-3VH9E-8bMFJX6StN2c5IeCCglgpPgXNcL_xk2NhB87PJhg-O4ONNj_5xOh2NzrCUj-8sFQKKlcY-ot-XnEMg1GA8RY_7vGMJgurssxK2g/s1600/img100+%25282%2529.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVjxKeVvcyy49A7m6ZfRArlfdB4ZqW4qOjn-3VH9E-8bMFJX6StN2c5IeCCglgpPgXNcL_xk2NhB87PJhg-O4ONNj_5xOh2NzrCUj-8sFQKKlcY-ot-XnEMg1GA8RY_7vGMJgurssxK2g/s400/img100+%25282%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588124458214462754" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHC2jwcbJD2GOsm-KEB2Zj9RYYn1fujIjJ5_k0pjNbPFVX0TyyOGlUTBK5QvMDx621teuC-adaweB2mw9-GVBftPLYOR7IIm5b175BKw8tWqmapSbySIundEeSBDD2p74BuI9HeJd3-TY/s1600/img090+%25282%2529.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHC2jwcbJD2GOsm-KEB2Zj9RYYn1fujIjJ5_k0pjNbPFVX0TyyOGlUTBK5QvMDx621teuC-adaweB2mw9-GVBftPLYOR7IIm5b175BKw8tWqmapSbySIundEeSBDD2p74BuI9HeJd3-TY/s400/img090+%25282%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588124250786088354" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGLi8BpBSvc0Ohb95FoW9wEun2ROVgHqoeq-Y-YfHi5QykaFv7qRU_4Eq5adCqECX5ObIPiwnzjrFJjk-oT9_WTYYR4fMffbfBp1wMDa-x9Welij01pLze5His0RBEMsc7UYNJmEhnT8o/s1600/img088+%25282%2529.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGLi8BpBSvc0Ohb95FoW9wEun2ROVgHqoeq-Y-YfHi5QykaFv7qRU_4Eq5adCqECX5ObIPiwnzjrFJjk-oT9_WTYYR4fMffbfBp1wMDa-x9Welij01pLze5His0RBEMsc7UYNJmEhnT8o/s400/img088+%25282%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588124083796004290" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIeSYTQC7eVL1jdAoCJIJjkcmCn-zgN8C2UxRn1UyZFjLHSE61FbzNIIMj16InNPr9aJkcNeMI1PpBzryXKqtd7LVLR98miHshyLWRMzpmlkSuWJ9G5lEXI9JBOUVdVhMNK6zn4ZrIPRI/s1600/img112+%25282%2529.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIeSYTQC7eVL1jdAoCJIJjkcmCn-zgN8C2UxRn1UyZFjLHSE61FbzNIIMj16InNPr9aJkcNeMI1PpBzryXKqtd7LVLR98miHshyLWRMzpmlkSuWJ9G5lEXI9JBOUVdVhMNK6zn4ZrIPRI/s320/img112+%25282%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588123701536502514" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC5yDwfcHHd15r-s4mc814BpkhncOVElfD4KIURPqT5dga6h4yYl-w_2qNNbQjxE30KIS5vwdb6Ffel93EWAnVTHgDIefFxRIKOy_K1_f-koyz4_pvITGjAUBXDB0c98bLSTdKxIb9H4Q/s1600/img086+%25282%2529.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC5yDwfcHHd15r-s4mc814BpkhncOVElfD4KIURPqT5dga6h4yYl-w_2qNNbQjxE30KIS5vwdb6Ffel93EWAnVTHgDIefFxRIKOy_K1_f-koyz4_pvITGjAUBXDB0c98bLSTdKxIb9H4Q/s320/img086+%25282%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588123405098306834" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB4_pQrImuhwQY_XNZjVUWlccQMYhKd3o41Pn0I7JaMirRZyrVy8P0d52Xy_D-bMMTgxf7mkMP2mpH88aK_hUUmIlgO8YAZDgb1scOP_FAOhANvNjRhK8UKdbjEP3l0QLDhhQYsYbH2D8/s1600/img084+%25282%2529.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB4_pQrImuhwQY_XNZjVUWlccQMYhKd3o41Pn0I7JaMirRZyrVy8P0d52Xy_D-bMMTgxf7mkMP2mpH88aK_hUUmIlgO8YAZDgb1scOP_FAOhANvNjRhK8UKdbjEP3l0QLDhhQYsYbH2D8/s320/img084+%25282%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588123173555097842" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRKmRx4k6iFyIbU3THq3HceLa5izwG_KRCou0SFkeWkWwKYzLdYfK9EfuPLtKqY9TcTTeX7A15fKNcZ5kaSInev6rgSB1WS7DdQFqjZO28XBGh40OECt83IlJ-AGkSvsiaMPmu8m4hyphenhyphen78/s1600/img080+%25282%2529.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRKmRx4k6iFyIbU3THq3HceLa5izwG_KRCou0SFkeWkWwKYzLdYfK9EfuPLtKqY9TcTTeX7A15fKNcZ5kaSInev6rgSB1WS7DdQFqjZO28XBGh40OECt83IlJ-AGkSvsiaMPmu8m4hyphenhyphen78/s320/img080+%25282%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588122941317030002" border="0" /></a>Before the onslaught (above).<br /><br /><br />Site cleared for drilling rig (below).<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJ3CWI00TVNAY2CHE2MmfYanh-Z5lqeSGzcUZjRZQFRlV3d0Prb6eOV9JwkHwfS4qa9ZjpF2WWwdHdG6XULEn7vLk6LoUbgSbsjeUH74Vm90i0ZaFfaOTgmKI35D9yRdtE_lc8qkNbcM/s1600/img078+%25282%2529.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 358px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJ3CWI00TVNAY2CHE2MmfYanh-Z5lqeSGzcUZjRZQFRlV3d0Prb6eOV9JwkHwfS4qa9ZjpF2WWwdHdG6XULEn7vLk6LoUbgSbsjeUH74Vm90i0ZaFfaOTgmKI35D9yRdtE_lc8qkNbcM/s320/img078+%25282%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588122676216044162" border="0" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-36957882788073346962010-08-10T12:27:00.001-07:002010-08-10T15:22:05.920-07:00Tz'utujil Girl With Golden Egg<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIX0vg8Ceird3MOkIzczqxOp64y71rtHqGa8yCzfiHrNICMMVh7A4PBdc22DnpBdN8IvROvrUixX9rskbrJrMtugYE35IgdsNkZNIb5zpaP-rpmNB2sl7W5Y9aId3V52SxXwgW-ME8pCs/s1600/vinny+blog-vicki++10-8-10+050.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIX0vg8Ceird3MOkIzczqxOp64y71rtHqGa8yCzfiHrNICMMVh7A4PBdc22DnpBdN8IvROvrUixX9rskbrJrMtugYE35IgdsNkZNIb5zpaP-rpmNB2sl7W5Y9aId3V52SxXwgW-ME8pCs/s200/vinny+blog-vicki++10-8-10+050.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503878438103067090" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Santiago Atitlan, Guatemala</span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <span style="font-size:130%;"> By: Vincent Stanzione</span><br /> <br /> <span style="font-size:100%;"> Photography by: Tom Waters and Vicki Loewen<br /></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil02t-einO76FDQCtOLadd_a2zaxqrH0WrvoepdtXQ1WgXRuY8Pq5t241s5_tCvHDUb5uvw_7KoplIA6BqKzA6kFbfsq2xRBHpMCcOQw9CbcIPM8QrsO2hiIlZ0l4DuOt-Vu3oOrxsewo/s1600/vinny+blog-vicki++10-8-10+045.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil02t-einO76FDQCtOLadd_a2zaxqrH0WrvoepdtXQ1WgXRuY8Pq5t241s5_tCvHDUb5uvw_7KoplIA6BqKzA6kFbfsq2xRBHpMCcOQw9CbcIPM8QrsO2hiIlZ0l4DuOt-Vu3oOrxsewo/s320/vinny+blog-vicki++10-8-10+045.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503867617493487618" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Boat landing, Santiago Atitlan, Guatemala</span></span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh42txp2VYXbt-608yCP-kl7uGZ8o9NXvjUEA3zcY4yWW3mq1QYH7-tLtk9nTq_KwlLpdDnub7Ui5dPI6EdvOF3j62t7VXbOhaGw7sccHJcc1JFI4n9w8hwvYwaXWKQZRabIyZCa_r0wAc/s1600/vinny+blog-vicki++10-8-10+047.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh42txp2VYXbt-608yCP-kl7uGZ8o9NXvjUEA3zcY4yWW3mq1QYH7-tLtk9nTq_KwlLpdDnub7Ui5dPI6EdvOF3j62t7VXbOhaGw7sccHJcc1JFI4n9w8hwvYwaXWKQZRabIyZCa_r0wAc/s320/vinny+blog-vicki++10-8-10+047.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503867209867257554" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cayucos at public beach, Santiago, Atitlan</span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPl-QH5qAwmPjS4iXILwGdntSbBTEtnH1IshegFL2HUCyjrvpKWTbmyBVkZizGgdFIJR6XTy2pMweADRCY6NqTWvkwV35lSTujYQ8TmFsSC7_VXcBipouJThBC4yHPc1-19uW3QfqCT3M/s1600/vinny+blog-vicki++10-8-10+053.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPl-QH5qAwmPjS4iXILwGdntSbBTEtnH1IshegFL2HUCyjrvpKWTbmyBVkZizGgdFIJR6XTy2pMweADRCY6NqTWvkwV35lSTujYQ8TmFsSC7_VXcBipouJThBC4yHPc1-19uW3QfqCT3M/s320/vinny+blog-vicki++10-8-10+053.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503866513670387682" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_-6PBSmq7ME4L_AcLvv9p5mgBZ-wShZtJSbUrB7ph_x7dSGhslpHnZaZnPFjWieOMglmsxyXacGg1WY3BPdTUDDrW1tDsP-FIOsx1MsbtVZi_ig_qUdKuRy6SeoiFT68fDoCNTLavPLI/s1600/vinny+blog-vicki++10-8-10+054.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_-6PBSmq7ME4L_AcLvv9p5mgBZ-wShZtJSbUrB7ph_x7dSGhslpHnZaZnPFjWieOMglmsxyXacGg1WY3BPdTUDDrW1tDsP-FIOsx1MsbtVZi_ig_qUdKuRy6SeoiFT68fDoCNTLavPLI/s400/vinny+blog-vicki++10-8-10+054.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503865569171515986" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />There was a young girl, now a young woman. When still young she had a breakthrough idea about doing business at the docks where tourist boats arrive in Santiago. Her cleverness was in carrying a tame chicken in her arms. (Parents don’t make their children do things like that in the Maya areas of Guatemala.) This child’s idea was totally original, and it was to pay off. She conceived the idea after a tourist took endless pictures of her at her house while she struggled to retrieve a chicken from tragedy on the street. The tourist gave her five quetzals (about one US dollar at the time), for the photographing experience; with that her destiny was made.<br /><br />She carried the lucky chicken, no longer destined for the cook pot, with her daily to the shore where she could immediately be seen by disembarking tourists and, naturally, the focus of tourist cameras.<br /><br />At the time I was beginning to notice tourism change the face of the pueblo and little incidences like this became a fascination. It seemed amazing to me that by pure accident or coincidence, at the crossroads of culture change, one could fall into a chance destiny that seemed unlikely if not unimaginable.<br /><br />The girl with the white hen was a person I saw often and liked a lot. She could have been a model for women's magazines because she knew innately how to hold herself and look right into the camera creating the sentimental image tourists were hoping to find among the poor of Guatemala. An image that could proudly be taken home, one that would confirm one’s compassion and photographic skill. In a relatively short time she was getting all the attention and more than her fair share of the tourists pocket change. She knew exactly what she was doing.<br /><br />One day, sometime later, I was escorting a group of visitors through the pueblo on a tour. I had given a lecture to this group the night before in order to promote a bit of understanding about what they were going to see. And what they might expect from the locals, those whose livelihood was often hustling money from people like themselves. Anyway, I tried to orient these good folks but it was water on the proverbial duck’s back by the time we arrived at the shores of Santiago Atitlan. I told them, of course, to be careful photographing children because people don’t much like that. If they did take a picture, be ready to provide some recompense. On the shore waiting for them, as if rehearsed, was the little princess with a domestic fowl tantalizingly tucked in little hands and arms.<br /><br />The philanthropists went unglued, their shudders snapped as their minds went to their pockets. One could almost hear the sub-vocal unraveling of sacred American stories about how the charity of the wealthy, combined with the inventiveness and hard drive of the poor, would raise humanity to higher heights in a world that could change for the better, with progress at all levels.<br /><br />Once the tour was over and some time had gone by we (several were involved with the tour experience) received a letter asking if we wouldn’t mind seeing to it that the divine young girl with the chicken would get a proper education and further increase her possibilities. These benefactors, I was to learn, from a wealthy family would pay all of her expenses at any school her parents might chose, and they were willing to take care of the child for as long as she stayed in school. It was about as generous as one could imagine a foreigner being with somebody they absolutely did not know. We told them that we would see what we could do.<br /><br /><br />The girl came from a very poor family. A family with no history of education. So, when we told her mother what the visitors had offered she looked at us as if we simply didn’t understand anything about her world. Her daughter was making a lot of money at what she did and in time she would figure out something else even better. We stressed that the people were willing to support her child until she attained, if she wanted, a university diploma enabling her to become a professional. We suggested that further opportunities would surely open up for her, for the entire family. She looked at us as if we were out to steal her golden egg. She said she would let her child go to school if we also found a way for the people to pay the money that the family would lose while the girl was in school.<br /><br />I thought ,wow, now that is the way to cut a deal, ask for more than you can ever imagine. I was getting an idea where the little girl had developed her eye for opportunity. It made a lot of sense in an indigenous economy where the children in the family are often as important as any one else in their ability to generate much needed cash.<br /><br />We told the women we would see what we could do. We told her we understood. We also told her she should think a little about the future, sacrifice a bit today to reap a larger harvest in the future. The minute I said it I knew I was talking in terms that were probably incomprehensible, that the Maya have a hard time with, because I was talking about letting a sure thing go for a mere possibility in a very uncertain future. When we told the kind philanthropists what the mother had said they almost succumbed from shock. Wealthy people, it seems, don’t like to be told what to do with their cash, much less be asked for more than they have already generously offered. I tried my best to get them to understand and they did their best to get me to get the mother to understand. I was sadly and frustratingly stuck in the middle at a very complex crossroad where cultures meet and comprehension fails. In the end nothing happened.<br /><br />The girl child continued posing with her white hen. It had been this girl's fate to call the eyes of fortune onto herself yet that accident of destiny did not give fruit. It did not give fruit simply because others were unwilling to take into account what was best for her, one who had done her best to improve her lot in life. I will always wonder where she came from and most of all where she will end up in life because it seems to me that she was clearly a being between and betwixt two worlds: one of the uncompromisingly wealthy and the other of the helplessly poor.<br /><br />(Note: She is now a young adult and can sometimes be seen attempting to sell trinkets to tourists outside the Hotel Posada Santiago. She seems a little embarrassed when the chicken-years are mentioned to her. ~~~~~~ tw )Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-45727214844948256602010-08-09T11:42:00.000-07:002010-08-10T12:56:40.231-07:00A Man-Child of Many Nations?<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br />By: Vincent Stanzione</span></span><br /><br />Photograph by: Tom Waters<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This is a short blog about a single photograph of a boy who was often encountered on the pathways around the lake-side near Santiago Atitlan, Guatemala. The photograph was take about five years ago. It, the blog, is another result of collaborative work of myself, Tom, and my long-time friend, Vincent Stanzione. Vincent and I walked many miles around Lake Atitlan and throughout the Highlands. His writing is in response to an agreement we made that he would look at photographs and, then, respond spontaneously with his thoughts. Vincent speaks at least one Mayan language proficiently, Tz'utujil, and understands adequately others. The result being that he can speak, when need be, with the flavor and cadence of local Maya which always makes for interesting perspective and feeling.~~~~~~~~~ tw</span><br /><br /><br /><br />A Man-Child of Many Nations?<br /><br />We live in the America (Central America, where this is being written) where people from all over the world lived together for over five hundred years. There is much history that goes untold yet appears in the faces of children. One meets such children often, on roads and paths and in this instance on the lake-side near Santiago Atitlan. I love this Man-Child’s look, the keenness in his inner sense of self. He knows who he is, a man in a child’s body, There appears to be insight, and perhaps intrinsic knowledge of himself, based on some ancestral memory. This is a Maya-Tz’utujil boy who could easily be from the countryside of Louisiana, Southeast Texas, Alabama, or somewhere similar.<br /><br />It is amazing how much his physical features remind me of children I went to school with as a kid years ago in New Orleans. It is the way his eyes, forehead, eyebrows and lips appear to question the on-looker, “What do you want with my photograph?” “ Who are you lookin’ at mister?” I am surprised that a young child can look at an adult like this. It opens one to wonder while wandering through the faces of this America’s past. This child knows who he is. At least that is what his body language seems to say with its confidence.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhocCpqU2MJRl5irjMJ9gISYBZJBQO1g2FBdLIrNYSmZPWG8b-mbFA7z9DIp3Z1oad7c31N-l-GdDSMzQzddl-akdwWu2wJU-IzpzVs6OPV9-ckkxaPRVDxlzFvs4CF-h_NdmHmsu85ntE/s1600/casa,karen,+vinnie+blog+024.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhocCpqU2MJRl5irjMJ9gISYBZJBQO1g2FBdLIrNYSmZPWG8b-mbFA7z9DIp3Z1oad7c31N-l-GdDSMzQzddl-akdwWu2wJU-IzpzVs6OPV9-ckkxaPRVDxlzFvs4CF-h_NdmHmsu85ntE/s400/casa,karen,+vinnie+blog+024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503484686438670370" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /> <br />I walk a lot in Guatemala. I have walked through the desolate wind-blown waste of the highlands, down into the lowland jungles, wandered the piedmont, and back to my home again. Often I come into contact with people who speak one of two dozen Maya languages but who could be, based on physical appearance, from any of several places in this world. Some look Asian, either Chinese or Japanese, others could be from Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia or Thailand. Sometimes I encounter, though not often, people whose ancestry is clearly West African. or West Indian (this is not unexpected as Guatemala has its own Garifuna population on the east coast around Livingston). It is amazing how different looking people are in a place that is supposedly completely Maya. The amount of miscegenation that has historically happened in this Maya world could hardly be better represented than by this boy’s visage.<br /><br />The child here looks a lot be a young Louis Armstrong. He has strength of character in his build, a knowingness in his look and that famous Armstrong smile about to appear on his lips. I know, too, that this boy is a rascal and a joker; he is a spirited and playful child who knows that he is exactly where he should be. He has four sisters none of whom look a bit like him.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-19881351198868170512010-08-08T08:08:00.000-07:002010-08-08T17:22:27.987-07:00Dona Juana: A Remembrance<blockquote></blockquote><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGFk8zy6-ZOIn9vwvKxC3bpQk8YvZvDyRQQW7ywZZ0VPitmMOI8LP-JvUEWMRoWGNW9LODNkmPVu7Dkm8Iru3aYMfwTWzaVnQw4ylamMKuqFGZ5_vK3qEpkU5O2zovvBXK5CQfSeOoOAw/s1600/casa,karen,+vinnie+blog+071.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGFk8zy6-ZOIn9vwvKxC3bpQk8YvZvDyRQQW7ywZZ0VPitmMOI8LP-JvUEWMRoWGNW9LODNkmPVu7Dkm8Iru3aYMfwTWzaVnQw4ylamMKuqFGZ5_vK3qEpkU5O2zovvBXK5CQfSeOoOAw/s200/casa,karen,+vinnie+blog+071.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503117246206364818" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyYbgWD2NVKc5G2NDuIFzpGI8M48jdVM5kvdTOau1e35rVhvHmhjjs2TnzhNlzWAWcr4D5qDwj0FPYeX1E3IRZgOSj_yeLCcHb8zGtlWmLAgwGCV4i9yXsgUP1R5mj-DgadVIG_KNMUOw/s1600/casa,karen,+vinnie+blog+068.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyYbgWD2NVKc5G2NDuIFzpGI8M48jdVM5kvdTOau1e35rVhvHmhjjs2TnzhNlzWAWcr4D5qDwj0FPYeX1E3IRZgOSj_yeLCcHb8zGtlWmLAgwGCV4i9yXsgUP1R5mj-DgadVIG_KNMUOw/s200/casa,karen,+vinnie+blog+068.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503116411458786226" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >By: Vincent Stanzione</span><br /><br />Photos by: Tom Waters<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Vincent and I walked many hundreds of miles in the hills and valleys around his home in the Guatemala Highlands. He talked with friends, introducing me, and obtained permissions to photograph some special people. It has been years since we did these walks, but Vincent recalls well, as do I, the experiences. He has agreed to look at many of my photographs, taking time off from his more academic writing, and respond spontaneously to the photos, recollecting people, places and some unusual events. This is one of several collaboration that we have done, and there are more to follow. </span>------ <span style="font-style: italic;">tw</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJKdj6INgxasMr164sVkvyvVaZAiJohdERYoAXraPM8R-ZUq8SnunDVXY2p07RzenFA4_AbbkU9bADUhYsGt03lkzyEuRUpmMfG21IGNgbvFL-4TVHGc8cCtQaD4yfiVBkNYG74zz_k5E/s1600/casa,karen,+vinnie+blog+075.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJKdj6INgxasMr164sVkvyvVaZAiJohdERYoAXraPM8R-ZUq8SnunDVXY2p07RzenFA4_AbbkU9bADUhYsGt03lkzyEuRUpmMfG21IGNgbvFL-4TVHGc8cCtQaD4yfiVBkNYG74zz_k5E/s320/casa,karen,+vinnie+blog+075.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503118098351252226" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Doña Juana had never looked a photographer in the eye. She was extremely sensitive in the sense of the eye being the window of the soul. To open up that window was to risk losing an aspect of her soul. In one photo, below, she sits next to her altar place and looks away while being photographed. The photograph is her way of doing me a favor. In a second photograph she reluctantly looked for a moment at my friend, Tom, then quickly looked away. I wanted to photograph her in her place before she left this world of rain and wind, of maize and beans, flower and song.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6iCcQrm3HrHHFJqFP9JoHmJqMxoJA7xgJCFRJDDPp6qKPwNlFBrxBifb0axUen5I5GhB9IBgYAk4HFEtinaxQoBAzCS1Io2T4Yhcym_d64H0Jd7xCQxiSb7AG0MdeIJ6mYqrxTwceu58/s1600/casa,karen,+vinnie+blog+038.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6iCcQrm3HrHHFJqFP9JoHmJqMxoJA7xgJCFRJDDPp6qKPwNlFBrxBifb0axUen5I5GhB9IBgYAk4HFEtinaxQoBAzCS1Io2T4Yhcym_d64H0Jd7xCQxiSb7AG0MdeIJ6mYqrxTwceu58/s400/casa,karen,+vinnie+blog+038.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503120653562141266" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Doña Juana lived by herself on a ridge that the sun graced first thing in the morning and last thing in the afternoon. I love where she lived and still lives in her spirit-way. It isn’t easy finding a place to make one’s home in this world.<br /><br />Humans need sun and water to heat and sustain them through days, months, years, and bundles of years. The sun’s rising and falling. Water and light are what one hopes to find in mountains: it is there that the sun is seen as the Old Man and the rain his sons. Warmth and sustenance is what one seeks in the forest where the trees and grasses, flowers and mushrooms, and herbs are children of the Earth. Earth, sky, water and vegetation are what Doña Juana lived for. Many times I saw her sitting outside her crumbling adobe hut, leaning against the white- washed wall, just sitting. Sitting for hours. And so she did, next to her alter-place, in the photograph I am looking at.<br /><br /><br />Doña Juana lived by herself, contentedly, for many years. Her children lived around her, in their own adobe homes a short distance away. She was surrounded by her children and grandchildren. She raised mountain children, her own, and neighboring children and then grandchildren. Their dwellings are what some would call huts. But they are not merely huts and they are not houses --- they are homes. All of Doña Juana’s children live apart with their families. Some of them don’t talk to one another after a life of living alone in the dark hollows between two lost settlements in the K’iche highlands. Life is like that when we think about it. Siblings don’t always get along.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig8fm6lDpCX2Q2bLSgJCrI40JWP0SEvRAkUQz3d-Oa3Y_8dUlCUp37WcYt3IhUjgN6HjPRkHj9aOyogfIwmx4bXU98B1F-STnSWDy4Ekvo7XqX2eM6m5vVCJhX17EWb1TeXZ3IsV2LKhA/s1600/casa,karen,+vinnie+blog+073.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig8fm6lDpCX2Q2bLSgJCrI40JWP0SEvRAkUQz3d-Oa3Y_8dUlCUp37WcYt3IhUjgN6HjPRkHj9aOyogfIwmx4bXU98B1F-STnSWDy4Ekvo7XqX2eM6m5vVCJhX17EWb1TeXZ3IsV2LKhA/s320/casa,karen,+vinnie+blog+073.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503118835554890610" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Doña Juana was a spiritual person, religious in her way yet not associated with orthodox worshipers. She disliked groups. She was such a contented, natural loner and her life made me realize how happy humans can be living apart doing whatever they find sustaining.<br /><br />Every Thursday and Sunday she would lead her horse to town burdened with a load of firewood to sell. A grandson would help her gather wood and load it onto her horse, a horse she always talked with. Her grandson was a sweet child who, although almost mute, had a perfect musical ear. He spoke rarely but he played music and he played it in the Pentecostal church he was forced to attend. His father was a fanatic Christian without education, a perfect victim of the ‘great lie.’ The grandson of Doña Juana disliked the yelling that went on in the church and grew fearful from stories Christian zealots told from the pulpit.<br /><br />I would sometimes sit with Doña Juana at the end of the day after a long walk clearing my head. I would put two beers in my backpack and climb up out of the hollow, where the water runs and my adobe house sits, and into the sun of where Juana lived. Inevitably I would be just a step ahead of the encroaching shadows left by the Sun as he walked in the opposite direction. There would still be warmth and light on the ridge; Juana would be getting ready for night as she finished her day. She drank spirits so it was nice to share with her on top of the mountain in a forest looking over the world. I liked to talk to her about religion because she didn’t believe in the Bible, though most of the people around there did. She believed in a more personal kind of a god. Her god was the kind of god I suppose I would believe in, or do believe in, when I believe in god. She didn’t like it that her grandson had to go to the ‘screamers’ on Wednesdays and Saturdays because they put bad ideas, terrifying ideas, in his head. We talked about it and drank beer.<br /><br /><br />Doña Juana liked to talk but you had to get her talking with questions about life that mattered to her. Maize mattered to her. So did <span style="font-style: italic;">Jesukrist</span>, and for Juana there were beings who were in their own way just the same as he. She believed that Jesus was a lord of the divine grain, maize to her. In her prayers on her altar she placed a wreath of dry maize heads from her own harvest. Next to that she had an image of the good Jesus with his resplendent heart that protected the innocent and the poor. Over Jesus was the sacred cross, la Santa Cruz de Jesus, that was like a tree in the Holy World, the Santo Mundo. The cross-tree and maize, along with Jesus all floated into a Maya styled religion that centered itself in a cosmos where Jesus became the protector of people by protecting, nurturing and blessing their maize plants. Plants that stood like trees and crosses in the sacred corn patches that grew around adobe houses like Doña Juana’s. Her altar says it all.<br /><br /><br />Doña Juana was already dying here in this photo. She had stomach cancer that she let go unattended until she finally had to leave this world. On her deathbed she would say jokingly over and over…<span style="font-style: italic;">me voy al tigre, me voy al tigre</span>…..I’m going to the tiger, I’m going to the tiger. Jaguar is <span style="font-style: italic;">bajlam</span> and she would say that as well. She said it with such yearning and sincerity. Not to mention a sense of humor that I found remarkable.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ1bNuXrM7ddeIEj69FWQJTUqLtxvG6-oV7s-SJmCLLCQ9_TBc9zYJ_ncNyegRTXy_4diNtxqhH4H1XSSFRARTh9qkdnp3iAG5uc4cnxjKzRuebPnQdHrd483A7R-ui-oqDVJ436uBZAQ/s1600/casa,karen,+vinnie+blog+067.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ1bNuXrM7ddeIEj69FWQJTUqLtxvG6-oV7s-SJmCLLCQ9_TBc9zYJ_ncNyegRTXy_4diNtxqhH4H1XSSFRARTh9qkdnp3iAG5uc4cnxjKzRuebPnQdHrd483A7R-ui-oqDVJ436uBZAQ/s400/casa,karen,+vinnie+blog+067.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503121113932898642" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Perhaps not so long ago the old people who wished to die may have just gone out into the wild, taken some herbs, which they knew well, then waited to feed the Sun by feeding the jaguar, seen as the embodiment of the Sun. <span style="font-style: italic;">Me voy al tigre</span> is the way I will always look at my life and death. When the ‘Sun’ sets, when the ‘Old Man’ falls into the underworld he leaves behind the jaguar as his replacement. That jaguar is left to roam the world searching for hearts to feed itself and thereby the Sun as he passes through the land of the dead, place of the ancestors. What better way to be assured of a place in the house of the Sun than to give yourself to Sun as the elder Mayas must have done. To go to the Jaguar is the humblest way of saying: I’m going to heaven: House of the Sun.<br /><br /><br />Doña Juana entered the road with the jaguar sun one night when I wasn’t around. And in one of those strange occurrences in life on earth I came bumping down the road in my pickup as Doña Juana was being carried by her children in a funeral procession that was moving quietly to the cemetery. As the procession came up to me I asked if it was Doña Juana who was being carried inside the pine box. I knew it was. In her words, she had been around long enough. I got out and said good bye. Then slipped her favorite daughter some money to help with expenses as is custom. She said we would talk later. And then the little flowery assemblage of humanity went on its way. I went on my walks but Doña Juana wasn’t there anymore.<br /><br /><br />A few months after she left this world she came back to take her beloved grandson with her. In the old ways when strong people die under imperfect circumstances they return to rectify certain wrongs here on earth. Sometimes older folks who have an extremely close relationship with a grandchild will take the child to keep them company. The people where I live believe that Juana didn’t want to leave the her grandson in a world that had changed (from the worship of flowering tassels of maize to one fearing apocalypse and damnation). So she came back to get him to play in the band in the house of the Sun.<br /><br /><br />Dona Juana had seen her world dramatically altered by fanatic Christians and she thought it was her duty to show them that there was a paradise where water flows from the mountain, where flowers bloom year long, where sweet breezes blow through the pines, where edible herbs prosper along mountain paths, and where fruits and grains grow big through the nurturing power of human hands. Maybe she just wanted to show the Christian believers who had doubted her world that they should be a little bit more thankful for what ‘god’ has given them instead of creating the nightmare that is to usher in a second coming.<br /><br /><br />Juana used to say, Jesus isn’t coming back he is already here, he is right here in the light in the forest, in the golden maize, in the iridescent purple flower of the Morning-glories, in everything and in all that surrounds one. Dona Juana might have wanted to teach her people who had converted that life is not a sin and that living is a blessed thing. She took her grandchild to the promised land after he suffered three grueling months with some virulent form of leukemia. It really was sad yet liberating.<br /><br />I go walking through Juana’s place all the time. Nobody lives there anymore and I don’t drink beer much either but I always stop in the afternoons to take in the precious feeling of that place. It is just how the sun rises and sun sets there that open one up to the glories of life and death and rebirth. The earth we live on is paradise and that is life’s truest altar, but Dona Juana had one inside and it was important to her. I believe like Dona Juana that there is something sacred in life that could be called spiritual but, also like Dona Juana, I don’t really believe in god as much as I believe in life, again like Dona Juana.<br /><br /><br />What a perfect world it would be if we just kept ourselves a little home altar where we could pray to our divine selves asking the mysterious hand of the divine to watch over our lives and the paths we take through it. If I were to promote a religion in this world it would be Dona Juana’s kind where there is no hatred or need of violence, nor vengeance, or fear of the end or the wrath of a creator. If I were to lead a religious life I would follow the way of Dona Juana and her life as a hermit in the mountains who kept to herself and left others to their lives. I liked Dona Juana as much as I’ve liked anyone in life but I don’t miss her because she is always up around her house in the sun, in her own divine kind of a way.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-18151012673728181732010-07-20T10:21:00.000-07:002010-07-20T12:19:48.579-07:00"Masterpieces of Art Deco Photography"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMr00P_YWdIevD79Ni84EOQ_ifuuIBLiltrjISbklMQXztbFnsCjeg7-svmMIxCGgAADFWAZSPIcSYsvgQjVdifRR0DZc3JJs44r45EMJuJYQ_pJoljmfMaIvQYpTuxhAhz81oj0iMGRE/s1600/nudes,+lithogrphs++1920s+010.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMr00P_YWdIevD79Ni84EOQ_ifuuIBLiltrjISbklMQXztbFnsCjeg7-svmMIxCGgAADFWAZSPIcSYsvgQjVdifRR0DZc3JJs44r45EMJuJYQ_pJoljmfMaIvQYpTuxhAhz81oj0iMGRE/s320/nudes,+lithogrphs++1920s+010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496060360683032114" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This blog contains nude photographs that are non-purient and of historical importance. Nevertheless, if you are bothered by the nude human body you should go elsewhere.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Friends, John and Teresa Kirkpatrick, gave me a folder called "Nus" in the early 1980s. It was a folder containing 95 lithographic prints from the photographs of Laryeau, photographs that Laryeau took during the early 1920s. He lived from 1863 to 1935. Laryeau was his pseudonym; his real name being Stanislaw Julian Ignacy, Count Ostrorog. I think, as it was his wish, that we, for our purposes here, refer to him as Laryeau.<br /><br />His family was Polish, British and French. It was in Paris about 1923 that he undertook to create a series of nudes using women from the Follies Bergere as his subjects.<br /><br />The lithographic prints that I have are now sold by reputable, indeed famous, galleries in Europe and the United States. A few have recently made their way on to e-bay as well. The title for this blog is taken from one of the gallery promotions which described the photographs as " now recognized as masterpieces of Art Deco photography." I concur and that is the reason for presenting several of the photographs below.<br /><br />My digitally copied images -- using a hand-held point and shoot camera -- may fail in certain respects to be as beautiful as the originals, but they are nevertheless stunning, and important, images that the viewer is sure to enjoy. A close viewing will reveal the lush settings that he created in his studio for this project, draped fabrics, plush rugs, and in several settings what appear to be appropriations from Cubism which was growing in popularity at the time. In a few instances I have provided an additional photo-detail of the original; this is done to emphasize the exceptional care he used, for example, in the arrangement of fingers -- small things that are the mark of the artist.<br /><br />Laryew was known as an important photographer for the rich and aristocratic in Paris at the time these photos were taken. In 2005 the National Art Gallery in England exhibited both father and son (Laryew) under the title: "Victorian Women." None of the 100 images in "Nus" were shown. Editions of "Nus" are said to be rare and the number, or size, of the edition is unknown.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBvviX7X5hxdpQ6hc9tF2miuVaUbma2ry76_Kh-jUnun2AvCM0vDVI9Z-BgR7GHjNTXrQxh1aqah0V583IgSpwszYJfUXQV9TPRVahcxQPO0EekmdOL24cmfiHxWydSiQbIo5TW-4X_I4/s1600/nudes,+lithogrphs++1920s+047.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBvviX7X5hxdpQ6hc9tF2miuVaUbma2ry76_Kh-jUnun2AvCM0vDVI9Z-BgR7GHjNTXrQxh1aqah0V583IgSpwszYJfUXQV9TPRVahcxQPO0EekmdOL24cmfiHxWydSiQbIo5TW-4X_I4/s400/nudes,+lithogrphs++1920s+047.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496053627396273714" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOMh_tF7-IOO93IfKbgRxDOG_CfT5D6G1wkEfpaqORE5pltDZ8nEGEXq26vHW1sskTsQ5H1YuW7YAGMvTuSA_whVf-ROTdFBVV6CF1EHCe6LVE9lEdRUhQFjMAbH_yGQ1DgraKsyMg9is/s1600/nudes,+lithogrphs++1920s+053.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; 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display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaAoQRSvKpGnyAM77z272LMowAzusOWqnNtQGNFCiCHb9dl7r87k4YG5R4_a0w611rDAJS5DvQuQ1sgT7XJba54_-FW53DtkDGGThaHMa2jLDEPwQ2UU39Vyjk2UrrC-mJa2maa4zZ2ps/s400/nudes,+lithogrphs++1920s+058.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496058499934202178" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCrSuCEflrfQBi_x-WHWxfBjTNw0Zk7ZJaD05zx_wCjiiVPIh7cSA6bwiVilCN4qK3gQDTAzvn_lXiN2jQp9dtvln7GiGEOiunlgr2XudSBgWA0LuYfxbcckDow-e0ELaIAPZzz0cFjzY/s1600/nudes,+lithogrphs++1920s+014.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCrSuCEflrfQBi_x-WHWxfBjTNw0Zk7ZJaD05zx_wCjiiVPIh7cSA6bwiVilCN4qK3gQDTAzvn_lXiN2jQp9dtvln7GiGEOiunlgr2XudSBgWA0LuYfxbcckDow-e0ELaIAPZzz0cFjzY/s400/nudes,+lithogrphs++1920s+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496046481544295474" border="0" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-68523381873315530522010-06-09T13:14:00.000-07:002010-06-09T16:15:15.518-07:00Santa Alicia After Rain<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgipEM2ltmShlqlVfn9kaXSWjvEArkwZ3JVBTlNZ854R-MR0V428QL1aaDFL44upcKUQkXCftXyYOqXVfX534BAuwydx8eHByXpi1NKFB1SC3WpEKXpamfQoddhWADtieTSUt_aeqv3CCM/s1600/me-landslide-chris+077.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgipEM2ltmShlqlVfn9kaXSWjvEArkwZ3JVBTlNZ854R-MR0V428QL1aaDFL44upcKUQkXCftXyYOqXVfX534BAuwydx8eHByXpi1NKFB1SC3WpEKXpamfQoddhWADtieTSUt_aeqv3CCM/s200/me-landslide-chris+077.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480870876554849138" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Christopher Scheirer<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />My friend Christopher and I went motorcycle riding today. We have, over the past week, made excursions to areas that were inundated with rains from the tropical storm, Agatha. Today, a few few kilometers south of San Lucas Toliman, we spent time talking with local residents and photographing some of the most recent damage. The photographs that follow are from today's excursion. They hardly need explanation or commentary, but in a few instances that is done.<br /><br />There were two deaths in in Santa Alicia, but all who lived there are now homeless. The most dramatically damaged area was at the Finca Patzibir.<br /><br />As I sit writing this the rains, after a six day lull, have begun again. In my 16 years in Guatemala, without exception, I have never known such a <span style="font-style: italic;">tormenta</span>.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivsL02rqMaveXSLG6c55Jyyf9oD0p8rcJvLT7-pxBL0IdLUF5CA2rUIdoWJ6NlI3bJIF9_8w5PHPuARt5ZOvjCHs2X6PoQuHv6xTDBQ69xCV8p74rNS9jl_q06qiLWbFTUcKFvjtGxP6o/s1600/me-landslide-chris+027.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivsL02rqMaveXSLG6c55Jyyf9oD0p8rcJvLT7-pxBL0IdLUF5CA2rUIdoWJ6NlI3bJIF9_8w5PHPuARt5ZOvjCHs2X6PoQuHv6xTDBQ69xCV8p74rNS9jl_q06qiLWbFTUcKFvjtGxP6o/s400/me-landslide-chris+027.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480874540748440338" border="0" /></a>The finca Patzibir: No homes remain. The landslide, water, mud, stones began about one-half mile away on volcano Toliman. The rubble followed a riverbed and covered the highway, washed out bridges, and completely covered all the small homes near the finca. Only the finca's coffee drying shed and a small church survived.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQc_-72zainyMW9L0AqRrZ25jonS7HMGA4sUcmhhGq-mmn_EAuJneJt0VFwTfG0bQ3tFiaMrWUA0Q1CAe2OWYcm5o42mk1GHDHEFZ_s8dbR-AuNyr8esrBHnVBQEvM8_cWOeyyWF2o6Kc/s1600/me-landslide-chris+034.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQc_-72zainyMW9L0AqRrZ25jonS7HMGA4sUcmhhGq-mmn_EAuJneJt0VFwTfG0bQ3tFiaMrWUA0Q1CAe2OWYcm5o42mk1GHDHEFZ_s8dbR-AuNyr8esrBHnVBQEvM8_cWOeyyWF2o6Kc/s400/me-landslide-chris+034.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480875455574925794" border="0" /> </a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhn7SJHYK3aOxFTQStPYlGJxBi5WFoBI4Cyljx1yscVOsu6NfsejTpMHML1fuVzPZA3BdzOehqQfkSbKhPoijz4Derl0Ll6ncuueuX1bS-Rd5_-r-tHf0i49BcH5O0PA6zHAWILXo5JdM/s1600/me-landslide-chris+037.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhn7SJHYK3aOxFTQStPYlGJxBi5WFoBI4Cyljx1yscVOsu6NfsejTpMHML1fuVzPZA3BdzOehqQfkSbKhPoijz4Derl0Ll6ncuueuX1bS-Rd5_-r-tHf0i49BcH5O0PA6zHAWILXo5JdM/s400/me-landslide-chris+037.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480876258076886866" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4r0XBQXSu0hJBUu5i3pcQTHNFtP9jzpZkX3rKZ_UcEevYk72mMnv532opusZmamaza9rNyEv3wKY_2fhKOz9KbbAdNbIH1uVemOjzxz6mZvwYBgWagVtvtxcVvW-fZPh9HXY2TJMrmDo/s1600/me-landslide-chris+045.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4r0XBQXSu0hJBUu5i3pcQTHNFtP9jzpZkX3rKZ_UcEevYk72mMnv532opusZmamaza9rNyEv3wKY_2fhKOz9KbbAdNbIH1uVemOjzxz6mZvwYBgWagVtvtxcVvW-fZPh9HXY2TJMrmDo/s400/me-landslide-chris+045.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480877077608671682" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEuYfW9saam2CUbJ-TGqmhPnn43Hv6QwPX9fYLkl3zPHANbko7Gc-MxlF_agtJTkXgpVk0xyAKCzM3Ih9DB00Y1cXDzFd9gEUKdugnN5xsWHvfVI0rbUUC3acH_70QWYZubNH5KMHV7qs/s1600/me-landslide-chris+032.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEuYfW9saam2CUbJ-TGqmhPnn43Hv6QwPX9fYLkl3zPHANbko7Gc-MxlF_agtJTkXgpVk0xyAKCzM3Ih9DB00Y1cXDzFd9gEUKdugnN5xsWHvfVI0rbUUC3acH_70QWYZubNH5KMHV7qs/s400/me-landslide-chris+032.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480877838106992018" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEmwj1D-H7iIw14xJ-uqP_eB3WKnu0B7HJw3gEOByTxREsacEpL8GLxZtIa-DNuxg1Xdepjw7-ihxuvY9ZSkpBoCI6al4b53PzgYWQziww3nO8W0PStgDZ6i9q6JPZhC7uqt-lbpEsZdg/s1600/me-landslide-chris+038.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEmwj1D-H7iIw14xJ-uqP_eB3WKnu0B7HJw3gEOByTxREsacEpL8GLxZtIa-DNuxg1Xdepjw7-ihxuvY9ZSkpBoCI6al4b53PzgYWQziww3nO8W0PStgDZ6i9q6JPZhC7uqt-lbpEsZdg/s320/me-landslide-chris+038.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480879070049767906" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />This is all that remains of one of the larger and more beautiful pilas (pools for water collection and washing) that was an often visited feature of the finca. The pila was approximately 75 x 75 feet and four feet deep. It was the main water source for the aldea (small populated area). The sides are destroyed and what remains is filled with large stones, downed trees and mud.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82Kr_WU6eyyNHChNOYhbgKfccaPRYj_lo1ZatSyMPDxerRwiXWMlwQrfEsdD7XYOIgCaJcbHj2bGzo2iTlpzzEiJYqlLUrG9lortV0B7n_BbaO3uyt1O_fSwupszaw6YaDK6Zll-FtQ4/s1600/me-landslide-chris+048.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82Kr_WU6eyyNHChNOYhbgKfccaPRYj_lo1ZatSyMPDxerRwiXWMlwQrfEsdD7XYOIgCaJcbHj2bGzo2iTlpzzEiJYqlLUrG9lortV0B7n_BbaO3uyt1O_fSwupszaw6YaDK6Zll-FtQ4/s320/me-landslide-chris+048.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480880008600059394" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTE-rcOS6l6znbpbivC__6bZcvlU5kRYkow5Z5axgVDIX1PcDDKPfTFTq4yyTb1OftEJwVSi22Vaqb-H3xJoIOUxqAyGPHXCw7T4HsUyxGwSVJVfn1or8sGEVGsBa6a_Tr7YNIMYdw2P0/s1600/me-landslide-chris+046.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTE-rcOS6l6znbpbivC__6bZcvlU5kRYkow5Z5axgVDIX1PcDDKPfTFTq4yyTb1OftEJwVSi22Vaqb-H3xJoIOUxqAyGPHXCw7T4HsUyxGwSVJVfn1or8sGEVGsBa6a_Tr7YNIMYdw2P0/s320/me-landslide-chris+046.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480880827822869890" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNoQ2xQrJ6H6A9Awrfsi80r77_U4lcKxfCfMOFKmKX2i2yQBQHyOKtZvdjcL-n9E4e7RUaMVpMq5-WUa4x5LA7uN6j9q6ldnyjOPcdALS74_x5__Gom54GolA967kBFqR6FIcpzBaP7I/s1600/me-landslide-chris+031.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNoQ2xQrJ6H6A9Awrfsi80r77_U4lcKxfCfMOFKmKX2i2yQBQHyOKtZvdjcL-n9E4e7RUaMVpMq5-WUa4x5LA7uN6j9q6ldnyjOPcdALS74_x5__Gom54GolA967kBFqR6FIcpzBaP7I/s400/me-landslide-chris+031.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480881762373543298" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKqPZnPYq10DKOiqmW8Tw8whp-Ifbr_SdEvIxg34kzN7cci13T6lOkAK-hmd-lQb748NT5am0URJQJQHjjQPGHSf7O62KO48xmdbAOUWFDOSRzwOdhdOwQP64-z2RN4KvinmyHbsI9DNU/s1600/me-landslide-chris+064.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKqPZnPYq10DKOiqmW8Tw8whp-Ifbr_SdEvIxg34kzN7cci13T6lOkAK-hmd-lQb748NT5am0URJQJQHjjQPGHSf7O62KO48xmdbAOUWFDOSRzwOdhdOwQP64-z2RN4KvinmyHbsI9DNU/s400/me-landslide-chris+064.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480882567928782306" border="0" /></a>Don Pedro: His home, about a half-mile away, survived. Today he gathered wood and talked with two curious gringos.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOIBPH9MVLMZKaaWIYb7YJ2P0fm-TVX-qj2_S4g5e5C3kGR4Hy2STXu30HXYAOdMN-YciEsRq4x-4RZec089zQYpjfU5PX3ArwGn600nNQq_e9KDmc8z77BMSu-lnwrrLZdlgg2Bpqokc/s1600/me-landslide-chris+058.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOIBPH9MVLMZKaaWIYb7YJ2P0fm-TVX-qj2_S4g5e5C3kGR4Hy2STXu30HXYAOdMN-YciEsRq4x-4RZec089zQYpjfU5PX3ArwGn600nNQq_e9KDmc8z77BMSu-lnwrrLZdlgg2Bpqokc/s400/me-landslide-chris+058.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480883509096354802" border="0" /></a>Two young women in the bottom of a deep river bed are looking for a way to the top. They are carrying plastic containers for water.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijgDDItRd7I3ji7Pz-g3MEhh-nXzCEDzFrCTeeKoZu-MAwlNaND9x5eONHQjnpmNLICw3jcu1ynDeIVhvAuGchKbwPGBT516UlPEI2HjGGwAyezxqBpuCSraRSPes_CtZSqUAfXR7lhzE/s1600/me-landslide-chris+069.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijgDDItRd7I3ji7Pz-g3MEhh-nXzCEDzFrCTeeKoZu-MAwlNaND9x5eONHQjnpmNLICw3jcu1ynDeIVhvAuGchKbwPGBT516UlPEI2HjGGwAyezxqBpuCSraRSPes_CtZSqUAfXR7lhzE/s400/me-landslide-chris+069.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480884246063559714" border="0" /></a>This gentleman, with hammer and small chiesel says he will break this stone into smaller pieces; he thinks it will take him about six weeks.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Rc6UxQn0t5fYxW3Tl26VmFBZRoeuiLlkWTv_AkPyYouI_xrOjCwmm-Kcy1KUbYm4V7cIV2H7Xg7R5VqJRX_0unaK2PFHHCMHNHCJko-MSdD-ej3GEXAbpxYC3is4QypHXVK5v-B7RGQ/s1600/me-landslide-chris+074.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Rc6UxQn0t5fYxW3Tl26VmFBZRoeuiLlkWTv_AkPyYouI_xrOjCwmm-Kcy1KUbYm4V7cIV2H7Xg7R5VqJRX_0unaK2PFHHCMHNHCJko-MSdD-ej3GEXAbpxYC3is4QypHXVK5v-B7RGQ/s400/me-landslide-chris+074.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480885142396039858" border="0" /></a>Same optimistic man with stone.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSDdP8iWYeF3EYVr1TpV8xeT91nB2XqoOE0TtlX0B6dzT9rYA3LwOmbTU5T4qjdqeZwqEFTQV4ybdb3HJuB0pcW0mkCNtR6sB1bvNcOhb8nGkKp3WkcQz9ZUzlRjJYIP3THDWf296xJrY/s1600/me-landslide-chris+071.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSDdP8iWYeF3EYVr1TpV8xeT91nB2XqoOE0TtlX0B6dzT9rYA3LwOmbTU5T4qjdqeZwqEFTQV4ybdb3HJuB0pcW0mkCNtR6sB1bvNcOhb8nGkKp3WkcQz9ZUzlRjJYIP3THDWf296xJrY/s400/me-landslide-chris+071.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480886006521465426" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsao2uDMmqu-GTRxqMbflbZyu-A7K5kNPQrM5_PfinFoHQfH6NE2J8d_jGv-xY1IxTCCpylryPPgHUxFlPmwyjAJW1b0Ax92ZItCHcpCnEEc8vUIJuVivNyuA0q46MFj15YJTuz_mCfzQ/s1600/me-landslide-chris+039.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsao2uDMmqu-GTRxqMbflbZyu-A7K5kNPQrM5_PfinFoHQfH6NE2J8d_jGv-xY1IxTCCpylryPPgHUxFlPmwyjAJW1b0Ax92ZItCHcpCnEEc8vUIJuVivNyuA0q46MFj15YJTuz_mCfzQ/s400/me-landslide-chris+039.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480887500051173762" border="0" /></a> <div id="id_4c101b48478c3446abb7f" class="text_exposed_root"> <br /><br /> "NEVER<br />have I witnessed such a storm as this. Tropical storm Agatha split a giant tree 35 feet away and buried a lot of people alive. That was about 10 days ago. But this storm - yowza. I heard a firecracker go off to see my metal framed door light up with Saint Elmos fire followed by a deafening crack that must have touched within half a mile."<br /><br /> (Sidney James Taylor, writing on Facebook during today's rain.)<br /><br /><br />It continues to rain.<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-53104682449921318842010-06-03T12:15:00.001-07:002010-07-12T14:32:22.757-07:00Old Photos: Looking at "Boots"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPPUEBNuxAJ-KIYECSxpX1BU3DzpHKNotsk1YWj5syF-9Zozx_rHwVUHueytTLsptL2ZmWXfNF5wjiRZLMfzzNM9As4dfuJIIbiaftcsPht3hWkgrqF41Iur7l4b_Bv34g5VO03kjKbZI/s1600/Boots,+me+040.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPPUEBNuxAJ-KIYECSxpX1BU3DzpHKNotsk1YWj5syF-9Zozx_rHwVUHueytTLsptL2ZmWXfNF5wjiRZLMfzzNM9As4dfuJIIbiaftcsPht3hWkgrqF41Iur7l4b_Bv34g5VO03kjKbZI/s200/Boots,+me+040.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491207280925617618" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This blog violates a principle that I hold close, that is, not to be overly personal -- this blog-site is supposed to be about photographs. This particular blog is, I think necessarily, more personal although it does pretend to be about photographs. Old ones. Family ones. The reader will find, worthy or not, that I interject myself often; these, after all, are photos that have helped me to to reexamine aspects of my father so are inherently personal. My thoughts may be distracting; if that is so the reader should just enjoy the photographs.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />My father died in 1983 at age 72. Congestive heart failure got him after 38 years of smoking Camel cigarettes and working at International Paper Co. in carcinogenic air. His funeral wake was attended by many work friends (he was a welder until he retired) and family and other close friends . I heard many stories about him, most emphasizing that he was a good man and liked by all. There was the usual stuff: that he loved me, my mother. How much of this was true I'm not entirely sure, but I chose to believe it. After weeks of looking at old photographs of him and his friends I am more confident that he was a well-liked man, and one more complicated than I knew.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVo-pNb311USd3AQBrkbrs2UMoiz35ePHPrUqajMkqfMjvCTu02tMnWeQMHYNn1woZrxhhu5TM9oHO6mhKgQ52Pr9qQ_FL-0D7i6a65e0VAwYutTj33R554ITepioqz3zSFRTyzjEEqMk/s1600/family+friends+old+055.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVo-pNb311USd3AQBrkbrs2UMoiz35ePHPrUqajMkqfMjvCTu02tMnWeQMHYNn1woZrxhhu5TM9oHO6mhKgQ52Pr9qQ_FL-0D7i6a65e0VAwYutTj33R554ITepioqz3zSFRTyzjEEqMk/s320/family+friends+old+055.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491211419255668434" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">At the age of 18 do many young people know their parents in a meaningful way? Perhaps. As for myself at 18, and leaving home for university, I feel that much more could have been known. My mother died at age 52 while I was in graduate school thereby eliminating any chance to know her as a mature son might. My father I rarely saw after leaving home; sure there were the occasional weekends and holiday visits, but these, often as not, were spent with young friends not with parents. The deeper knowing that one might want as an adult falls short of its potential.<br /></div><br /><br />So, when I opened a box of old photographs a few weeks ago I was pleasantly surprised, and gradually became enamored of its contents. The box had been a possession for years, but went unopened and neglected. It had been stored in Tuscaloosa, Alabama and then was shipped to me in Guatemala along with a collection of negatives and photo prints that I had made over two decades. The badly worn box hardly caught my attention initially, but once it was opened it opened a door on my family life.<br /><br />My father was to me, in early years, an awesome figure. He was a large man, usually weighing about 190 pounds, sometimes as much as 210, and he was five-feet, 10-inches tall. He was called "Boots," a nickname he was given as a child, a child who only wanted to wear boots. He was much given to smiling, but had gruff manner as well. He was also given to foul language, particularly when working; a bent nail, a screw that would not turn, a miss-cut board and his profanity exploded. God-damned cheap nails, screws and screwdrivers made by sorry ass Japs, and lumber that was insufficiently dry or of poor quality were the principal recipients of his anger. He never cursed me. He never cursed my mother. He was prone to curse salesmen, in their absence,who were often sorry-assed humans whom he would plan to give hell at the first opportunity: that opportunity never came. At any encounter with a sorry-ass salesman, or other sorry-ass human, he became pure reason and politeness. Such was his character.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3LF-C-svAqmI_HuAeIUxZUXada7W0S_0IOKEARUgX0s93bBz0GuBENodMMjBtorCAN9EZfjoKofqNQ4-2kVJgn4Z5OHLqI4jkXf0o8JzJe57NcIW5OplEj3LDrsDAh5cNdBMMCAfuhGw/s1600/mother,me,+boots--+first+photo++7-6-10+013.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3LF-C-svAqmI_HuAeIUxZUXada7W0S_0IOKEARUgX0s93bBz0GuBENodMMjBtorCAN9EZfjoKofqNQ4-2kVJgn4Z5OHLqI4jkXf0o8JzJe57NcIW5OplEj3LDrsDAh5cNdBMMCAfuhGw/s320/mother,me,+boots--+first+photo++7-6-10+013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491212362498194306" border="0" /></a>The eyes and the smile of this child never changed. Seeing my father with a small cloth doll and dressed in white finery and striped socks both shocks and moves me emotionally. I notice right away that he has fingers on his right hand, fingers, three of which, will be lost when he is a few years older. This photograph, obviously kept by his mother, is the treasure of my collection. Happy child, contented adult.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg06n5gKwRAlr4mUXagrmmGnzLGMiH30YXmvWepZ1jMVnNneluaFHfqMihCzhf66F9aBwHfhwe_siDxQigu3t-HRrD_kM5tSx1joKpkAV3VQAHvvstlIiaJT1qRd2dygOuIEJ-siGrt6cA/s1600/mom,me,+misc+-+house+in+pueblo++7-6-10+051.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg06n5gKwRAlr4mUXagrmmGnzLGMiH30YXmvWepZ1jMVnNneluaFHfqMihCzhf66F9aBwHfhwe_siDxQigu3t-HRrD_kM5tSx1joKpkAV3VQAHvvstlIiaJT1qRd2dygOuIEJ-siGrt6cA/s320/mom,me,+misc+-+house+in+pueblo++7-6-10+051.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491221498902887906" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-style: italic;">Boots (right) with his brother, Bill.</span><br /><br />A close examination of the photograph above will show that my father has only two fingers on his right hand. Three fingers were mangled in a circular saw in my grandfather's lumber mill. A twelve hour winter-time trip across a frozen bay to find a doctor was definitive, he lost the fingers and their loss clearly had an impact on his life. However, he never complained and he never believed there was manual labor that he could not do and do well. This was a correct assessment. He was a first-class welder, plumber, carpenter, and much more. He was, in fact, proud that he was so entirely capable sans fingers. His grip in his right hand, he would happily demonstrate, was exceptionally powerful: I saw more than one man groan in agony when testing my father's handshake. I learned early on that when he put his two fingers around my arm that I was in for some pain.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Boots with his Stutz Bearcat</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjivASc_PHUbJdYpAbf0pa_gdTHsOataCwI5t5c4T9aTHjGgmhpZrqm6irIAYKVRJLGe4XoSATkkN0ik7z9noKsqF8DH1BfVSsGHp7W4bHppH43cS0bobZPjYyCE6UisOfbDcuozUsLxbQ/s1600/Boots,+me+058.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjivASc_PHUbJdYpAbf0pa_gdTHsOataCwI5t5c4T9aTHjGgmhpZrqm6irIAYKVRJLGe4XoSATkkN0ik7z9noKsqF8DH1BfVSsGHp7W4bHppH43cS0bobZPjYyCE6UisOfbDcuozUsLxbQ/s400/Boots,+me+058.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490456212851501314" border="0" /></a>Boots told me, when I was a teenager and much interested in automobiles, that he had owned a Stutz Bearcat. He owned it as a young man and only reluctantly sold it, if my memory is correct. I have always had the impression that, though he owned five or six automobiles over the years, that the Stutz was his favorite. Not knowing what a Stutz was I was pleased to find photographs of him sitting or standing near his. In more than one instance with a pretty girl; hard to know which was more important, the car or the pretty girl. I made an effort to learn something about the Stutz. The most interesting fact was that it was an early sports car and was desirable in its time. Today one can be purchased for $250,000 and up; my father would be pleased with that fact.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUIWykh-bFFsQMlML07d2vapEOacZV-a2yrST5SNeexcJxVCPuD-mWmLFEm0KYcE44E_8sGtpimRXS_ALyHn0O2j4DPdZoLZmsAzyHs_aJ1I1gopr1OjgT4sn9pRdnR93Fpcee16lY1Os/s1600/Boots,+me+057.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUIWykh-bFFsQMlML07d2vapEOacZV-a2yrST5SNeexcJxVCPuD-mWmLFEm0KYcE44E_8sGtpimRXS_ALyHn0O2j4DPdZoLZmsAzyHs_aJ1I1gopr1OjgT4sn9pRdnR93Fpcee16lY1Os/s400/Boots,+me+057.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490455796161206962" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDaV1H19Yh0mUondpqWk_aMPhGXKWgh_U-Xxz81EVKmF0XVzFVIKm0UbbaQC4IkMVKdqh8Kh-WwAPW1K6IIE-KUH5Gl7F65njvI8TJmvYkVVes5vktcl2s0sjPALaGk_q3LhdiAbQGD8U/s1600/Boots,+me+042.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDaV1H19Yh0mUondpqWk_aMPhGXKWgh_U-Xxz81EVKmF0XVzFVIKm0UbbaQC4IkMVKdqh8Kh-WwAPW1K6IIE-KUH5Gl7F65njvI8TJmvYkVVes5vktcl2s0sjPALaGk_q3LhdiAbQGD8U/s320/Boots,+me+042.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491597122615228546" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Boots (left) with unknown girl and boy</span><br /><br /><br /><br />Boots' favorite past-time was fishing. I recall many unpleasant hours sitting in a boat with him waiting for the fish to start biting as they were sure to do. Why do I say unpleasant? I don't think many seven and eight year-olds find sitting absolutely quiet in a wooden boat (any movement made thumping sounds that frightened away the fish) for hours on end holding a cane pole, watching still water, a quietude that many adults would find Zen-like, (who knew the word then?) inspirational. The photo here confirms his early love for the sport, one which he never relinquished.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6rTWAs7HpRYfAmm96VKSUpqiBuPRZYbayLcGDV4UuArWsprHxaZVwUexKcbCp0J_CNFGqWSuKaLyhwsT0HmPzVHbW-Z1bbnQio5ZmJkJqB4lPXz1-tD5OqWp0tIcaU__rrtlySRpFurk/s1600/Boots,+me+036.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6rTWAs7HpRYfAmm96VKSUpqiBuPRZYbayLcGDV4UuArWsprHxaZVwUexKcbCp0J_CNFGqWSuKaLyhwsT0HmPzVHbW-Z1bbnQio5ZmJkJqB4lPXz1-tD5OqWp0tIcaU__rrtlySRpFurk/s400/Boots,+me+036.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490454580329906690" border="0" /></a><br />With fishing came boat-building. Our back yard was the scene extraordinary construction projects. Small boats, large boats. Prior to Mardi Gras one year he agreed to help construct a parade float and he over-saw the construction in our side yard. Near to the construction "site" he thought it a good idea to build a storage and work building. This building, made of scrap lumber and used tin roofing was quickly cobbled together. Within a year it was full to the top with salvaged materials. Used railroad ties, buckets of rusting nails, huge rolls of craft paper brought home from the mill, broken -- but always fixable! -- electric motors, sheets of stainless steel. Nothing went unappreciated for its potential use at some indefinite time in the future: it was never used. Anything at the mill that could fit into a metal lunch pail was likely to find its way to our shed.<br /><br />The work shed, as it was called, became so full that it was not possible to enter it. We would stand in the doorway while he tried to recall exactly where he had put the perfect broken water pump that "we" could refurbish and put to use: the smallest most agile person, namely me, would then crawl over the top of his treasures and dig down until it was, sometimes, found. My father's shed was a bitter pill for mother, but it endured. She, too.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgumZ8a07qU0EvyJa4EKBTv4dgk8Syr5DrvZDzjXIx1CV7hfyxMukqi1FpmjEOr_fjVWAYqyQCQ-ZqnK0XGZ70Bx3szK4Xr_IdJ0ey8n63d4j-svhrA7n9Vbbx2KJK63SES6W9wuytDB_s/s1600/Boots,+me+051.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgumZ8a07qU0EvyJa4EKBTv4dgk8Syr5DrvZDzjXIx1CV7hfyxMukqi1FpmjEOr_fjVWAYqyQCQ-ZqnK0XGZ70Bx3szK4Xr_IdJ0ey8n63d4j-svhrA7n9Vbbx2KJK63SES6W9wuytDB_s/s320/Boots,+me+051.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491585295532960082" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic;"> Boots, me, mother</span><br /><br />The boat shown above was just one of the boats that my father owned over the years. This one he built. It was transported, unfinished, to our fishing camp in Mississippi where he planned to finish its interior. It was meant to be used for fishing in the creeks and rivers nearby. It quickly became apparent that it was unwieldy in the extreme with the small 18 horsepower outboard motor that he bought. It sat beached for years, unfinished still, near our boat dock. It was never used after the first four outings. It became a play-boat for children and their secret gender discoveries which naturally led to "you children have to stay out of that boat."<br /><br />Boats were not the only things that Boots built. I can recall no time when he didn't have something under construction, or planned. Plans, of course, out numbered actual finished projects by about ten to one. We built a camp. We built a small house for my grandmother behind our house; and had to walk around the shed to get to it. Of most interest to him were items that he could weld. My mother wanted two sizable pans for frying fish at the camp. Not one to waste money when he could make them he made two of heavy industrial stainless steel. One shallow and about two feet in diameter. The deeper one was of equal diameter but two feet deep. Each weighed nearly 12 pounds, used gallons of oil and couldn't be lifted by my mother from a stove without assistance. Not to worry. He built an out door cooker, again stainless and fired by a propane gas tank, all of which had to be hauled into place from the locked closet where it had to be stored. Because our camp was on a creek I thought I needed some sort of spear gun. Buying one was never considered, Boots made one. It had a hollow metal tube, and the necessary spear, also solid metal. The trigger mechanism was bent steel. Propulsion was by a length of surgical rubber which when expanded provided the force for the spear. It worked as planned except that the spear was so heavy that its effective range was about four feet. The combined weight of gun and spear was such that it pulled me quickly to the bottom of the creek and then came the struggle to get back to the surface. Like many brilliantly conceived things it went unused.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_t6NQGz3srBw0lowHYvRyyyaEhKR7oRQV1B6p4U5woyJIEilHLjlGo-8605Y-lfKJhLlTzJiWl6NvSXyQOVKKjdW1g90bqcplTHgWjJDOdLR5Lzkv-3YbAZ4WxgbE5iGGUSNzcFVq5Bo/s1600/family+friends+old+030.jpg">.</a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw_aGyOExlOJDS4VAamDXzeFR8L2ZOg4xiTfXFcVzsOfVWPiDSUX8Or_b5p7MGHSk71efbSDYSUGXO6pE-cJLX4IAtuiI-Wjni7QtU-MF_hsP-EzhGv5_rFuY2NoqBKAEUL-uNqhoJU8o/s1600/Boots,+me+019.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw_aGyOExlOJDS4VAamDXzeFR8L2ZOg4xiTfXFcVzsOfVWPiDSUX8Or_b5p7MGHSk71efbSDYSUGXO6pE-cJLX4IAtuiI-Wjni7QtU-MF_hsP-EzhGv5_rFuY2NoqBKAEUL-uNqhoJU8o/s320/Boots,+me+019.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491972610906249890" border="0" /> </a><span style="font-style: italic;">Boots and myself at the fishing camp in Mississippi. He is attempting to prime a hand pump on a well that we, with the help of friends, drove 60 feet deep using a heavy weight suspended from a cross beam and pulley.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjOqIZ6y8S3TC0x0tVIpyH3brlT66C5Cq7yQItxtIdFAAm8uNkZLDP4xToGgCsZtFATqDgXz7es-aIhMCM2syZI3yNSULmpLHG_XSXX138y5cZqcS0ssPk8oqGDYjTjyZ8uhMSGDpQOdY/s1600/Boots,+me+064.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjOqIZ6y8S3TC0x0tVIpyH3brlT66C5Cq7yQItxtIdFAAm8uNkZLDP4xToGgCsZtFATqDgXz7es-aIhMCM2syZI3yNSULmpLHG_XSXX138y5cZqcS0ssPk8oqGDYjTjyZ8uhMSGDpQOdY/s320/Boots,+me+064.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491607688151370162" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOVjCUTKesD8cYj3EH7-M7CzsKqoH7Jg4tVZou2K4RfigzQvShYygGcQGm6NcWRBet6yNeX_fVQbbzFcw_mEjR5ySfJXSvA1njmJLx6-wBb93S3SxvtndvJ4wUX5uP_hl1dMPog7JhOBQ/s1600/Boots,+me+007.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOVjCUTKesD8cYj3EH7-M7CzsKqoH7Jg4tVZou2K4RfigzQvShYygGcQGm6NcWRBet6yNeX_fVQbbzFcw_mEjR5ySfJXSvA1njmJLx6-wBb93S3SxvtndvJ4wUX5uP_hl1dMPog7JhOBQ/s400/Boots,+me+007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490452678179709554" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Boots (right) with banjo. I'm puzzled that he was able to play with only two fingers on his right hand. Three fingers, as mentioned above, were lost during a childhood mishap.</span><br /><br /><br /><br />Boots, I was told a few times by people who knew him in his youth, was a ladies-man. Not a Lothario, not a cad, not womanizer I was assured. Nonetheless, I found this description not to be credible. Perhaps it was due to my perceptions of him at home. A man who left early (5 am) to drive to work, who returned at 3:30 each afternoon and soon settled in front of the television. We ate as a family, watched television the same way, though what we watched was his choice. Almost without exception he would fall asleep in front of the TV about 7:00 and arouse himself to go to bed 10:00 pm. I had a difficult time imagining how someone with his lack of interest in social affairs and, it seemed to me then, sluggish and lethargic character could have ever been of interest to girls, or women.<br /><br />Photographs, as some say, tell the truth (we can avoid, here, whether this is true) and, in the matter of my father, I think they do get to something significant about him. In my box of photographs the largest number of any person were of my father, no doubt saved by his mother, then by mine. Of those of him, many were of him with his arm around some beautiful girl, or with her arm around him. None of the photos of these beauties has a name or date on it. But in the context of other photos it would appear that these were all made sometime between the mid 1920s and 1930s. They are photos of a happy man with happy girl-friends. They confirm for the skeptical me that he was indeed a man who loved women. He must have been thought a "catch" -- as were the women that he was photographed with. Judge for yourself.<br /><br />This part of Boot's life came to an end when he met my mother, a young woman of beauty herself, whose beauty clearly rivaled that of earlier women. Meeting and marrying Wilmoth Odom was the most important moment in his life. (Certainly in mine.) And while an earlier version of Boots seems to have disappeared he seems never lost his charm entirely.<br /><br />After my mother's death at age 52 a number of his old flames began contacting him. (I know this because I was temporarily living with him.) They would drop by the house, bringing gifts of food and assurances that they were available if he needed a shoulder to lean on. He dated a few of these women: I recall him arriving home at 2 o'clock in the morning, then leaving again later to go to work. This went on for months. Nothing came of it. A few years later he married again, but not to an old flame. The new Mrs. Waters was a widow with a home, a daughter, and not the least needy, in the sense we use that word today. This new life, as far as I could tell, was unexceptional: he returned to his first-marriage-ways.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZvGMuqpVElO0Bh6l45muzOEp9PRd_CRLwjXuZ2bRJaMgDZEBrqGE4fFO1k5-Tq6ZFEOIaCzdeejZObiX_wgUO_K3CTynmVufBb4WKYDNaBWa-blMgqeuHrvDkSTmSOr_Q7yaYbPRHeCI/s1600/casa,old+fotos,me,etc+025.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZvGMuqpVElO0Bh6l45muzOEp9PRd_CRLwjXuZ2bRJaMgDZEBrqGE4fFO1k5-Tq6ZFEOIaCzdeejZObiX_wgUO_K3CTynmVufBb4WKYDNaBWa-blMgqeuHrvDkSTmSOr_Q7yaYbPRHeCI/s400/casa,old+fotos,me,etc+025.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490450492118526610" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjioFGadmGW1DRVTbIeAstGB6UMDckpHF6-kREPpeK8Xk5PQwZxjev-pk4t0Bx2HqvEn40aRBTJZpaQVMxS6aUia5sM36_f1WCcrVlkU8qmCLTD36bcPWIcieH1-jhAoboRLmi3hnOwOgQ/s1600/Boots,+me+032.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjioFGadmGW1DRVTbIeAstGB6UMDckpHF6-kREPpeK8Xk5PQwZxjev-pk4t0Bx2HqvEn40aRBTJZpaQVMxS6aUia5sM36_f1WCcrVlkU8qmCLTD36bcPWIcieH1-jhAoboRLmi3hnOwOgQ/s400/Boots,+me+032.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490454145535121202" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlWlvO3L8d9SzMsMbXTaHSNNdrimpXWUAyjKV08nwoB5zzbEpvnb6_nX86JkfyK2XRST_cRGXm8gyrOgKBPjg9b3BXY2Vg2U1woyWeUmJs5FM5hjEKvfuZrIHYDD0nhARZPIeVkknGtxw/s1600/Boots,+me+024.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlWlvO3L8d9SzMsMbXTaHSNNdrimpXWUAyjKV08nwoB5zzbEpvnb6_nX86JkfyK2XRST_cRGXm8gyrOgKBPjg9b3BXY2Vg2U1woyWeUmJs5FM5hjEKvfuZrIHYDD0nhARZPIeVkknGtxw/s400/Boots,+me+024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490453637906721042" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTFVfrj_GvXfKWdq68RdxzpzgVb6OG-FOgTlbLhBzpOgte6WmarfJjWwn09wPhmDfVDHKXE1ryKzTASn3aXNBdt1XWLRMoWwnCB6YKu6G5rYLkcErvHCsVlPtPNLJULZNI-wmgmWABeg/s1600/Boots,+me+014.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTFVfrj_GvXfKWdq68RdxzpzgVb6OG-FOgTlbLhBzpOgte6WmarfJjWwn09wPhmDfVDHKXE1ryKzTASn3aXNBdt1XWLRMoWwnCB6YKu6G5rYLkcErvHCsVlPtPNLJULZNI-wmgmWABeg/s320/Boots,+me+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491608566780776370" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIkOlShukCrC6dzh8mzi7ygEQOReGywiQox2wZMBloIH4FPjG_ayVP-6pKtnGMQH19lWLXrYwDNL5PJH_2Ox9iFzlp8xbjrboSfjfEVC7lMsTZvASu_q8ShOSKu1fTs090WcPY9gTqq0Y/s1600/Boots,+me+047.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIkOlShukCrC6dzh8mzi7ygEQOReGywiQox2wZMBloIH4FPjG_ayVP-6pKtnGMQH19lWLXrYwDNL5PJH_2Ox9iFzlp8xbjrboSfjfEVC7lMsTZvASu_q8ShOSKu1fTs090WcPY9gTqq0Y/s320/Boots,+me+047.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491607421966422066" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4s_SqxM_WfKxpanSKKyF2e9zpKxbFFAzTMVnuf1WZhvXIFHaR8lOSJKtmpeOuzDKKILTTUdYQL5IfGt30AgwmlxB-8faRUW9KqTdvt_9yEVjmNfAG0HGh6VzXJ8AtibzDqRo-5zHmptE/s1600/mother,me,+boots--+first+photo++7-6-10+010.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4s_SqxM_WfKxpanSKKyF2e9zpKxbFFAzTMVnuf1WZhvXIFHaR8lOSJKtmpeOuzDKKILTTUdYQL5IfGt30AgwmlxB-8faRUW9KqTdvt_9yEVjmNfAG0HGh6VzXJ8AtibzDqRo-5zHmptE/s320/mother,me,+boots--+first+photo++7-6-10+010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491220601549897522" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUREfhl6F7dmMrQ0LXe88umaGeT4sGjIpi3h6MXRTdV-ZuR70xqmr3k-VjIE6NX7BHuPJsiQY8jUlLQ_TDi63xorJ8ZF05BDBvk7Ky7nZq4Y-9fB-1Gxq_iaLG7tadTpOIzL59nQeIj5M/s1600/Boots,+me+046.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUREfhl6F7dmMrQ0LXe88umaGeT4sGjIpi3h6MXRTdV-ZuR70xqmr3k-VjIE6NX7BHuPJsiQY8jUlLQ_TDi63xorJ8ZF05BDBvk7Ky7nZq4Y-9fB-1Gxq_iaLG7tadTpOIzL59nQeIj5M/s320/Boots,+me+046.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491607190812246850" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLKlV_GE_rt8SNVvOf5mhDtsB7n38i4hoIaEg136clz6DriTftuxpK8Uutt35SazWp-rEdtlePGxTAcBXowS4ZgaAY0cMWA5dTrP4EjW0q-HfDfBd3VceI_JTsOUXWM-SVaMCXgZu7fA0/s1600/casa,old+fotos,me,etc+029.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLKlV_GE_rt8SNVvOf5mhDtsB7n38i4hoIaEg136clz6DriTftuxpK8Uutt35SazWp-rEdtlePGxTAcBXowS4ZgaAY0cMWA5dTrP4EjW0q-HfDfBd3VceI_JTsOUXWM-SVaMCXgZu7fA0/s400/casa,old+fotos,me,etc+029.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490451952637804994" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Below: photographs of my mother, my mother and me, Boots and her (to his right) at a gala, and her with a very mysterious smile.</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4uc3y7S0Ms4ARzFtRmxu6mO03bSTbc01reznafN9lqqQAD6XQVJqW7hG5wdTAVmMcnV4Hg-jJdFlPM-rjnTmG6RHLGGc3uzBzWd-OypElwIa_MnHXmTiyb6HmS9tPohCy-id7bI7Zao/s1600/me,mom,quilas,bodega+12-7-10+019.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4uc3y7S0Ms4ARzFtRmxu6mO03bSTbc01reznafN9lqqQAD6XQVJqW7hG5wdTAVmMcnV4Hg-jJdFlPM-rjnTmG6RHLGGc3uzBzWd-OypElwIa_MnHXmTiyb6HmS9tPohCy-id7bI7Zao/s400/me,mom,quilas,bodega+12-7-10+019.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493059278966907922" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RdbEqpwIDMJ4MLbzWmItR2_0d-8UtAsSbjzZc6QTyG4ISyqhYPTr1kVwnn_RdRKf4EFOcmfA1DCQb8vE5IdTUJy7UVRoJ5H9p4rjL8hMvRRO9BiIj3O6ZDx9tMSUdsM8SkT398ofEbw/s1600/me,mom,quilas,bodega+12-7-10+011.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RdbEqpwIDMJ4MLbzWmItR2_0d-8UtAsSbjzZc6QTyG4ISyqhYPTr1kVwnn_RdRKf4EFOcmfA1DCQb8vE5IdTUJy7UVRoJ5H9p4rjL8hMvRRO9BiIj3O6ZDx9tMSUdsM8SkT398ofEbw/s400/me,mom,quilas,bodega+12-7-10+011.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493134667301261698" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-K5rN20R7KoFP93Go1RtKBRkF04sseyJPgAWQGBRZCRZrvZ4_QPunLKIrC_wIegLtOy4yawE0J_Py3RGIclJ9mkKcnEXo8PW_nrZhfEstGC5euJv66nty72RnwtwFGmF-QYSG7GpYTQc/s1600/Boots,+me+070.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-K5rN20R7KoFP93Go1RtKBRkF04sseyJPgAWQGBRZCRZrvZ4_QPunLKIrC_wIegLtOy4yawE0J_Py3RGIclJ9mkKcnEXo8PW_nrZhfEstGC5euJv66nty72RnwtwFGmF-QYSG7GpYTQc/s320/Boots,+me+070.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491608039483961618" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzDuJW-sNaUOTlQXv6uPMwwUHF_AJYHBfNN7z5zDY6iwcLk1ipZVMBbFrD9ZDI4bQ3jLmdNu2FRCtFyrs1-Og-uy0V25aTGmBVNUN6ycycqH2rnoytGiyloYQvYPbAo-7stoAIFInyjm0/s1600/me,mom,quilas,bodega+12-7-10+010.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzDuJW-sNaUOTlQXv6uPMwwUHF_AJYHBfNN7z5zDY6iwcLk1ipZVMBbFrD9ZDI4bQ3jLmdNu2FRCtFyrs1-Og-uy0V25aTGmBVNUN6ycycqH2rnoytGiyloYQvYPbAo-7stoAIFInyjm0/s400/me,mom,quilas,bodega+12-7-10+010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493059507143962802" border="0" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-58306612682098432662010-05-27T08:40:00.001-07:002010-05-28T14:53:16.873-07:00Further Observations: Life in the Highlands<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Text by: Vincent Stanzione</span><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYJ-GzWBs0hXMZEv0e9OXoRCEQWwKCwfsfx9HMElbUABelFwX_YI0oZJ0HGglpqt0cSckrXVPpOsOTV3zyvJyjaOi5vI3EZrEc0ouAuODM4RKgS_w6euTT1CQvrNugQ7AOO-Y9xULI3Mg/s1600/workers-women+2+051.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYJ-GzWBs0hXMZEv0e9OXoRCEQWwKCwfsfx9HMElbUABelFwX_YI0oZJ0HGglpqt0cSckrXVPpOsOTV3zyvJyjaOi5vI3EZrEc0ouAuODM4RKgS_w6euTT1CQvrNugQ7AOO-Y9xULI3Mg/s400/workers-women+2+051.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476331166917962050" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Happy girl, Happy doll, Happy life.<br /><br /></span><span>Sometimes just looking at a photograph can make you feel like the world is a perfect place to be human. Some photographs give you the sense that one can’t be grateful enough for all that one has in this lifetime. Some children just seem to have what it takes to make it on the face of the earth. You can see it in their smiles, the way they align their clothes, the way they present themselves, the way the position themselves for a portrait. The pride they have for who they are and where they are.<br /><br />Some photos make you say, ‘I love this kid. This kid is how all human beings should be: grateful, alert, open, smart and proud to be who they are.’ I love this child for the sense of hope she emanates, for the innate intelligence she exudes, for the will to be happy that she manifests, for the care she takes to present herself and the doll.<br /><br />This is a poor child who is wealthy. Over the years I have been blessed to come to know these kinds of people. They have something that people with "everything" don’t have: the spark of life and the inherent goodness of humanity. She dressed her doll like she dresses herself and she takes care of her doll as she does herself. She doesn’t know that other people would define her as poor and that doesn’t matter because the world is all hers.<br /><br />She has deer eyes. A sign of the wild. She has the smile and nose of a baby jaguar. A sign of the divine. She has the face of the ancient ones. A sign that her life will be a blessed one. When I contemplate this photo I want to get down on my bended knees to ask the gods and goddesses to open this child’s road, to remove the obstacle and make her dreams come true. She has that look that makes you feel thankful every second of the day.<br /></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigeYq7wx1M6cGt3jTrL6KDke7nZKSwCy1i7gw_SASkPJgBuLI3jH4WT71o26gCs370XgTFbQqGJNhZ080Pgpy8BYwj2DpyBtcJ4ZLwFqy1Zn3PzKJGzj2ekpo1opShuKraU2USpJeZKRQ/s1600/workers-women+2+048.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigeYq7wx1M6cGt3jTrL6KDke7nZKSwCy1i7gw_SASkPJgBuLI3jH4WT71o26gCs370XgTFbQqGJNhZ080Pgpy8BYwj2DpyBtcJ4ZLwFqy1Zn3PzKJGzj2ekpo1opShuKraU2USpJeZKRQ/s400/workers-women+2+048.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476329704613471602" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /><br />As precious as life can be<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span>Photography when it is great is divine because it take possibility and makes it reality, it takes chance and turns it into an image. A true photographer can not leave the house without his camera because a true photographer knows that the crossroads of opportunity and improbability don’t form on an easily found grid that says this is the right time and right place to make a photo out of life’s constantly moving and changing forms and figures.</span><br /><br /><span>In a great photograph there is always the element that says this is an instant in the life of this being that is manifest for all time. And this is what one sees and experiences here in a picture as precious as life can be created in a precious instant of time and space.</span><br /><br /><span>The child holds a fluffy dog in one arm as if it weighed nothing and what looks like a marshmallow on a stick. She smiles at the camera as the puppy looks on as if to say ‘take the picture.’ It is the effortlessnes of life that sets my mind in motion asking why I try so hard when a baby child makes it all seem so easy. It is all heavy and light at once, meaningful and meaningless. An image of life in the normal time of normal lives of normal people and that is what is so priceless and unimaginably sacred about a photo that reveals the real in this world that is covered in unreal images of unreal lives. A shoeless child, as adorable as the puppy she holds as if weightless, and something sweet at the end of an ordinary stick; what more can the art of photography ask for in its search to create the perfect image of a precious life.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTDJau3vMKX86RE6eYUHwkE183uJCcIbvzGHnqeZOT6ZzQdWy7eJwRImijc7Mrd4K2Ga-BweuglSbVwTa6pXJEyffIvi3u9mwpxGnt9-GcvgLNSWviicRokxfwNlkdrVBOMAEkJTVqZPs/s1600/workers-women+2+014.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTDJau3vMKX86RE6eYUHwkE183uJCcIbvzGHnqeZOT6ZzQdWy7eJwRImijc7Mrd4K2Ga-BweuglSbVwTa6pXJEyffIvi3u9mwpxGnt9-GcvgLNSWviicRokxfwNlkdrVBOMAEkJTVqZPs/s400/workers-women+2+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476407019855630242" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Who has who bound at the neck?</span><br /><br />A lot of times we human beings take on the looks and expressions of those beings with whom we live. My next door neighbor turned into looking like her sheep. Up in the hills where I live the people are known for having the power of turning themselves into animals. In fact, they keep animals to hide their soul-anima when an enemy is after them. Unfortunately the place I live is forested with people whose ancestors were extremely rebellious types and part of that was what made them the tricksters they became. The other part came from all the trickster-like stories that make up the deep structure of their minds. It has been easy living around folks like that but it has made me strong in ways I could have never imagined.<br /><br />All the women keep sheep, goats, cattle, hens, roosters and cats. All the men keep horses and dogs. I know you know that is a gross generalization but more or less life is like that up here around the house. The domestic animals are very useful for catching any bad vibes that one’s enemy or rival or envious friend might have for one or what one has. Better have one of the animals take it for you then one of your kids. Children are the vulnerable ones who pay debts of their parents so it is always wise to have animals around to pick up on anything that might be sent your way from the bad side of the Santo Mundo.<br /><br />My next door neighbor kept just a few really ornery rams and sheep for as long as her children were young, just in case. She put so much thought into those animals as the protection of herself and her family that she pretty much became one with her animals and they with her. They both ran each other up and down the hills looking for safe places to graze while taking care of one another through the most vulnerable times of their lives. <br /><br />~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ V.S. <br /><br /><br />Photographs by Tom Waters<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><a> </a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-85513481418842109122010-05-26T08:15:00.000-07:002010-05-27T09:44:25.339-07:00Highland Woman: Donna Leonara<span style="font-weight: bold;">Text by: Vincent Stanzione<br /><br /><br /><br />Mother, Daughter and Son</span><br /><br />The three of them lived together like the Earth, Moon and Star lived together in the Sky, house of the Sun. They took care of one another and themselves like the most independent people I have ever known. Maria Fidelia standing in the door didn’t live fully in this world and spent her life both extremely happy and intensely sad. She was truly a lunatic, she changed with the moon. Her mother sitting on the front porch was known to be a ‘transformer’ which is to say she could change into animal form and roam the world around her. She was born into the world with a destiny from ancient times, she was baptized Leonora Quiche. She and her husband were the caretakers of a large piece of forest, pasture and milpa. They were the last of the K’iche people on the frontier of Kaqchikel, Tz’utujil and K’iche land. I knew her but I can’t say too well. Xuan is still with us on this side of the two worlds while his mother and sister now reside in the Santo Mundo where all souls go to live out their eternity.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-cwDLTyUmihCndIYeBpUbPcRh1Rgd6cLM_-xhZyHE7BjZb4degRVQCf_Jk68sn0gJkrXABJO_xG8rJPk-tMrmc6TdqMn0KS4xcwPbjFelhwERC0pA3_lvNuU1PmilYygMjs3ugpY0JU/s1600/workers-women+2+012.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk-cwDLTyUmihCndIYeBpUbPcRh1Rgd6cLM_-xhZyHE7BjZb4degRVQCf_Jk68sn0gJkrXABJO_xG8rJPk-tMrmc6TdqMn0KS4xcwPbjFelhwERC0pA3_lvNuU1PmilYygMjs3ugpY0JU/s400/workers-women+2+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475979530212000034" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />I like Xuan and try to make sure he has all the firewood he needs. He was trapped in his mother at birth and has been damaged from that birth to this day. He is the sweetest man, kindest man I have ever known but, no matter, people still make fun of him and make him mad. He doesn’t like that at all, I don’t like it either. He can’t talk but he can hear and he understands everything but people think just because he can’t speak well that he is some how not right in the head.<br /><br />It was his sister Maria Fidelia who was touched, she was the one who carried a doll around with her wherever she went. But Xuan he is fine. He is just paralyzed in an odd way but he gets through it and does his best at whatever he is told to do. His favorite thing is to take a whip out that he made out of maguey fiber and he whip the world. He snaps his whip in late May and early June to make sure the maize stands up straight and the gophers run off back to the wild. He whips the earth and howls like a wild man knowing that it is he that makes the maize grow and he protects it from its enemies from above and below. He is there at dawn and again at dusk like Venus as morning and evening star.<br /><br />Leona is gone after living a long life on earth. She worked doing something right up to her dying day. She never did much but she always did something while taking care of her son and daughter for as long as they lived. They took care of one another as best they could. Beyond that the people who lived around them helped them out but not too much to make them feel unable. Mother and Daughter never wore shoes on their feet and never went anywhere beyond the little hollow they lived in and the three closest villages. Xuan still lives next door. The rain is falling and pretty soon his work in the field and forest will end. It will be time to whip the world into order and call out to the Earth and Moon.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Doña Leonora Quiche </span><br />Some people get to be really old in this world. Other people die young. Some people have great things to do in their lives but destiny doesn’t give them the time. People live, people die, people live simple lives, others make it as hard on themselves as they possibly can. By the time I came to know Doña Leonora was as old as the last century and then she lived for another twenty years. She out lived two of her children as well as her husband and all her sisters and brothers. She was really very old.<br /><br />I tried to get her grandson to ask her stories about the past but she said there was nothing to say and thinking about the past only made her sad. She had seen the enslavement of her people, forced labor laws. She had never seen a revolution or a dictatorship or coup d’etat or civil war but she lived through them all. Leona, as they called her, was a women who was both of this and the other world. That is why, the people say, that she lived so long and as simply as she did. She wasn’t a religious person but she was a spiritual person, she prayed all the time.<br /><br />People said she could turn into whatever animal she chose to be to go walking around at night in the world. She was often tired in the daytime and a day-keeper priest said that was because she was always out at night walking around in the dark. I believed all that people said about her and what she said to me when I passed by her on the trail that went behind her house. She was just a nice old woman with nothing much to do other than survive, no ambition at all more than to take care of her old kids and herself.<br /><br />She taught me that if you don’t ask from much on earth you will be pretty much assured a peaceful life. If you don’t complicate your existence life will work out, one way or another you will get by. If you pray everyday and tend your garden, make your own food and gather your own firewood you will survive. I have to live a little bit more like Leona lived, a day at a time with gratefulness in my heart, do less and sit more, just taking in life the way it is without asking for more. Maybe I might live longer or I might not .... at least I will have lived in both the light and the dark. <br /><br />~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ V.S.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-54077835009443834152010-05-19T13:29:00.000-07:002010-05-22T15:26:02.953-07:00Chajul Trip With Jon K.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdE5cDXYxn-Ltj5EuQPhOoYVQVXqE_ptaHQggo0njaNaLOLWN53A7HBsNK23X-TM833wq0RwIaUcKB6ATVdLUOi8s3iChRBC8nD9oPe5cpZlZUcLJ0HqsAZFT3QoqF1Pem17XW-lIulsY/s1600/Chajul+%232+393.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdE5cDXYxn-Ltj5EuQPhOoYVQVXqE_ptaHQggo0njaNaLOLWN53A7HBsNK23X-TM833wq0RwIaUcKB6ATVdLUOi8s3iChRBC8nD9oPe5cpZlZUcLJ0HqsAZFT3QoqF1Pem17XW-lIulsY/s320/Chajul+%232+393.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474205671667559298" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jon Kaplan, friend and fellow photographer, and I recently visited Chajul, Guatemala</span> for four days, during which it rained unrelentingly. We were able to photograph only a few hours for each of three days: the results of my excursions are shown below, mostly without comment. Some of the images are merely snapshots, others pretend a bit more to art, some are clearly documentary. The mixture can be confusing. Let's hope not too much so.<br /><br />Chajul is a small pueblo. The population numbers in the few thousands. It was a focal point of much military action during the civil war (or insurrection, if you prefer) and today it still struggles to recover. It suffers, today, from poverty and a near-total lack of significant infrastructure. The modernization that is taking place there is of the most basic, and, in my view, the worst of modernity. True, there is electrification, paved streets (all concrete), and serious construction of new houses (also concrete and block -- with the ubiquitous tin roofs), so the argument can be made that there is progress, of a kind.<br /><br />The tragic aspect of these changes, to my mind, is the huge loss of what must have once been a village of adobe casas with tiled roofs. And, insofar as local culture is concerned, the near complete adoption of western style clothing by the men-folk. Women, as in most other Highland pueblos have retained the use of traditional clothing -- and a beautiful costume it is.<br /><br />All, then, is not well in Chajul. Each time that Jon and I have gone there over the past years (more than 20 for Jon, seven for myself) the pueblo seems a bit more grim. The older adobe homes are in miserable repair, paved streets seem to collect mud run-off, plastic trash, and animal dung. Older homes now abut new and functional concrete eye-sores. How is one to honestly complain, however, when people can live in presumably safer homes? For anyone who might ever be tempted to go there, a visit to the outer areas of Chajul do, still, provide amazing vistas and the best that remains of old Chajul. The pueblo is located in a magnificent valley and some views are breathtaking.<br /><br />I complained in a recent Facebook profile posting, indirectly raising the question: how can one continue to love such a miserable place? I trust that the photographs below will provide a clue to that answer: they do for me. And they, along with the generous people there, insure that return visits will be made.<br /><br />We arrived in Chajul in the late afternoon and stopped in for a visit with the Anna Lopez family who live a short walk from our hotel. Jon has been friends with the family for about 20 years and has visited regularly, usually once or twice each year. I on the other hand have known them for about seven years and have visited with them regularly with Jon. Interior photographs were mostly made in their modest but welcoming home.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnrK1xCqsdsSjGAw3OzogUdnitEkMGh3hy5wDeMJeno7ARvYsQ-LrJgb15CnUc89UqkWfVehC5c9hXklm4D1yZbZ_LiogflA7DdZPnuh1NjMfEwAffP77Sb4d3DLQ1G3xtqrVQ9fRTkUk/s1600/Chajul+%232+326.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnrK1xCqsdsSjGAw3OzogUdnitEkMGh3hy5wDeMJeno7ARvYsQ-LrJgb15CnUc89UqkWfVehC5c9hXklm4D1yZbZ_LiogflA7DdZPnuh1NjMfEwAffP77Sb4d3DLQ1G3xtqrVQ9fRTkUk/s200/Chajul+%232+326.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474202409383380466" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">When Jon and I began traveling to Chajul</span> together we found only one hotel. Bad beyond belief. Then a stroke of good luck. We found a newly constructed one outside the pueblo and it had a kitchen, unstaffed, and we asked to use it in the future. We began bringing our own food supplies. The kitchen lacked most cooking implements. This meant purchasing and bringing these as well. An early addition was a shallow crepe pan. This trip we began to search the kitchen for it, without success. Awhile later Jon glanced out the window: "I think I found our pan," he said. Yes.... and here it is, to your left. A new use for a strange, unfamiliar tool.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM6HVESZUnO5a0Y-joPYslTuXa-Lkx3veJrgRMEoCZxoDxEMhnOh_zskBQLRjNjhi3M7PEnfjoqN2psjRkBaZEXBqFslOONmUHPD7YPIHQL_XlVHaJBhq_Whn6jSsZNaJK48VzJZVxzS0/s1600/Chajul+%232+025.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM6HVESZUnO5a0Y-joPYslTuXa-Lkx3veJrgRMEoCZxoDxEMhnOh_zskBQLRjNjhi3M7PEnfjoqN2psjRkBaZEXBqFslOONmUHPD7YPIHQL_XlVHaJBhq_Whn6jSsZNaJK48VzJZVxzS0/s320/Chajul+%232+025.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474199782755627730" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmp0wHm4XkRiKPR9HUstS6RvmMOVUmdsqKcL-y6dY0ziN5x-af40pbWMIWuZTKgG9hiOd3O5x-TMZwA0RprxBbLd5EVJ_AK-2P50982KyDwKOSyVljG6LEyVcECRhR4OpWcs8B3LbD1wk/s1600/Chajul+%232+287.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmp0wHm4XkRiKPR9HUstS6RvmMOVUmdsqKcL-y6dY0ziN5x-af40pbWMIWuZTKgG9hiOd3O5x-TMZwA0RprxBbLd5EVJ_AK-2P50982KyDwKOSyVljG6LEyVcECRhR4OpWcs8B3LbD1wk/s320/Chajul+%232+287.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474197935472840882" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7JiynnfGCu4v_8-G6E9gz4t_7PyHAI7j0yvaWzRb99-0EeEc9ucyD3xrWSGViWY2kvE3M2YIAH8xjWaO_ZxlNW-y0K-oY4DXIKPCiwJ9ha7BfMntCXKuU7soX01H_h7B8kkUIOcMsKLg/s1600/Chajul+%232+314.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7JiynnfGCu4v_8-G6E9gz4t_7PyHAI7j0yvaWzRb99-0EeEc9ucyD3xrWSGViWY2kvE3M2YIAH8xjWaO_ZxlNW-y0K-oY4DXIKPCiwJ9ha7BfMntCXKuU7soX01H_h7B8kkUIOcMsKLg/s400/Chajul+%232+314.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474196119874243746" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZi6G3o43xJVMyqybGmE1eYXU46qTcAefGnt_nc05-C_vUsEHvYbwGZFu9YAjXg_35dZBjab4D2wMTjPz5W6lcceAdBXGzA3mgVQdjvz5kOCooTvK6oacOD_FaGQWcliILmFA6mcUyKBE/s1600/Chajul+%232+381.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZi6G3o43xJVMyqybGmE1eYXU46qTcAefGnt_nc05-C_vUsEHvYbwGZFu9YAjXg_35dZBjab4D2wMTjPz5W6lcceAdBXGzA3mgVQdjvz5kOCooTvK6oacOD_FaGQWcliILmFA6mcUyKBE/s400/Chajul+%232+381.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474194460736065826" border="0" /></a> Anna Lopez and grandaughter<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga6vF7LNrd6T_MMEVCBwHboLnW0my6brSeGRw4pt0kt8CvZjI6yv63Vakg4ilHtHU6HDQ-WizTvZPTnj09aEBjUxgB0vXzjLjGv5XVqOp8UUbZwlOtNKEq5nAux4CbDPFWY7jzWPK50Vg/s1600/Chajul+%232+377.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga6vF7LNrd6T_MMEVCBwHboLnW0my6brSeGRw4pt0kt8CvZjI6yv63Vakg4ilHtHU6HDQ-WizTvZPTnj09aEBjUxgB0vXzjLjGv5XVqOp8UUbZwlOtNKEq5nAux4CbDPFWY7jzWPK50Vg/s400/Chajul+%232+377.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474193412812528194" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho-Ip52LMwBBA6iMN3P_LFoDX2MSMsrOf-49fIzpWCqXsmxsBE_4qzyLlsnmlqB9lA0P5jvArI6ftsK7lzP___qsvdLGWlrbWSycoz-RnwsvjJMJiwtovC5w7zGdPkY7xZ7gTMXo8RZYI/s1600/Chajul+%232+078.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho-Ip52LMwBBA6iMN3P_LFoDX2MSMsrOf-49fIzpWCqXsmxsBE_4qzyLlsnmlqB9lA0P5jvArI6ftsK7lzP___qsvdLGWlrbWSycoz-RnwsvjJMJiwtovC5w7zGdPkY7xZ7gTMXo8RZYI/s400/Chajul+%232+078.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474191758076824418" border="0" /></a> Preparing lunch for Jon and myself<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPKUBkbgNc9c7XW9izURY0sJLq7XMrMX7BzL_VNBAgVHT3w-KzBdiqH2TAFJm8kMPy5RqwCP6F8CubCSJkT4yIW_5UcuAIKEXk6dd32qIe_0qYVIZvJDXWO4mczfpExT8YuF5OqVo4zxw/s1600/Chajul+%232+271.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPKUBkbgNc9c7XW9izURY0sJLq7XMrMX7BzL_VNBAgVHT3w-KzBdiqH2TAFJm8kMPy5RqwCP6F8CubCSJkT4yIW_5UcuAIKEXk6dd32qIe_0qYVIZvJDXWO4mczfpExT8YuF5OqVo4zxw/s400/Chajul+%232+271.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474189990600006162" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggRrI87GLC1oLa52_ZZeS1KENfqPwK_DRhriWClDucnYn32LQkZIjhUppAYsZhnTYJpvBM3TXf9FG7SxbzqNcqia02thvO-LSzNPo4CQkkwtXwW3wTsY0mLaevna-3Jai1NjQiUWYwP1U/s1600/Chajul+%232+222.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggRrI87GLC1oLa52_ZZeS1KENfqPwK_DRhriWClDucnYn32LQkZIjhUppAYsZhnTYJpvBM3TXf9FG7SxbzqNcqia02thvO-LSzNPo4CQkkwtXwW3wTsY0mLaevna-3Jai1NjQiUWYwP1U/s400/Chajul+%232+222.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474188440883632402" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAFmlo2NrZqe1g7ekgecbCH852fxoVyEJxTTiS4nTfeAngAqWTH08nkBcXCxwQHwigjOh6cya2nVe8HS_8Z1AY9FfMIy3mntm9GeY1BVdhDqH4UjeKSN9wNBH3nalknGRAImfUZXGKNCQ/s1600/Chajul+%232+340.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAFmlo2NrZqe1g7ekgecbCH852fxoVyEJxTTiS4nTfeAngAqWTH08nkBcXCxwQHwigjOh6cya2nVe8HS_8Z1AY9FfMIy3mntm9GeY1BVdhDqH4UjeKSN9wNBH3nalknGRAImfUZXGKNCQ/s400/Chajul+%232+340.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474186497995219698" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdsnl_C-AN-RUlrPUxRILMh0pMbglb8-N7SzFUdUHv1w7YWGJiYuvcvdbOls_zVJn6coRrMHVf9o9Qs8dROQqi-1oUpUqcIPPkx_ndtnaReoniCoUb8Vif8jJp_TIuyWOv4VCy7mv5qZ4/s1600/Chajul+%232+203.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdsnl_C-AN-RUlrPUxRILMh0pMbglb8-N7SzFUdUHv1w7YWGJiYuvcvdbOls_zVJn6coRrMHVf9o9Qs8dROQqi-1oUpUqcIPPkx_ndtnaReoniCoUb8Vif8jJp_TIuyWOv4VCy7mv5qZ4/s400/Chajul+%232+203.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474185116623293730" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjCqwTUuhE672GarBnMIwPNqkVu-sKt2hfSx_F7dzpoejjcCW1XQt1AKYr-wgzYt61F7_Ay1NCMlxWJg2_ObjFcCru_yws_8Lj9Vq5EaCK0Qq3-wskrEmr9uxGAp1ozUlgq7yZ4ltqoBA/s1600/Chajul+%232+234.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjCqwTUuhE672GarBnMIwPNqkVu-sKt2hfSx_F7dzpoejjcCW1XQt1AKYr-wgzYt61F7_Ay1NCMlxWJg2_ObjFcCru_yws_8Lj9Vq5EaCK0Qq3-wskrEmr9uxGAp1ozUlgq7yZ4ltqoBA/s400/Chajul+%232+234.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474183212347595074" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhaxSO6BUrq1txvMoYoaj9tQfCshRu-3cNtkD3q1dJm0WLKZ2kMEx4eQkbORV0H5jYPKe2FpeQ75-inoDXT7NnoqR8F43rCxqyS1yr2Oy7wl22YIbRTieBIq7rFL9segNBjhEiLPNRYSM/s1600/Chajul+%232+037.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhaxSO6BUrq1txvMoYoaj9tQfCshRu-3cNtkD3q1dJm0WLKZ2kMEx4eQkbORV0H5jYPKe2FpeQ75-inoDXT7NnoqR8F43rCxqyS1yr2Oy7wl22YIbRTieBIq7rFL9segNBjhEiLPNRYSM/s400/Chajul+%232+037.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474181243982269890" border="0" /></a> Portable game room used for fiestas<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1oxBwHwkyOloxAu84ehs1KcFbYtxrQrkZ4aczvFwHeX-5QMAZYbNbvl7J8RQks9gfVFUwvTYlsQL705w6Ftz56eweDCbvAn8nSO01nIOGM7CUIRLnFNwfIx7iyByHVxDOwVb-cYzTi7Q/s1600/Chajul+%232+305.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1oxBwHwkyOloxAu84ehs1KcFbYtxrQrkZ4aczvFwHeX-5QMAZYbNbvl7J8RQks9gfVFUwvTYlsQL705w6Ftz56eweDCbvAn8nSO01nIOGM7CUIRLnFNwfIx7iyByHVxDOwVb-cYzTi7Q/s400/Chajul+%232+305.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474159564922083026" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvVbRv8QcDlTgMU5Ad9VNk_hFnPMSMlEQxGg8R_qFFtMFHMICvNwkQEtkiWEJiRBhTBzdTZl3-5c1gv1zGKizJkuMzKgpJU9pHWFtS4daGXCzCt6oqz44z5neVTNixQxYvBav8q9NZd9w/s1600/Chajul+%232+295.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; 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display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtOKwhU1ZmZa4Bd68DT_I02U6jv39gYxvb9Ym2D3nV-v70xxVXJedOaAQeP3WNhZexFdTED4nAbXODFrP045lyCUHEFqoqWt6DLuWjGYuZRvOIOgXOLLeCeBfiWnab5W5Q484RxJLehTo/s400/Chajul+%232+088.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474152286843747394" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0cmTm1eFBMqJq4AVEleSrtepnpAXSZsb8zV1hjEJ7PByDFjXNdIkOm8IaEdptrwdaC6L80QNbzJfZPKHvQEHnnUg-642E0ZKxlwzhdMEulb7wquS3NuV205YIyeuzX_WQX1diaAUb6rE/s1600/Chajul+%232+028.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0cmTm1eFBMqJq4AVEleSrtepnpAXSZsb8zV1hjEJ7PByDFjXNdIkOm8IaEdptrwdaC6L80QNbzJfZPKHvQEHnnUg-642E0ZKxlwzhdMEulb7wquS3NuV205YIyeuzX_WQX1diaAUb6rE/s400/Chajul+%232+028.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474149565299263634" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoPYjz1nueAPQ7kpmVwfk9KID3xWI8f_5Y8ZCQatbon0xOldv-XaKGJQlWf1oxLY5PQvI1Q3AH-AVI8qEY4GCvzrZnOErWXdpeZgSyGoJrXlE_1hpDgWakFiZ3fNL_UpFKNNHtAgPutq8/s1600/Chajul+%232+274.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoPYjz1nueAPQ7kpmVwfk9KID3xWI8f_5Y8ZCQatbon0xOldv-XaKGJQlWf1oxLY5PQvI1Q3AH-AVI8qEY4GCvzrZnOErWXdpeZgSyGoJrXlE_1hpDgWakFiZ3fNL_UpFKNNHtAgPutq8/s400/Chajul+%232+274.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474146121388458674" border="0" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-67155983914528172192010-04-13T10:22:00.000-07:002010-04-14T09:15:39.741-07:00Guatemalan Highlands: Children<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLz2Glzs5nTpI_BLm9c-d_01Hau4rA0zNlDaATwBO_nwuTlHTd8PlIx-uyW1edLzp_5CYH-9tCNCXrzFoz9BfCeUMCgr0BBrcD5MEFxH67NRhkA4_xk61JDYDv_STVWhg8i2vDUWAaah4/s1600/children,+etc+002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLz2Glzs5nTpI_BLm9c-d_01Hau4rA0zNlDaATwBO_nwuTlHTd8PlIx-uyW1edLzp_5CYH-9tCNCXrzFoz9BfCeUMCgr0BBrcD5MEFxH67NRhkA4_xk61JDYDv_STVWhg8i2vDUWAaah4/s320/children,+etc+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459683495129673426" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thirteen photographs of children from the Guatemalan Highlands</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl4TCxKTjS_iOXjNGIAnJsmSpPEBe9d04n1c4dREpcHrUWBXWerHtzgMXmhiWmXEKAzwyDmcvxK0K5xOrgSGjz9Zvw1qgcWvBZ38esTJdxdSyWO8lzyyEEZsQd4lmhjdpvhYm0OYKYeCI/s1600/children,+etc+011.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; 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display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSGQZa6yg96plLVPySXkD-3-AwawRg3el5QjKEnCQpbcOwCQQ1Pbd9PkF8twjvY10alWQE2BxMJe_ogwoGXvrzUC-HtKU6d-vOl88PJqvVz83TOlfKRv8EPUiCCIAXrMWrthJ7HhMDdjM/s400/children,+etc+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459680636055944562" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnbH2hHQhiXONg89gi-ck69uK4_HI9wwjnEzFb_SZ2pTosoMk3go4GuPJIPD8wgeixQri2MaaI-0k9emsISANwNr6iqpjiHSqhzSIjSWa4KTTmTPOIG1MO_R4lo4n_bsOQd42XypoCF8k/s1600/children,+etc+026.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnbH2hHQhiXONg89gi-ck69uK4_HI9wwjnEzFb_SZ2pTosoMk3go4GuPJIPD8wgeixQri2MaaI-0k9emsISANwNr6iqpjiHSqhzSIjSWa4KTTmTPOIG1MO_R4lo4n_bsOQd42XypoCF8k/s400/children,+etc+026.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459680089472483602" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYZ37CErnTdXJmeEu1-NQZX3Qg8H-WluQCie2IVK9LqaYLVyjsSOEPE9uMDh9wZrJckxSnEqZg7hKcM3mG3ewDhC8rtsllb5Y66zW6ij-0Tg0PAgtS8oybfTHdQCWljxkuxjKtsCRG4vI/s1600/children,+etc+038.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; 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display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglSt9HiZ3pcjWIlZJY8yFsPMRZXYwiYJXUeUHlGvVcT8cQAPip_q9piOvP_MRcjkX-CUNJcfd5_BHXclrEA7txML_Nwh_nqeLSgB0xdBrOPf6kVnPYYhdP1dt28RkqNvvBaJoIgOVV0Vw/s400/children,+etc+031.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459677576437573986" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJTWWRcxRReyUfMgX66Tj6mC1xZ_m6vySQreMXPSrWyjqri_CyeQGyD7sUEFldmkyWgTMGzX4nL_Vhqmw7fdGXHIT_gcEAgqnKayXBKEikkXLUxc27KDA7kHom2_mpQf4wth4mLen5hD8/s1600/children,+etc+050.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJTWWRcxRReyUfMgX66Tj6mC1xZ_m6vySQreMXPSrWyjqri_CyeQGyD7sUEFldmkyWgTMGzX4nL_Vhqmw7fdGXHIT_gcEAgqnKayXBKEikkXLUxc27KDA7kHom2_mpQf4wth4mLen5hD8/s400/children,+etc+050.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459676930967167698" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHt84esNLUATySuRN-KPqFL6DkyJ0b7v0NRUVpEehmMg8qGsbYmxSt0wY38dx74d0CQ9TJO8vk2EXyBSqREn_P40aVs5NqCf1yxjq9hMMMdsCHkSIPjZx2bdCR4u-GhgPq61RRnkmHs4w/s1600/children,+etc+053.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHt84esNLUATySuRN-KPqFL6DkyJ0b7v0NRUVpEehmMg8qGsbYmxSt0wY38dx74d0CQ9TJO8vk2EXyBSqREn_P40aVs5NqCf1yxjq9hMMMdsCHkSIPjZx2bdCR4u-GhgPq61RRnkmHs4w/s400/children,+etc+053.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459676388554447506" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiel-qsjtvLzTzj7pfjPsCd-tLtIMhWTv2IF2n9gOu0i2lYpktYkin-ktHOmJbefFqBXkTsJLWn9VkoPTXFRfCJ8YhyWOpORYY37_fk8gNzKA_q447UsC1YC6wDIUBse8pIRmwUAerOXxM/s1600/children,+etc+022.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiel-qsjtvLzTzj7pfjPsCd-tLtIMhWTv2IF2n9gOu0i2lYpktYkin-ktHOmJbefFqBXkTsJLWn9VkoPTXFRfCJ8YhyWOpORYY37_fk8gNzKA_q447UsC1YC6wDIUBse8pIRmwUAerOXxM/s400/children,+etc+022.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459675928065206626" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBAKyUhzBBJmBAi2oDbw-KpXB6KjHojyqd00znrA4DPJgN7WZ4oEzi-4ueNxKxSfnUCNqBSIKDYenjatvduOvLZ2mxcWNFFcVkcrr-oRyl5EnAPjE2anXWqvdJkRh6oYzuIvpXsxlBwUo/s1600/children,+etc+005.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBAKyUhzBBJmBAi2oDbw-KpXB6KjHojyqd00znrA4DPJgN7WZ4oEzi-4ueNxKxSfnUCNqBSIKDYenjatvduOvLZ2mxcWNFFcVkcrr-oRyl5EnAPjE2anXWqvdJkRh6oYzuIvpXsxlBwUo/s400/children,+etc+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459675237830877762" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOSjH_FCGEJN12j2adTMFHF_zdK4KAKE1bL2AJncn_Krmbt-JRZcV0XKFTbSfWvWjrTfE5ydeIR0h5jwG9zNMf5pFBjUJqF6kLXrV3pjvd7mBpZXBKwrn-D9Hw0ukM5nJgpTOmu_GxskQ/s1600/children,+etc+046.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOSjH_FCGEJN12j2adTMFHF_zdK4KAKE1bL2AJncn_Krmbt-JRZcV0XKFTbSfWvWjrTfE5ydeIR0h5jwG9zNMf5pFBjUJqF6kLXrV3pjvd7mBpZXBKwrn-D9Hw0ukM5nJgpTOmu_GxskQ/s400/children,+etc+046.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460025550852597394" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnUctY7xisYmfWkLoDEm2BT81wK5gjbFoDefQfJfEk-3GuNucm-IXPf9cdAXE_4BXdv9FATZtfgdjZrHNnn-h6sskYXlO1GjZKp8zlGPEhB5yIjcq4RnHr8T96rcm6mfVGz1pwLpMYjcQ/s1600/children,+etc+031.jpg"><br /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-84151232826535641722010-03-31T17:54:00.000-07:002010-04-11T18:42:08.385-07:00The Alabama Black Belt II ( Friends)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0O2wF7das7Nf1CR8N-xQfb-JXmBRT8Hxjf860qE0FmVJGRpsNK96LcbYPri_Vd2RRWlARuXMSuSJJHRwY46i0uU8Kxg916K-hyS4IlQZ8VDJnPv66pSVwxGhLUx64RN5lzJWSWUIqL0/s1600/blackbelt+families,+portraits+%232+017.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0O2wF7das7Nf1CR8N-xQfb-JXmBRT8Hxjf860qE0FmVJGRpsNK96LcbYPri_Vd2RRWlARuXMSuSJJHRwY46i0uU8Kxg916K-hyS4IlQZ8VDJnPv66pSVwxGhLUx64RN5lzJWSWUIqL0/s400/blackbelt+families,+portraits+%232+017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458588568319352082" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> </span><span> </span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Journal note: 8 August '87</span><br /><br />At the end of Ward Street we find Mr. Washington sitting on a kitchen chair he has propped against the side of his house. He is enjoying the late afternoon sun, his dog lying at his feet. We talk. Lou O'Leary, with her wide-angle lens, has to get right into Mr. Washington's face for a portrait. This is where we'll end our afternoon. Our time is running out but neither Lou nor I want to hurry this. We talk. We try to photograph Mr. Washington with his dog, but the scruffy mutt is not having much of this. He isn't too sure about us.<br /><br />He growls, barks and backs away. Then he starts to approach. Crawls along the ground inching toward out-stretched hands. He whimpers when I scratch his ears. He panics for no obvious reason. Returns to safety under Mr. Washington's chair. He growls softly. We talk to him, whistle, reassure, cajole. He inches forward again, wary but wanting to be petted. Scared but wanting to make contact.<br /><br />I cannot help but think that this is how it is with us in this photographing business -- we're all curious but cautious dogs.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi54b_zC8igv6JutycBQQEFzVpISRATMgF4HrjOV6DdYGBa5JLelWZv9zBjftw32ZH5Xe6FPJwD052XoSblPmzQEDXUX8WtwEw5W8ZglCt9YG6SxP31ACVCUH2RbVZTzpjuVuqpHvgsHt8/s1600/blackbelt+families,+portraits+%232+005.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi54b_zC8igv6JutycBQQEFzVpISRATMgF4HrjOV6DdYGBa5JLelWZv9zBjftw32ZH5Xe6FPJwD052XoSblPmzQEDXUX8WtwEw5W8ZglCt9YG6SxP31ACVCUH2RbVZTzpjuVuqpHvgsHt8/s400/blackbelt+families,+portraits+%232+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458551528067966530" border="0" /></a>Rosie<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY9UXUwLSj36xDhxyyf5sJFv5vo4DkyD4EQaENt2BTdxKL2gg3W_DCZktuV2O1rA2-b44uVjworknl_dh7UF1G__AIzBmkAcp7ACjyd9T9ZERf8phGThAJ7fPBkM6upIbusTRbzLxnbvw/s1600/blackbelt+families,+portraits+%232+020.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY9UXUwLSj36xDhxyyf5sJFv5vo4DkyD4EQaENt2BTdxKL2gg3W_DCZktuV2O1rA2-b44uVjworknl_dh7UF1G__AIzBmkAcp7ACjyd9T9ZERf8phGThAJ7fPBkM6upIbusTRbzLxnbvw/s400/blackbelt+families,+portraits+%232+020.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458550963636523570" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-tkJNiEXt76NTswJD-SmaUb8l3PCccXOwWB8HMP0ECz7dnbCiCM8CizqDuuHxHOY7qxFjZuodaa2KbkQvHpkcgBVHuHhgncPqq0_C1H9_P0sgM0DXxLXKqVCU3fu2EjBSEWIHUs9Uoxk/s1600/blackbelt+families,+portraits+%232+012.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-tkJNiEXt76NTswJD-SmaUb8l3PCccXOwWB8HMP0ECz7dnbCiCM8CizqDuuHxHOY7qxFjZuodaa2KbkQvHpkcgBVHuHhgncPqq0_C1H9_P0sgM0DXxLXKqVCU3fu2EjBSEWIHUs9Uoxk/s400/blackbelt+families,+portraits+%232+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458550245579621762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7GkOfW_YYM547YqgoR1w_huEY93V7RsJgkgzNu5RXQhZIKXSeai0et55BS6uILu8IqVfj-3MHFSh25zPISapP7Kp4YlBteWHqLOdoLq2puMFz3Q6PrAqUaG0UB8noo6I3vCydOVAQJxc/s1600/blackbelt+families,+portraits+%232+009.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7GkOfW_YYM547YqgoR1w_huEY93V7RsJgkgzNu5RXQhZIKXSeai0et55BS6uILu8IqVfj-3MHFSh25zPISapP7Kp4YlBteWHqLOdoLq2puMFz3Q6PrAqUaG0UB8noo6I3vCydOVAQJxc/s400/blackbelt+families,+portraits+%232+009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458549607792473554" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">When Sarah Kracke and I went searching</span> for images that first time, we were looking for the usual romance of ruins, the metaphorical crumbling columns of an antebellum South. We were disappointed in that respect. We found, however, far more interesting places and people. ( In Eutaw on that outing, Mr. Carpenter and his turn-of-the-century glass plate camera -- his mother's camera actually -- that he joyfully hauled out from its hiding place so we could see "what a real camera looks like.")<br /><br />After Eutaw I knew that my photographic effort would be directed more toward documenting the region's people within the context of how they lived. It was not so readily apparent that I would have to settle, as James Agee had lamented, for fragmentary images that cannot do full justice to the people, their "manner of life," or their courage.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9k6RI5NZnmNpy_N_peJZLClPXC_P_s90SS58t432gFnc7oHhPVGoKobD5X7xaqiNUp4EwydJRsc1t_W-2dYec88ck7NJaQVXU2f1INUG93ktUOwH0wwMwASEDT_RZ3zpP6zqTzaJ151c/s1600/blackbelt+families,+portraits+%232+006.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9k6RI5NZnmNpy_N_peJZLClPXC_P_s90SS58t432gFnc7oHhPVGoKobD5X7xaqiNUp4EwydJRsc1t_W-2dYec88ck7NJaQVXU2f1INUG93ktUOwH0wwMwASEDT_RZ3zpP6zqTzaJ151c/s400/blackbelt+families,+portraits+%232+006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458549016670111698" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtDuVOckr_oIRZD5uwgBf_CdVZUBgRCXtgY69ZQtpwQwVUu5j41DMz8BEFUTtSNG2L0uV0WiHqElcrxV8IvVjp86fBFYm5GA4BXO78-bb9fdyq8I6z2k36fs0aY4icj18QHzKMr0latJg/s1600/blackbelt+families,+portraits+%232+003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtDuVOckr_oIRZD5uwgBf_CdVZUBgRCXtgY69ZQtpwQwVUu5j41DMz8BEFUTtSNG2L0uV0WiHqElcrxV8IvVjp86fBFYm5GA4BXO78-bb9fdyq8I6z2k36fs0aY4icj18QHzKMr0latJg/s400/blackbelt+families,+portraits+%232+003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458548473295235794" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHOMggR-pocPnYmyOnU3s652CBCaOjkjiWV2UU-1QcfRkNBVchho-P0CJQypfd9Jv_t0z-ic5dMGwIZQ4q6drBcl9qu2aAlIYPoMiZIH-9Q8NzPvrgmL_1bU3_p_FztDqLdSfL-EyXhkY/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+059.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHOMggR-pocPnYmyOnU3s652CBCaOjkjiWV2UU-1QcfRkNBVchho-P0CJQypfd9Jv_t0z-ic5dMGwIZQ4q6drBcl9qu2aAlIYPoMiZIH-9Q8NzPvrgmL_1bU3_p_FztDqLdSfL-EyXhkY/s200/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+059.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457478560906868050" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Thus it was that I found atmosphere to be the spell that charged the commonplace with beauty. And still I am not sure what atmosphere is. I should be hard put to define it. I only know it is a combination of elements, perhaps most simply and yet more inadequately described in technical terms of lighting and viewpoint, which reveals the subject as familiar and yet strange."</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Bill Brant</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCU9rHNXPcMxQilpS9_lvhEK_jet-pR5DOLA90zQ3ETNnHpliiRY05wBy57krnFJZlyXlR25m5UVpPijL_a_x8ZICEz2yY1pHBWa43vJ-ombQTUuCisb3O-XEZ8RrOP6lBGmlii_zANfk/s1600/blackbelt+families,+portraits+039.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCU9rHNXPcMxQilpS9_lvhEK_jet-pR5DOLA90zQ3ETNnHpliiRY05wBy57krnFJZlyXlR25m5UVpPijL_a_x8ZICEz2yY1pHBWa43vJ-ombQTUuCisb3O-XEZ8RrOP6lBGmlii_zANfk/s320/blackbelt+families,+portraits+039.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457475998270864978" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhooO5B-uGUm20hN_0xqgckPsV1VMGQZDz3PZqLzfGNqmj6ahhTRytfFdZ0EOuuOXoP7EbpgjqOj1IhTLol6k_IxA1479Y51yQs1hxzp7xWgA8SfkKbTZWF875gXcWPF2h8Vva7o39C1ts/s1600/blackbelt+families,+portraits+036.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhooO5B-uGUm20hN_0xqgckPsV1VMGQZDz3PZqLzfGNqmj6ahhTRytfFdZ0EOuuOXoP7EbpgjqOj1IhTLol6k_IxA1479Y51yQs1hxzp7xWgA8SfkKbTZWF875gXcWPF2h8Vva7o39C1ts/s400/blackbelt+families,+portraits+036.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457474055442725698" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqbbLHm5IbO8GRCg4zoGgZMlDF8SroL9BkFJR2iUJWVevdIIRkOwREPxVzmnXuAPhGifQ9X31S89zep4yYKHwn6a_0uPOhnc6ICPCTPPqBf1j8sLuDTXbCELclEfXVbbkhpSB6Ai3RcqI/s1600/blackbelt+families,+portraits+030.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqbbLHm5IbO8GRCg4zoGgZMlDF8SroL9BkFJR2iUJWVevdIIRkOwREPxVzmnXuAPhGifQ9X31S89zep4yYKHwn6a_0uPOhnc6ICPCTPPqBf1j8sLuDTXbCELclEfXVbbkhpSB6Ai3RcqI/s400/blackbelt+families,+portraits+030.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457470112411026898" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">In my travels</span> I never failed to see toys -- toys broken, toys in and under beds, toys discarded on porches and in yards. Toys: the surest sign that amidst the most debilitating poverty the parental love for children was boundless.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ-MUCk6E2U1uEJMMhR4S7phWqwPaZGpVrcRh1boyP2Pcu-pvuYraNDnt_7bDPX00gfn365qzDAFw90AMp2rUVT3gKHgxCl8d3uxfB5KEOcV-XcRs1o2IaphjV9B62nicBaUuBkKjTIMQ/s1600/blackbelt+families,+portraits+020.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ-MUCk6E2U1uEJMMhR4S7phWqwPaZGpVrcRh1boyP2Pcu-pvuYraNDnt_7bDPX00gfn365qzDAFw90AMp2rUVT3gKHgxCl8d3uxfB5KEOcV-XcRs1o2IaphjV9B62nicBaUuBkKjTIMQ/s400/blackbelt+families,+portraits+020.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457468100298945762" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBo9dchNDX_xxjH7TsWb-P2AUgSGG9W0WwNUvxb8ikOfuH1HOCzvsSJBpw3tBVMMYY6ZDlE5eSqIEhUTpMCXXhlPJ9K7a6RyDeiIGknRQWNosIwczwxBB6Ehwhs4PcIOqyO-EyrOEgezw/s1600/blackbelt+families,+portraits+015.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBo9dchNDX_xxjH7TsWb-P2AUgSGG9W0WwNUvxb8ikOfuH1HOCzvsSJBpw3tBVMMYY6ZDlE5eSqIEhUTpMCXXhlPJ9K7a6RyDeiIGknRQWNosIwczwxBB6Ehwhs4PcIOqyO-EyrOEgezw/s400/blackbelt+families,+portraits+015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457465298453601698" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioaAGRFCrZIKl2hU6ylwNt6gEkZlu0esP9-G5qG6yaCVWsd3H78MBIdt-HCAjXGDNqu63myhVwwNZlnNklJZ7ar5rawcwzk1Ao_Uf_3p37GG7iW2tEvpZrbqYtA6WGNU_tJyAVYdjDhJA/s1600/blackbelt+families,+portraits+035.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioaAGRFCrZIKl2hU6ylwNt6gEkZlu0esP9-G5qG6yaCVWsd3H78MBIdt-HCAjXGDNqu63myhVwwNZlnNklJZ7ar5rawcwzk1Ao_Uf_3p37GG7iW2tEvpZrbqYtA6WGNU_tJyAVYdjDhJA/s400/blackbelt+families,+portraits+035.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457462725166874770" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUUQXCeeCKcCOInPFo1gtKJMD4_LCecWy0AfQylsulivsC_bBMs2og7kxLx9VTih13IdMYCZMzUWVe0ajPMOUDki0n2i58HPrMQLmeYLlA5rVX3ZMZgx6XQPttDitRJ_KTEAWU1gdhAjM/s1600/blackbelt+families,+portraits+012.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUUQXCeeCKcCOInPFo1gtKJMD4_LCecWy0AfQylsulivsC_bBMs2og7kxLx9VTih13IdMYCZMzUWVe0ajPMOUDki0n2i58HPrMQLmeYLlA5rVX3ZMZgx6XQPttDitRJ_KTEAWU1gdhAjM/s400/blackbelt+families,+portraits+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457460383491622930" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSzWcGs074xWyFGRDVSNdAzmsTvl8pihP2SUJWL9whyphenhyphenSnIbMumglMmkdNPwaGxLE2zrqAsg1N4PIy6VVh1XC2D2l0z3dqlgDF-Z_8D6LBw6DdQEfpAvklLMpySinD2amRxlfAGL6fMYQo/s1600/blackbelt+families,+portraits+006.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSzWcGs074xWyFGRDVSNdAzmsTvl8pihP2SUJWL9whyphenhyphenSnIbMumglMmkdNPwaGxLE2zrqAsg1N4PIy6VVh1XC2D2l0z3dqlgDF-Z_8D6LBw6DdQEfpAvklLMpySinD2amRxlfAGL6fMYQo/s320/blackbelt+families,+portraits+006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457458679184419458" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Ella<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7F9DzTyClY6xGzTRrXnHer6UlG_u9JI9aohyDisqYOdx1YUoAK-1kLuPnTXCUrRoJzwv6tvy9X8peA4S2AsFcN9B08XJfwmOuLv3D-bhw5pXFAjPyFAZ1qvNmB2yBRiDXpwsPF5VXZ9Y/s1600/blackbelt+families,+portraits+010.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7F9DzTyClY6xGzTRrXnHer6UlG_u9JI9aohyDisqYOdx1YUoAK-1kLuPnTXCUrRoJzwv6tvy9X8peA4S2AsFcN9B08XJfwmOuLv3D-bhw5pXFAjPyFAZ1qvNmB2yBRiDXpwsPF5VXZ9Y/s320/blackbelt+families,+portraits+010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457456600626478642" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Ella and Claude<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitmBG9ZwixvgBtEWSE7KRGc36-rdlD0aOzM5BEST8Cg4sU8rph1OK7A5pWPqFRtsEtMzddN2HiKNo6XXJAD273Adu3QDRg6NlizOqvXP_hbXtylYMY9ks6kqc9esPaPCF0OEcoBtTgu8c/s1600/blackbelt+families,+portraits+024.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitmBG9ZwixvgBtEWSE7KRGc36-rdlD0aOzM5BEST8Cg4sU8rph1OK7A5pWPqFRtsEtMzddN2HiKNo6XXJAD273Adu3QDRg6NlizOqvXP_hbXtylYMY9ks6kqc9esPaPCF0OEcoBtTgu8c/s400/blackbelt+families,+portraits+024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457454230214608626" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgva2U8JxcArvt-rqeXhJI1WS8DHR4qkamQrWg_Sm4iOOlVGPDPezSEteeAtPASOiwuG5C-v2mEJr2BjWHwR3W-vcH7ssQ7aVMahaYjAE_r9l2SFptOyM6gwgBFF79o7UkpYEXOd0IqpDE/s1600/blackbelt+families,+portraits+004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgva2U8JxcArvt-rqeXhJI1WS8DHR4qkamQrWg_Sm4iOOlVGPDPezSEteeAtPASOiwuG5C-v2mEJr2BjWHwR3W-vcH7ssQ7aVMahaYjAE_r9l2SFptOyM6gwgBFF79o7UkpYEXOd0IqpDE/s400/blackbelt+families,+portraits+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457452642000641234" border="0" /></a> Anderson Odom<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtxY1pB4JDntdpsV3LVOzu1eQoRnKIox-U4C8ls7VhFZ8clLqadjjQEnhO3ddoJQAQQcbkNgA3Kjh1siOdYgS24wXDAcqyx-xABK8t90EAuL_PUQ6DDIIC_y2k8YLBr_FBKUzZ4-ogBdw/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+100.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtxY1pB4JDntdpsV3LVOzu1eQoRnKIox-U4C8ls7VhFZ8clLqadjjQEnhO3ddoJQAQQcbkNgA3Kjh1siOdYgS24wXDAcqyx-xABK8t90EAuL_PUQ6DDIIC_y2k8YLBr_FBKUzZ4-ogBdw/s200/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+100.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456350279820700610" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Barger family</span> lived east of Tuscaloosa off the old State Highway to Birmingham. During the years that I and several friends visited with them they moved three times. The final move was into a trailer set on concrete blocks off the side of a dirt road. It was not an improvement over former living conditions; the outside was rusting, the screen door was damaged and of no use, most of the appliances inside were broken, and in both warm and cold weather it was difficult to breathe inside due to the smell of sweat, cooking oil, disintegrating furniture and filthy worn carpet. Mr. Barger's health had been problematic for two years and continued to worsen. He was unemployable. They were a family seemingly without resources or any real reason for hope. But their spirits almost always seemed high. They entertained extended family and friends, celebrated holidays, and made great effort to keep their youngest girl, Stacy, in school, hoping that she was "going places."<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip_3Aum_PocJlGYwicAIW118YUqVj9hATRWmKgjp00Fng3lyrwu6JJtck-QqIlmyK9eltB0ySG1OZMWZYxEQWfnxYBMOsq2b6SzQ1rQvWsdZBmZ9b4RXq00WGe2ZFCDYD0Y6p6bfJ6tyg/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+094.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip_3Aum_PocJlGYwicAIW118YUqVj9hATRWmKgjp00Fng3lyrwu6JJtck-QqIlmyK9eltB0ySG1OZMWZYxEQWfnxYBMOsq2b6SzQ1rQvWsdZBmZ9b4RXq00WGe2ZFCDYD0Y6p6bfJ6tyg/s400/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+094.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456349490824536978" border="0" /></a> Tracy<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJzVpBf7A1I5D51YWVDDOfms02waHEv5Xr4EDH2gVFtfeqgELI6tONBtKKO2giT27aF_RycGjfGu7P4pv9DywuqEDQvTf_pm2uOp0QlH2o7CRsxwGG3nNjHuEBTH1G3RoFPMXB3K2aSRk/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+084.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJzVpBf7A1I5D51YWVDDOfms02waHEv5Xr4EDH2gVFtfeqgELI6tONBtKKO2giT27aF_RycGjfGu7P4pv9DywuqEDQvTf_pm2uOp0QlH2o7CRsxwGG3nNjHuEBTH1G3RoFPMXB3K2aSRk/s400/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+084.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456348835777299234" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhshXaSceNEeDJS6BvjL08HwwRj4VOBOFOCOZcC5spLmwjn_SE4pJH5qxTEt6surIDEP2c7sumpZHapXa0F65XkaUqFIXeayajzylmzjQ8iyEhYwjXvkmeKl3STuUH3JQIpUFhgouyhhAA/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+087.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhshXaSceNEeDJS6BvjL08HwwRj4VOBOFOCOZcC5spLmwjn_SE4pJH5qxTEt6surIDEP2c7sumpZHapXa0F65XkaUqFIXeayajzylmzjQ8iyEhYwjXvkmeKl3STuUH3JQIpUFhgouyhhAA/s400/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+087.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456348170804187330" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioF0zo3iOVGeD-IpDg_BswXKG0Mo3h3LaxRyC40RCD4dfEiDBTWyHTM529DT7Vp-Dnt8E7btJnJ80TvmW9Y8SlaGycyb13WyA24le4QYUiVcy47qTJKyIlhOUXMWCe2UeZQU1CB63znOk/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+105.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioF0zo3iOVGeD-IpDg_BswXKG0Mo3h3LaxRyC40RCD4dfEiDBTWyHTM529DT7Vp-Dnt8E7btJnJ80TvmW9Y8SlaGycyb13WyA24le4QYUiVcy47qTJKyIlhOUXMWCe2UeZQU1CB63znOk/s400/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+105.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456347443493741810" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx-Li_k5ty2oa_vs6M_ImY-bEjE0Jyp-pUpi_uMeAdbtm4kSYtmbjx6-iTk90wREhM3a7Kb_0xnGLv8ZOW4YdHIDiG61mwx34r8nzlzG-fZfm0FRuOc3M_iMzdvuoJkXqXB0XkH6LCa4k/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+090.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx-Li_k5ty2oa_vs6M_ImY-bEjE0Jyp-pUpi_uMeAdbtm4kSYtmbjx6-iTk90wREhM3a7Kb_0xnGLv8ZOW4YdHIDiG61mwx34r8nzlzG-fZfm0FRuOc3M_iMzdvuoJkXqXB0XkH6LCa4k/s400/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+090.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456346698609442098" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh63YPKoDnPdZppv_1F8x63lxXPydwzZzem-cEP9xedB8bw0O4ApFg6Xiob8CSU6zmH5E1gh3Qg9Wz_0VTYIHwDB7KmGn_5m9eYrjgZ-Uk99KtDx0HQR4oe30uHSCJWaFeosJNfLBw9bGQ/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+078.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh63YPKoDnPdZppv_1F8x63lxXPydwzZzem-cEP9xedB8bw0O4ApFg6Xiob8CSU6zmH5E1gh3Qg9Wz_0VTYIHwDB7KmGn_5m9eYrjgZ-Uk99KtDx0HQR4oe30uHSCJWaFeosJNfLBw9bGQ/s400/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+078.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456346013920869234" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtgMwQqrVVPKdbHVG2WGZT5uua_A3GH-MZFSysngBc-UCZx899-L5KmFDbtaJSiwyjeqXaiLDFBggm1aKf4CzpO4-MSFxi_3rCMUoDj-XzO9FZKMnR8PNpAhWi-uoKxOWSzTpOCCldSEM/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+028.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtgMwQqrVVPKdbHVG2WGZT5uua_A3GH-MZFSysngBc-UCZx899-L5KmFDbtaJSiwyjeqXaiLDFBggm1aKf4CzpO4-MSFxi_3rCMUoDj-XzO9FZKMnR8PNpAhWi-uoKxOWSzTpOCCldSEM/s400/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+028.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456345412120713282" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"What I try to say with photographs is: I love, I wish, I respect, I feel compassion. I am angry or outraged. Yes, Photography is like love -- a big commitment, a big reward, work, and hope, replenishment and joy." </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">--Eva Rubinstein-- </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-86162857644060327472010-03-31T17:16:00.000-07:002010-04-07T10:34:10.945-07:00The Alabama Black Belt I (Places)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1K6VIgZ6RarlXVUkAbSktCIC4JGzUFj8oG1tlF9lvL4GIxPYTaOcyfBki1IwnKjNunShXJqHGMBT5_2DPzsRg5wgk-X5y8GjWw9ExikCxVueFOzgOFOBX-Fbiam1vSFzI3YmKx7xIhAI/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+032.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1K6VIgZ6RarlXVUkAbSktCIC4JGzUFj8oG1tlF9lvL4GIxPYTaOcyfBki1IwnKjNunShXJqHGMBT5_2DPzsRg5wgk-X5y8GjWw9ExikCxVueFOzgOFOBX-Fbiam1vSFzI3YmKx7xIhAI/s200/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+032.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456341473733640578" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">This photographe</span>r (left) spent years motorcycling in the Black Belt region of Alabama. This was done with other photographers (who will be listed below), visiting new-made friends and their families, hearing their stories, and sharing their concerns. The photographs made there provide only a minimalist view of their lives and circumstances. They are perhaps best remembered fondly as courageous survivors. Likewise, they are remembered as struggling but conscientious parents, happy children and, in nearly every instance, family-focused showing much love and affection to their own. They took us into their world and shared with us what they could.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUsUQncvl2BnZR-BsnmDAvjSsJRXfMYR4ngVmQ1yAXyeG-oGfZ_c4pi3WvBH48m5BW-cS8_LUm4seF_XihpXDcRWp_y4SgcU98bsrIIG4UoYrD7_c-w1xaJE_06IMDJYvP_6Iz-MHrj5A/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+044.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUsUQncvl2BnZR-BsnmDAvjSsJRXfMYR4ngVmQ1yAXyeG-oGfZ_c4pi3WvBH48m5BW-cS8_LUm4seF_XihpXDcRWp_y4SgcU98bsrIIG4UoYrD7_c-w1xaJE_06IMDJYvP_6Iz-MHrj5A/s400/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+044.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456339688059109106" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The term Black Belt originally described a crescent of land stretching across much of the southeastern United States, characterized by deep black soil. It was a prime location for growing cotton and as a result slavery was predominant there. Many counties in the Black Belt region still have a high proportion of African-Americans. It is one of the poorest regions in the US; and it remains a largely rural area, though there are large cities.<br /><br />The photographs that will appear below and in several forthcoming blogs were all taken in the Alabama Black Belt, mostly in Tuscaloosa, Greene, Pickens, Bibb, Perry and Hale counties. Hale County was of particular interest as this was the location of the work of Walker Evans and James Agee, that is most famously remembered for<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"> Let Us Now Praise Famous Men.</span><br /><br />This photographer traveled extensively and photographed regularly in these counties from 1985 through 1992. Almost always he was accompanied by friends from photography classes at the University of Alabama, where he, and many others, profited from the guidance and great patience of Professor Gay Burke. Some of the more diligent of these friends include: Dana Matthews, Richard Giles, Elizabeth Barnard, Kathy Fetters, Christina Rottmier and, of course, Gay Burke.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGpSqApyTwQhMEEKzdPkPPkjojVqTU0_WOYLCj5YPWm0Y3TDIV_izGiNRLuIytes0OPb-gGovgTAvY5alLdOIQXeT8hAIWiw_DRg8ohJqYiircTvPp3lbTJlXtdC6XVA-hkXAp18g929U/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+096.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGpSqApyTwQhMEEKzdPkPPkjojVqTU0_WOYLCj5YPWm0Y3TDIV_izGiNRLuIytes0OPb-gGovgTAvY5alLdOIQXeT8hAIWiw_DRg8ohJqYiircTvPp3lbTJlXtdC6XVA-hkXAp18g929U/s320/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+096.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456338788223798770" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUKpJQvL1LgzAyAFgqVdzP9LjO75Xp5OHypH3mDNeRS6L26xzbxbTFbISmTblHIxbdlsDutZ6UMoUiC_d_FOA19ALgBjaTeT2ti5PsEUS6cU4cxM4j1V-nLDdX3OjoICEkyCQfkw7IObs/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+034.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUKpJQvL1LgzAyAFgqVdzP9LjO75Xp5OHypH3mDNeRS6L26xzbxbTFbISmTblHIxbdlsDutZ6UMoUiC_d_FOA19ALgBjaTeT2ti5PsEUS6cU4cxM4j1V-nLDdX3OjoICEkyCQfkw7IObs/s400/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+034.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456337721565905458" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizbA4ZzwuF23uVeU54GDsuoEnuUpqNHdBww-W7e26BgG5vZjPZbxE7vffkbsKyATP0MhbetxNQbV4Opu9zr9LLJ2AukXKCBAtsJ7owWfz9Yu0m0ERe9xescUX0sspPUyzcsmx0e4OpRto/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+036.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizbA4ZzwuF23uVeU54GDsuoEnuUpqNHdBww-W7e26BgG5vZjPZbxE7vffkbsKyATP0MhbetxNQbV4Opu9zr9LLJ2AukXKCBAtsJ7owWfz9Yu0m0ERe9xescUX0sspPUyzcsmx0e4OpRto/s400/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+036.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456337122606967714" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8zX7RUvcC8QphkUMxFhWWxuwf11FYnlozlYsQXrY4vYXzEE9sui8dXEvsyCgoDyPD19uSFlvh5egoIpUpLv8moINKuGa5NSbxXOJ_DQfCByIF5SqdgkOY-DnroY_GoWT3TRD6DOzLndg/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+064.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8zX7RUvcC8QphkUMxFhWWxuwf11FYnlozlYsQXrY4vYXzEE9sui8dXEvsyCgoDyPD19uSFlvh5egoIpUpLv8moINKuGa5NSbxXOJ_DQfCByIF5SqdgkOY-DnroY_GoWT3TRD6DOzLndg/s320/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+064.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456335965430908626" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Journal note: 26 March '87</span><br /><br />The abandoned shack on County Highway 7 is a lot more interesting than I had remembered. On the first visit I had found a scruffy, bone-thin wild dog living in the shack. From the porch he watched my approach only for a moment before running off through the shack into nearby woods. Today I'm greeted by a rust-red Bantom rooster. In better shape than the dog. And friendlier. Although he will not let me get too close he does seem glad to see somebody. He cackles a lot, scratches in the unrewarding hard clay yard a moment or two, then bounces around to the rear of the shack and, like the pariah dog, into the woods. I fancy they keep each other company.<br /><br />The shack is spooky today. Because I am alone? Wind flaps the loose shipping crate cardboard -- careless insulation nailed to the walls and ceiling. In one room, devoid of anything except a badly deteriorating wardrobe, a piece of white chiffon hangs loosely from a wire hanger. It floats and flutters in the warm, soft breeze coming in through the many broken window panes. I set up the tripod and shoot the ghost-like chiffon. There are odds and ends, forgotten gifts to me from the former occupants, piled helter-skelter on the floor, bed, and kitchen stove. On the dusty floor a child's hand-made Mother's Day card, on the collapsed bed a doll with its arms pulled off. I'm glad for the people who lived here, that they left. There is some small hope in that. But I might not have liked them: they left the dog, the rooster.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRbgCJM0LkSM2WW5ME0WvVYpfh3y1pqS4D4sqvB4riA518HLGBMJy7gIZHG1_DlZj1TGsp_G8ISAA4go-vajdpK56zJGgCHl1WOQ6Cb-Bo5_QR89eTb0_qNteTDAHmMoy-bNaT6pVHPsU/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+056.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRbgCJM0LkSM2WW5ME0WvVYpfh3y1pqS4D4sqvB4riA518HLGBMJy7gIZHG1_DlZj1TGsp_G8ISAA4go-vajdpK56zJGgCHl1WOQ6Cb-Bo5_QR89eTb0_qNteTDAHmMoy-bNaT6pVHPsU/s320/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+056.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456334957863448322" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvg_4wbYfD5NNnEqZBzsqbU9-E9Lv6pHULUUPq5as5-R2BpnDJUGxv0RjrdJgrM8o7XV9zAM32VzqMuP1TI-wCapfgXlG2lDVHUgXIHTPeU7xaIgQIWw7o3yc893gLFCouezye4i4ELEo/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+053.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvg_4wbYfD5NNnEqZBzsqbU9-E9Lv6pHULUUPq5as5-R2BpnDJUGxv0RjrdJgrM8o7XV9zAM32VzqMuP1TI-wCapfgXlG2lDVHUgXIHTPeU7xaIgQIWw7o3yc893gLFCouezye4i4ELEo/s320/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+053.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456333784551014818" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm7YIGwXNTO_0rf31mqqIotEb0j670SR355PSQbW3eT6ffH-hFJhouymQiBAU77uy-kEuYHV_uXBcrz9Hgi4mw9fb3s-QtuLFWqEfaai1xI9jIxUP92NtSAeUchZhjk8AGsVTR6mo7KCg/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+039.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm7YIGwXNTO_0rf31mqqIotEb0j670SR355PSQbW3eT6ffH-hFJhouymQiBAU77uy-kEuYHV_uXBcrz9Hgi4mw9fb3s-QtuLFWqEfaai1xI9jIxUP92NtSAeUchZhjk8AGsVTR6mo7KCg/s400/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+039.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456333001396295570" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2wuhdxU_e7at_0BbDS8n2Le6ylx8TA0WxEqvFAxTGOV9iWYrXfoyMNwqOdS8jFSKOfb6j7GqRyHOazh75RAJArGNa-sXzByS1XecES1jrLyjKUyE7TlLxFKQLfwey6x6IwhnUr18JOSY/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+046.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2wuhdxU_e7at_0BbDS8n2Le6ylx8TA0WxEqvFAxTGOV9iWYrXfoyMNwqOdS8jFSKOfb6j7GqRyHOazh75RAJArGNa-sXzByS1XecES1jrLyjKUyE7TlLxFKQLfwey6x6IwhnUr18JOSY/s400/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+046.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456332392811468770" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XSGut0dv0TNCRsAZq-n0MntC1PPBr2lgh9oYMx5omlhHIZxRRxOb5SXlS1k8oDf-Yo2dXiUXhiPDn3huuvkgteAhZ6q2HqtB8Wc8X8qvOhWTk4LHOV-huQrvNmN2ZRpHZgzCpMYa1n0/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+043.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XSGut0dv0TNCRsAZq-n0MntC1PPBr2lgh9oYMx5omlhHIZxRRxOb5SXlS1k8oDf-Yo2dXiUXhiPDn3huuvkgteAhZ6q2HqtB8Wc8X8qvOhWTk4LHOV-huQrvNmN2ZRpHZgzCpMYa1n0/s320/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+043.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456331765508876850" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr17qYOxCWmC6G1e6UhF-bYELpZ1V6luNEpUYjX0-6TN2NBh5T9IpmqMOFYMNsfeNbmusi1hfelMqv3whDVgKX7TkDWLyx9P8PzTED8uzwjOxLzwKocNx7CR8W56cTZoZTxqobEYI6-h8/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+061.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr17qYOxCWmC6G1e6UhF-bYELpZ1V6luNEpUYjX0-6TN2NBh5T9IpmqMOFYMNsfeNbmusi1hfelMqv3whDVgKX7TkDWLyx9P8PzTED8uzwjOxLzwKocNx7CR8W56cTZoZTxqobEYI6-h8/s320/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+061.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456330913970816594" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwl9pSLxsSayARE0IyjGq0OLNgDv30nGFl05LwjeA4qxMw0L5OXysedPwOXOk5DwM0f2DyTSQ8KI8mNCAq0dIYIIYxImqRKVrg2y3yeYuFEpJ3TYuOCYjPN6KSU0lQitgMmxLi9xfQSlc/s1600/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+051.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwl9pSLxsSayARE0IyjGq0OLNgDv30nGFl05LwjeA4qxMw0L5OXysedPwOXOk5DwM0f2DyTSQ8KI8mNCAq0dIYIIYxImqRKVrg2y3yeYuFEpJ3TYuOCYjPN6KSU0lQitgMmxLi9xfQSlc/s320/sant.-bl-belt,bargers+051.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456330236568320274" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"This has always struck me as somewhat amazing: That magic little black box enables one to leave, in a small way for a short while, one's own time and space and occupy, maybe only superficially, another time and space: a then and there that really existed as well as a here and now....</span>" <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> Charles Harbutt</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-28876147844351704582010-03-24T10:32:00.000-07:002010-03-28T10:36:31.512-07:00El Cargador<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6_ekbqKAYwp7mKVYloMb3bWL9_N35kA7-g9Hk7qXZIkITBNW8-IgnJ8VN4_bu7KeVDF_GAbZG5tjijufQhtNGNu6s1VN1heDS7IWMs96Y4brUTWDIXLYbbaPNOCAK0Qpn1_JnRTB7FE/s1600/santiago,+the+emperor+002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6_ekbqKAYwp7mKVYloMb3bWL9_N35kA7-g9Hk7qXZIkITBNW8-IgnJ8VN4_bu7KeVDF_GAbZG5tjijufQhtNGNu6s1VN1heDS7IWMs96Y4brUTWDIXLYbbaPNOCAK0Qpn1_JnRTB7FE/s320/santiago,+the+emperor+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453735838483883458" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUXGsszo2b8I2fY3J4xSHPmeVVPfbN2lFGYFzgp5jpSuhPKM85YoGyMJT1z6-pba4tA7Z_-e_k7eHfRF0tVNuUtnT0dkTJX30ESv3GD5jKuGy_1AEymuGJHzTvJ3NiHlbdoXIaeDoS6vM/s1600/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+129.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUXGsszo2b8I2fY3J4xSHPmeVVPfbN2lFGYFzgp5jpSuhPKM85YoGyMJT1z6-pba4tA7Z_-e_k7eHfRF0tVNuUtnT0dkTJX30ESv3GD5jKuGy_1AEymuGJHzTvJ3NiHlbdoXIaeDoS6vM/s200/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+129.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453033554143049362" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">On a warm, windy March day Vincent Stanzione and I went<br />into the pueblo of Santiago Atitlan in search of anybody who<br />might know some of the history of a man known to most as<br />El Cargador. A man who for most of his abbreviated life carried<br />cargo from boats that unloaded at the docks. He carried his loads<br />from 6 AM until there was little or nothing more that needed<br />moving. Little was known about him except that he was often<br />ridiculed because of his appearance, that he was ridiculously<br />drunk most afternoons and nights, and that he almost always<br />slept in the street.<br /><br />Vincent, fluent in both Spanish and Tzutujil, talked with some<br />of the people who knew him best. He died sometime during the<br />past year and was given a pauper's burial. As best we can<br />determine there was one mourner, the Nabeysil (a sacred<br />bundle dancer), a long-time companion.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWlDuo2lorJA_Qm8xbFnQKue1jfK0C8VjhTTq6P3l3Sw_TgjznUbmZHxmNsudBUDyOvgurClQRt3uEPBdg8mmrvFeKAuOZzfRRXxDI8IiC98FnqwsKmPbv4UaxSJ3HU7kcGRH4-cmHRbc/s1600/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+130.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWlDuo2lorJA_Qm8xbFnQKue1jfK0C8VjhTTq6P3l3Sw_TgjznUbmZHxmNsudBUDyOvgurClQRt3uEPBdg8mmrvFeKAuOZzfRRXxDI8IiC98FnqwsKmPbv4UaxSJ3HU7kcGRH4-cmHRbc/s200/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+130.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453030824480404594" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJ8VSwVlomNLJ7ahioJd-nqzF-ThVNncHdJROwRLVmtDRLmvrWPk1x1wq81r0Z4UxInnub0vLIi2KZtaMCdlJpUwWSFzQz1vd_8RVA6ZpWcM1izh7aN3DiyNbaOM0eSaMQ5zKWMzYIts/s1600/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+105.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 198px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIJ8VSwVlomNLJ7ahioJd-nqzF-ThVNncHdJROwRLVmtDRLmvrWPk1x1wq81r0Z4UxInnub0vLIi2KZtaMCdlJpUwWSFzQz1vd_8RVA6ZpWcM1izh7aN3DiyNbaOM0eSaMQ5zKWMzYIts/s320/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+105.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453027912461219714" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7hMNNFazK3y09koj2VIm-ki4yyxjgBC1u7xdaxv9qDyvlzlTes4fYkVj7tIv5r_Gqvpnr-0GpIqwlI1kD5pXZt9AF3HpBMWcnaGwpkyR3forRRwunmoyEjOsCh3CL7WB-Twta3MbqH7k/s1600/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+122.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7hMNNFazK3y09koj2VIm-ki4yyxjgBC1u7xdaxv9qDyvlzlTes4fYkVj7tIv5r_Gqvpnr-0GpIqwlI1kD5pXZt9AF3HpBMWcnaGwpkyR3forRRwunmoyEjOsCh3CL7WB-Twta3MbqH7k/s200/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+122.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453028711209082274" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Vincent has transcribed the simple comments made about El Cargador. Most recalled him with sadness or humorous comments. It seems that practically everybody recognized him, but knew little of his life.<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoGTNnuH2V8jrKxFiB-SlFkxx7NtyNEgGYY8FR4QUEY11yd9ls7sKNI8bSTkmYXZsaUHixTAFRizRHLqPKlJU4R8oaumwGDYOERluIsXxHOaDHv_jDhvXzQWUeOq7WD_nZG8IpW17rZGA/s1600/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+107.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoGTNnuH2V8jrKxFiB-SlFkxx7NtyNEgGYY8FR4QUEY11yd9ls7sKNI8bSTkmYXZsaUHixTAFRizRHLqPKlJU4R8oaumwGDYOERluIsXxHOaDHv_jDhvXzQWUeOq7WD_nZG8IpW17rZGA/s320/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+107.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453027459876829586" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4DzpmpdwEkdcNyP8Qrb4g6LdLp52MIbEbqo5CxGPHWeUkksqsxNbgP2VSeW3-JODuN4q8-3tnbG9iZEM-P_BTmkbt99A4cPVvqsN75DkqyFAEBSm9jUMafOEwNobiT-k34EouDRkIAok/s1600/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+139.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4DzpmpdwEkdcNyP8Qrb4g6LdLp52MIbEbqo5CxGPHWeUkksqsxNbgP2VSeW3-JODuN4q8-3tnbG9iZEM-P_BTmkbt99A4cPVvqsN75DkqyFAEBSm9jUMafOEwNobiT-k34EouDRkIAok/s200/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+139.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453029953825267890" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />"He was always a bothersome person. He drank a lot as a young man and I think that maybe he was driven mad, mentally ill, by the people around him. He had brothers, but I don't think anybody knows where they are."<br /><br />"He owned a small parcel of land in the center of the pueblo.<br />Some of his family loaned him small amounts of money at times,<br />and then, when he was unable to pay them back, they took his<br />land. Then they threw him out of the house."<br /><br />It seems that he was fond of the young girls, but was totally inept around them. They would tease him and he would throw stones at the girls. When Vincent began talking with them this is their first memory.<br /><br />"His thinking wasn't straight, his head wasn't straight. He just wasn't normal in the way people should be normal. Once a man wanted to clean him up because he was a filthy person, he never washed. Never cleaned his clothes. People were afraid of him because he was so filthy and<br />smelled so bad."<br /><br />"He got people really mad. And they made him angry. There was a lot of rock throwing and name calling."<br /><br />"They taunted him by calling him Mono (monkey) and laughed at him when he got mad."<br /><br />"He might have been appreciated in older times, times when people appreciated people like him, people who were touched or slow, but knew when earthquakes were about to happen, or how to make the rains come. He could have been a spiritualist, he would have had some respect. He might have been a diviner or an oracle and had a real place here."<br /><br />His name was Adoy. (K'aamronel, Cargador. Eb'rel, drunk). He was from the pueblo of Panul originally. He was Diego Rianda. He will be remembered by many as an entertainer, a simple thankful man, always grateful for a few coins to buy rum, one who, probably never knowing it, enriched lives just by being a special character.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqzjxQtKtwMcpF0xAQD3IPRoDfQ5N0z4SIT3KOwg02M0ZxUC_Y-k3Jnm_gbr5lZJMSzRKD773E7E_bGgPTHbjuhVyuw8FsTuOhyphenhyphenk-IDbXxS89ymVQRhxx7oJCOiK5YGVDWwRL1S03ctQ/s1600/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+098.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqzjxQtKtwMcpF0xAQD3IPRoDfQ5N0z4SIT3KOwg02M0ZxUC_Y-k3Jnm_gbr5lZJMSzRKD773E7E_bGgPTHbjuhVyuw8FsTuOhyphenhyphenk-IDbXxS89ymVQRhxx7oJCOiK5YGVDWwRL1S03ctQ/s320/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+098.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453026840595397490" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi2R-WrX_Rl0HYvRqv010Q81ROIrlpcyj2naaTY5Qw0glBODjVQF_mKVtqibO4H-MtF9hVlbrPWZhzcdR9IsLJai1IQ4IQJO6NNinfs8kqT3oEdvMvBQqXtE2PHCiZO-fivUsm55DE6Gc/s1600/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+102.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi2R-WrX_Rl0HYvRqv010Q81ROIrlpcyj2naaTY5Qw0glBODjVQF_mKVtqibO4H-MtF9hVlbrPWZhzcdR9IsLJai1IQ4IQJO6NNinfs8kqT3oEdvMvBQqXtE2PHCiZO-fivUsm55DE6Gc/s320/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+102.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453026280574066114" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg18GY2JxYRps3aWu3YEb8shdbP7R0fmOOEvPvqsfHy6X-rcRglUmo06q9KNYZtzfdPGjuUsSKLkk8VX7YmkHfM-iUYCZe-rqcFTfMhJGFLSlKd8VoF8XdYeB_XhThGvSOn2TnK9IZja8A/s1600/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+099.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg18GY2JxYRps3aWu3YEb8shdbP7R0fmOOEvPvqsfHy6X-rcRglUmo06q9KNYZtzfdPGjuUsSKLkk8VX7YmkHfM-iUYCZe-rqcFTfMhJGFLSlKd8VoF8XdYeB_XhThGvSOn2TnK9IZja8A/s320/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+099.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453024966831469154" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3e5qNVdwHDfzWA3aGAwe89GbktEt2RwHkyj5RZbScDglo1d1iXUaa6sUMSfcDpWTqZxgRe976DkPRNspKd9gqm4c0Ns8xZvUsCvMoOoqQkxbZ9moJ1BaIJq7GdNFXyM_lX-b8YPW6g00/s1600/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+103.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3e5qNVdwHDfzWA3aGAwe89GbktEt2RwHkyj5RZbScDglo1d1iXUaa6sUMSfcDpWTqZxgRe976DkPRNspKd9gqm4c0Ns8xZvUsCvMoOoqQkxbZ9moJ1BaIJq7GdNFXyM_lX-b8YPW6g00/s320/santiago+and+Vinnie+interview+26-3-10+103.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453019819558314530" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />(( Vincent Stanzione is the author of <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Rituals of Sacrifice</span>: University of New Mexico Press ))Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-35929189644582158972010-03-15T10:16:00.000-07:002010-03-15T12:55:14.642-07:00Flowers of Guatemala: Part I<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7z_dxiqOYNJv50FQqPSE8yP0DYywqLGuCG3cG7vUQS4OsHm3iV56WiEYS8XThI_brV49xt6HlE30BevIDWeUvvMrGEdIS9E3A7YoD-s-Ew6nI73Y5BgeOnX3X4Xjs7_e5s7gKHHqaynE/s1600-h/10-14-09++cementario+and+flowers+034.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7z_dxiqOYNJv50FQqPSE8yP0DYywqLGuCG3cG7vUQS4OsHm3iV56WiEYS8XThI_brV49xt6HlE30BevIDWeUvvMrGEdIS9E3A7YoD-s-Ew6nI73Y5BgeOnX3X4Xjs7_e5s7gKHHqaynE/s320/10-14-09++cementario+and+flowers+034.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448948422426328386" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlGCGzfEGFAK5Bf2mom7QCzUG5vx4s9NVa-0-7VMwCfTM20kRkGTtFuKJD9jIY7_mQIrpwEZ7crpc8AO9x90tsKUTB4X7VLqPZEIlflWAHh3AqjR7XL6dIKe6GeduHUOuB3cM7nfCT0bE/s1600-h/b-w+and+color++9-30-2009+%2Bvicki+278.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlGCGzfEGFAK5Bf2mom7QCzUG5vx4s9NVa-0-7VMwCfTM20kRkGTtFuKJD9jIY7_mQIrpwEZ7crpc8AO9x90tsKUTB4X7VLqPZEIlflWAHh3AqjR7XL6dIKe6GeduHUOuB3cM7nfCT0bE/s320/b-w+and+color++9-30-2009+%2Bvicki+278.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448944749141329554" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwNOlP1l5wPLfK4OIpqs1g8wPS31VO4sy32jmXS8l8jGcjf8eVAe_ascJQ3NeBMm039jX82BHpLYHbuT719hHcccwj_xecAc7u2g3ynLAgN04dUz-zQgFfECTBAyJG-gDGjx3Kz0U9DGA/s1600-h/b-w+and+color++9-30-2009+%2Bvicki+290.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwNOlP1l5wPLfK4OIpqs1g8wPS31VO4sy32jmXS8l8jGcjf8eVAe_ascJQ3NeBMm039jX82BHpLYHbuT719hHcccwj_xecAc7u2g3ynLAgN04dUz-zQgFfECTBAyJG-gDGjx3Kz0U9DGA/s320/b-w+and+color++9-30-2009+%2Bvicki+290.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448933658945928786" border="0" /></a><br /><br />For many years this photographer noticed that when he photographed in Guatemala, whether landscapes, portraits, or scenes from daily life, that flowers crept into the images -- often without planning or intent. The ubiquitous-ness though mostly unintentional nevertheless provided enhancement, sometimes enchantment.<br /><br />A few years ago a motorcycle was purchased. Riding the two-wheeler put this photographer even more into the flower scene. Flowers in Guatemala are inescapable. The most inescapable fact is that that even the poorest of the poor will make special efforts to beautify their small place on this planet.<br /><br />An observer sees the simplest, most common of flowers in the oddest of places. Some examples follow: those in odd places and those where you would expect them.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwGCWGSqB8_r16bkhkmS8i0BOUz94I-RC8kez5_JPJP0_YvEc9i3LOqY-K2KOMnEwWn0M0RdX2uWJ_ulEllmVxZxM2hk0ERR2i8N8douWZxQhGCVtVjyqlxbGkj_aOll2oMNBEZQ1Psmo/s1600-h/color,+flores,+9-10-09,+from+moto+155.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwGCWGSqB8_r16bkhkmS8i0BOUz94I-RC8kez5_JPJP0_YvEc9i3LOqY-K2KOMnEwWn0M0RdX2uWJ_ulEllmVxZxM2hk0ERR2i8N8douWZxQhGCVtVjyqlxbGkj_aOll2oMNBEZQ1Psmo/s320/color,+flores,+9-10-09,+from+moto+155.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448938863144001138" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmz3KBBS9FR5CX8DCtxVC0VIcww4n9in3tQlwCQd2IvCqUWdfPuksGMWLTnLMGW3jSMsJzOJPKPmdB0qCtTQjhQLeP2NDxPYcSC3gnKU-a6Ud4AEasRsVL1vrxup3G5ZMf0n158_HD14I/s1600-h/color,+flores,+9-10-09,+from+moto+145.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmz3KBBS9FR5CX8DCtxVC0VIcww4n9in3tQlwCQd2IvCqUWdfPuksGMWLTnLMGW3jSMsJzOJPKPmdB0qCtTQjhQLeP2NDxPYcSC3gnKU-a6Ud4AEasRsVL1vrxup3G5ZMf0n158_HD14I/s320/color,+flores,+9-10-09,+from+moto+145.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448918456891117554" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_s9peJBP7SDitH3vTUmmfubMQqN5uTWBRzX1Q8wEx1GP3ak57TTMZrV8_P5CdKNH9sO0BfQ748SLF5HLt_rB3_bMzXJp5gdz8WTmdaBnqxr8DkmY5LIcGXXiq8sR5mHuI-dbVhuQpG-M/s1600-h/color,+flores,+9-10-09,+from+moto+117.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_s9peJBP7SDitH3vTUmmfubMQqN5uTWBRzX1Q8wEx1GP3ak57TTMZrV8_P5CdKNH9sO0BfQ748SLF5HLt_rB3_bMzXJp5gdz8WTmdaBnqxr8DkmY5LIcGXXiq8sR5mHuI-dbVhuQpG-M/s320/color,+flores,+9-10-09,+from+moto+117.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448917508780619122" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoGedFQ5CZ-EkQg78HzbUtZL2mxbl26Svq45ZlJYYihyuvPw5B5EBnJe7fC7GSbWz1EKRRY3de4Yl45cq6ecijr1NJw3WJEKuqWtWVMG3ga1ri2PjeNFnNLPYRUy2tHqD01MMLjrPFpEM/s1600-h/color,+flores,+9-10-09,+from+moto+073.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoGedFQ5CZ-EkQg78HzbUtZL2mxbl26Svq45ZlJYYihyuvPw5B5EBnJe7fC7GSbWz1EKRRY3de4Yl45cq6ecijr1NJw3WJEKuqWtWVMG3ga1ri2PjeNFnNLPYRUy2tHqD01MMLjrPFpEM/s320/color,+flores,+9-10-09,+from+moto+073.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448916704177017362" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcJfwwUCn-VTqEIcyuM1Z6Fhl53C4ldJeQHpiea_QyolIpd1I1gRSkarWZvGrHorHYth-oWlsYhQuj0SIn9a0wiPZRUvbKENN1Ss0mAg9nCN_DBuwiZnGMvcQf1br9dIkP-tm3JDb2GR8/s1600-h/color,+flores,+9-10-09,+from+moto+032.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcJfwwUCn-VTqEIcyuM1Z6Fhl53C4ldJeQHpiea_QyolIpd1I1gRSkarWZvGrHorHYth-oWlsYhQuj0SIn9a0wiPZRUvbKENN1Ss0mAg9nCN_DBuwiZnGMvcQf1br9dIkP-tm3JDb2GR8/s320/color,+flores,+9-10-09,+from+moto+032.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448914771616663874" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizAeQUR8xqLIsMYrNNFBiUQzg4IuGalullqyhG5_Fw7i4c87s8d8FwXgAOn8Md4b2a-Tzh3xj_mOM_ykXNkxuNM-7NgBYFAQtBjwXgW9rXz2yHRgtqIVON_f_mNzEn8oc2IWDTfX1oNQU/s1600-h/b&w,+kids,+flowers+9-20-02+063.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizAeQUR8xqLIsMYrNNFBiUQzg4IuGalullqyhG5_Fw7i4c87s8d8FwXgAOn8Md4b2a-Tzh3xj_mOM_ykXNkxuNM-7NgBYFAQtBjwXgW9rXz2yHRgtqIVON_f_mNzEn8oc2IWDTfX1oNQU/s320/b&w,+kids,+flowers+9-20-02+063.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448913577752361618" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0UevVuitDzvIgaybkfrvZKHCor0AFZdynqkR0AeSnHlzr-ItQwOgqwSEOg9NFPb1zy7hIPAB1ZPk9wH54pf6lg7l3xACZ-zAkKoKaG75lRckhlxr8mKCh3ea9q56RQz4enfp0Th8j7t0/s1600-h/b&w,+kids,+flowers+9-20-02+053.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0UevVuitDzvIgaybkfrvZKHCor0AFZdynqkR0AeSnHlzr-ItQwOgqwSEOg9NFPb1zy7hIPAB1ZPk9wH54pf6lg7l3xACZ-zAkKoKaG75lRckhlxr8mKCh3ea9q56RQz4enfp0Th8j7t0/s320/b&w,+kids,+flowers+9-20-02+053.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448912896362119234" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTLIM7L6wRN3xeWXkZbPWcVLLNEE3TqHV6VrSmIGDS_jkV7QAR_S_TDl6OErPihecAPR-BmNebAd1x9eFUx6KHwD6zqhTdNmQEcm-Z1ksSoQq_qYH2nzLbhDBdfJx5bsjW1kUAQkbJc3w/s1600-h/b&w,+kids,+flowers+9-20-02+007.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTLIM7L6wRN3xeWXkZbPWcVLLNEE3TqHV6VrSmIGDS_jkV7QAR_S_TDl6OErPihecAPR-BmNebAd1x9eFUx6KHwD6zqhTdNmQEcm-Z1ksSoQq_qYH2nzLbhDBdfJx5bsjW1kUAQkbJc3w/s200/b&w,+kids,+flowers+9-20-02+007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448912226764647842" border="0" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-18251826469224335622010-03-13T10:56:00.001-08:002010-03-15T09:47:14.944-07:00Deaths of Friends and Acquaintances<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWOCPFn7mHaCwDi_7-8KMzWVxJQGgqoZugYBd12hyphenhyphenD1bPD4Obvw2ea_CmRdpewmjui5qHm4v55lSCgk6eqdrNNbha1oSDXLhBjLJ8z68ExxLDBcaK5U1fuTAVD8F7Fg1TWoJT8kfFjEak/s1600-h/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+030.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWOCPFn7mHaCwDi_7-8KMzWVxJQGgqoZugYBd12hyphenhyphenD1bPD4Obvw2ea_CmRdpewmjui5qHm4v55lSCgk6eqdrNNbha1oSDXLhBjLJ8z68ExxLDBcaK5U1fuTAVD8F7Fg1TWoJT8kfFjEak/s200/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+030.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448899055848635394" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYNHq7UtZHpWaWLAIR79E9jvdgOM9POCrz9YSBGAo5jwS4gG9-R0R5_ybiZmErZrGW00yqss7uviEJctMASC2CRBRKy0IzIShEwqXsMPxUgoL48Hk9M4RB7VC-XTJjifrpP5oyIAXZf14/s1600-h/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+032.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 258px; height: 302px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYNHq7UtZHpWaWLAIR79E9jvdgOM9POCrz9YSBGAo5jwS4gG9-R0R5_ybiZmErZrGW00yqss7uviEJctMASC2CRBRKy0IzIShEwqXsMPxUgoL48Hk9M4RB7VC-XTJjifrpP5oyIAXZf14/s320/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+032.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448898263392815170" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Friends and acquaintances </span>who have died in the past few years. One hopes that they are<br />planting seeds and having sunshine and rain in perfect harmony; that the yields are bounteous. That the cargo they carry is light and that the remuneration is finally commensurate with their effort.<br /></div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnWyoM6Hxg-pdVGBun6HBnnbS9_TMjGDobhTdIVUJ6ASgtXp4iBG0XF73h6mgcggCHRxRxJZe8PEk3IjLP-3dlj7dxciejod_UMH2nhyphenhyphenpODQnJhL8MYUKGdFhPrLOnOtGsmNLzyExsF9I/s1600-h/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+026.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnWyoM6Hxg-pdVGBun6HBnnbS9_TMjGDobhTdIVUJ6ASgtXp4iBG0XF73h6mgcggCHRxRxJZe8PEk3IjLP-3dlj7dxciejod_UMH2nhyphenhyphenpODQnJhL8MYUKGdFhPrLOnOtGsmNLzyExsF9I/s320/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+026.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448895434179732290" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMkDbafi5HwUV67GwWdlRy8kf4dk_NbyoQKrGjf71v9ENvF96yKsbAlfua1kw9zb6buLiQWTebRb1AqNwLivwBrGzyVewqus8pOlbJ48iHJHO8lMTpDq4DAz5FlvF85lh-KkfFMRSFrBA/s1600-h/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+024.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMkDbafi5HwUV67GwWdlRy8kf4dk_NbyoQKrGjf71v9ENvF96yKsbAlfua1kw9zb6buLiQWTebRb1AqNwLivwBrGzyVewqus8pOlbJ48iHJHO8lMTpDq4DAz5FlvF85lh-KkfFMRSFrBA/s320/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448887813340115410" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7JZkTABcytuWkLQbI69AsQjKi-Off6qzcGkUUDfV9thj5o6ammLQvl2hzvnkoz4_vuB0zw_je-_SMVZ1oW9-AIfU10YniHBPwYzKSwhEiPx9ivRo14b3GubHizuHLV1PRhUmSTdBx2dY/s1600-h/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+017.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7JZkTABcytuWkLQbI69AsQjKi-Off6qzcGkUUDfV9thj5o6ammLQvl2hzvnkoz4_vuB0zw_je-_SMVZ1oW9-AIfU10YniHBPwYzKSwhEiPx9ivRo14b3GubHizuHLV1PRhUmSTdBx2dY/s320/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448887387582274338" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixyXyEFbUqAh7dIf1NGTGMAnY1-SVF46XUwh5Ga3yu6q88MlVe49BrtGcdmazE6mkJ3kGOAsL7tDBLseQpBxcvemphdWvILsnNGD7Oc8nsPuBTvP-g8b0wA5i0aRE3bMCU6591xyDgelM/s1600-h/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+014.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 301px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixyXyEFbUqAh7dIf1NGTGMAnY1-SVF46XUwh5Ga3yu6q88MlVe49BrtGcdmazE6mkJ3kGOAsL7tDBLseQpBxcvemphdWvILsnNGD7Oc8nsPuBTvP-g8b0wA5i0aRE3bMCU6591xyDgelM/s320/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448886606471662530" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA7o7Xwe3UWz5fnrvDRa4o84xRRZJ1pzDJO-3yAaeL6fGNEp_6tntQ053B6cTWAem-Za7wBN7-3puhIvzNx84XDl-QGQKDBqjrmycABR44fpxBxYPnQw0G8viJVplBHb_yfPLCEEYACrY/s1600-h/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+009.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 251px; height: 336px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA7o7Xwe3UWz5fnrvDRa4o84xRRZJ1pzDJO-3yAaeL6fGNEp_6tntQ053B6cTWAem-Za7wBN7-3puhIvzNx84XDl-QGQKDBqjrmycABR44fpxBxYPnQw0G8viJVplBHb_yfPLCEEYACrY/s320/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448886055285974258" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRgX9dkd3K4HA0Oltw91d3cY6X9ffnjy1cpGUbhuhijWXvlEa8bz5TR7z4So2d6tOdyew5eI1EPIYahEC17bIa9-n4m4uLOryOP3BD2-UKLEeNzgFq8SHGzDySn6tuiL22al4D1Kgz88/s1600-h/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+012.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRgX9dkd3K4HA0Oltw91d3cY6X9ffnjy1cpGUbhuhijWXvlEa8bz5TR7z4So2d6tOdyew5eI1EPIYahEC17bIa9-n4m4uLOryOP3BD2-UKLEeNzgFq8SHGzDySn6tuiL22al4D1Kgz88/s320/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448885615638068338" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaULvoBk4VPxdBHb7Gi4hKev6_M1tzZE-LDIRJnEUcmilS1T31dfTPXl5S3D2VF8EJ6KTQK_p0N9rFfikwEa8182RAskpDFJEtGfv8VO1lvbWR3D6vxqnRmis9XYaOm5q_JgTBUe_aYl8/s1600-h/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+006.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaULvoBk4VPxdBHb7Gi4hKev6_M1tzZE-LDIRJnEUcmilS1T31dfTPXl5S3D2VF8EJ6KTQK_p0N9rFfikwEa8182RAskpDFJEtGfv8VO1lvbWR3D6vxqnRmis9XYaOm5q_JgTBUe_aYl8/s320/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448885157494057570" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWU2KC5SF2pt47Y5EkAcL9yKpCjCt6E9o4ZajeGWi7Vkcm9TZARtAmzwtlkoGXtKVI33s0SU9kdbp10Cfo1os-sVT11Y2629Lrp5vkTzMQBcjhQS_27yfpBi7n1fyb9mRfaLJJ5bD5u0Q/s1600-h/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWU2KC5SF2pt47Y5EkAcL9yKpCjCt6E9o4ZajeGWi7Vkcm9TZARtAmzwtlkoGXtKVI33s0SU9kdbp10Cfo1os-sVT11Y2629Lrp5vkTzMQBcjhQS_27yfpBi7n1fyb9mRfaLJJ5bD5u0Q/s320/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448884600343167346" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJXPEh1VBvQMp_lsiPyl65jtMh3oYzf_oCpFEQaSWQBVMWakvsgnaPiw5HOF7Uj9OTRU9MXVFb3hjLTBCOlSxGb7mchYhxlyLMQ6XwmnhMCHc4UNx3pytlHcvjoL2vw03z-WGLwEGGm5U/s1600-h/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 342px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJXPEh1VBvQMp_lsiPyl65jtMh3oYzf_oCpFEQaSWQBVMWakvsgnaPiw5HOF7Uj9OTRU9MXVFb3hjLTBCOlSxGb7mchYhxlyLMQ6XwmnhMCHc4UNx3pytlHcvjoL2vw03z-WGLwEGGm5U/s320/dead+friends+and+acquaintances+++mar.+2010+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448882871257580802" border="0" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-55277035123893305622010-03-09T09:03:00.000-08:002010-03-16T10:10:17.530-07:00Farmers and Other Laborers: Part I<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKY7ZFwJjXNIn5_BPC5ZH8WEbe7ht8PLDSIw4nFk6mhY_Q8XBNGDzsh2nhWCY73KW3wBV2mkeQU5BDWWsYbqxCY3IkzPdEWSIGck-dFOUWxJpTQLf5M4y8iiEuuBP4l8IY53zIwDOiEOk/s1600-h/black-white+campesinos,+Carmen,+Vicki,+flowers+054.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 409px; height: 306px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKY7ZFwJjXNIn5_BPC5ZH8WEbe7ht8PLDSIw4nFk6mhY_Q8XBNGDzsh2nhWCY73KW3wBV2mkeQU5BDWWsYbqxCY3IkzPdEWSIGck-dFOUWxJpTQLf5M4y8iiEuuBP4l8IY53zIwDOiEOk/s320/black-white+campesinos,+Carmen,+Vicki,+flowers+054.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447105021387545090" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Tomas Sojuel was kneeling, praying in his bean field again yesterday. Rain is what he prays for. The fields are dry, the beans and corn have begun to yellow. Probably his corn will not flower. This is the forth time this season I've seen him at prayer. He kneels facing the East watching the morning sun rise above volcanoes Toliman and Atitlan. God, so far, has failed to respond to his fervent petitions: nor did he do so last year. But, Tomas is a deeply religious man and there is no doubt that he will continue his prayers despite the apparent delay.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPa4Wk4NK5klDSmCSPFq8gwhhgFd7lfskxr9zGyuMwcCL-7WuAktIKozO-acOmYyeK7o4uH__ohrebfmcFXK5rNyiehOp9xvviNUE2WGUhJOinmpBQC16C0pGL4-4NbNZ-WGkZGIXFSv8/s1600-h/black-white+campesinos,+Carmen,+Vicki,+flowers+041.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 305px; height: 409px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPa4Wk4NK5klDSmCSPFq8gwhhgFd7lfskxr9zGyuMwcCL-7WuAktIKozO-acOmYyeK7o4uH__ohrebfmcFXK5rNyiehOp9xvviNUE2WGUhJOinmpBQC16C0pGL4-4NbNZ-WGkZGIXFSv8/s320/black-white+campesinos,+Carmen,+Vicki,+flowers+041.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447106344839761122" border="0" /> </a><br />Labor in Santiago Atitlan is rarely easy or light. It is almost always demanding. Years of unrelenting hard work show in the bodies and faces of most older men. There is hard-lived character, but also a heart-rending kindness and sadness in every man. Laughter, too. How they can laugh so readily and so often is a puzzle, but they do.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7aq8TszQFwpRkkaFjJl_kCEdm8vZJddKtPEJ-RfuDW2yo_hTwDZp8UJsWjC3OoZmG6HVZCLCCDL41VHC1FJL1EOl9aKSTVXq_54ZRpMS1KxhHWEddc3O-Q5l5Uv3UNs8KTP7fPJ3kYzM/s1600-h/black-white+campesinos,+Carmen,+Vicki,+flowers+036.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7aq8TszQFwpRkkaFjJl_kCEdm8vZJddKtPEJ-RfuDW2yo_hTwDZp8UJsWjC3OoZmG6HVZCLCCDL41VHC1FJL1EOl9aKSTVXq_54ZRpMS1KxhHWEddc3O-Q5l5Uv3UNs8KTP7fPJ3kYzM/s320/black-white+campesinos,+Carmen,+Vicki,+flowers+036.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447105756434577250" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlfZo125Td_vXWw1LrysIMGqsKEHxZr3tM2fkk-PLJ51Ncsj8WTQwXzdwLW3QGpIjfm5C9TA8kTW-xVPZeVzbAPInv-vGtVjkj-aDmlNNx3aLot6Pl0XxrqybIEwQxX2A8uZaIGdSHQc/s1600-h/black-white+campesinos,+Carmen,+Vicki,+flowers+051.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlfZo125Td_vXWw1LrysIMGqsKEHxZr3tM2fkk-PLJ51Ncsj8WTQwXzdwLW3QGpIjfm5C9TA8kTW-xVPZeVzbAPInv-vGtVjkj-aDmlNNx3aLot6Pl0XxrqybIEwQxX2A8uZaIGdSHQc/s320/black-white+campesinos,+Carmen,+Vicki,+flowers+051.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447108151621527394" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc6eJX3di4deZTSmhg7nXKk9UcjGMBnaQ48AaKPTfw0Hs0LIKeKvOZc7_WwnGXoSh2Zo2S1Mp91vUw-mV5OTPFcRma33HZUMlA5zdVfZB6sU-hmZPhEXUOGChpcxVWN59P7LhlNN8wAR0/s1600-h/black-white+campesinos,+Carmen,+Vicki,+flowers+062.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 325px; height: 433px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc6eJX3di4deZTSmhg7nXKk9UcjGMBnaQ48AaKPTfw0Hs0LIKeKvOZc7_WwnGXoSh2Zo2S1Mp91vUw-mV5OTPFcRma33HZUMlA5zdVfZB6sU-hmZPhEXUOGChpcxVWN59P7LhlNN8wAR0/s320/black-white+campesinos,+Carmen,+Vicki,+flowers+062.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447113484718043442" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Some say that the campesinos (farmers) will disappear after a few decades though this seems unlikely. While there continue to be young sons and grandsons who accompany older men into the fields the economics of small farms (which continue to diminish in size as each small-holding is further divided at the owner's death) is a disincentive to continuing the centuries of traditional family farming. There are now lakeside "farms" which are three-by-thirty meters in length, hardly sufficient to provide for an average-size family of six. <br /><br />A large majority of campesinoes and day-laborers in Guatemala live below the poverty line. Rural poor, as a percent of the total population, was said to be 46 percent in 1980: it hasn't changed much since then. About 44 percent of farmers, at that time, were earning more than 60 percent of their income from off-farm labor. The off-farm employment is usually temporary and seasonal and takes men away from their families; most is at low wages.<br /><br /><br /> ~~~~~~~ more forthcoming<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-34186680926315719162010-03-05T08:09:00.000-08:002010-05-26T15:25:09.668-07:00Highland Women and Girls<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUqpVCuLKDUrv08nSpTu22gW-q47b4WbrlbpMsOHROUHmnOMsmVsiq7vK0mZFGiXt0cKilX1ZXG6HwpSArWdCvDKMIdDEr2LlXMnI2E042WvUehAZs1gicMODbgw4zJBvDySL2ed_obBI/s1600/fotos+for+vinnys+blog+post+007.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUqpVCuLKDUrv08nSpTu22gW-q47b4WbrlbpMsOHROUHmnOMsmVsiq7vK0mZFGiXt0cKilX1ZXG6HwpSArWdCvDKMIdDEr2LlXMnI2E042WvUehAZs1gicMODbgw4zJBvDySL2ed_obBI/s200/fotos+for+vinnys+blog+post+007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475665820273267538" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdJEaY7qhlKpMShQqFyESEVNLCnpMoovNCum8JCLxHB7MuFif3N5VgWbPSxcMcLGi6kq_Lqcp-Hw0lAA-pB_GMsSrUojGBMu8OP24a2LlorP2sA8kBuGNtgxp945ncc7vC-vo-lMRwc4Q/s1600/Dave+and+Marys+place+023.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdJEaY7qhlKpMShQqFyESEVNLCnpMoovNCum8JCLxHB7MuFif3N5VgWbPSxcMcLGi6kq_Lqcp-Hw0lAA-pB_GMsSrUojGBMu8OP24a2LlorP2sA8kBuGNtgxp945ncc7vC-vo-lMRwc4Q/s320/Dave+and+Marys+place+023.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468245045696592626" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Several weeks ago Vincent Stanzione and I talked about the possibility of a collaborative, experimental work in which he would look at selected photographs and write a spontaneous riff about what he was thinking. His commentary may, or may not, relate directly to the photographs. Vincent is the resident Maya scholar living in the Guatemalan Highlands. The reader /viewer is invited to make his/her own reading of the photographs.</span> </span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Text by Vincent Stanzione</span></span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Image and World: Interpretation and Art</span><br /><br />These commentaries are what some Spanish writers once referred to as automatic writings and I think, in a very general way, relate to the masterly executed photographs of Tom Waters. I took just one day out of my life to talk to these photos with written words. I feel strongly that Tom's photographs intrigue by the small details therein, ones often overlooked when there is quick, superficial appraisal. I feel lucky to have the chance to participate with Tom on this interesting and stimulating project of lightly giving my very personal interpretations, or responses, to his art. I hope they may serve to encourage your own dialogue with his images of a world become art. ------- V. J. Stanzione May 5, 2010<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLRMdgy9zU9RRDFnznZxsa5f1l1QhESp6nIL26OT1lV28w9uKwHM1Oo7uv8o9Icx6s8Gn6wzRc38qHUd99NuqmEl6qMV_B6gBOFRELq49fOx8hFumIycVb8NK3b6VrA6S3iSbMoVfCNMg/s1600/Dave+and+Marys+place+036.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLRMdgy9zU9RRDFnznZxsa5f1l1QhESp6nIL26OT1lV28w9uKwHM1Oo7uv8o9Icx6s8Gn6wzRc38qHUd99NuqmEl6qMV_B6gBOFRELq49fOx8hFumIycVb8NK3b6VrA6S3iSbMoVfCNMg/s400/Dave+and+Marys+place+036.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468244378530532018" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"> Barbara Mendoza with her coffee plant seedlings</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_YG9DR_4tjv72B0woZwLtPAlw2viXAIVWqSaYSlDElilAUz1WArXEJdHYqXk7DOl26Y61m7OTEDyOlCXLbiJQltuhkXpqzD_83GPO1cqFLr997CITbjpmwgoq-D3m0PuM6dnElfWzQPY/s1600/Dave+and+Marys+place+030.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_YG9DR_4tjv72B0woZwLtPAlw2viXAIVWqSaYSlDElilAUz1WArXEJdHYqXk7DOl26Y61m7OTEDyOlCXLbiJQltuhkXpqzD_83GPO1cqFLr997CITbjpmwgoq-D3m0PuM6dnElfWzQPY/s400/Dave+and+Marys+place+030.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468243620254616146" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"> Street-side sales</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyEccDthNHtB09tbDEClZWhwEQuAZyF0aN8OuO1c9c35dwFqeGygIDTE9siiAhEtMwlOZ9hj3dRdqdvLBIZH3S7-ozTig510VrEhAZ4g_UEM0lLLnmxKmwUBbVI5Pk-Rc75eqGPpNrNN0/s1600/Dave+and+Marys+place+015.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyEccDthNHtB09tbDEClZWhwEQuAZyF0aN8OuO1c9c35dwFqeGygIDTE9siiAhEtMwlOZ9hj3dRdqdvLBIZH3S7-ozTig510VrEhAZ4g_UEM0lLLnmxKmwUBbVI5Pk-Rc75eqGPpNrNN0/s400/Dave+and+Marys+place+015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468241996104850898" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj81IQWWzDBexvy7LY-6R0PFKfZt1FIxN7FTk1ZbOFH-vd1kdXHYqFYOCpvV79O3cu29htS3WHIYCCgwcXOaWLPvKyPZJSgkuqb2lfIB71NJw4erZe66V77O4orgGxkoFLj3SRYRWdCmt4/s1600/Dave+and+Marys+place+014.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj81IQWWzDBexvy7LY-6R0PFKfZt1FIxN7FTk1ZbOFH-vd1kdXHYqFYOCpvV79O3cu29htS3WHIYCCgwcXOaWLPvKyPZJSgkuqb2lfIB71NJw4erZe66V77O4orgGxkoFLj3SRYRWdCmt4/s400/Dave+and+Marys+place+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468241488833750066" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-style: italic;"> "Chicken girl" -- worked near the docks allowing tourists to photograph her thereby supplementing her family income.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3rDf__-2zosG_MSYbrqB1l7aI3CLJl24y1jLlk2GIKtTKkzj0Ngkj5riRD4H6btmIJ4DuWdtw04uilrXBd0jbCDzvHQ64jobXt01Z1yP4AD9tRa7WKnocMDHq9LEDa4XXOl3E1DCX6pM/s1600/workers-women+2+039.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3rDf__-2zosG_MSYbrqB1l7aI3CLJl24y1jLlk2GIKtTKkzj0Ngkj5riRD4H6btmIJ4DuWdtw04uilrXBd0jbCDzvHQ64jobXt01Z1yP4AD9tRa7WKnocMDHq9LEDa4XXOl3E1DCX6pM/s320/workers-women+2+039.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460039744266787906" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-weight: bold;">A Washing Place</span><br /><br />Throughout the Highlands of Guatemala there are ‘washing places’ where women and girls go to wash clothes. If boys are there it is mostly to play, If they are adolescent to try to get the attention of adolescent girls. Once, when there were no built washing places (such as public pilas), there were places along streams, rivers and lakes where women went to do their work. These places are still evident throughout the Highlands though used less frequently.<br /><br />These <span style="font-style: italic;">chajmob’al</span> (washing places) had a kind of energy of their own, a female energy filled with <span style="font-style: italic;">taboo </span>and its sanctions. Men were never welcomed into these places; if present it was never for long. Sons or grandsons, not in the care of father or grandfather, who would otherwise take them to the fields, would be there with mother or grandmother. Often they helped by spreading washed and wet clothes, scattering them across sun-warmed stones or on the ground in the sun . Or they might just loll about in the calming energy of their guardian’s aural embrace.<br /><br />Natural washing places, at least the ones I know, are always in near picture-perfect settings, locations where nature, society and culture come together to revitalize cloth, cloth that give humans a good part of their identity. Now that the population has increased in the Highlands creating greater demands for water people from around the world have come to organize and presumably improve the way women of Guatemala wash their clothes. Government construction projects and private foundations have built new, but less picturesque, places for clothes washing.<br /><br />Recently, women and their washing have been singled out as great contributors to water pollution in Highland streams and lakes. Their prodigious use of phosphate-based soaps are ruining the water for themselves and others living downstream, and for those living near lakes that take water from now ‘impure’ water sources. There was a time nobody cared where the soapy water went or how women washed their clothes. Now it seems inevitable that more private and public intervention is forthcoming.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLmvkqaqqDumLO9FSaNZJeHOs1JUMNkQW0qyU8nfnjSvexIK95LWpS1DdHHhJuDrXx8q7IzlRLSiNNMRMtrS6SkiG2cXJgM81mKjbPlziTrGpi58uxVasjCYmvTUEa-gdJFJkRxPvKbcY/s1600/workers-women+2+024.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLmvkqaqqDumLO9FSaNZJeHOs1JUMNkQW0qyU8nfnjSvexIK95LWpS1DdHHhJuDrXx8q7IzlRLSiNNMRMtrS6SkiG2cXJgM81mKjbPlziTrGpi58uxVasjCYmvTUEa-gdJFJkRxPvKbcY/s400/workers-women+2+024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460034320307899458" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjilnxAxidY3xrGhNG8mBGg7gbXRv_8LWLHkug-RvLVYJW646hB0fPonXyjpCCVfHDCyHfboKDy16lITX3Oj2DmkNKosEM2HnFv9Vt8utclFDI68LjKhdPLwOKGevFgPSU9g5q93XzqSIM/s1600/workers-women+2+035.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjilnxAxidY3xrGhNG8mBGg7gbXRv_8LWLHkug-RvLVYJW646hB0fPonXyjpCCVfHDCyHfboKDy16lITX3Oj2DmkNKosEM2HnFv9Vt8utclFDI68LjKhdPLwOKGevFgPSU9g5q93XzqSIM/s400/workers-women+2+035.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460039089714606226" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBiqEpCfgU0UXAD1CpS4prxeIgOcbZlEyWS3-OMUWQTV_GAiXuJqhtzk4kAh3vWbuj9YA7eq9ygO_avhMWheHEEludFlD_naQoxp6fz0NKWwHai0l5R_1uT5KFVebIJ5j_lOk_OkVOokc/s1600/pana-santiago++5-10+042.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBiqEpCfgU0UXAD1CpS4prxeIgOcbZlEyWS3-OMUWQTV_GAiXuJqhtzk4kAh3vWbuj9YA7eq9ygO_avhMWheHEEludFlD_naQoxp6fz0NKWwHai0l5R_1uT5KFVebIJ5j_lOk_OkVOokc/s320/pana-santiago++5-10+042.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475275254046994994" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-style: italic;"> Construction of new pilas -- washing places -- near lakeside, Santiago Atitlan</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-RshAU4K5rUiWkLQq1hhVetIQ95-uWX22xcKiw4t37OofhyNmDEtV-LeDUXy4lEsDWplzsDr8OwvT951KXUulNfyXvZVfq6dgdi0Uweq1fJm7RSHkYvOv-jzAx2sFKB_EtTPsYfhGsIM/s1600/workers-women+2+007.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-RshAU4K5rUiWkLQq1hhVetIQ95-uWX22xcKiw4t37OofhyNmDEtV-LeDUXy4lEsDWplzsDr8OwvT951KXUulNfyXvZVfq6dgdi0Uweq1fJm7RSHkYvOv-jzAx2sFKB_EtTPsYfhGsIM/s320/workers-women+2+007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460038466213837826" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dignity has a Face, Age a Place</span><br /><br />Some people get old . Some live exceptionally long lives. Some don’t. We never know our destiny. If we did it would probably terrify us, not knowing what lies ahead. One thing that I know about aged people I have come to know in the Guatemalan Highlands is that they hold themselves with great dignity as they manifest their victory in lives of almost endless struggle.<br /><br />Old folks for the most part don’t talk much and when they do it is usually something so real that most people don’t want to listen. There is a place for grandmothers in Santiago Atitlan, defined by mythology, and it is to be there to observe but not to tell younger people what to do. The<span style="font-style: italic;"> nimawinaq</span>, as ‘elders’ are known (the "Big People") aren’t from the same world . They ended up living in this new world by mere fact of their inherited longevity. They aren’t supposed to guide younger folks in what they are doing because, they assume, they don’t know what needs to be done in a world that isn’t theirs anymore. They are there to watch with failing eyes the world that is unknowable to younger generations, a world the young may not appreciate or care for. None of this seems to matter to the <span style="font-style: italic;">nimawinaq </span> I have come to know; they are content to sit in their place, wearing ancient clothes and an aged face of dignity --- in this world where worlds come and go. One sees life and history in their faces. Resignation. Acceptance. The serious demeanor, the occasional smile. I have been where you are youngster, they seem to be saying, be prepared.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4YL1n8Ny_uK3lOdeoVkoWBT2O2xz0YxaOloh5ZEWH0MgOSQpRcDgRsxsj7Ah589ipXaIougVLAcOwMWLMtylIAUOnKW7gLoMs6Y5eUv40mfm4AHyOmZU0q1gfreucwsm6boQV-2H6ZdE/s1600/workers-women+2+027.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4YL1n8Ny_uK3lOdeoVkoWBT2O2xz0YxaOloh5ZEWH0MgOSQpRcDgRsxsj7Ah589ipXaIougVLAcOwMWLMtylIAUOnKW7gLoMs6Y5eUv40mfm4AHyOmZU0q1gfreucwsm6boQV-2H6ZdE/s320/workers-women+2+027.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460037680031560466" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Juana sold peanuts and bon-bons to schoool children while sitting on the steps of the Iglesia. She was thought to be in her early 90's when she died.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivyBJ-XgNl5QsI04jn4vEekyDSV2uEgQMgzVir8hz9dYrqdYOQvCAg6NnQURNaq1SS0ofLzhfMoGE-VP2qg-beMRJ7gNYhQvR2NrAGqGi1K0bBAag5I7NCZTeMJP5Y4Bmov0Vy_Mcd7xk/s1600/workers-women+2+018.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivyBJ-XgNl5QsI04jn4vEekyDSV2uEgQMgzVir8hz9dYrqdYOQvCAg6NnQURNaq1SS0ofLzhfMoGE-VP2qg-beMRJ7gNYhQvR2NrAGqGi1K0bBAag5I7NCZTeMJP5Y4Bmov0Vy_Mcd7xk/s320/workers-women+2+018.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460037125628128594" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Andreanna: Was injured as a child from a fall into an open fire. Nevertheless, she boated from Santiago Atitlan to Panajachel each day with her small blue begging bowl. </span><span style="font-style: italic;">Her efforts helped to support her family. She was a great favorite in both Santiago and Panajachel. She died a few years ago and is missed by many.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7EpyThMv3bM8TOE2UCfiZYdaLvqruRu1fJOun5uYZjW58FYKkqSfiNIBT5D5-WR3E-jCVGWeGihwXheRJ37sc2KCHljFooiNQXdq76mId6aA-owkJPvR__lHbEIv1h1AKIu8duZWw0Y/s1600/workers-women+2+002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7EpyThMv3bM8TOE2UCfiZYdaLvqruRu1fJOun5uYZjW58FYKkqSfiNIBT5D5-WR3E-jCVGWeGihwXheRJ37sc2KCHljFooiNQXdq76mId6aA-owkJPvR__lHbEIv1h1AKIu8duZWw0Y/s320/workers-women+2+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460036574516174002" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFnHs1n8B6x1wDCLafnxNVU0-uO4-rrs9PlZaGB2g3bsivdw_xvY_0HbjFHvoXrjimuzYIyTzlRHMjsr521s4sbR66VAlpYihqvDDBgmhy6_KFB89yZp8enBFXWLC27hIskqN3PH_d70E/s1600/workers-women+2+042.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFnHs1n8B6x1wDCLafnxNVU0-uO4-rrs9PlZaGB2g3bsivdw_xvY_0HbjFHvoXrjimuzYIyTzlRHMjsr521s4sbR66VAlpYihqvDDBgmhy6_KFB89yZp8enBFXWLC27hIskqN3PH_d70E/s320/workers-women+2+042.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460035916702555138" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhANjS6imERJQrNAT8S-YeGBq73CNbu_ZK3itcsJU498ICmH14kYhS9NvLx4IzOebnNb4-D9UhKwpyxtL4XPpsAaDkBxTU6nyomDF5pATml4FlUyCL_beaiVAJVPH95ElXza-rOW0387og/s1600/workers-women+2+033.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhANjS6imERJQrNAT8S-YeGBq73CNbu_ZK3itcsJU498ICmH14kYhS9NvLx4IzOebnNb4-D9UhKwpyxtL4XPpsAaDkBxTU6nyomDF5pATml4FlUyCL_beaiVAJVPH95ElXza-rOW0387og/s400/workers-women+2+033.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460035281745580642" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWU1-fLtL53nno_HjR9QPojp7HvDbkVCUJ5R_xafshwRoWJPYUnvMkRcDHCuKfjOabX4hgudqBcJ_gz-D4xxsJwSec4TDKhE_xEij4HxLmTi5L_W9sGQLsmW2zwy0yDX5wFOr5iVeUQHo/s1600/workers-women+2+030.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWU1-fLtL53nno_HjR9QPojp7HvDbkVCUJ5R_xafshwRoWJPYUnvMkRcDHCuKfjOabX4hgudqBcJ_gz-D4xxsJwSec4TDKhE_xEij4HxLmTi5L_W9sGQLsmW2zwy0yDX5wFOr5iVeUQHo/s400/workers-women+2+030.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460034814701744690" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwfyifn6FTG1NEt92qxzDTWW2QkUFIK5__kWBBpftg9PncBR1v7bXH8I5gCG1Ep3nWBpl1T2yJtx07W0A9NXX1E7LnFl8wsMKNHkIett9aGlcMF9JPlC56GL2jcHXuInwvy-9X8aNUoFE/s1600/workers-women+2+003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwfyifn6FTG1NEt92qxzDTWW2QkUFIK5__kWBBpftg9PncBR1v7bXH8I5gCG1Ep3nWBpl1T2yJtx07W0A9NXX1E7LnFl8wsMKNHkIett9aGlcMF9JPlC56GL2jcHXuInwvy-9X8aNUoFE/s400/workers-women+2+003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460033119490443602" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-style: italic;">Young girls learn to help in the mercado</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaA1qQMDn8sINhC7K7cxKJiylOlEqf0C4Vy9xfTf_aoS8D7zVnhOyqJsed5Nyb46cRHU83pXUXPCgYnVkU4Yx5ERjj9ows7yr0W60dGo-qxHj6b23WqssJ9Xz1tvlV5ZVOXzuU06PZXLE/s1600/workers-women+2+019.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaA1qQMDn8sINhC7K7cxKJiylOlEqf0C4Vy9xfTf_aoS8D7zVnhOyqJsed5Nyb46cRHU83pXUXPCgYnVkU4Yx5ERjj9ows7yr0W60dGo-qxHj6b23WqssJ9Xz1tvlV5ZVOXzuU06PZXLE/s400/workers-women+2+019.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460032581463402626" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkIIVJieDo8bWohzlLun693_BrmEzDzhyphenhyphenHORQmG-kOpjTHFF6sA8H4fe5hL6UBzMt90jEiA-f3uB9mt5x3lva0QxvfUlJpgUCtCDT788QQIwj0ZHZ34VFcV-uAqTtKI-apn8xjdFRq8_s/s1600/workers-women+I+017.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkIIVJieDo8bWohzlLun693_BrmEzDzhyphenhyphenHORQmG-kOpjTHFF6sA8H4fe5hL6UBzMt90jEiA-f3uB9mt5x3lva0QxvfUlJpgUCtCDT788QQIwj0ZHZ34VFcV-uAqTtKI-apn8xjdFRq8_s/s400/workers-women+I+017.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460031958780367618" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Looking through a Magic lens </span><br /><br />If a photographer could change a person’s life just by taking a picture then photography would attain meaning far beyond the magic it often has in the Highland world. A photographer could look straight through the lens with a deep desire then ... click, the world would change. A young woman recently initiated into the world of her gender’s inherited pain of femininity might no longer need to go to the lake shore to cut, carry and load cabbage or beets to earn a few quetzales for her family.<br /><br />With just the infinitesimal passing of the movement of a camera’s shutter the photographic subject would find deliverance from the trouble and toil of her human inheritance<br /><br />In this magical reality a young woman, an older girl, one with the clothing that tells everyone her station in life, would have her photo taken and be gifted, free of the pain of the female way, free from the struggle for life, free to go to school , free from the bonds of her station. Free to choose her destiny. Free to decide for herself the value and control of her womb.<br /><br />If, by taking a picture, the photographer could transform life for the greater good ,that he, or she, might hold close to heart, then photography would be the magical art. Magical as it is often made out to be in this part of the world. But until that day photographers, photographs and willing subjects will simply have to talk to the world. ~~~~~~~~~~~~Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-52257236827727900482009-10-29T11:29:00.000-07:002010-03-10T12:14:36.442-08:00Carmen's Flowers<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFW8Pej9UWyaSAytuA1MYXH7pAFYB6nB21HikamP5-RE9sGHSHkA9yk3AeGjES6chQzj8zZkQwY5X3oGr8j1TZjg_4g0WV2MGlc0YAMdC7jmJXiGrFcSfD5GmZTM72JN_ILi70dL1V5PQ/s1600-h/antigua+and+Carmen+flowers+075.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 190px; height: 254px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFW8Pej9UWyaSAytuA1MYXH7pAFYB6nB21HikamP5-RE9sGHSHkA9yk3AeGjES6chQzj8zZkQwY5X3oGr8j1TZjg_4g0WV2MGlc0YAMdC7jmJXiGrFcSfD5GmZTM72JN_ILi70dL1V5PQ/s320/antigua+and+Carmen+flowers+075.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447086156470780418" border="0" /></a>Carmen lives along the roadside between San Lucas Toliman and Godinez, Guatemala. Her <span style="font-style: italic;">casita</span> (house) is squeezed between a state highway and Lake Atitlan, one of the more beautiful lakes in the world. I approach her house with some trepidation, she has two small white dogs that suddenly appear at the front door alerting Carmen and her neighbors who will spend the next hour watching us through slightly parted curtains.<br /><br />In flat sandals Carmen stands 5 feet 2 inches. She is thin. Her hair is exceptionally black and, of course, her eyes are dark and intense. I have not seen her without red lipstick or a red dress of some hue. Occasionally, she works the soil around her flowers wearing a burgandy red velveteen dress that miraculously stays clean. She smiles, but infrequently. Mostly she has a misleading severity in her expression.<br /><br />For the past two months I have passed her house and admired her efforts to create a small flower garden between her casita and the house that borders her property. The width of her garden is 14 feet. It extends from the edge of the highway to a spectacular spot overlooking the Lake from a height of 1800 feet; from the edge of the back of her property the drop to the lakeside is dizzily vertical. For somebody with a fear of heights this is a nightmare. She has planted local flowers to the edge, and is unconcerned as she strolls along the precipice identifying her treasures.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizIjlJM8OYFsaW649gd6DPIoWYhkbo43MEsrI3xsr-TzsyBkwMJcs2klBLM89ydTlgGdxbhjFn1gXqg4J_CX742ne-RUVpsjVj1zYqnB9zXK83Arf0sBZ8O5NYxyYWoWv1IEUA1w3jXqs/s1600-h/10-29-09+flowers+and+Carmen+035.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizIjlJM8OYFsaW649gd6DPIoWYhkbo43MEsrI3xsr-TzsyBkwMJcs2klBLM89ydTlgGdxbhjFn1gXqg4J_CX742ne-RUVpsjVj1zYqnB9zXK83Arf0sBZ8O5NYxyYWoWv1IEUA1w3jXqs/s320/10-29-09+flowers+and+Carmen+035.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447098670171981378" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB3G-n7N-3spsny8UFRNRConOFMacSWazZsjEaFDgwF3smQx3rBtZK61iuQmr6Z-v7771BmP-irbMnRhMzp1_rkmqvis4w1mZUTRwKcCWBuv2gGLxPALzSvVjm_aDlZerlRvfcWLr2F58/s1600-h/antigua+and+Carmen+flowers+072.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB3G-n7N-3spsny8UFRNRConOFMacSWazZsjEaFDgwF3smQx3rBtZK61iuQmr6Z-v7771BmP-irbMnRhMzp1_rkmqvis4w1mZUTRwKcCWBuv2gGLxPALzSvVjm_aDlZerlRvfcWLr2F58/s320/antigua+and+Carmen+flowers+072.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447090511533859186" border="0" /></a><br /><br />On my most recent visit Carmen was standing in the highway appraising the traveling circus which had set up on both sides of the highway, and in front of her house, in preparation for the local <span style="font-style: italic;">Feria</span>. She insists that I see a new planting and recent blossoms. We stroll amongst the new acquisitions, some with blossoms, some clearly dead from lack of adequate water. Newly planted rose stems, she explains, have potential in the coming weeks; one, she assures me, will produce black blossoms within a matter of days. I express a lot more enthusiasm than is merited, I think.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYlwr4f7VMCkq9R1AB_7YHnfHfhGIzqlDg9P70COHTIduScsHdeeCrVPeLjaglccKT14k4GSz8e0Dqtjds_KikEvzHBEw81zkBSXs2AMPpKhK1LeyCyadJ6apm-hq-xZmSszx_k-Gg4fc/s1600-h/antigua+and+Carmen+flowers+069.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYlwr4f7VMCkq9R1AB_7YHnfHfhGIzqlDg9P70COHTIduScsHdeeCrVPeLjaglccKT14k4GSz8e0Dqtjds_KikEvzHBEw81zkBSXs2AMPpKhK1LeyCyadJ6apm-hq-xZmSszx_k-Gg4fc/s320/antigua+and+Carmen+flowers+069.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447087668185352866" border="0" /></a><br />Carmen lives with her father, an 80 year old, who has lived at this lakeside location for all of his life. She, having been away for a while, returned home and has lived here since for a total of 50 years. She supports herself and her two small children by taking in laundry. She makes only the occasional remark about her husband who left her, she says grinning, for another woman.<br /><br />This sparsely furnished house, an aging parent and two children needing care seem not to trouble her as she strolls about her personal Eden commenting on each plant giving its Spanish name. She pauses to pull a weed, slaps her hands together removing dirt.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSXuJubAOsDyIKQi5o7ERnDC1EoclnsOIonEYW4BmQM-5nPP_SvTF-BbVyaPAQ5mmapSa9CBLtcs8q9JrwRfLumj_yR1oNc_KoIEEOJy3kihjcWS_ez2-L6F32KbH1LVjsI0XjgtWeMBY/s1600-h/antigua+and+Carmen+flowers+077.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 342px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSXuJubAOsDyIKQi5o7ERnDC1EoclnsOIonEYW4BmQM-5nPP_SvTF-BbVyaPAQ5mmapSa9CBLtcs8q9JrwRfLumj_yR1oNc_KoIEEOJy3kihjcWS_ez2-L6F32KbH1LVjsI0XjgtWeMBY/s320/antigua+and+Carmen+flowers+077.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447092505117700130" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Like most poorer flower gardeners in the Highlands she never pays for seeds, cuttings, or fancy pots. Roses are an exception which are sometimes bought in the local market. There are no succulents in Carmen's garden. Why this would be so is a mystery since succulents are bountiful in the area. Her preference clearly lies with small, brightly colorful, prolifically blooming plants.<br /><br />What is most enjoyable about visiting Carmen is sharing with her the pleasure she finds in gardening and her enduring commitment to the creation of something beautiful. In her small space and in her simple garden she daily affirms the universal belief in the Beautiful. Beauty, perhaps on the smallest of scales, but beauty nonetheless: beauty in no manner diminished by its circumstance. One wonders, is there beauty in the<span style="font-style: italic;"> quest</span> for beauty?<br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5173947518128833662.post-2809327946465474282009-10-12T11:50:00.000-07:002010-03-10T12:51:39.074-08:00Initial post.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuBDZNjNcvO2B7WdHwWs-VFxiTjbGF7Q8CnVmdXnxDNovU-4e3VEHc8nOBtk6cNd6DT-54JpbIKuSFafHLCsehdsZYozCYgXl3HqGaCjKqYLDVbPA5LtCAV7n4ftxCgDsljFDULJ9NPVE/s1600-h/P1080566.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuBDZNjNcvO2B7WdHwWs-VFxiTjbGF7Q8CnVmdXnxDNovU-4e3VEHc8nOBtk6cNd6DT-54JpbIKuSFafHLCsehdsZYozCYgXl3HqGaCjKqYLDVbPA5LtCAV7n4ftxCgDsljFDULJ9NPVE/s320/P1080566.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391792986113140338" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Another new enterprise for a novice internet user. My excellent friend Bree Hankinson is closing in on the completion of a photography website for Vicki Loewen and myself, and promoted this blog as an embedded feature of www.casadigo.com. Over several Margaritas we have made substantial progress this day. It seems appropriate to acknowledge that in this initial post. And, finally and most importantly, to introduce via a photograph, Bree Hankinsom. More later. And very soon I hope.<br /></span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09793555421667026314noreply@blogger.com0