The itch to shoot pictures and to constantly make better images is always in my being, like a restless rash, begging to be scratched. Those of you who harbor that kind of creative urge understand how strong that itch can be. Those who don’t, struggle to understand why some of us must always be making that thing that fulfills us, whether it’s art, music or the written word. My husband falls into that category. God bless him, he’s a good sport, dragging along while I take 200 pictures of the same flower, but he’s truly puzzled by the joy I get from spending hours photographing people, nature and things.
I had a raging itch to shoot this past Saturday morning, and I was in the mood for some small town atmosphere and character. I proposed a little road trip to Golconda, Illinois, which was met with a groan, because he saw HOURS of photo taking ahead, but he relented. I think he was afraid I’d get the car stuck in some backwoods mud, and that‘s a real possibility this time of year in Pope County. We’ve had a lot of rain lately. I gave him my usual, “You never know what kind of adventure we’ll find” speech, and off we went.
We swung by Dixon Springs Park because I had a hunch the waterfall there was running pretty good, and much to my delight it was. A waterfall makes a nature loving photography buff’s heart sing. Sing loudly, I tell ya’.
Afterward, we headed to Golconda and arrived in town to find an antique tractor show and parade. As in they lined up their polished, shiny old tractors and paraded them around the town square. Young and old alike were there, celebrating a part of their heritage and the simplicity of rural living.
It was just delightful. Hubby loves old tractors, so he had a fine time examining them, and I got to roam around the streets of Golconda, searching for anything interesting to shoot.
Strangers nodded and waved as I passed them, and no one batted an eye at my mud boots and ratty yard sale sweater, my usual attire on a back roads shoot. What a wonderful little slice of Americana, in the backyard of where I grew up. No matter where you live, the roots of your youth run deep, I think.