Misty morning in Bean Blossom Kodak EasyShare Z730 Zoom 2007
One chilly April morning my sons and I headed south on State Road 135 all the way to Corydon, Indiana’s first capital, to see the first statehouse and the elm tree under which delegates drafted our state’s constitution.
On the way we passed through tiny Bean Blossom, perhaps best known for the annual festival bluegrass pioneer Bill Monroe started there. But this day, our favorite attraction was the mist that hung over this deep valley. I paused for a quick photograph, and then we drove into the valley and under the mist.
Tomorrow I’ll show you an 1880 bridge on an old alignment of this road.
What would happen if Monty Python hosted a morning television news program?
It actually happened once. In 1975, ABC debuted AM America, its first morning news show. At about the same time, Monty Python released their seminal film, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and were, I’m sure, looking for promotional opportunities. Somebody at ABC thought it might be amusing to have Eric Idle, Michael Palin, Graham Chapman, Terry Jones, and Terry Gilliam sit at the anchor desk for an hour. Here it is, with all the pesky news bits clipped out for maximum Pythonage.
I think the best parts of this clip are the looks on Peter Jennings’ face and at the end when Eric, Michael, and Graham carry host Stephanie Edwards away and then dismantle the set.
If you don’t remember AM America, it’s because it was canned after ten months. Clearly, Monty Python’s antics did not help AM America catch on.
I don’t have a habit of entering photo contests, but when one finds me I’m not averse. Several years ago, my workplace asked its photographers to submit their best work. I entered this photo and took first prize: a $50 gift card. Nice!
I shared this photo in October, 2011, shortly after I took it. Here’s what I wrote about it then:
During the school year my sons stay overnight at my home on Wednesdays. We like our relaxed evening family time. But school starts early, and none of us enjoys getting up long before sunrise the next morning for the 45-minute drive to their mother’s suburb. We stumble around the house getting dressed and eating breakfast, and then we climb into the car for the trip. We listen to music or NPR; sometimes we talk, sometimes they play video games on their hand-held devices.
When my sons are adults, we will surely talk about these times and reflect on the good and the bad. But even in the circumstances we wish were different, we sometimes encounter unexpected moments of joy or of beauty. We’ve seen plenty of beautiful sunrises as we travel eastward on Thursday mornings, sunrises we surely would have missed otherwise. I was fortunate to have my good camera along one recent Thursday morning when the sky’s colors were especially vivid. These sunrises have taught me, and I hope my sons as well, to look for the good in unwanted circumstances.
Mercifully, the Thursday-morning drives across town have ended. My younger son has wanted to just go home on Wednesday nights for years, but my older son was clear that he didn’t want to let go of any family time. But then, he’s a natural early riser. My younger boy struggles to rise at any time before 9. So as his older brother was about to finish high school this spring, he asked if he could just go home Wednesday evenings from now on. His mom and I worked it out.
I won’t miss groggy drives in the dark. I will miss peaceful moments like this one.
Early autumn sunrise, almost Indianapolis • Canon PowerShot S95 • October, 2011
We began our Spring Break adventure heading south toward the Ohio River. We aimed to see historic sites all over Indiana, beginning with the state’s first capital in Corydon. Fog slowed that April morning’s going, at least until we reached Bean Blossom and this hollow, into which the mist had not settled. Astonished by the scene, I stopped for this photo, but I couldn’t make my camera fully capture the mist’s tendrils snaking through the trees and hanging over the road as if cantilevered.
Not long ago as we looked through photos of past Spring Break trips, my sons remembered this scene. They also remembered throwing rocks into the Ohio River. But the time we spent at historic sites had passed from their memory. It was a long time ago; they were ten and almost eight. When we take our Spring Break trip this year, visiting New York City, they will be 18 and almost 16. It will be our last Spring Break trip together, as my older son is off to college in the fall. I wonder what they will remember from this trip as many years from now.