Savannah, Georgia...

As you might suspect, I'm always on the prowl for new places to shoot. I dig shooting just about anything, near or far. I don't think I'm really breaking any news when I say that.

Living in the oldest city in the United States, there's a lot of history here to shoot. And, once outside the confines of the city (if you could really refer to St. Augustine as a "city"), you still find cool things to shoot, be it to the north or the south.

I drive I-95 quite often. As I do, I always take note of the signs directing travelers to places like Fort Caroline or Cumberland Island National Seashore. These are places where I want to go shooting. I need to plan them as a trip, though, and commit to waking up at zero-dark-thirty and getting in the truck and driving. I actually haven't done that since I lived in Portland.

One spot where I've always told myself I would stop is Savannah, Georgia. I'd only visited the city once before; some time in the late 1980's and, sadly, I didn't get past the touristy section along River Street. 

But Savannah has a rich and storied history, and it even has a few ghosts thrown in here and there for good measure. Hey, you can't have a city like this and not expect a few ghosts along the way. I would go shoot there I would always tell myself, and I just never made the time.

Well, on a recent drive from North Carolina to St. Augustine, I finally decided to go. I'd left Charlotte early enough in the day that I could allow myself a few hours to walk around Savannah and shoot to my heart's content. So, at about 2:00pm, I pulled into the historic district, found a pay-lot along River Street, grabbed my camera, and hit the road.

River Street is an adventure to drive on, as it's all cobblestone. And, truth be told, it can be a challenge to walk on, as well. But it's what you expect to see when you come to a place like Savannah. It would be wrong if the road was paved.

A 19th century building now houses restaurants and shops along River Street...

Savannah has the "Three T's" down pat: "Tourists, T-shirts and Tours"...

And, boy, they sure know how to hook the tourists...

I was pretty surprised how crowded it was, given that it was a Monday afternoon. Getting pictures without throngs of people in them proved to be an exercise in patience. All in all it wasn't bad, but I always seem to find the people who'll walk smack into the middle of my shot and then... stop. 

God, I love those people.

It was sunny and warm, and I knew it wasn't going to be long before the heat caught up to me. I bought a bottle of water at one of the souvenir shops and went on my way.

What I find most striking about a place like Savannah is the architecture you find. Structures built in the 18th and 19th centuries serve as businesses, offices and, yes, even residences:

Houses on East Bryan Street...

 

This is Kehoe House, a bed & breakfast located on Habersham Street...

These homes are located across from Washington Square...

An old merchant building at the corner of East Houghton and Habersham Street...

Now, lest you think that every building in Savannah is several hundred years old, well, that's just not the case. This hotel, The Brice, sits on the corner of East Bay and Houston, and is decidedly not old:

The Brice, which is classified as a "boutique" hotel...

I wanted to find the Cathedral of St. John The Baptist, and I simply had no idea where to go. So, after walking up Houston, I doubled back to speak with the gentleman you can barely make out in the photo above. He pulled out a map and started using different color inks for different locales. He then suggested that, due to the heat, that I hire a pedi-cab. Well, two things: First, I don't do pedi-cabs. Why? Well, because they look silly. Second, if I was in the back of a large tricycle hurtling down the road, I wouldn't be able to take photos along the way. 

No, I told my new friend Rodney that would walk, and I thanked him for his time and for the map. Southern hospitality being what it is, though, he insisted that I have some cold water before leaving. As I drank close to the entire container of ice water they had in the lobby, I enjoyed a nice conversation with Rodney, the woman behind the counter, and whatever other staff happened to come through the lobby. Truly, truly nice folks, and the fact that I wasn't staying there didn't faze them in the least. Maybe I will stay there some time.

My new friend, and purveyor of ice water and information, Rodney...

Before reaching the Cathedral, I came upon Colonial Park Cemetery on Oglethorpe Avenue. The cemetery has been restored, and is no longer used for internments. It opened in 1750, and the last burial here was in 1853.

The entrance to Colonial Park Cemetery...

This is the grave of Archibald Bulloch. Bulloch was a delegate to the Continental Congress in 1775 and, in 1776 became the first President and Commander In Chief of Georgia. His great-great-grandson was Theodore Roosevelt...

Family crypts can be found throughout the six acres of the cemetery...

The grave of Button Gwinnet. British born, he moved to America in 1762 at the age of 27. Like Bulloch, he was a member of the Continental Congress and, in 1776, signed the Declaration of Independence. If you look at the signatures on the Declaration, Gwinnet's is at the top of the left-most column of signatures...

More graves with markers rendered unreadable by the passage of time...

As I walked through the cemetery and towards a far gate, I noticed a lamp post. The cemetery used to be open at night, so a lamp post certainly wasn't all too unusual.

A simple lamp post in Colonial Park Cemetery...

Closer inspection of the post, however, reveals a security camera. In actuality, they were all over the cemetery...

As I left the cemetery, I could finally see the twin spires of the Cathedral of St. John The Baptist. Now, I'm not a particularly religious guy, but I know photogenic architecture when I see it. Next to old barns, few things capture my photographic attention more than an old church.

Though there were various iterations and locations of the church upon the founding of the first parish in 1700, the current building had its cornerstone laid in 1873. On February 6, 1898 a devastating fire destroyed almost the entire Cathedral, leaving only the outside walls and the two spires intact. The rebuilding began immediately, and the seventh bishop of Savannah, Benjamin Keiley, celebrated the first mass in the rebuilt Cathedral on December 24, 1899.

It's truly a remarkable structure:

The Cathedral of St. John The Baptist in Savannah, Georgia...

Looking back towards the rear of the Cathedral...

The Tabernacle...

A wide view looking towards the rear of the Cathedral...

The font, just inside the Cathedral's inner doors...

Looking forward towards the alter (which is to the left)...

The alter, rendered in black and white...

The pipe organ, located above the Cathedral's inner doors...

I love photographing churches, but few stand out as being on the same level as this one. Memorial Presbyterian Church in St. Augustine and the Basilique Notre-Dame de Montreal are probably the only other ones which have impressed me as this one did.

As I left the Cathedral, I glanced at my watch. As much as I wish I had more time, I knew it was time to start (slowly) making my way back to my truck to continue my trip home. But, see, I had to actually get to my truck and, well, there was a lot to shoot between the Cathedral and the Explorer.

Oddly, I don't think President Lincoln was ever here...

One of Savannah's countless Spanish moss-covered sidewalks...

 

The William Washington Gordon Monument, located in Wright Square. Gordon was the founder and President of Georgia's first railroad, the Central Railroad & Banking Company...

A chandlery shop along River Street...

Savannah City Hall, on East Bay Street...

I guess they figure that, by not using the Mayor's actual name, they never have to change the sign...

 

The Talmadge Memorial Bridge, which spans the Savannah River...

All in all, I spent about three and a half hours wandering around the streets of Savannah. Sadly, I'm sure I only scratched the surface of the city with respect to photographing it, and I know I would definitely like to return some time to rectify that...

Bikers, Strangers, Madeline's Mom, And Why You Don't Try To Reason With A Two Year Old...

I'm a parent. God knows I've been far from the perfect parent. I know I made mistakes. Yet my daughter, and I'm sure it's just to spite me, has turned out to be a wonderful woman.

I was in the grocery store today. So was a young lady named Madeline and her mother. Madeline was about two years old; an impossibly cute little girl. Given any other set of circumstances, I would never have learned her name. I would never know that she likes Teddy Grahams. I wouldn't have known anything about her, including how wretched of a mother she has.

As I'm standing in the checkout line, I hear the repeated pleas of "Madeline, don't do that". "Madeline, don't do that". The woman who turned out to be Madeline's mother must've said that a half dozen times. Then, she added to it. "Madeline", she said, "Don't do that. YOU'LL FALL". I instinctively turned to see this two foot tall human begin to careen over the mesh side of the shopping cart.

Madeline's mother apparently believed that the best course of action was to further admonish the child, as she did nothing to stop the inevitable. "You're going to hit your head on the tile!"

She said that.

And Madeline did.

Now, I don't know a lot about two year old kids, but I think it's safe to assume some things. I think it's safe to assume they have no concept of a hard tile floor awaiting them at the end of a fall from a shopping cart. They have no concept of what "a fall" from a shopping cart is. What they do have, or should have, is the innate feeling that the big humans who feed them and clothe them will also protect them.

Madeline's mother did not protect her. 

I don't remember exactly when I decided to move, but I moved as quickly as my 51 year old legs would permit. I was encouraged to see another man moving as well. He was a rough lookin' soul in a mildly tattered Harley-Davidson t-shirt covered by a sleeveless blue flannel shirt.

Unfortunately, Madeline's mother was far too interested in texting than she was in making sure her child didn't get hurt. 

Unfortunately, I didn't get there in time, nor did the biker. Had we turned sooner, maybe we would've made it.

I remember hearing the sound of Madeline's head hitting the hard tile floor. It was a dull thud that almost made me wretch. The child started to scream, though, which I knew was a good thing. Quickly, though, blood on the floor around this beautiful little girl. We assumed the blood was from the little girl's head. After all, that's what we saw hit first, and nothing bleeds quite like a head wound. We checked, though, and saw no gash on the little girl's head. The biker seemed to have some sort of medical background. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He was going to help this little girl.

This little girl's mother, though, could only stand there and scream at us to "Get away from my child!"

Had he not been so focused on helping Madeline, I'm rather certain that the biker would've beaten Madeline's Mom to within an inch of her life right there in aisle 5.

It was while the biker glared at Madeline's Mom that I saw something I would like to never see again. One of Madeline's forearm bones was sticking through the skin, and she was bleeding. This beautiful little girl had broken her arm. The biker removed his flannel shirt and pulled a box of plastic garbage bags from the cart of someone nearby. He opened the box and pulled out a bag, putting his flannel shirt inside. He told me to gently lift her arm. When I did, I felt like I was killing this child. The sounds which escaped her mouth are sounds I hope I never hear again. The biker set the plastic bag under Madeline's arm and gently wrapped it around her arm. As he held it, I secured it in place with another plastic bag. The biker put his hand on her chest to hold her still. He started talking to her softly.

Miraculously, after a few minutes, Madeline stopped screaming. She was still crying, but she seemed aware that these two big humans were trying to make her feel better. Someone laid a jacket over her to help keep her warm.

She pointed to a box of Teddy Grahams in Madeline's Mom's cart.

After a few minutes, paramedics showed up, as did a St. John's County Sheriff. The paramedics thanked the biker and me for tending to the child. They did their paramedic thing while the Sheriff talked to the mother, and then to me and the biker.

I gave the Sheriff my statement and my contact information, and he said I could go. 

I was shaking as I left the store. My mind was racing with thoughts. I decided that I wouldn't allow myself to blame myself for not getting to her faster. I know I did everything I could. No, I thought, primarily, about what I would say to Madeline's Mom should I ever have the chance.

Well, here's my chance:

Dear Madeline's Mom,

Your little girl could've died today. 

She could've died, and it was only because some form of dumb luck that she didn't, as it certainly wasn't due to anything you, as a mother, did this afternoon. You should've protected your child. In that regard, you are a pathetic failure as a parent. As your daughter began to flip out of the shopping cart, you half-heartily watched it happen while only trying to convince her not to fall.

YOU SHOULD'VE GRABBED YOUR KID!

And then you had the gall and the audacity to scream at the people who only wanted to help your daughter.

You have a beautiful child, Madeline's Mom. I'm not, however, remotely convinced you deserve her. You were wearing a wedding ring today. I wish I could be a fly on the wall when your husband reads the police report and the reads the statements that the biker and I made. If a case can be made against you for neglect or abuse, I hope the District Attorney does exactly that. It would be my great pleasure to testify against you.

You did nothing to protect your child. As she was climbing out of the shopping cart (which she probably couldn't have done if you'd put shoes on her), you seemed to believe that you could talk her out of it. Instead, when she's older, her friends will ask "Hey, where'd you get that wicked scar on your arm?" and her response will (or should) be: "Oh, that was from back in 2014 when my Mom was stupid".

You should be relieved, though, that your child needed the level of attention she did. Had she not, I'm relatively sure that the biker you screamed at would've gladly taken a few moments to kill you.

Madeline's Mom, I hope and pray that, one day, you realize what's important and precious in this world. I hope that, one day, you understand that the kindness of strangers helped your daughter today, because nothing you did came close to that.

Live with that...

Sincerely,

One of the men who helped your daughter

Happy New Year... Belated, Anyway...

Yes, I've been slackin'.

After getting settled in St. Augustine, I've found that I'm actually a Helluva' lot busier than I expected, and I'm not even shooting all the time. When I do shoot, it tends to be out of town, which requires a good deal of driving. My three biggest shoots were two football tournaments and a medical device convention. Yeah, the excitement there was palpable. All three of those were several hours from St. Augustine, though. They paid, but they were time intensive.

I've tried to make some time to shoot recreationally and, to some degree at least, I think I've accomplished that. My last gig had me shooting over 1,200 pictures over two days, and then having to get the photos to the client (who was on the west coast) a day earlier than previously agreed upon. So, it's been nice to go out, shoot, and then let the photos ferment on my hard drive for a while before even opening them up.

Now, it's no great secret that I enjoy visiting historic places. Not all of them are battlefields, or carry any military significance at all, but all conjure up thoughts and ideas about how life may have been, wherever I was, in the past.

One such place I visited recently was the Cowpens National Battlefield in Gaffney, South Carolina. The battle at Cowpens was a pivotal one in the fight for independence, and it didn't even last an hour. What was cool, though, was that our visit coincided with the 233rd anniversary of the battle. 

The visit to Cowpens lasted longer than the actual battle did.

Being that it's the actual battlefield, we were told that re-enactors don't play out the actual battle, simply out of respect. That being said, there was no shortage of re-enactors on hand to offer a look back into January of 1781.

It had been very, very cold in North Carolina the last week or so. It was as cold as Vegas can be hot, but decision was made to brave the elements and drive across the border into South Carolina.

The main entrance to Cowpens...

It actually looks pretty peaceful... Now...

A lone tree out in the middle of a field at Cowpens...

This could be almost anywhere. Yet, it's the site of one of the most important battles of the American Revolution...

Pretty self-explanatory...

 

The re-enactors all looked pretty good, and it was a little surprising to learn that many of them had been sleeping here at night instead of at home or a nearby hotel. No doubt they were dedicated to their craft, though:

 

 

Overall, it was a very, very cool visit to a place I'd never really considered visiting. Okay, so sometimes the re-encators can be a little... um... nerdy, but they're really the only ones who, I think, could convey the proper impression of what life here was like 233 years ago. Their nerdiness, you see, permits them to be so over-the-top with their depictions that you can't help but start to think that you're the one, in your jeans and Columbia jacket, carrying your iPhone, who's out of place.

Is this a "must see"? Well, perhaps not in the same way that someplace like Mt. Rushmore is a "must see" but, for anyone truly interested in the American Revolution, yeah, I think it is...