Stolen moments, shared delights

“What will I find if I go north out of your driveway I asked my sister-in-law, Sandy? You will find a great old barn that would be wonderful to photograph,” was her quick reply. The Vermont day offered heavy clusters of cloud, moving swiftly in the winds. The light was stunningly gray textured by a steady mist. In Vermont the light can change in a blink.

It was the Thanksgiving holiday. The weather had turned from the incredible “spring-like” autumn that the whole northeast had enjoyed to the crisp and invigorating cold we expect at this season of he year.

We were momentarily caught up on cooking, so I expressed a desire to shoot photos of this barn. My niece Minda decided to join me. She is a nature lover and dedicated student who spends her days researching the effects of carbon traces in the woods and their effect on climate change, (Minda taught me that this term is more inclusive than the popular term Global Warming used by the general population) We bundled up against the 24ºF temperature, grabbed our cameras and were on our way, indeed turning left out of the driveway. This is a bit tricky as the road to the left is uphill and on a curve. Extra care is a necessity.

I eased the car onto the road and safely uphill as we kept our eyes out for the barn about a half-mile away on the right. We came upon it quickly; it is set back from the road, hidden by a hill. The driveway is covered with stark white, marble gravel so indigenous to this area, used on numerous driveways, walking paths and road shoulders.

The light was still flat, gray and the air misty and cold. No one was around to ask permission to walk on the property to shoot our photos. We took a deep breath and decided to”go for it.” I parked the Prius at the end of the long and very straight driveway. We walked up the hill toward the barn to shoot photos. At that very moment, as if on a mysterious cue, the sun broke through the clouds casting a wash of beautiful yellow Vermont light and painting patterns of light in the clouds. We both blinked in disbelief sharing the moment of good luck and amazement. This magical light would certainly enhance our photos -- if it lasted.

The barn is old, rustic and huge. It had a sloped roof and several “rooms” filled with machinery, layers of debris, shelving, artifacts of years of use and storage. The trucks parked inside were licensed for active service. A small sign stuck in the earth advertised landscaping services. A house was seen buried in the distant woods separated from the barn by a large meadow dotted by huge, round bales of hay and a Jaguar (of the car variety) parked adjacent to the bales. Minda and I set off to shoot our images, sharing our ideas and discussing what we saw—the textures in the woods, trees clinging to the walls, debris laying around and the cold infecting our fingers.

The sun was still dancing in and out of the cloud layers, playing its little game with us, lighting our images. A fence lined the driveway up to the barn, but did not block us from entering the grassy field in front of the barn. We shot more photos and conjectured about the owners and the history of this place before heading back down the driveway toward the car. How amazed we were that as we approached the car, the heavy cloud layer returned, the light turned back into the gray haze and the air held a heavy mist that tickled our noses and froze our fingers even more. We drove back to the house, ready for some hot tea, and to delve back into helping to prepare the fabulous Thanksgiving feast that Sandy had planned.

I had a magic hour to share with Minda. Time flies too quickly to pass up a few shared moments, made special by surprises along the road, sunlight as a magical happenstance and our shared love of photography.

Message in a Minute,
Ann Carol Goldberg