On Blueberries and Photographs (52 Weeks: Episode 7)
Field notes on attention.
Thank you for reading here. There are so many places you could spend your time. I’m grateful you’re here. So, if you enjoy what I’m putting down,
Also, if you missed last week’s piece, check out “Paywall People.”
1.
This was my last thought before drifting to sleep: The trick to a good blueberry pancake is to use frozen blueberries. There are purists who will extol the virtues of the fresh blueberry picked from Hiatt Blueberry Farm on Bowen Road. Frozen blueberries do a different thing on the griddle, though. They stay intact, don’t turn to mush, and this is why when you bite into a pancake made with frozen blueberries, there’s a bit of pop, an explosion of juice that sloshes out. I learned the science behind this years ago from a cookbook. I cannot remember that science.
This is an odd thing to think before drifting off to sleep, particularly after the day I’d had. I’ll spare the details of that day, except these: it involved a long drive down I-49; there was a Christmas family gathering with twinkling moments; it was capped off by a visit to a facility with taupe walls that held more secrets than a Stephen King novel. There were no moments involving blueberries, but still, the phrase blueberry pancakes came as an intrusive thought. Who is to say how the brain works?
I considered this in the nanoseconds before drifting to sleep, asked how I became fixated on a thing, and here was my conclusion: the pop of the blueberry, the delicacy of the pancake, the sweetness of syrup, the laughter shared over a batch—this makes me feel.
I read a lot of writing these days that doesn’t make me feel much of anything but anger or fear. There is a flood of stories about power and its abuse. There are stories about wars and rumors of war and the stumbling economy. There are stories about AI and its promises—utopia, dystopia, whatever. Anger and fear—they drive the news, social media platforms, and many of the writers here on Substack. Anger and fear motivate. They sell. This is the way of kings since Herod.
It’s the Christmas season, and I don’t want to feel angry or afraid. This is why blueberry pancakes are important.
2.
I suppose I’m writer by birth. I have some work to show for it. Some call that work very good. (Thanks, some.) But with the word flood over the last few years—thanks AI—I’ve grown weary of words, mostly because we’ve reached peak vocabulary weaponization. I’ll refrain from offering concrete examples. Just visit your favorite news site today and you’ll see that it’s true.
This may be why I’ve turned more to photography over the last few years. Photography offers a window into a moment, a different way of feeling. Take for instance this photo. What does it make you feel?
This photo—taken in Florence—is a tiny part of the larger frame. (View the Instagram post to see the isolated moments.) When I see this tiny crop, I recognize a genuine human moment: A father reaching out, sharing the spark of joy with his daughter.
Zoom out, and the story becomes more complex. There’s an isolated couple on the left of the frame. A woman standing alone in the center of the frame, watching the father and his daughter. What emotions were they experiencing? What thoughts were they thinking? Were they a family away on holiday? Were they unrelated strangers sharing similar tastes in umbrellas? Were they tourists or townspeople? There is no definitive interpretation, and yet, when I see the photo, I feel something beyond anger or fear. Maybe something like magic?
In another section of Florence, I ducked into a pen and paper shop. I borrowed one of those high-dollar executive pens and scribbled my name on paper with visible fibers. The streak of ink on rich paper made me gasp. I excused myself before I made a purchase my wallet regretted.
On the street outside the store, an elderly couple crossed just outside the crosswalk. His overcoat told me he’d been an important man. His ball cap spoke of retirement. His wife’s fur told me that they’d been a successful couple, a couple able to afford finer things—things like the pen and paper inside the shop I’d just left. She held his arm as they crossed the street, and that told a story, too.
Twilight years come for us all. Even these can be good.
To the right of the couple, a man sat with his boxed lunch. His cheeks puffed out like a squirrel foraging nuts. His long socks were pulled up over his pants. He fed the pigeons, generally ignored the tourist who might otherwise disrupt so much peace. He wasn’t a Franciscan monk—the Apple Watch peeking out under his sleeve spoke of a certain amount of wealth—but he had the face of a man who could have enjoyed the cloistered life. He sat unsmiling, unbothered, without a phone, and perfectly at peace with the pigeons.
I felt this story, too. What kind of world would it be if we tended as much to our sandwiches and pigeons as we did to the everyday news cycle?
3.
I want to feel something. Anything other than anger or fear. If you’re a writer, photographer, visual artist, musician, chef or short-order cook—whatever—help me. Take me to the diner, the street, the gallery. Feed me with the work of your craft. Give me something to carry to sleep.
God knows I need it, especially during this Advent season.
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Thanks for sharing these thoughts . . . And photos. What you had to say really hit home. I have 4 kids ages 2-13 and I’m really trying to just savor the ordinary moments. How it feels to kick balls together in the yard, teaching my 2 year old how to roll out sugar cookie dough, and generally being way more ignorant of the news than i probably should be. Keep posting the great photos that capture our human-ness!
I've been thinking of the carousel photo ever since I glimpsed it over on Instagram. It's a weird season - and I feel the pang of remembering back. my little girl and her father - that could easily have been then. Our boys (23, 21) and our girl (26, and her now husband) come home in phases these days, much of the time we are the isolated couple - doing the fun things just the 2 of us, enjoying it for sure, but also with a ache of longing to share it with the kids too. And the single women - only the good Lord knows who will outlive who, but my husband likes to remind me of the statistics. So will that be me one day?
Anyway, all that to say, I've been thinking, and pondering, and praying over all the thoughts and feelings that this photograph and its 3 'crops' bring. it's been a beautiful exercise for these weird christmas/advent days of late.
I have also been longing to write a sonnet to mark the time, but haven't taken myself up on the challenge. (I've only ever written 1 sonnet in my life, during lent this year) If I do, I will be sure to share it here.