My family recently purchased a 100+ year-old farmhouse. The place has
a lot of character; I cannot find a straight line vantage point on the
entire property. The interior remains largely unmodified from its
original style. Any remodeling was completed years ago; the result is
far from granite countertops and dark hardwoods. But there is
definitely more to this estate than cracked plaster and worn barnwood.
In the historic village of Grass Lake, a small railside town where the
county offices have lakefront property and the grocery store has
hillside lakeview, our multi-parcel stake is located at 365 N. Lake
St. and includes 100 feet of prime lakefront land on scenic Grass
Lake. The focus of this photographic story begins by looking through a
lens at the purchase of our new home during that summer.
Before the deal was signed, I was the first to correlate the address
and date theme. Far from a quaint lakefront cottage, the farmhouse at
365 N. Lake St. materialized as a year-round residence.
Three-hundred-sixty-five days in one year, and we will be enjoying
them all at Three-hundred-sixty-five Lake Street. Most people miss the
opportunity to breathe slowly and watch three-hundred-sixty-five
consecutive orbs sink into the giant sparkling mirror known as Grass
Lake. But I do. Watching sunsets at our new lake home never gets old.
Some say sunsets are cliche. But what about lava lamps? During their
cyclic path, the blobs of colorful goodness in a lighted lava lamp
dynamically mold themselves into infinite globes before falling back
to the mass of standard-issue goo. The blobs, in a process dictated by
time and luck, are viewed by the lava light watcher who will never see
the same blob in the same place in the same form ever again. Likewise,
I will never see another sunset that is exactly the same as the one I
saw yesterday. At this point, the camera is an essential tool.
365 Days – 365 Sunsets — all for free. Taking in the calming motion
and clear stillness of the surrounding wilderness is a priceless
experience. Images like these traverse time, sense, seasons, and
emotions; readily readable the photos are art for the sake of art,
nothing more and nothing less. But the collection of images I have
here are only a failing vignette of the true splendor of life on the
lake. But I offer a point at which to begin.
Furthermore, the significance of this property to our family runs far
deeper than the lake itself. More than just a building, the aging
farmhouse is a triumph of independence for my family. For my mom, my
little sister, our dog, and I, the place we call home is more than
just another house. It is my mom’s first house. A first jump to
financial independence after a bitter divorce and other life
complications, the land is a trophy of success – but not one that will
simply be placed on a shelf. No, this trophy has a story, and it is a
tale worth telling.
Contriving this project is a work in progress, as I am currently
attending school. Being miles away from the serene solitude of our
lakehouse, in a place where serenity is far from the norm, brings its
own challenges. College and tranquility are not words often used in
the same sentence. This case is no exception. I frequently exacerbate
my photo taking to compensate for my absence. However, no amount of
snapshots in short sequence can replace the missed time between the
leaves falling, the lake freezing, the snow accumulating, and the
general rise and fall of every periodic sun, moon, and star state in
between. I look forward to that in the future, but one step at a time
warrants itself here.
Time is an elusive subject for pictures. One can capture a moment, a
slice of life, a snapshot of time, but only in time can one accumulate
a collection of sunsets and life. Art evolves, and one of these days,
I will complete my 365 photographs. Until then, I share what I have
now, and I watch the sun set
