Making lemonade

Busy day earlier. Involved writing and photography and driving about 80 miles. Good to stay busy, I suppose.

Crappy weather though. No sun. Occasional hail. Frequent rainstorms.

So I started my day at a conference championship track meet. It runs slowly, is paused by the weather several times, and by the time I have to leave for another assignment -- nothing exciting.

Listen, I love shooting track. Especially when you have a chance to really buckle down and focus on the event. Know the schedule and locations. Figure out the lane assignments. Who's going to win. Who's probably going to win. Prefocusing. Remote cameras. Prostrate shooting. Throwing on the wide angle. The whole shabang.

Getting to dedicate 4 hours to a track meet is awesome.

Having to zip through a couple events quickly (all field, track stuff hadn't even started) and leave is miserable. Field stuff is always happening simultaneously, and you're always going to miss something.

So I left with a bad taste in my mouth (and bad weather in the air). Ran to do one assignment. Ran to do another assignment.

And I had an urge to get back to track. I was pretty sure it would still be going on, and I just wanted to do it for myself. Deal with the weather. Deal with the crappy schedule. Take lemons. Make lemonade.

I hustle back to the track just in time for the last event: 4x400 relay, boys and girls. Fun event. Usually a close one. Handoffs. Quick.

I throw on the 300mm and shoot the girls. It's a runaway race. Nothing fun. No sun.

Now boys. Last heat of the day. Last race.

Bang goes the starting pistol. Catch a decent sequence on the first handoff. And all of a sudden...

Rain. Spot shower. Starts coming down at a pretty good clip. The official near me throws a quick smile my way, as if to say: "Last race ... no way were stopping now."

I shoot him back a grin. Then I remember that I've got equipment in my hands that's worth about the same as a small car.

I do the under-the-sweatshirt move back to my camera bag (#domke), where I pull out a trash bag (#hefty). Tear a small hole. Throw it over the 300. Over the body. But still not quickly enough to catch the second handoff.

I get settled again. Third handoff goes to the anchor leg, but nothing exciting. The rain continues to pick up.

And around the final turn, it's a pretty close one. And one of the runners is from a local team (hurrah!). I pick up the focus on the local kid, wait till he starts to fill up the frame, then lay on the shutter. Hard. Just like both these kids, running hard to finish this meet.

And you know what. I think I got a good one. I think I made some lemonade.

Finding Americana

It takes something special to track down an Americana photo. I think it's a lot of luck. It's persistently driving around, looking for nothing in particular. It's showing up at events here and there hoping for something.

 I had the chance to cover a fallen law enforcement officers service today in Ashland. Somber event, for sure. Touching, too. Wasn't sure what I was going to get for photos.

 Anyway, I was looking at the memorial garden just outside the Sheriff's Annex, where the event was being held. There was an elderly man walking alongside me, looking at the plaques of law enforcement officers who died in the line of duty. We started speaking. "I knew this fella," he said, pointing to a plaque. "He died in a shootout right up here on 250." We spoke a bit longer before heading into the event. I always love getting those perspectives before one of these events, especially being new to town (5 weeks now!).

 The ceremony started with the bagpipes, the National Anthem. The Pledge of Allegiance. And I took a quick glance back among the people in attendance (about 100), and I saw my elderly friend. His hand on his heart. A real unique, sad look on his face. And there was an overhead light a few feet ahead of him, bathing him in this soft glow.

 I knew it was a good shot. One of those you can already see in print. And the photo was a little noisy (the room was a dungeon), but still striking. And it meant something to me, having spoken to him beforehand. It was a shot I might not have gotten if I hadn't talked with him before.

 So I filed the photo along with a few others, finished up some other work things, and got to thinking as I was driving home.

 It's Americana.

 It's the Pledge of Allegiance. It's an old man from a small town (a former township trustee, too), going to a local fallen law enforcement service with his brother-in-law.