A portrait of (a young man as his older brother.)

Wm. graduates in two weeks. Lil' bro is growing up and going off to college. It's terribly cliche, but it happened so fast. 

As I sorted through my closet, packing for my upcoming two month stay in Beijing, I stumbled across a torn paper bag. A Southwick tweed lay inside, wrinkled and forgotten; it was one I bought when BWmF and I were leaving the Outer Banks in late January 2011 and far too small for me, especially at that time. Made up in a bold gun club check and featuring all of the details any Trad/Ivy enthusiast would want, I figured I'd eventually find a home for it somewhere. I tossed it to Wm. who sat aimlessly in my room in typical fashion, his vibrating phone adding an erratic rhythm section to selections from a recently mentioned playlist (now almost two months late and to be mailed this afternoon.) 

Admiring the fit on the tweed, I told him to grab an oxford and the pair of raw denim I bought him at Christmas. Duke came along, too. He grabbed my glasses after a few frames. Weird.

Though we're not related by blood, he increasingly resembles me when I was his age. Comparing photos from the summer after my graduation from Mercersburg and my first semester of college, his typical swept hair, backwards hat, and Top Siders seem eerily familiar.

Wm. and Duke. May 2012.

Wm. and I've an odd relationship, though congruent in practice with many of my long-running friendships. Dictated most by vicinity and presence, one could offend our friendship by suggesting it was one of convenience; our brief time backpacking together, especially after our last evening in Rome alone, can dispel any such notion. "I love you, man, 'cause you're my little brother." Some jokes needn't be remembered to endure.

There's less and less I can do for him these days, and I don't mind that. We've shared moments memorable both independently and mutually, and though the frequency of such opportunities wane with every passing year, I look forward to what the future brings for both of us.

Good luck, Wm. 

Self-portrait, sort of.

The slow shifting of pebbles across a stony shore lie hidden below the surf. The gradual turn, equally imminent to his being and unencumbered by volitional considerations oft requisite to migrations, has led him to this place. As he looks back, ever carried forward, memories tinted dull or histrionic through the years will scurry past; he will carry on once again as if naught but an idealized moment was ever reality.

5/17/12

Walking with Duke.

On a walk during my brief return to MD this weekend.

The "royal" Rhodie.

Stream-fed mosquito factory.

The light was magnificent as it shone through the trees; the humidity and mosquitos were not. 

Diana (Mini)- Cooler Temperatures

Diana has been troublesome. I lost a roll shot over New Year's Eve to a mediocre film processing lab, and without the pockets afforded by winter coats, we travel less and less. That said, her unpredictable performance has helped me capture moments in new light (and color.)

With our air conditioner out of commission for my last days at home, I've sought solace from the D.C. heat and humidity in memories of seeking warmth in wool.

Winter.

Crystal Lake, IL

Nags Head, NC

Rodanthe, NC

Harper's Ferry, WV

Spring.

Calvert Cliffs, MD

Washington, D.C.

Tomorrow, I leave for Europe. With or without her, I'm not sure. I'll return on June 28, hopefully clear in mind and ready to handle returning to an old town and a new phase in my life.

Walnut Ave. Bloomington, IN

Failure on the Eastern Shore

A few weeks back, BWmF, JJ, and friends accompanied me on an expedition to Calvert Cliffs State Park on the Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake. Neither BWmF or I had been in the better part of a decade, but we'd gone a few times together back in elementary and middle school. Fossil hunting on one of the sunniest days in February should have been a nice change of pace, if it weren't for the tides and the wind.

BWmF

The two mile hike from the parking lot to the beach was pleasant. The sunlight shone clearly through the trees, illuminating the salt marsh and revealing sliders sunning on logs just beyond the reach of my 35mm lens. If the wind wasn't sign enough that we were in for a tedious experience on the shore, we passed a group of people armed with buckets, shovels, sieves, and waders looking dejected and tired as they passed us on the trail.

We were greeted by high tide and violent winds that whipped sand in sporadic bursts across the couple hundred yards of open beach. Thirty foot cliffs on both sides of the beach intensified the onshore winds and the four of us hid behind sunglasses and hoods. My D70S stayed safely in the bottom of a zip-top LL Bean tote, Diana should have made an appearance (but didn't), and I only thought to take two quick shots with my Droid X once on the beach.

Margot's final effort.

BWmF before the log crossing

An hour of lackadaisical digging and sifting of the sand produced not a single shark tooth between the four of us. BWmF and I reminded ourselves that we weren't in Aurora, NC, a town that seems to be built on fossil-rich river sediment. After a picnic, sponsored by Wawa, we returned home disappointed, empty-handed, and sandy. Sometimes, that's just how it goes.