I went to my favorite place … Little Stoney Falls. Once I got there, however, the parking space was full of cars. I was in no mood to share MY falls with all these people, so I simply turned around and moved on.
I took the long way around to get there to begin with, for what better way to spend this magnificent day than driving around with the convertible top down and the music playing? From there, I took the long way around again and wound up in Coeburn, taking the turn for Flag Rock and the High Knob tower.
I lost myself in thoughts and dreams as I drove up the curvy, winding mountain road. It was one of those perfect days where the sky is blue, the clouds are white, the weather is warm and the light is magnificent.
While I did stop at Flag Rock and was bewitched by the beauty of the mountains, the blooming rhododendron and the sheer beauty of creation, I bypassed the High Knob tower.
There is no longer a tower there and the trees had grown up the last time I visited making the view nearly nonexistent.
I just kept driving.
Over the mountain.
The dirt road in front of me, the dirt road in back of me, the forest on either side and the incredible sky above.
At some point, I did get behind another car and found myself, once it was said and done, covered with a layer of dust.
Small price to pay for driving along with the top down and all of nature surrounding me, filling my head with dreams and images; I was in another place for that space of time.
I ended the day with a stop by the cemetery to talk to Jim about this, that and the other thing. It seems that my visits there over the past few weeks have done wonders to balance my spirit.
I have things to say and no one, in particular, to say them to. I talk to the sky, the wind, the grass, the birds … and I talk to him. Nobody knew me the way he did. I doubt anyone ever will again.
But that is neither here nor there.
It was a lovely day and I am grateful.
So while the rest of the country was caught up in the celebration of freedom, I found myself caught up in the lives that live under the beauty of that freedom. I spent the Holiday weekend with a bunch of rough, cigarette smoking, tobacco chewing men, tough, driven women, brave 
kids of varying ages and a myriad of horses, mules and dogs. A small group they were, but nonetheless, an interesting bunch of people who held a common interest. On this particular weekend, they brought their campers, horse trailers, wagons, bridles, saddles, grills, tables and vittles and set up camp. In a flat piece of bottom land in Scott County, VA, what was just a bare place became a starting point for the week ahead. Each day, beginning on Independence Day, the riders planned to mount their horses or mules and the wagon masters to hook their equines to their wagons and take off for the day. There was friendship alongside friendly rivalry, but at the root, there was a love of something that bonded like glue. Photographs can only take me so far and without the intimate knowledge of how a group of people thrive together, the story stops at the image.
fortunate enough to have an invitation to this event and was, after a few hours, accepted as part of the gang. My main goal, secondary to photographing the happenings in and around the camp, was staying out of the way. I asked questions when there was something I didn’t know, and kept my eyes open for anything that could be used to document what these people were about. Though there was plenty of coming and going, I was drawn, not inexplicably, to the lined faces of the older men, the laughing smiles of the children and the
character of the animals. Shadows, shades, contrasts and light have always fascinated me and here, with these people, there was no shortage of real life happening right before my eyes. No one posed for photographs or changed their habits in the event that they might find themselves caught on film. They did what they had come to do and paid little mind to the gal with the camera around her neck. After three days trolling the bottom field in the hot sun, I had a “tog tat” around my neck in the outline of my camera strap and a collage of photographs that reminded 
me, as I developed the RAW files in Lightroom, why it is that I so love being a photographer. In each face, line, smile, grimace, frown and laugh, there was evidence of a Creator who is able to take the same features and make them different millions of times over. I am thankful for the opportunity to, for just a little while in a span of time, be a part of something that previously had been foreign to me. These people work hard, live hard and play hard. They have lives outside of the wagon train, but for this stretch of days, they come together to share what they love.
And this time, I was allowed to be a part of it. So to those who made these images possible by doing what they do and being what they are, I am grateful, for without a subject, be it human, animal or nature, a photographer is just a person with a gadget hanging around their neck. I don’t want to sit by as life happens around me and let lessons that I could have learned pass me by. I don’t want to regret not learning what makes people tick, what makes them laugh or cry and what makes them want to work so hard to accomplish something. I don’t want to let the colors in the world blind me to the brilliance of shadow and light. I want to be more than just a gadget rack.
A Photographer's Heart 