Category: Self Expression

…a 14 hour adventure.
New terrain revealed.

(right click photo to open in new tab or window for larger view)

It began with an internet search for “rustic stick furniture.” Ann expressed a desire to replace the 30 year old leather set that sat in the “three seasons room.” She’d seen a rocking chair in Mineral Point on our art studio tour last fall; and wished that she’d bought it. I don’t remember what it looked like. I had my eye on a huge hand carved dough bowl at the time. We bought neither item. I found some bent hickory rocking chairs, new, on line for anywhere from $200 on up to silly. I also found this 5 piece set on eBay:

A couple days later I shared my on line research with Ann; just before she went off to work. She found the eBay set desirable. I pondered the purchase and the 733 mile round trip to pick it up. We discussed making a weekend of it. I finally decided that I’d make the buy and drive down with one overnight in the truck or a cheap motel if necessary. I spent a night not sleeping worrying about, “what if I got down there and the pieces wouldn’t fit in the Dodge minivan?” I’d have to rent a trailer or something. I expressed my concern to the seller. He was, “99% sure” it would fit. I asked for some dimensions. Though they never came through, at least not before I was set to depart on Sunday; mid morning. I’d been burned recently on Craigslist; and began to worry all kinds of ways this could go sour. In spite of the fact that I do believe that “Worry is just a poor use of imagination.” When Matt, the seller, said, “Just pull in the double gate and park on the gravel, I’ll drive the furniture down, since you don’t have a truck.” All kinds of pictures formed in my “imagination” of what I may be “driving into” in the middle of Indiana. Including the thought, “Maybe ‘conceal carry’ isn’t such a bad idea after all.”

So I packed an overnight bag, just in case. Basic cameras, water, coffee, can of peanuts, bag of figs, stopped and added a couple granny smith apples, 3 bananas, a bag of baby carrots, half a loaf of sliced honey/oats bread, and some swiss cheese slices; filled the gas tank and headed south by southwest. Scanning through public radio stations and/or classic rock all the way. Never hooked up the iPad for “my” music. Never stopped for photographs simply kept the petal to the metal; well actually cruise control set for less than 10 mph over the speed limit. I-94/90 through Chicago to I-65 to 465 to well to and through remarkably rural, snaky, forested, hills and valleys. Everything from posh suburban McMansions, just south of Indianapolis, to log cabins, trailers, double wides, and small ranch houses, with an occasional farmstead here and there. Gorgeous driving. Sunny. No public radio that I could find down here. All the 80 and 90 numbers on the FM dial were Christian radio. The occasional confederate flag hung on the trailer and/or garage door. I was informed that “Hell Is Real” by signs in the trees.

After about 5 hours the GPS informed me that I was within 30 minutes of my destination on Upper Salt Creek. And then a very small sign on the two lane road just out of Morgantown said, “Bridge Out.” I’m looking at a one and half lane bridge across a creek I could walk across without getting my knees wet. And no way of knowing how to get into these hills; as the GPS just keeps telling me to turn around and go back to the same damn bridge. “Recalculating” my ass. Morgantown consists of 5 buildings on the east side of the road and 4 buildings on the west side of the road. None of which are open; except of course the bar; on this Sunday at 3:00 in the afternoon. Two men and woman were outside the bar with bottles in hand. You probably would not believe me if I described the condition of their teeth; the first thing I notice while walking up to them to ask if they may be able to tell me how I can get to Upper Salt Creek; given that the bridge is out. They could not really agree. And weren’t entirely sure that they knew the whereabouts of Upper Salt Creek. But they set to thinking and discussing the matter; eventually they did mutually agree that, well the two men agreed, the woman was pretty much silent, going east then south would be “better ‘an” going west then south. I followed their advise; the best I had available; and eventually she, the GPS, did recalculate without telling me to make a U-turn and return to the bridge. However the 30 minutes now showed as 45 minutes to Upper Salt Creek. Good that I thoroughly love the adventure of a new view appearing around every snaky turn; every couple minutes. Simply gorgeous terrain. Creeks. Lakes. Woods. Patches of garden. Junk piles. Horses. Goats. Is that abandoned or does someone live there? That log cabin must be 200 years old. And that one was built in the last 10 years. That 40s mobile home actually looks like it’s sinking into the ground; no step up required; and 6 trucks parked outside in various states of oxidation.

I finally arrive at my destination and, as instructed, pulled into the drive past the gate and this is what I see:

Yes that is the drive way; and why Matt said, “…since you don’t have a truck.” You would want some clearance to cross Upper Salt Creek, and 4 wheel drive would help with the grade up the slate cliff. I pulled out my phone to call Matt. But of course there’s no signal in these slate hills. At least not for my ATT dumb phone. So I give a short beep with the van horn. Take out the Leica M with 28mm Cron and photograph. Below you can see the view looking south down the crystal clear Upper Salt Creek; and then looking north.

Within a minute I hear the truck engine and see Matt driving across the creek with the furniture in the back of his black 4 wheel drive pickup truck. We have a wonderful conversation about the furniture’s history, Amish, condition, as well as his recent acquisition of this property and his plans for the 5 acre piece of paradise. We also discussed photography and “giclée” printing. Matt enjoyed that giclée is French for ejaculate… inkjet… as it were and is.

Matt discussed the prohibitive cost of building an automobile bridge across the creek; and that he settled on building a foot bridge instead. He’ll also build a car port for vehicles where we were parked. Here’s Matt with the beginning of his foot bridge:

the view where the bridge will go well above creek which DNR requires for flooding.

On the way home I thought a bit about doing some photography in the afternoon golden light. But I also felt like I wanted to make it home by midnight. And one could spend days photographing this rich environment. Though this little building did cause me to pull over. Not sure why. The town of Advance, IN was another with only a few buildings.

Just next to the bank was:

and across the street from the bank:

I drove through mile after mile of wind farms on I-65, northwest of Indianapolis —
so many hundreds of wind turbines — as the sun set:

Got home around midnight. Exactly as she, GPS, said I would.
And by yesterday evening, I’d hauled the old blue leather to Goodwill;
and Ann had put her “porch” together…

Leica M, 28 mm Summicron Asph