I think life here is beautiful. And when I take pictures, I want it to reflect the way it makes me feel. So many times when I’m explaining about our farm or taking pictures here, I feel frustrated that I can’t capture the comforting rhythm, the changeful sunlight, the exquisite clarity of a newborn calf.
But then sometimes I realize I’m cutting things out, hiding the things that “shouldn’t” be seen.
Because it’s fun and special to have a beautiful mantle that my mom decorated: spruce clipped from one neighbor’s land, holly from another. I made the clay nativity scene piece by piece each year.
But then, there is also a bunch of laundry strewn about the dining room. Bon appetit!
After a few gruesome attempts, we finally got a relatively nice Christmas tree.
But dare we mention that our tree-topper distinctly resembles Fruma Sarah? I’m fairly certain that the “angel” has single-handedly hastened the departure of several guests.
And our backyard woodpile is quaint and homey…
until you notice the strange concrete table with the cow pancreas perched on top. And don’t ask me why the tarp isn’t doing its job instead of just hanging out.
The front porch is respectably attired.
The back porch is strewn with muddy boots.
I could go on for a long time. But the point is: Anyone can present a few different perspectives of the lives.
I think I know what I want to do in my mind. I want to embrace the beautiful, see the ugly and find the beauty in it. After all, if I just shut out all the ugly, there wouldn’t be much to see.
But the whole presentation thing throws me for a loop. I could try to make my world beautiful to everyone. (That’s impossible; welcome to a lifetime of disappointment.) I could present what I see – beauty. I could show it like it is.
I have no clue what is the right answer. And I know what y’all are thinking – what’s the conclusion?
There isn’t any. This is just a manifestation of my own confusion. Maybe I’ll figure it out sometime… but I wouldn’t bet on it.
This is what rainy days do to me.