Jack started riding his bike without training wheels this week.
As in all things Jack, it happened fast. He has two speeds: Stop and Go.
So to get a shot of his victory, it seemed only right to pan him going by on our front sidewalk; slow shutter speed for a fast little boy. If he looked ripped, it’s because he has about 1% body fat. He doesn’t eat enough food, nor does he slow down long enough for fat to form on him.
I wish I had that problem.
I met Oliver Carlson back in 2003 while working on Blue Stars, our book about South Dakota WWII veterans.
He was full of stories, and had a handwritten list of 15 “close calls” that he survived during the war. He was strafed by a low-flying airplane, nearly covered up in his foxhole by a nearby German 88mm round, splashed by a nearby exploding shell while on his landing craft on D-Day, narrowly missed by a sniper while shaving in his foxhole, and woke up next to a frightened German soldier after going to sleep the previous night in complete darkness.
The fact that he even made it home at all was a small miracle, and the chance to help him celebrate his 90th birthday was another. Dozens of family members, friends and residents of Beresford turned out on Sunday to help him celebrate the milestone, and he credits his strong faith for allowing him to live this long and help spread the Word to most everyone he meets.
One of the other fun things is that he also liberally spreads copies of Blue Stars around, handing them out to people he comes in contact with, and to date, he has given out about 400 copies. He’s my best customer!
Ollie, here’s to many more years of smiles and storytelling.
While Christmas is probably the number one holiday for most folks, the Fourth of July is our favorite. Each year, we head out to Fort Pierre for several days, relishing the routines that have defined this holiday for us for many years. Fishing, tubing, relaxing on river sandbars, fireworks, the parade, rodeo and lots of laughs are things that are repeated every year and are something that defines “summer” for our whole family.
This year was made more fun with the purchase of a new boat; one that actually runs all of the time and shouldn’t strand us like our last one occasionally did.
I shoot lots of family photos, and this year was a bit more challenging because my 24-70mm was stuck on f2.8 the entire trip. I made the most of it, and was pleasantly surprised with photos like the one above showing (from left), my daughter Anna and neices Carolyn and Kristen. What’s so great about f5.6 and f8? I think f2.8 is a lot more fun.
Be sure to check out the newest issue of South Dakota Magazine…I’ve got the cover.
Kudos to Katie and Bernie Hunhoff and their amazing staff for another great issue. They just keep getting better and better at what they do. Not only is the magazine a great read, it’s a historical record of our unique state. They don’t just cover fluff, which would make them an extension of the South Dakota Tourism Department, but they dive into complicated stories from our state’s history and do an excellent job of holding the interest of readers who think they already know everything about South Dakota. I know for a fact that my dad reads each issue cover to cover.
I think they are on a completely different level above every other “state” magazine I’ve ever seen.
I have never thrown away an issue!
Here’s the newest issue of Progressive Farmer, a magazine I’ve freelanced for since the mid-1990s and for whom I’ve shot over 20 covers. This shot was taken at the Poet Energy ethanol plant near Chancellor, South Dakota, just as dusk was settling in. It’s a nice tie-in with Poet, who is another of my more active clients.
Ethanol has always been a hot topic in the upper midwest…it is either our salvation or our demise, depending on which coffee shop you’re sitting in. I think it’s a good thing, but I also welcome the constant advances made in developing cellulosic processing for ethanol…will we be raising huge tracts of sugar cane or switch grass someday in South Dakota? Or just creating corn that will yield 300-400 bushels per acre? The future will be extremely interesting in this industry, and I’m glad to have a front row seat.
Love to shoot thunderstorms on the prairie. It’s nearly that time of year again. This shot was taken recently on the Fort Pierre National Grasslands during a trip to Pierre.
I don’t chase storms nearly as often as I used to…but I think I’m going to change that this year. I’m trying to bulk up my stock catalog of summer weather, and this is a good start. Lightning, tornados, thunderheads and rainbows; they’re all fair game.
I was pleased to get an assignment recently to shoot South Dakota State University basketball player Jenn Warkenthien for a USA Today profile. It was great to work in Frost Arena again, the site of many good times and wonderful memories from college.
Jenn’s story is both heartwarming and heartbreaking. She is a star basketball player who has endured the loss of both of her parents, and her post-graduate intentions are to settle back down in rural South Dakota with her high school sweetheart. It’s a very good example of the wonderful brand of people we have in our state, and I’m very proud of Jenn and her accomplishments. Have the kleenex ready when you read this!
It was a real pleasure to hear who Barack Obama chose as his chief White House photographer recently: Pete Souza.
Pete spent five years in the same position in a previous life, covering the Ronald Reagan White House in the mid 80s. He had been teaching at Ohio University when he got the call earlier this month, and had been following Obama off and on throughout his short senate career in order to compile a best-selling book, The Rise of Barack Obama.
I was surprised a few years ago when Pete called me out of the blue to talk about self publishing; he was about to publish a book about the U.S. Naval Academy and was looking for advice, and we’ve kept in loose touch since then.
I can’t imagine being the photographer in charge of recording this administration, with all of the historical connotations and attention being paid to Obama. Between Reagan and Obama, it’s likely that Souza will go down as the photographer who has generally photographed the most history of any photographer.
Go Pete! Check out his website here.
It’s not the flashiest ornament on our tree.
Formed in the shape of a snowman, made of green clay and splashed with some faded red paint, it is obviously the work of a young child. It’s been hung with delicate care on our tree for 13 years, and it never fails to draw tears for the brave young lady who made it for me.
I met three-year-old Jazmine in the early winter of 1995, just after I was assigned to make a portrait of her for the Sioux Falls Argus Leader. Her story was unique, and tragic. She was living with AIDS, and her mother had just died from the disease that November. Unknowingly passed to her at birth, AIDS was ravishing her young body, keeping her mostly in the hospital and in confusing pain.
As I listened to her story, I couldn’t help but think that this situation demanded more attention than the Argus was planning to give it. I went back to the newsroom and successfully bargained to photograph Jazmine for a couple of weeks, the intended result being a tidy little photo essay about a sick child and her family.
But nothing about Jazmine’s story was tidy. I followed her and her aunt Gretchen for several weeks as they dealt with numerous setbacks to the girl’s health. I endured Jazmine’s cries for her mother late at night, and listened to her moans of pain as AIDS attacked her body. I also experienced moments of pure joy. I watched her blow out the candles on her birthday cake. I watched her smile as she saw a mountain of presents waiting for her under the Christmas tree at her house. I smiled as she handed me the newly minted green Christmas ornament, and got a little weepy when I turned it over and read the simple words, “For Greg. From Jazmine.”
Jazmine’s photo essay finally ran in the Argus on February 27, 1996. We got a lot of positive feedback about it, and I think the Borgum family felt good about allowing Jazmine’s story to touch others in the community. I went about my work, but never really forgot about Jazmine.
I wasn’t prepared for the inevitable phone call. Gretchen called a few months later to tell me that Jazmine’s battle was over, and would I like to come and photograph the funeral? All of those emotions came rushing back in full force as I hung up the phone.
It was a nice funeral, and it was a relief to see Jazmine at peace. No more hurt, no more crying, no more disease. Just peace. She was buried next to her mother as her two young brothers and the rest of us watched in silence.
Every now and then, my kids will ask about the funny-looking ornament as I hang it on the tree, and I tell them the story of a young girl who was wise beyond her years and willing to share her painful story with a stranger.
I miss her, and I hope that somewhere she is having a wonderful Christmas season.
Another year, another harvest.
You would think that after shooting the fall harvest for the past 18 years, I’d get sick of it. After all, how many pounds of chaff can one photographer inhale without calling it quits? I haven’t gotten to that amount yet.
This annual ritual is in my blood, and much like birds that migrate south for the winter, I seem to gravitate toward the nearest corn field once those long leaves are dry and start to crackle instead of whisper when the wind blows through them. Much of my photography work revolves around harvest (like the image above from Wisconsin last month), and indeed it’s my busiest time of year. Except that I’m harvesting images, not bushels.
For whatever reason, harvest is exciting for me. As a kid, I endured countless rounds in the combine with my dad, and never seemed to grow tired of the same scene unfolding outside the windshield, hour after hour. I loved to drive the heavy, bulging wagons back home, and can still smell the corn as it made its way into the auger and noisily filled the bin. To this day, the smell of freshly harvested corn immediately brings me back to those days, and I can remember my excitement as massive flocks of northern ducks would descend on the new November stalks, calling to me for a well-earned hunt.
But while harvest itself was satisfying, it was nothing compared to the feeling of finishing it. You could almost see dad breathe a sigh of relief after the last round was made, and all of us were happy that he could finally take it a little easier. At 78, he still runs the combine on the home farm.
Tomorrow I’ll be shooting harvest for the ninth or tenth time this fall, and probably for the last time until next year.
I look forward to it, and for at least a few moments, I’ll be 13 years old again.