Yes, it’s a mass of ominous looking storm clouds gathered over a cornfield. This isn’t groundbreaking stuff, I know. I have a slightly maniacal love of storms though, so you’ll have to bear with me.
We had family up from Florida and my cousin, Blaine, and I decided a walk to the trails would be a good idea. After all, it was sunny and at least ninety out when we left, no chance of a storm. We grabbed our cameras and a couple water bottles before heading out into the afternoon heat. We should have just left the water at home.
From the house to the park is something like four miles, a five minute drive at most and about twenty minutes on bike. However, walking while discussing politics and the merits of art rock made it into an hour long trek. By the last long stretch of country road, the sun had disappeared behind a column of gray clouds. We were soaked in sweat and dying for some shade, so a break from the sun was welcome. We stopped on the side of the road a few times to capture the storm looming over the fields, figuring we had plenty of time. As it turned out, the storm was either closer than we had figured or the damn thing was moving fast, because as soon as we’d started walking again, it started pouring.
The rest of the walk, we ran from tree to tree where we could, sprinting through the rain with our cameras tucked under our tshirts where we couldn’t. As we neared the park, the rain turned to marble-sized hail—something we failed to notice until Blaine was hit.
Once we made it to the park, the rain stopped all at once and the sun moved out from behind the clouds. Of course, after we had gone through both hell and high water to get there, the trails were unusable due to the frenzied swarm of mosquitoes brought on by the fresh rain.
Still, I love a good storm.
Evening in the suburban jungle. I will admit, while life at the end of a cul-de-sac isn’t exactly exciting, as the sun goes down and houses begin lighting up, there is a certain long-exposure magic to it all. In short, the invention of the remote shutter release and incandescent light bulb made this shot possible.
This was an early morning—up at three and no luck getting back to sleep. I had a cold shower and a quick breakfast before packing up my camera gear and heading out. A thick fog hung over everything, so driving was a game of spot-the-headlights or, on the road cutting through the cornfields, guess-where-that-damn-pothole-is-before-it-takes-out-an-axle. Thankfully, it was early enough not many cars were on the road. Or, more accurately, not many cars were on the backroads leading out into the middle of nowhere. I suppose there never are, though.
I pulled into the park entrance and knew immediately this was going to be a good morning. The fog blanketed the field and spread into the woods, hiding the trailhead and just generally making everything interesting.
Leaving the trails and scrambling over thorny plants and thick brush brought me to a fallen tree. This wouldn’t be particularly interesting on its own, but the way it had fallen left it entangled in the surrounding trees. I climbed up the thing, balancing with camera in hand and the rest of my investment in the backpack safely hanging from a branch below.
