Airborne in East L.A.
Joe and I have travel tradition. It dates back to 2005, when we drove 2,200 miles from DC to my parents home in Southern California. The tradition was born in Arches National Park, and has been repeated wherever we encouter an outstanding landscape. Our Syracuse Professor, Mark Dolan, often called certain landscapes "photos waiting to happen". Something, or someone to cross the frame - a nun, for instance. In full habit, on a bike, cruising by. Even something as simple as a dog walker can make a photo "happen". Even Joe jumping up in the air. Joe has jumped everywhere, from Kauai to Ireland to the walking path that runs through our neighborhood. He's kind of like the Brier family garden gnome.
My parents recently sold my childhood home not far from Los Angeles. So it was fitting that on our last visit, we celebrated an iconic California skyline by sending in Joe for a jumping photo. I'm not sure I would have made this photo if I knew for certain when I'd be back. "Next time," I'd say, and go back to enjoying a glass of wine with my sister. I know I'll be back soon enough, but as our roots grow deeper in the East, our recent trip West has me struggling with the concept of home. Now California is more of a vacation "waiting to happen".
I cherish this photo more each time I look at it. I cherish its "Joe-ness" - as we call it around here. I cherish the past, present and future of it. I cherish the location, just up the hill from my sister's house. I cherish photography, and how it enables us to keep traveling. And keep jumping.