Category Archives: Photography

On Kids, Time, and The Farmers’ Market

Farmers’ markets are better places for kids than grocery stores.

Instead of being stuffed into germ-ridden shopping carts and wheeled down aisle after aisle of over-packaged high-fructose corn syrup, the kids in our Half Moon Bay farmers’ market get around the old-fashioned way: they walk.

Yes, it makes the shopping experience longer, but how else are they going to have access to the appropriately height-positioned samples?

And how else are children going to learn to give goods their full consideration before making a final selection?

We often see adults in the produce section of a big box store choose fruit and vegetables using the “grab ‘n go” selection process. You have to conclude they’ve never learned the necessary insights of how to select a perfectly ripe peach, or how satisfying the experience can be, or how important AND delicious high quality food is.

But a weekly engagement in a shopping world which offers samples, knowledgeable and kind vendors, AND moves at a little kid’s walking speed can impart an education to an emerging consumer that no high-school nutrition class will ever match.

And freedom from a shopping cart allows not just walking, but a full range of movement.

Nothing like a little tomato-powered Zumba with room to twirl to set a girl’s Saturday morning on the right trajectory. Of course, not everyone’s a dancer. Some prefer to cozy up close and scrutinize the finger work…

… while others actually need the assistance of a couple of extra fingers in order to get jiggy wid’ it. This little dude took squealing pleasure in implementing the mantra “Bounce like no one’s watching.”

But walk, dance, sit, or bounce… in every case, parental units never seem to be in a rush to hurry through the experience. It’s one of the very few community interaction hubs where everyone goes at their own pace, and everyone else seems to be okay–and even enjoy–that, and one another.

The casual market setup provides lots of seating options for those not too proud or busy to pull up a curb or a crate. Now, there’s a concept I’d love to see in my local Safeway! I’ve often wanted to be able to set ‘er down on a horizontal surface for one minute, even if it’s just to check my list. Stores used to have such surfaces. They were called “the pickle barrel,” and you could plunk yourself down on one and chat with the grocer or people watch for a minute or two.

The pace also encourages all kinds of learning opportunities that one rarely sees in a conventional grocery store.

Because each stall at our market houses an independent vendor, there can be several transactions, mostly involving actual cash, during a shopping visit instead of just one electronic swipe at a checkout counter. Without the pressure of the long line-up behind you, both market merchants and market parents are willing to take the time to let kids participate in the exchange.

This little girl was her family’s official “money holder.” She took her job seriously and with an admirable, almost ferocious, intensity. You could already see the pink-fleece venture capitalist waiting to bust into the world.

The lessons in commerce are equally matched by opportunities to expand the palate.

And who knows the depth of impact imparted when children watch other children happily trying new things?

At minimum, the farmers’ market experience opens the door to new family avenues of conversation and a great place to slow down, open up, and hang out… to become community.


All photos of children in this blog are used with parental consent.

iPad Test

It seemed like a good idea.

We have a great camera.

We have a blog.

We have a lot of time in the car, and there’s finally a mobile gadget that you can (sort of) type on like a real keyboard. Plus, there is both a Word Press app and a decent great photo editing app available for said gadget, so we should be all set!

In theory, this means that we should be able to easily blog from anywhere there’s a decent internet connection, right?

Blog? Yes. I did create this post entirely on the iPad: photo editing, writing, posting and all.

Easy? No. It took a LOT of trial and and even more errors, and I believe I seriously injured my patience portal in the process. And apparently, we aren’t the only ones struggling.

However, if learning new things and stretching your brain keeps you young, then I take comfort in knowing I just turned the odometer back a full ten years.


So thanks to Apple and Word Press, I’m now younger, and smarter, but also slightly less likely to be easy to get along with than I was two hours ago.
Halloo… Word Press? Can we get a little help here?

P.S. I can’t figure out how to add links from here, but once I get to my Mondo Mac, I’ll point you to some helpful pages.
P.P.S. Did I mention I’m a little bit cranky now?


And, back in front of the home Mac again. I’ve gone back in to the post and added a couple of links that might be of use.

Non-Stick Industrial Design

Rick assures me that he likes his pancakes a little “carmelized.”

If true, this is good. Or it might be a teeny lie, but one he’s apparently willing to live with because he’s such a sweet monkey punkin’ and doesn’t want to hurt my feelings.

Either way, between the capricious gas flame on our 22-year old oven range, the heat dissipation-challenged iron skillet I insist on using, and my lapse in memory EVERY TIME about both, “a little carmelized” is how we enjoy our pancakes in HMB.

But that’s okay, because fully half of what’s fabulous about pancakes is the butter, anyway.

The other half is the maple syrup.

But even that is only true when you get the sweet elixir of mapleness on your pancakes, and only on your pancakes.

Nothing takes the warm and fuzzy edge off a lazy Saturday morning burnt pancake fest faster than sticky everything else because of a poor spout design. This is why the little plastic jug containing our current provision of [easyazon-link asin=”B00555HUDA” locale=”us”]Spring Tree maple syrup[/easyazon-link] is such an object of interest and delight.

See? See that teensy-weensy drop perched on the rim?

That one blobette is the daintiest and most elegant testament to good industrial design I’ve ever seen.

If I hadn’t been so impressed, I would never have noticed that spout-like bump (spump?) set just in the front of the actual pouring orifice.

Until now, I’ve never met a maple syrup container that didn’t drip well beyond the request made of it. And I’m pretty sure that spump physics* has something to do with why this one stops on command.

Here’s something else I’d like to know:

The maple syrup apparently comes from Canada (yay Lanark County!) and is put into containers and shipped around the country by a U.S. distributor. But where was the jug designed and manufactured? And why don’t they get some of the credit for our great pancake experience, too?

In the absence of actual knowledge, I’ll do what I always do: guess. For the manufacturing, I’m betting China. But the design?

It’s got “moonlighter from Apple” written all over it.

* In the entire section on fluid dynamics on Wikipedia, there isn’t a single instance of the word “drip.” This explains a lot.

Getting Off The Beaten Pixel

There’s nothing inherently wrong with pursuing the classic “faded barn with cool clouds out the window at 65 mph” vacation shots…

… as long as you realize you’ll need to take the side roads to get them.

Once off the interstates, you can stumble across some cool photo ops…

… and scenery you thought only existed in Wile E. Coyote’s imagination.

But there is something else important for photographers about getting off their beaten paths.

For example, as I sat on the curb at the farmers market in Santa Fe, waiting for Rick to buy chili peppers, I remembered that the sun bounces off yellow in unique ways in different places.

The blond was sketching the guitarist. The waitress took time out of her own hurry-scurry to watch for a moment or two. People love to watch a drawing come to life. And because we were moseying along with our camera and recorded the moment, we remembered this, too.

Will it be important to our lives some day? Maybe.

Remembering is a big part of why I take photos. For instance, I will always want to remember what Rick’s hands and knees look like. To me, this is more important, long term, than taking pictures to remember what Mount Rushmore or Niagara Falls look like.

Not that MR or NF aren’t spectacular and worthy to be remembered.

But “the sights” aren’t all that are important.

Apparently, I needed to go on a road trip and stay at the Rochester Hotel in Durango, Colorado, with windows that open up fully to the night air and drink Canadian rye on the rocks and listen to Rick play “The Sylvia Hotel” by the light of the hotel’s neon sign to see his hands in a new way that I will DEFINITELY want to remember.

Would I have seen that within a “yelp” of home? Nope.

And, apparently, Rick wants to remember what I look like snorking with laughter at the cartoon he had just sketched about the windshield wiper episode from earlier in the day.

Road trips are about having no where in particular to go and all day to get there. They encourage your Inner Photographer to stay awake to images you might not otherwise see…

… and cow bling.

Do these earrings make me look fat?

I don’t think Half Moon Bay cows (or Teton Valley cows either, for that matter) sport such carnivale-esque ear bling. Will having taken this image make my life better in the long run? I don’t know, but it sure gives me a chuckle today still.

I’ll tell you what WILL make my life better: having a full two-hour lunch window at the Rancho de Chimayo Resort north of Santa Fe, and the opportunity while waiting for the impeccable service that would follow to FINALLY figure out how to use the manual focus on the D-90.

Life will also be better because this image. It will remind me of when we were pretty sure we were totally lost on the way to our lunch reservation at the Rancho. Rick went in to the concrete-coke-cigarette selling (and very dark inside from the doorway) general store to inquire.

I love that about Rick. He will both ask for directions and enter windows-welded-shut general stores in foreign lands to get them.

They were very pleasant and helpful…

… as were all of the people we met. People are another HUGE reason to take a camera along when you’re off the beaten pixel.

Three generations of beauty, culture and stories. This photo of the sellers of roasted corn at the Santa Fe farmers market could be the beginning of the next Great American Novel.

Besides Middle-Mama’s gorgeous face, I just love the teeny pig-tails and that little shrimp of a finger wrapped around the bebe’s nose.

It doesn’t even have to be faces.

Pop quiz: Do these feet belong to a man or a woman?

Sometimes to get the shot, you not only have to get off the interstate, but actually also slow down, turn left, and go four blocks into a residential neighborhood to investigate the shining dome you saw from the main road…

… or turn around and go back to see what the turkey buzzard was going to do.

Fly, fyi.

The brilliance of taking a camera along on a road trip is sometimes as simple as having it in your hands when you encounter the extravagant luxury of boredom. It’s the beauty of things slowing down to the point where you start to see new lines and geometries and the grace in every moment you get to breathe.

Robin Babies

Rick’s fabulous mother-in-law, Jane, says that in her latter years, my Granny Lever ate like a baby bird.

I always thought this was referring to the quantity of food she ate.

After watching this wholesome little family of Turdus migratorius in the eaves of our Teton Valley south porch go through feeding time, I now find myself confident that’s exactly what my mom meant.

Granny Lever never ate like this!

Besides the ruthless stomping underfoot of less successful siblings…

… there was a LOT of loud, demanding behavior exhibited…

… over dining fare that kept trying to crawl back over top of the parental unit’s head.

The hollering did not stop until the demands were met.

I never heard so much as a peep of gratitude. I thought I caught a muted burp of satisfaction from young Mr. Greedy Guts, although that could just as easily have been a hiccup of resignation from one of the two stompees on the left.

Once fed, though, the faint resemblance of baby birds to aged diners kicked in in a new way for me: nothing better to do than lay back for a quick nap and let someone else take out the garbage.

And now the Latin nomenclature is all falling into place…