The Accidental Farmer

My family isn't exactly known for their skills in agriculture. I probably come closest, having always had an interest in having a garden (though I haven't made much of an attempt in over a decade... someday when I have a house I need someone to teach me!)

But last year my dad did some random experimentation with a pile of wood chips he turned into a compost pile on the side of the yard. He added rinds from watermelons and cantaloupes, not to mention the seeds from the later. Like Jack and his Beanstalk, a plant started to grow.

And soon there was a melon. And just today we found two more:

Mom acts all exasperated about this rogue plant, but the rest of us are extremely entertained. Plus, we picked the first one and it tasted delish!

Dad picking his cantaloupe

One of my Favorite Things

I love skyping with my niece and nephew. My sister hooks it up to the TV so that my face is on both screens and they spend the entire time looking back and forth between the two trying to figure out why Aunt Rie is in both places at once. Also, Chris still smiles like the Mad Hatter when I do the "what are you doing?" ASL sign to him. Plus I get to see their cute faces!

Someday...

I'm going to get on my soapbox for a moment.

There are a few words in the English language that, while seemingly harmless on their own, I believe we make toxic with the way in which we use them. The word potential for example. A girl I once knew was constantly told "you have so much potential." She would talk about how often people said this to her in her saddest moments and at first I thought those words buoyed her up and rallied her to become the person she knew she should be.

The more I got to know her, the more I realized what people were really saying when they used that word. What they really wanted to say was "you are a sorry excuse for a human being. You're rude, unkind, and entirely selfish, and you're going to burn bridges with anyone that's decent because no one wants to be around someone who acts like you." Instead, they tried their best to turn it to a cheerful "you have so much potential." The fact is, you rarely hear one person tell another they have potential when they're proud of them or think highly of what they've done.

Even though I'm in Estonia, there's plenty of graffiti written in English. One bit of graffiti caught my eye Friday night as I walked back to the dorms:

It got me thinking about that word. We've grown up with this mythical idea of the word Someday.

Someday my Prince will Come for example. You know... you sing the words and sit by a well and some handsome man is bound to show up to finish what you're singing. The truth is that those who sit by the well will often find their only company is their own echo. Someday.

Or have you ever noticed how someone talks about life long dreams? They're telling you about how they want to go to that particular place, or pursue a particular hobby, or get that particular job and they end with a sigh--the word someday wedged into its corners.

To the untrained ear it sounds hopeful, but after saying that, what do we do to make our someday happen? As one of my favorite teachers once said, "luck favors the prepared."

So here's my newest commitment to myself: no more somedays. For anything that's important to me there's something I'm doing to make it happen. If it's on the sidelines, it's because I put it there... not by chance, happenstance, or because I'm waiting for my fairy godmother to come wave her wand and make my dreams come true.

I am the captain of my fate. I will take a stand and own it.

Happy Birthday Nerdbomber #1 !

Shay-bird,

You are turning 16 today! I remember when I first got to know you at the age of 7. Even then you were precocious (not to mention mischievous at times) and always so, so talented, beautiful, and such a fun girl to be around.

While there are people who will give you much more dating advice, I offer you just a little of my own.

Treat the boys that take you out well. We often hear tirades about how women should be treated and entirely forget that this goes the other way around too. Never talk badly about them to your friends. If he would be embarrassed by what you say, don't say it behind his back. Don't spend the night on the phone texting or checking facebook when he's reserved his own time to spend with you. Don't lead them on. (We already know what a heartbreaker you will be without adding this to the mix!) Be grateful for anything he offers, and graceful taking compliments he gives. Be sincere and kind.

Oh, and expect the same in return. If any boy is not treating you right, run for the hills! You deserve the best, girl!

Happy Birthday!

Love,
Marie

P.S. I should put some super embarrassing story here... like maybe the one about how you and your brother rolled in the mud on the way home from school one day... but I'll save that for another day. :)

Welcome to the Nachtwey Lounge

My friend Mel and I had an entire conversation about the name of the lounge, also known as the back wall of the photo room. I liked Nachtwey Lounge. It sounds classy. Sophisticated even. She suggested some other photographers' names and maybe f/64 or something to do with postmodernism. I don't remember, because I still liked Nachtwey Lounge better.

I should explain that this didn't start out entirely my scheme. A group of us talked about how we needed a couch. Everyone in the photo department spends their life in the same room and it needed a more homey feel. We decided we could remedy that. Jake had a couch and became the best red herring ever. Devan had a truck. Melanie and I had the muscles ( . . . or at least the feminine wiles to get a couple guys to carry in the couch from the top of the stairs just outside the GT). And we had Mike's silence, in exchange for him having a place to nap when his shifts were slow.

Then my roommate Chessie gave me an idea. What if things just started showing up? One thing a week . . . a table, then a book, then a blanket . . .

This one got the most reaction:

I would like to point out that there are many more things this particular expression could mean. And no matter what he says, we get this exact look all the time. (Also the . . . is a very specific version of this expression. See Mel for an example.)

John, of course, couldn't be left out of the mix:

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Most of the items were thrift store finds and fix-ups. Chloe helped with the lamp (which needs to be rewired, I think), and there were suggestions given by several others as to the additions week-to-week. Yes, there were more people that knew about this too. I'll let the rest of them admit to it if they so wish. Until then, Photo world... enjoy the Nachtwey Lounge!

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(And on a side note, there is a severe lack of pictures of Barb. The Capitol Reef classes need to change that this summer!)

Dear Family & Friends,

Some of you may know already, but I've been working on my final project in school--a project in which will take place in Estonia. As a result, I have been spending this school year working on funding. On top of the grants and scholarships I have applied for, another fundraiser I have started is through a website called KickStarter.

Kickstarter is a website that helps launch creative projects. I have set a goal amount to raise $4,000, and from there it's up to backers to decide how much they are willing to pledge to this particular project (each amount also has an incentive attached). If the total amount pledged equals or exceeds my goal, the project will be funded. If it comes short of that, it will not. The final date for pledges is April 20th at 10:00pm.

This is where I'm looking for your help: even if you are unable to help financially by pledging, I am asking that you share the link below wherever you are able: Facebook, email, blogging, etc.

For those who I have already noticed sharing this on facebook, thank you! There are 18 more days and any advertising of this project helps!

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1623087744/tales-from-estonia


Sincerely,

Marie

An episode not to miss!

In the fall semester, I took a fine art photography class. One assignment given was to mimic a fine art photographer. We were given a list. I call it the "List of Eminent Doom." I looked through, and only one photographer seemed like one I'd be interested in trying their style: Cindy Sherman.

Cindy is most known for a series called "Untitled Film Stills." These pictures consist of a woman dressed up and pretending, more or less, to be an actress at different points in a career. There was one problem with Cindy's work to which I could not reconcile myself: she is the woman dressed up. Yes, these are often referred to as self-portraits. My friend Mel said she'd volunteer to be in them instead, but I knew I'd have to have more than just a loathing for pictures of myself to remain behind the camera. Then I found an article. A glorious article.  In that article, Cindy was interviewed and states that the mistake people make about this series is in calling them self portrait.

DING! DING! DING! We have a winner! 

There were other points I could quote, but that did it. I grabbed Mel, her array of wigs, my camera, and a roll of film and got onto the project quickly. The day I brought mine, the first thing Travis (aka Professor Voldy) said was "Wrong. You're not in them." I would like to first point out that I didn't have to say I was mimicking Cindy. The images were that awesome. Still, he argued with me about it. He tried to get me to admit I should have been in them. I wouldn't budge and neither did he.

It was okay, though. Expecting to win an argument against Travis is like expecting that they might decide to start up the show Pushing Daisies again. It's just not likely.

Except then it happened. Me winning, that is. We stopped arguing about it that day. What I refer to is when he told his fine art class this semester that ... and I quote... "Marie won". Yes, he admitted publicly that I won the argument. But when I asked him about it, he vaguely waved me off and tried to restate what he'd "meant". It wasn't until we got into it one day that, in a moment of acting like a five-year-old, he huffed, "Fine! You win! You happy?"

I smiled and confirmed that, yes, I was very happy.

Why do I tell you this story? For a few very good reasons.

First, I could very well be the first student to have gotten Travis to admit defeat. This is huge and may never happen again.

Second, our podcast has a Cindy Sherman episode up. It's the first one about a photographer that we've done, so you need to go listen! Here! (You can use the player on the right.)


Last: hold out hope people! Pushing Daisies has more of a shot than you ever thought before!