Presented here are recent photos taken in low-light settings around my area of the Blackland Prairie in Central Texas.   Daylight Savings Time has begun its march into Spring, Summer and the beginning of Autumn.   November 6th will be a day I rejoice.    As usual, my opinion is in the minority, but I don’t care for harsh light.  

Just a couple photos tonight, friends.   The farmer plowing a field is from tonight, a little before 7pm.   The barn photo was taken last night, a few minutes past 7pm.   Daylight Savings Time will make these images impossible unless I plan to stay out wandering around for extra hours.  

Most of us are setting our clocks ahead one hour tonight.  If not mistaken, two states will not.  Good for them.   Mentioned numerous times, but I am no proponent of Daylight Savings Time.  I say this as a photographer who loves low light when outdoors.   It’s subtle, quiet.   Granted, my opinion matters little.    Most people love the unnatural change.   A couple photos for you tonight, including a farmer working his field this evening, the image taken a little before 7pm.   The barn image is from last evening, a little after 7pm.    I’ll deal with the change because there’s no choice, but will be happy when November 6 rolls around.   That’s the final day of this nonsense.   At least for a while.

These were recorded near day’s end while I continued to look for  a certain bird.   That bird eluded me, but I did encounter a horse as she foraged through a wooded area  outside Granger, Texas.   I’ll leave it at that.

In June 2006, Atlanta Journal & Constitution writer David Markiewicz and I traveled to Dexter, Georgia, about 2 hours south of Atlanta, to begin a story about the Smith family, Chris, Cynthia and their 11-year-old son, Daniel, their only child.   The Smiths hoped to adopt Losha, a 9-year-old Russian boy living in an orphanage in St. Petersburg.   The process was arduous, but the family finally arranged to bring Losha to America for an extended  visit, beginning in late-June, until early-August.   Daniel and his parents yearned for another child to share their life in rural Georgia.  Over several weeks, the writer and I made several trips to document the family.  Losha spoke no English, but they learned to communicate via sign language.   And some things didn’t need words anyway.  Somewhere along the way, tensions between the American and Russian governments ramped up.   Initially, we were confident that the adoption would happen.   The paper requested I get a passport in order to accompany the Smiths to Russia when they brought Losha home.   I can’t recall the political wrangling  that went on, but the adoption didn’t happen.  In early-August, I met the Smiths at the airport, documenting sad goodbyes in the last three photos.  Through sign language, Cynthia says “I love you” too Losha.  Chris watches through a window until Losha is no longer visible.     To my knowledge,  it didn’t work out.  We  didn’t travel to Russia.  Political strife, as it often does, made it a sadder world, but the Russian president isn’t known for compassionate behavior.

Every year, as Daylight Saving Time nears, I get melancholy.   It seems as though many, if not most, cherish more hours of daylight.   I do not.    If you follow my work enough, you’ll understand.   The last light of day, and what follows into darkness, is wonderfully peaceful.   When Sunday rolls around this weekend, darkness won’t come until nearly 8pm here. By June, make it 9pm.   As the years click away, it’s not so easy to stay out  all hours in search of that good light.  Circumstances provide few opportunities for early-morning wandering.    I’ll make do.   Compared to what others in the world are facing right now, it’s not important.   But it might  mean  I begin to slow down.   At least for a while.    The post begins with an evening image taken last night, a farmer preparing his field, not far from tracks reflecting the last gasp of light.   The other two are just filler material, but also close to sunset.

Light can fill me with wonder.    Last weekend, a couple at the car show I covered  mentioned an old truss bridge they loved.   Their directions took me to southern Milam County, where I found the road where the bridge was supposed to be.   The bridge, however, was nowhere in sight.   It  was okay because I fell in love with the road itself.   It’s only a few miles long, all of it unpaved.  Granted, I’d have been impressed with  that road anyway, but the late-day light made it exquisite.   I spent a good thirty minutes on that road without seeing another vehicle.   Total serenity.   Heading for home, it dawned on me the bridge they liked.   It’s actually in another county.   And I’ve photographed it a couple times before.   That road, however, was a gift.  

Tonight’s offering are just some patterns and reflections recently seen at Taylor’s Murphy Park.   Two of the five photos were taken  with my very compact Olympus on morning walks.   I’m really liking that little camera.   Others are evening photos taken with my Nikons.   It’s fun to watch designs and patterns.   Good light helps, too!

For the past several decades the majority of my work has focused not on projects, but covering day-to-day activities in the communities where I live.   That’s the essence of community photojournalism, relaying to others things going on in their area.   Photos from this weekend in Georgetown are presented here.   On Saturday, I was at the Georgetown Municipal Airport for the 11th Annual Stephanie Nichols’ Car and Vintage Plane Show.    There were far more cars than planes.    The post opens with a French bulldog named Tess.  I love car shows.  Cars and trucks can be works of art.   The last photo was from today’s Chase the Chief races, held at East View High School.  Sponsored by the Georgetown Police Department, funds go toward health and wellness programs in the school system.   Only one photo is posted from this event, a father and daughter carrying the flag during the 5K race.   I photographed them a few years ago, glad to see they’re still toting that flag.   There’s a lot going on in the world, but your own communities matter, too.

“Lots of walking around.   Back and forth.”

That describes Robert Halstrom’s  recent day as he continued to place heart pine boards onto the 1500 square foot floor of what was once the sanctuary for Granger United Methodist Church. 

Robert and his wife JoAnn, both 61, are the Wimberley couple who purchased the church, at the corner of East Elm and South Granger, in fall 2019.   The church was built in 1904, with additions in 1916.   In early 2019, with only a handful of members, the church closed.   

I met Robert and JoAnn in November 2019 while taking photos of Christmas decorations along West Davilla Street.   Robert and JoAnn stopped to chat, casually mentioning they’d recently purchased the old church.   A series of columns in the Sun have attempted to document the restoration progress. 

Initially, Robert, a baggage handler for American Airlines, and JoAnn, a rural postal carrier, put a lot of miles on their vehicles, making the 90-minute  drive from their home for the project.   Robert was able to take a leave of absence from his job, devoting more time to the church.   The couple fashioned a living area  in back, where Sunday school classes were once held.   Robert would often stay overnight, JoAnn coming when she could.   

Their schedule is freeing up this year.  Robert recently retired from his airlines job, allowing more time for  the church.   JoAnn will retire in two months.    They plan to sell their house  in Wimberley soon.  The church’s living area will become their home.  

Restoration of the historic structure is long process.   The foundation was leveled last year, a six-month process.   Fourteen stained glass windows have been restored  by The Cavallini Company, Inc., based in San Antonio.   They’ll remain at Adrian Cavallini’s studio until more work is done inside the church.   

These occasional column updates won’t discuss the cost of restoration, but it can be pricey.   

“How much money are we going to spend on this place?” JoAnn asks.   Robert’s answer?  “All of it!”   They’re a very laid-back couple, taking their time on a task they love.

Robert expects the work will continue for about two years.   When finally done, they hope to transform the church into an event and wedding venue.   Once the flooring is done, the church’s original pews will return to the sanctuary floor.    And they hope to get the attention of the Texas Film Commission when everything is done.   I can envision it as the centerpiece of a movie set. 

At the end of a long day’s work, Robert steps outside to rest and stretch.   It’s a clear night, stars clearly visible overhead.    It’s time for supper. 

The work continues.