Stories
Sometimes our appreciation of a picture is enhanced when we learn the story behind it: how it was photographed, or the larger context in which it took place. A series of pictures, whether seconds or seaons apart, gives us more story than a single image. Gay enjoyed creating photo series and she worked hard to get them right — so that the view of a tree in all 4 seasons feels like a continuous action. A photo series implies action which enhances interest and gives viewers a greater sense of connection with the characters and events thereby creating a more memorable visual image. In “Stories” we share Gay’s journals with Sharon’s editorial tongue in cheek commentary. We practice our voices, weaving a narrative thread and then trying another as we explore our lives — finding what we want to say and what we must express. We welcome comments and we hope you will enjoy this experiment of images and text.
Barnswallows – Reflections on Parenting
Written jointly by Gay McDonnell Bumgarner (March 1983 outside Columbia MO on north Highway 63) and Sharon McDonnell (January 2011 cold New England Barn).
Its March 1983 outside Columbia Missouri on north Highway 63.
In a cold barn the photographer sits in the dark practicing quiet trying to stay warm and explore good ways to unobtrusively light the spidery scratchy place so that she can see something … anything … some action besides the top of a black head high up in a nest on the barn rafter.
This action or change occurs in brief surprises in-between very long periods of no action For some days she has watched from a loft across and above her head as the nest was recycled. It has been cleaned and lined with new mud and some of mother birds indigo feathers. Then eggs were laid, one each day and, glory be, none of the awful predators came.
Each day the watcher/waiter/photographer climbs into her place and the two females sit in a cold barn one on eggs and the other on hay with a camera watching, dreaming, and incubating the one on the nest has come to accept / tolerate the other barn swallows, Hirundo rustica, have thrived with the human race. They once lived in caves but now there are barns and porches all increasing in number.
One morning there is shell on the barn floor and weak squeaking above she climbs and watches breathless from her loft the nestlings grow in their demands, exponentially. The mother becomes a flying carrier service catering to growing mouths. They are a chorus, parsons or judges, always above her, looking down, looking demonic and ridiculous. Soon they are nearly her size and their wide open mouths are endless. The photographer is reminded of parenting. Her own children wouldn’t like the affinity she feels with this tiny straining bird.
The birdlings grow beyond the nest, bursting its limits. Always one will take off first. Maybe it hates crowds, maybe it is not quite “right” and has fallen or been pushed, maybe it is restless or impatient, or simply believes flying can’t be that hard. One will always fledge, ‘trying his wings’ on the long drop, but may not be ready to fly. Those around barn swallows have come to expect at least one babe will fall or fail flying each year and not just once. With luck these people have learned and have and the means to re-place them in the nest or protect them from the cats (check out Baby barn swallow stories).
Soon they all fledge and for the next two weeks parenting is on the wing.
Later, it is one of those summer evenings when the tree frogs are a choir, the air is a bit cooler, the grass is up, and after dinner we wait for the lightening bugs. The barn swallows and bats wait for the mosquitoes to lift off the fields.
I am reminded of a comment my aunt Mary Bumgarner made when my son was new born. In an amused but knowing voice she said, “The thing about parenting is that it is so daily.”
For a lovely set of references about the barn swallow including short essays by people that have lived around them I highly recommend this site: excellent summary facts about barnswallows.
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Mother-Daughter Press & Gay Bumgarner Images 