Behind My Sycamore I.

I have been sitting here printing this semesters final portfolio for hours, which means that I’ve had a lot of time to think.  My main realization is in relation the Sycamore work.  All of the images from that series are of places near and dear to my heart, but you don’t know their stories.  This isn’t a small town documentary in the typical sense, but rather a documentation of what is left of my childhood.

I’ve decided to write a series of posts explaining these pictures in hopes of you understanding them just a little bit more.

You can view my original post on this series here.

I’ll start with a simple story.  This is Boy Scout Hall, well the second story is.  Underneath it is the sixty plus club where my sixty plus grandmother used to work.  I have only been up to the second floor once, when the Girl Scouts had their Christmas party in Boy Scout Hall.

This picture itself was a spur of the moment decision.  My dad and I were cruising around in his ’55 Chevy (like every other time I go home) when we drove past this building.  I immediately noticed the shadows, but, even though I had my camera, I didn’t say anything.  We were nearly home when I decided I needed that image and asked my dad to turn the car around and take me back.  This is one of those photographs I fell in love with long before it was even developed.


This photograph was taken the same day, maybe ten minutes before, driving down some little one lane back road in Wyandot County.  Driving is one of my favorite things to do, mainly because that’s what I grew up doing for fun (yes this is a real thing in rural America).  When school is stressing me out, I get in my car, hop on 71 South and drive.


The last image I’ll talk about is also from that day, just after our drive.  Growing up we had a front yard, a house, a middle yard, a garage, a back yard, an alley, a back lot (aka the back forty), a field and a woods (in that order).  This is the view looking up from the back yard.  That white triangle is the top peak of my childhood home, the black roof, our garage.

2 Replies to “Behind My Sycamore I.”

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