|Ms. Molly is one of the nicest, most beautiful people you'll ever meet.|
I still have to finish the photos and upload them to a sky drive and email the editor of eat.drink.Mississippi, but congratulations, we are all still alive and the story has been saved as a final draft.
It was a close call and anytime you start your day writing about death then you get all nervous. It's one of those stories, you've heard it before, just that morning she wrote about death and then died that day like she knew or something. I was having to chase that thought out of my mind as I drove to and away from my third photo location for the second time.
Some people make this job look easy.
I make it look difficult.
I keep chasing a cover shot.
Those last shots didn't make it, but the story will tell you someone somewhere thought maybe I had gotten enough shots.
The Chickasawhay River in Quitman, MS is at least a minor character in the story so when I was passing by it/over it I thought I needed to try for a river shot. And like a sign from above a quick right turn put me at a boat ramp which looked like a small park. Not far from where I stopped the car the incline got pretty steep. This is favorable if you want to avoid flooding but not so much if you're there with an outrageously expensive lens attached to a crazy, how much money did you pay for that, look at what my cell phone can do, camera.
I wasn't getting a shot from the top and I didn't want to change lenses. Because of it's range I don't use it much but love the photos it gets when the right distance permits. I started climbing down the bank for the potential of that lens which seems funny ironic now and I'll take funny ironic over serious ironic any day.
Where were we?
Oh yeah, me dressed as nice as I get with black flats to complete the outfit and careful knowing I don't have much grip.
Climbing down the bank of a river.
You just smiled.
I got within eight feet of the river and saw where I was stepping. People of this area, I'm not sure what they call it but Dad says it's slick as owl shit which I think is great 'cause when the bottom of my right shoe touched it with only the weight of my foot and maybe my ankle what happened next was quick and landed me on my back right smack in the center of what could have been the excrement of a protected animal.
I now feel at one with the owl.
You may ask.
What happened to the camera, the lens?
It's like I told Daddy.
Daddy, you woulda thought I was like a drunk Uncle Fred at the family reunion. He's gonna fall, take out three cousins and a banana pudding but that cup. He dudn't spill a drop.
Then I added, That lens and that camera never got within two feet of the ground. I laid there and took pictures before I took off my shoes and used my toes to claw my way back up to the top.
Today I am grateful to hear my Dad laughing.