Made In America – Forging Ahead

Working on a different project, Nick is a skilled craftsman himself. The shirt says it all!

Working on the Prospect project allows me to meet all sorts of people from varied walks of life. Some are engaging, and some not so much. The majority are of the first kind – like the workers of Jefferson Mack Metal – who are wonderful people.

Augustine,  a blacksmith at the shop and Kathy’s husband (the general manager of Boulevard) is taking on the project of constructing hand forged chandeliers for the restaurant’s interior.  Pumped for the chance to document the creation of these handmade pieces of art, I couldn’t wait to begin.

I arrived early for my meeting with Ravi and the guys, and poked my head in to the shop.  I was in photographer heaven with what I saw:  Tools, dirty and gritty looking stuff everywhere, this little shaft of natural light to accent the guys working, crazy looking machinery that, I swear, sounded like Mumra The Ever Living (I have waited so long to get in a Thundercats reference in!) when it beat down to shape molten iron at will.  I could hardly contain myself.

Before we could begin, Augustine had to go over a few of the safety issues first.  “Always watch where you are going.” he trumped in his accented voice.

Beautiful to listen to, he is the Antonio Banderas of blacksmiths.

Looking serious and ready for work, Augustine is a master craftsman.

“Right,” I thought to myself, “no problem when I’m looking through the viewfinder of my camera trying to frame a shot up, not paying attention to where my feet are headed.”

“Don’t touch the furnace.  It’s at a temperature of about 2800 degrees Fahrenheit.”  He nodded over to the red-hot beast.

“Got it.  Note to self.  Don’t melt flesh off body.”  Mentally tallying the ways I could die.

“Also, don’t put your hands near anything that’s moving or looks dangerous.”  he said with finality.

“OK,” I thought, “don’t mess up just this one time.  Don’t touch anything, ask questions, obstruct their movement, say anything offensive, or be a general pain in the ass in any way, shape, or form.”  With the final instructions, we started to walk over to begin. Then we stopped short.

“I almost forgot,” he said with his pointer finger in the air, as if a trick question almost fooled him, “you need safety glasses.  Here you are.”  As he handed me these ocular plastic shields, I had to laugh a bit.  It wasn’t attune to wearing a helmet while skydiving, but it felt pretty close.

Ready for forging, these slugs will be pounded into the outer perimeter of the chandelier.

With the furnace glowing red-hot, Augustine pulled out some round iron slugs that would momentarily be pounded into the rough shape that would form the outside of the chandelier.  As he found the correct tool for picking up the red hots, I shimmied here and there to get some photos while clearing myself of any danger.

Augustine dialed in the zone, hammering away.

Standing eerily in the corner and painted red, as if to warn ignorant souls of its power, a belt driven hammer was turned on with a flip of a switch.  This machine has been crafting metal and scaring young children for over a century. Impressed and intimidated, I gave the machine (Mumra) room to spare.  As Augustine transported the readied metal and began to work, I was amazed at how quickly and effortlessly he turned, pulled, and tweaked the metal and machine.  Feathering the amount of pressure via foot pedal, Augustine skillfully pounded, shaped, bent, and warped his medium into a discernible form.  Happy with the outcome, he repeated this step over and over.

Using a century old belt driven hammer, Augustine's idea takes shape.

Now that all the pieces were roughed out, they had to be re-heated and bent into shape.  How do you bend a piece of metal to the exact shape you want it? Well, you have to build a one of a kind template and tools to get the job done. Heading over to the table with a red-hot piece of forged iron, Augustine laid the metal down, grabbed a hammer and vice like tool, and with the help of a few others, bent the metal into its pre-formed shape.

Using manpower alone, this piece of metal was bent into its proper shape.

Super-heated metal, being bent to form.

Once the pieces are bent into shape, they get re-heated again, and sent over to a hydraulic press to really flatten them out.  When the press touches down and lifts off them again, the rush of oxygen produces a flame that looks pretty cool. Timing it right wasn’t as easy, but I managed to get one sequence off without a hitch.

The press stamps out any imperfection, and really flattens the piece out.

It seems like the routine of the day was as follows:  Forge, fire, press, hammer, bend, repeat.  I have to say I had a blast in the shop.  Even Prospect’s architect came by to chat about the design and take a gander at the progress.  I think for Ravi and everyone involved, it was fantastic to see ideas start to become reality.

Augustine and Ravi talk shop.

As the day was coming to a close, I slowed down to look around.  I wanted to cover some details.  I just love all the hidden little stories that float around. There’s so much history in this shop, and here are two of my favorites.

This set of tools is well-worn, but they seem alive, just waiting to help make something grand.

A close up of a metal saw. I took this image only a few inches away from the blade with my macro lens. It's so fine you can see the shavings!

Both of these images were from my 100 mm macro lens.  I can print these images up to around 24 inches (2 feet!) wide and they would still be around 240 DPI (dots per inch.)  That would be incredible sharp and realistic.  I could go even bigger, and I still wouldn’t worry about sharpness.

Doing a mental checklist of the images I wanted to capture, I felt satisfied.  I had met fantastic people, and had a great space and light to work with.  There’s not much more a photographer could ask for.  Packing up and heading out, I heard something.  It was almost evil.  As I looked back, Mumra was at it again. I raced back to capture Augustine hammering out a last round of slugs, but this time I chose to focus on the old set of tools.  It’s a nice juxtaposition of old verses new.  The end result is still the same, and after all, nothing says blacksmith like an anvil.

One last look at the big red machine and its master.

I hope you enjoyed the blog.

See you down the road.

-Todd

Prospect: A Beginning

An empty room...for now

Gathering around a fold-down table, the three of us meet in the vacuous bottom floor where Spear and Folsom converge.  With a construction lamp casting a hard incandescent glow which gives the shadow edges sharp and defined detail, chef Ravi Kapur, writer Adam Starr, and I meet for the first time in what will soon be a bustle of activity.  Looking around at the bare concrete floors with scraps of metal cast here and there, I strain to see the far side of the restaurant.  It’s obvious this is a monumental project – 10,000sq feet of space to be exact – that will require many specialized and talented hands to bring to life.

Through contacts, good fortune, and the kindness of strangers, I have been given the opportunity of a lifetime:  Chronicle the making of a restaurant.  Prospect represents a multi-million dollar investment with high stakes.  Peoples’ lives and reputations are built into the foundations, and nothing less than striking gold will do for this team family.  Working closely with Ravi, who currently heads up the day-to-day at Boulevard (a Michelin rated restaurant owned and operated by local Bay Area master chef Nancy Oakes) I’ve been granted access to record the history, from inception and beyond.

The sign says it all.

For those involved, Prospect isn’t just a restaurant, but an idea of possibility and reward gained through perseverance. It’s an idea born out of imagination, realized through faith in their talent and excellence.  Attached to the hip, Ravi and Prospect and melding as one.  He treats her security and progress like guarding a newborn, and protects it as such.  But from this new love, an avenue of trust opened, and he relished the idea of bringing on hungry and emerging talent to record in word and photo, the blood, sweat, and tears proffered.

Cheers Ravi.

Daily updates and modifications require full attention to detail. From the design of storage lockers to the flow of the kitchen, nothing is overlooked.

The inception of this project began some time ago, but stalls in financing and permitting led to delays.  Finally, the green light is shining brightly, and as construction starts promptly every day, the content grows much like the restaurant itself.  I will have fresh and relevant information for weeks to come, and I hope you join me, checking in once in a while to see where we’ve come from and where we’re headed.

Today’s photos are of a an empty shell. The inside doesn’t resemble this anymore, but it’s a great look at where the ride began.

Next up, the many hands and faces that make Prospect possible.

See you down the road.

-Todd

Retreat On The Mountain

Eric grabs the wheel and explains the folly of seat-belts.

The mountains were calling, so I headed for the hills.  My good friend Eric Tucker and his fiancé Jillian call a quiet little cabin on top of the costal mountains of Carmel home for now.  Having a few days to spare, I thought I would head up and see how my friend was fairing at farming and the slow life.  Being a recent transplant himself, he was determined to grow some vegetables and compost to his heart’s desire.

You see, their goal was to learn from the land, do a bit of farming, and just be.  Eric is a stunt and aerobatic pilot for Team Oracle, and I can see the appeal of having some down time when not pulling 6+ G’s in his little but powerful Pitts biplane.

I was lucky enough to ride along in this stripped down dragster of the air a few months back.  It is nimble as it is quick, and I had the ride of my life.  How many people do you know who’ve commanded a plane the first time they’ve  flown and executed a roll, a 360° flip, and pulled out of an unintentional inverted flat spin…on their first flight? (Goose, you’ll have to punch us out!  I’m pinned against the cockpit!)  I would wager money that I’m the first.

I didn’t really know what to expect heading up to their cabin.  Was it was going to be run down and drafty?  Would they show up in just fig leaves to greet me to their new Eden?  Nah.  Eric met me at the junction where his road heads up 3000 feet to the house he calls home.  He mentioned that I would have to leave my trusty Subaru where the pavement ended and the dirt began.  I was steadfast in protecting my beloved girl.  I protested with, “But it’s a Subaru.”  I can hear mudboggers and Aussies alike snickering under their breath.  I can liken my love and blind passion to when a Brit comes to America and runs out to buy a 6 pack of Budweiser because it is “The King of Beers.”  Oh blind love, you are my bane!

Tires spinning in the mud, Eric rallies up to the summit

Taking a gander at his Jeep with oversized tires, the mud splattered everywhere along the hood, and his quiet pause waiting for my decision, I countered with, “You know, maybe I’ll leave my car here.  I mean, there’s really no reason to bring up two cars anyway.”

“Cool.  Let’s load up your gear!” Eric chimed.  It was the best decision I had made in a long time.

Opening the door, I found Chesta, (aka “Chesta Copperpot!”) our riding companion for the day.  A beagle and lab mix, she’s loyal when in eye-sight, but on her own, has that beagle stubbornness that finds her venturing alone on self guided hikes.  She would prove to be a more than a capable lead when hiking, a good playmate, and a lost child almost everyday.

Bumping Chesta over and taking my seat in the passenger side, Eric threw the transmission into low and popped the gear into first.  We started our ascension through a shroud of fog and mist.  The metal tin-can shell of the Jeep rattled and whirred as the strain of our machine echoed through its skeleton from the hardship of the climb.  I could feel the wheels spinning to gain traction – the mud slinging off in all directions – and just prayed we didn’t go off the side of the mountain.  I looked down out my window and a precipitous drop filled my vision.  Eric, sensing I was visualizing our imminent doom as  our carriage of death bounding down the hillside with our lifeless bodies rag-dolling around inside, piped up with, “Yeah, Jill and I don’t really wear seatbelts.  We figure, if we go over, probably better to be thrown from the vehicle than to ride it all the way down.”  And that was that.

Our trusty companion, Chesta, was game for any adventure.

Stopping half way up, we met a few of his neighbors out for a drive on the mud-slickened road.  They were in their big old truck, just having fun tearing up some dirt and kicking a few beers back.  I looked at my watch.  10:27 AM.  “Sheesh,” I mumbled under my breath, “what a place and time to be drinking, and never mind the activity involved.”

“Hey man!  Good to see you!  Wanna beer?” asked our friendly compadre.

“Why not,” I said.  Grabbing the beer, I popped the top and downed a few swigs.  Uh, beer in the morning when you are not ready for it, isn’t the most refreshing beverage.  But when in Rome…(and hey, I needed a little liquid courage to get up the remainder of this mountain!)

Stopping for a mid-mountain refresher, we met with some new friends.

Arriving at the house, I was happy to have made the long trip.  I unloaded my gear, gave Jill a hug, and checked out my new digs for the next two days.  I was amazed.  The cabin was beautiful, cozy, and clean.  Rustic it was, but it definitely bore the touch of a woman, which is always nice.

The Cabin commanded a gorgeous view, and a cozy fire was always burning.

Cozy and Bright, the cabin commanded a gorgeous view to boot.

Without further ado, Eric, Chesta and I headed off for a hike in the woods.  Of course Chesta was out the door like a rocket ship.  We had a great time bounding through the woods as Eric showed and named different flora species en route to the river of an old Native American site where the people would gather to mash acorns for their food.  Stepping atop of a giant boulder, we looked down into three little man made holes.  Worn through time, hands, and pestles, the area came alive with families talking of the day’s events.  Women chatted and gossiped while they mashed acorns and called out to their children who splashed and jumped around in the rambling stream.  The men were off higher up the mountain hunting deer, or fishing down by the coast.  The sun whispered shafts of light through the giant old-growth Redwoods, Madrones, and Oaks.  For a second I was lost in the past, but quickly snapped back into the present.

Of course neither these giants nor the people exist as they once had.  Sadly, industry in its greed forced the people from their land, and cut these majestic trees down for ships, fence posts, and whatever else would turn a profit at the time.  However unsettling it is to you, being miles back in this rough wilderness, I couldn’t help but think what a marvel it was that people actually came this far back, cut these massive trees down, and had the strength and ingenuity to get them to the coast.  That’s not to say I respect their decisions, but their resolve is another matter.

Chesta, resting after a nice hike.

Nibbling on miner’s lettuce as we trounced back to the house, I breathed deep and let the cool forest air wash over my lungs.  At the bottom of my exhalation, a silence enveloped me and the earth was quiet for just a second – An absolute quiet.  These forests are places of healing, and I felt so refreshed once back at the cabin.  Chesta, content as well, retired to her little Hobbit-sized settee for a nice long nap.  I followed suit, and drifted off thinking what a gorgeous life I am living.

In the next chapter of this story, I’ll touch on some funny anecdotes and good people.

See you down the road.

-Todd

Women, Be True To Yourself

What is beauty?  Watch this Dove Video and revisit the question.

Ladies, when did you get duped into believing that you should look like Barbie?  Should we all really have to keep up with the Kardashians Joneses when it comes to waist size, fashion, and our overall look? (Really, who are those people from LA, and what is it they actually do besides flit around and waste time?)  Don’t we know that most of what we see in the form of advertisement is all BS?

I came across the link above the other day and thought I would share it – because it totally blew me away.  Not only is advertising and fashion creating false hopes for women, it’s doing the same thing for men.  This video is a perfect example.  The transformation is crazy, but the manipulation of something more important is even scarier; our self-esteem.  How can you ever hope to achieve looking like (or dating) something that doesn’t even exist?

As it’s Friday, some of us will head out this weekend for a good time.   Carry yourself high, and understand that we all look different for a reason, and they are all good reasons.

See you down the road.

-Todd

Surfing Under the Red Giant

Surfing is a sport that allows you to disconnect.  When your mind is abuzz with thoughts and worries from the day, you can make your way to the nearest lineup, paddle out, and every distraction floats into the ether as you bob up and down with the pulse of the ocean.  You have so many things to worry about other than what’s going on in your life.  Is that an outside set over the horizon?  Am I drifting south with the current?  What was that swirling boil over there?  Why did the water just become so warm?

Paddling Out

Now your average surf spot is along a beach with sand and the whole nine yards; it’s a place to relax.  Occasionally you’ll want to ride next to a man made structure – a pier reaching out towards the south pacific or a jetty to destroy control the movement of the sand that shifts around with the currents – they offer different characteristics and create distinct waves.  It’s almost a little buffet for a surfer.

Do you want a hollow wave with power that’s relatively short?  You can head to a pumping little beachbreak.  Are you in the mood for a longer ride with a smooth and groomed face?  Drive to a pointbreak and reap the rewards of one flawless wave.  Each wave is singular in its qualities, flaws, looks, and feel.  Anyone who has spent time surfing a wave can isolate it from a pile of pictures and shout, “That’s Mundaka!”  To your surprise, they’ll be correct.

But in my years of surfing, I have never seen a surf spot quite like Fort Point.  In the heart of San Francisco, tucked back in the corner of the southern entrance is a point of land that just barely juts out.  With all the water moving from tidal action, sandbars naturally build up, and at Ft. Point, a nice little pointbreak has formed.  But having the correct bottom contour is only part of the equation.  Now you need swell and the proper swell angle for a break to come alive.

Inside the mouth of the entrance, Ft. Point requires a decent size swell for wave energy to wrap in and break.  Not only does the swell have to be powerful, but the angle of swell has to be right on the money (within a few degrees to break properly.)  As I pulled up last week, to my surprise, Ft. Point was going off.  I grabbed my camera gear and wished I had my 6’3” shortboard instead.  As I imagined myself with my board slung under my arm, I got to thinking, “Can a place this busy create a relaxing experience?”  Ft. Point definitely tests the threshold.

You want a man made structure to surf against?  This is the place.  It doesn’t get any bigger or grander than surfing next to and under the Golden Gate Bridge.  Its red arms reach across the opening of one of the world’s most amazing natural harbors.  In the meantime, China’s goods constantly stream forth via gigantic Maersk shipping liners three times the size of a football field, docking and dumping their goods, filling a local Wal-Mart near you.  The constant drone of cars and trucks whisking people to and fro is also audible through the girders and concrete holding the bridge together.  From the lineup, you can turn around and gaze upon the skyline of a concrete jungle.  Does this sound relaxing?

To top it off, Ft. Point isn’t exactly the most “friendly” of surf spots.  Localism does exist, but in my opinion it’s a dying trend.  Especially since the area is under federal jurisdiction, which means they prosecute to the full extent of the law.  A few years back one local learned first hand, as he picked a fight and punched another surfer.  When he was prosecuted, violence pretty much stopped altogether.

In this new age of technology, nothing is sacred.  With a few clicks of a mouse, you can find exactly when and where to go depending on the swell via excellent wave forecasting and real-time web cams.  Ft. Point is now just another spot for surfers to choose from, but it wasn’t always so.  Thus it was protected fiercely by those who called it home.

Snapping pictures for about an hour, the tide started to come in and the wave was losing its punch.  As I packed it in, I looked around.  I could hear a truck’s tires humming along the bridge above.  The wake of a huge tanker splashed against the shore.  Crowds of tourists were along the shoreline.  All of this was going on, and I thought, “This is still a damn fine place to surf.”

Next time I will bring my board.

See you down the road.

-Todd

Moving On Up…

Starting things anew is a real pain, but I have received a few comments about letting my photos shine a bit more on my blog.  Thus I have decided to set adrift my blogspot account for something a bit more customized. Adding to the mix a total website facelift, and I think this new format and theme matches well with what you find when opening up my site.

I will still hang on to my blogspot site for about a month, and then I will most likely let the address drift in the ether that is the internet.  (Should the internet be capitalized?  It seems like a pronoun.)  Anywho, I digress…I want to thank all who have come and taken a visit thus far, and ask that you to continue to come along for the ride and see where the path takes us.

See you down the road.

-Todd

HDR

Sow what exactly is HDR?  I spoke about it in the previous post, and I thought I would bring it to life, just to show you what a neat tool it can be.  Now like anything, HDR, which stands for High Dynamic Range (thanks Chris!) can be too much of a good thing, but it can also be a crucial tool if one forgot their Neutral Density (ND) Filters and the exposure differences are too great to overcome.  Sometimes a fine-art picture with blown out whites just won’t do.  Thank goodness for software and digital cameras.

Here we can see the typical snapshot of the Golden Gate Bridge.  Washed out, because the camera just can’t cover the lighting extremes.  It’s not quite what our eye sees, but it’s close.  Dramatic?  I think not.

Now if I had my ND filters, I would put them in front of my lens to balance the sky vs foreground better.  Oh, I forgot to describe what they even are.  An ND filter is a rectangular shaped piece of acrylic or glass that has half the material shaded darker, and then transitions to completely clear.  The transition can be hard or soft, meaning an almost solid line of gradation, or a bit more drawn out.  They are color neutral, so they don’t cast a weird blue or any other color into your image.

If I were using one on this image, I would probably use a soft graduated ND and put it at a bit of an angle to match tower and the line of mountains where it intersects.  But that might give you a funny shadow line, so maybe even drop it down to the water line.  It’s all about experimenting and finding out what works best.

But alas, what if you didn’t have them?  Well, use a tripod, a bench, a concrete piling, a car hood – whatever you can find to keep your camera absolutely still.  Then you have to set the camera to bracket a series of shots.  This means you’re taking the same image at different f-stops or speeds to create a different rendering of light.  I bracketed five different shots to have a broad range of light, but you can easily get away with three.  It sounds like a lot of work, but it’s not.  Know your camera and get this done in seconds.

So here are two other of the five images I bracketed.  You can see the different values of light.

Now what is the final result?  Well, take your images home, download them to your computer, and run them through a program such as Photomatix or Photoshop.  The latter does a better job and allows more control, because it’s specific to HDR merging.  If you are into it, it’s worth purchasing due to the ease of use and results.  As you can see, they’re pretty dramatic.

But remember when I said too much of a good thing can be, well, too much?  This is probably it.  I over-pumped the image to give you a dramatic intro into what HDR can do.  But here is a more subtle version of the same images rendered a bit more cautiously.  Now go up to the top of the post and compare this image to what the camera would have captured by itself.  You can see the differences are subtle, but noticeable.

This is probably closer to what your eyes see.  Which one is better?  That’s the great thing about art.  It’s up to you!  Salt to taste.

And yes, they go great with black and whites as well.

Now these are quick and dirty, but I am having fun with these images, and I think you’ll be seeing some more of them as this year progresses.  Until then…

See you down the road.

-Todd

Mt Tamalpais

Just out of the city and over the Golden Gate Bridge lies one of the best things about San Francisco –  wide open spaces that provide the proverbial breath of fresh air.  The fact that one can make the trek over the entrance to one of the most amazing natural harbors in the world, and find peace and quiet amid the hustle and bustle is a godsend to many urbanites.  Thus when a suburbanite gets the hankering, you know it’s a bad case of stir-crazy.

So it was, that I huffed into the hills after all these storms were a brewin’.  Driving up, I kept wanting to pull over and start photographing.  Sometimes having patience is the hardest part.  But remembering a wedding I photographed some months back, I couldn’t help wander back up to such a wonderful spot.  Heck, it was a place where two people, completely in love with each other, bonded for life.  Now that if that’s not beautiful, I don’t know what is.

So here are a few images that drifted by as I held the shutter down.

With the image above, I used 2 Neutral Density Graduated Filters to offset the brightness of the sun.  A .6 and .9 stacked together on top of each other compensated for the bright sun, and hand holding them against the front of the lens, I offset the amount of light by 5 stops ( a ton!).  No HDR here (High Dynamic Range – a blending of three photographs with varying light values).  This was just good old in-camera work being done.

I’ve also just purchased a new program that converts images to Black and White.  Yes, photoshop can do this, but Nik Silver Efex is different.  The company has scanned and profiled many images from different film types, and their program replicates those findings to produce life-like representations on screen that produce quality reproductions in print.

Open the program, upload your photo, and apply an action.  If you loved shooting with Kodak TMax, you can finally go digital, and have your results equal what would have been produced in the darkroom.

Things I wish I had:  Picnic basket filled with figs wrapped in prosciutto, some crackers, and freshly made fruit compote, a big blanket, a bottle of wine, and my wife next to me.

Here’s a few longer exposures of the clouds just moving about.  The colors were just so gorgeous, I just wanted to stop shooting and admire.  Such is life.

A different take on it.

See you down the road.

-Todd

The Chicken Or The Egg?

I am going to have start building an Ark.  It’s ceaseless I tell you!  This rain is just never-ending, and I am growing a little weary of being relegated to the indoors for all parts of the day and night.  This downpour does not lend itself to photography either.  Heading out into sheets of squall lines isn’t my idea of a good time, nor does the gear appreciate it either.
So with limited resources, I’m relegated to digging up what’s in the archives.  Lucky for me, there’s some good stuff in there (Well, I think so anyways.)  If it keeps raining, a couple more of these posts will be from earlier photo missions that I never got around the publishing.
First up: Chickens.  Now this was a Picture Show that was published in Good Magazine’s online column, and I am grateful, but somehow I feel the editors missed posting a few of the best images.  So I am left to my own devices to post them here.
Before we get into it, yes, I have backyard chickens myself.  They are quiet, clean, happy to rid the yard of pests and weeds, and produce one egg per day per chicken.  I can tell you that the eggs you eat from your own hens greatly supersedes anything you will find in the corner aisle at your market or grocery store.
There’s nothing like watching them happily pull worms and snails out of the ground while finishing it off with a nice mixture of grassy greens.  You know it’s all natural and good for them, and it shows.  I have never seen or tasted yolks so orange and delicious in my life!
When Jen and I first got the trio, we marveled at how quickly our chickens became, well, chickens.  They had no other hens to teach them how to scratch around in that weird moonwalk type action they do to stir up all the critters that might be lingering under leaf litter.  But there they were, plucking earwigs and beetles off like it was second nature.  I suppose it is.  Even though they are dumb as rocks, they are amazing in their eagerness to do their job all day long, and I could watch them for hours, happily toiling away on my behalf.
I suppose it’s trendy now, to have chickens.  It seems like everything is “organic” or “green.”  Sometimes life here feels like that South Park video about hybrids and the smug cloud that’s coming to bring the perfect storm of wrath and Hollywood trendiness to your little town.  I fear someone saying, “Good for you!” with chin held high and closed eyelids.
I say that because I am starting to cringe at the sound of “green” and “organic,” even though I am living part of that life.  But for me, having chickens was never about being green.  Chickens were about egg production, having a little pest control around the house, and being a little more self sufficient.  It was a logical choice.  An affordable choice.
I’ve always had an affinity for this type of lifestyle.  How many people do you know who’ve lived off of solar panels for their electrical needs for over two years?  How many people do you know who’ve only used 50 gallons of fuel in two years as well?  How many miles did you put on your car during that time?  But that’s just it.  I shouldn’t care (and really I don’t.  I am just making a point.)  The last question shouldn’t be asked.  It’s not about comparing apples to oranges and saying, “I’m better than you because I am greener.”  That’s foolishness.
What you really need to do is take a look at how you live you life.  When you leave the room, do you turn off the TV and the lights?  Do you recycle paper scraps that you would otherwise throw away?  Do you motion to throw away that little Grey Pupon jar, but find that your hand doesn’t release, only to look at it and see the glass and metal could be put to good use in another life?  Well, that’s up to you.  If you can live with yourself, throwing things away or recycling them, then fine.  But I find after living a simple life on a boat and two 2 years in Japan, where recycling is doctrine, it’s actually not that hard to live a responsible, gulp, “green” life.
So get chickens because you want to.  Not because it’s trendy.  Not because the Smiths got a few next door.  Get them because you want fresh eggs, or to ponder your kids with that age old question, “Which came first, the chicken or the egg.”
I am not really sure which came first, but as long as they keep producing fresh tasting, vibrantly delicious eggs, I don’t think I really care.
See you down the road.
-Todd

Rather Than Right Now

4 am.  Can’t sleep.  I have that cold that is hopping its way from host to host.  Of course it has to be raining and crappy outside, just to mimic the way I feel on the inside.  But I take comfort in knowing that I am not missing much as my body goes through its cycle of feeling like dirt.

As I was just lying awake in bed, listing to the ting ting ting of rain falling, dripping, and bouncing off the roof and it’s accompanying venting aparati, I thought that I should get up and do something productive.  Not sure if this is it, but what the hell!

But now with these two paragraphs down, I can’t think of anything of consequence to say.  My mind keeps drifting off to places I would rather be.  And then I got to thinking.  Why not just post a few photos of the places I would rather be right now?

I’d rather be cruising the streets of the little island called Sado, off Japan, looking for cool nightscapes.  Looks like there is someone awake in this little hamlet as well.

I’d rather be chillin’ with my dog in a nice grassy field.  By the way, this isn’t my dog, but it got me thinking.

I’d rather be going to different locations, meeting people, and photographing their chickens.  I freaking love chickens!

I’d rather be walking around San Francisco in my underwear.  Wait.  Really?  It’s early, and I’m not sure about that one.

I would rather be around the campfire with my friends and family, shoot the bull and roasting marshmallows.

And I would most certainly rather hear “Kompai” instead of “bless you.”
What would you rather be doing?  Let me know.
See you down the road.
-Todd