My Mobile Camera Moment
So I’ve been doing alot of driving back and forth from my home in Arlington, Virginia to my folks hometown in Lancaster, Pa. The reason is, unfortunately, because my mom was in the hospital and later, at home, but recuperating. On one of the trips when she was first in the hospital, it was the beginning of September.
Just two hours north and more provincial, in Pennsylvania the leaves were already changing color, the nights were brisk, and the air smelled like burning leaves. This first trip was pretty draining, my mom had invasive surgery and was still in ICU when I had to leave for home.
In the car driving home, I felt unstable, unbalanced and unwell. So I began the first leg of the journey home with just enough gas so I’d have to stop about 1/2 into the trip. I got off at an exit with a name I’ve never paid attention to before that day–something like Shrewsbury, Pa.–it was near a Kmart.
It was dusk when I got out of the car. I filled up and ran into the attached convenience store for some cheese puffs for some organized emotional eating. It was when I went to get back in the car with the cheese puff bag that I noticed something extraordinary. Around the back of this gas station sat a farm vacant except for thousands of harvested corn husks sitting still on the cold ground. Next to that was a single, spectacular tree that looked like a fireworks display in all autumn’s glory. It stood proud but silent. No wind blew. It was quiet. No soul in sight. The sun was setting on the whole scene. It was just about the most beautiful thing I had ever witnessed. I didn’t have any proper camera with me, but I had to capture this view.
I took out my cell phone and began snapping away behind the gas station until day turned into night. After the whole photographing process was over, a strange thing happened. I felt better and complete again. It didn’t matter that the images were taken on a hot pink motorola camera phone with an At&t wireless plan. (Even though the photos came out pretty good.) The creative act of photography had the immense power to lift me from my depressed state to one of hope and pleasure.
That scene is something my own mother would have appreciated and stopped for. That was the “her” in “me.” I felt like it was going to be OK. And a month later, it really was.
One of the photos still serves as my phone’s desktop picture.
With all the problems going in today’s world, do me a favor. Try to stop and notice the views behind the 7-11 store or the view on your drive to the bank or the gas station. Carry a camera in your back seat or trunk. It just might make you feel better.