View from an office, Clayton, Missouri

Cherokee Street, St. Louis, Missouri. Photo by Erik M. Lunsford

There just happens to be the side of a house demolished with a single chandelier exposed to the world on Cherokee street. When I stopped for a photograph, these birds flew the coop (get it?)

It almost feels as if the birds are memories leaving the house that once sheltered the lives of sons, daughters, parents, and grandparents. Now the sad and defaced  room that brought families together at the dining table is but an airy window for all the world to see.

hacking bananas, south St. Louis, photograph by Erik M. Lunsford

Every fall, proprietor Joseph Waeltermann of the Southside Garden Stop in south St. Louis City chops down his hardy banana trees in anticipation of the winter season. Waeltermann will mulch over the chopped remains and wait until spring, when the trees will grow again.

Having learned gardening and growing in Florida, my return to St. Louis and its seasonal schedule for plants still seems alien, even though I grew up in the Midwest. Who knew that hardy bananas grow to heights of ten to fifteen feet in the summer heat and survive freezing temperatures through the winter doldrums? Equally mind boggling is the fall planting schedule for hosta and hydrangea, two recent entries in my garden at home. Intentionally planting it just to see it die back seems absurd, but I suppose the first buds on branches and sprouting tender leaves from the soil in the spring will carry with it a sense of cyclical normalcy.

Recently I visited a river resort along the Courtois Creek in central Missouri while working on a story about tourism, and as I sidled up to a small beachhead I noticed a man diving from a rock into the clear and cool waters. I stopped and made a quick frame; waited for a second jump, then made a few more frames. Each time I worked closer to the rock, each time analyzing the previous frames and thinking about my next move.  Later when I looked through the raw take, this frame jumped off the monitor. It was the first frame, made absent of thought. The mood, the fragile separation between the man’s hands and the water, the subtle tilt in composition to carry the bottom canoe, and the delicate balance of light and dark tones seemed to meet at a confluence of which I can’t seem to recall. It may not be the greatest frame ever — although I tend to produce very quiet pictures — yet it speaks to me, and it’s a great reminder to keep thinking and analyzing down to a minimum while making pictures. Let yourself go and explore with your eye, not your mind.

Cat on a wet tin roof in floodwaters, Foley, Missouri.

Flood victim John Sisti rescues his daughter’s cat on the roof of a building adjacent to his flooded home in Foley, Mo., on Tuesday. Inside his home, almost two feet of water caused childrens’ toys and home furnishings to float between the rooms. “This is it. I’m not coming back.”

Wesa-Geha-Ya animal sanctuary, rural Warren County, Missouri