"All languages have their own unique way of describing the world, with its multiple flavours and nuances, darkness and light. Learning a new language can be a kind of rebirth, adding to what we know in our home language. I believe the more languages we speak the more layered and enriched our identities become."

"The only insight you find on top of a mountain is the insight your brought up with you. It was always there, silent and waiting for you to look inward. The climb is rough and it tears away each layer of the self until only raw, unmediated willpower is left. And when you reach the summit, the self eroded in the physical exertion, you look out across the world and suddenly an insight bursts into your mind.... Mountains don't carry wisdom. They only help you see your own truth by unraveling your defences."

“And Frederick the Great’s caution, to defend everything means to defend nothing…. Of course [he] didn’t have to worry about social media and constant opinion polls. This worry accounts perhaps for why, when it comes to fighting terrorism, our leaders choose to defend everything, albeit at significant costs, both materially and to our American way of life.”

The word that stands out to me is "perishable." 

“Now often in the hands of analysts, operational decision-making began to reflect a more lengthy deliberation process.  This was consistent with their training and culture, but anathema to operations pace and risk management. Slowing the process had an intellectual appeal. Analysts seek an exhaustive review of data so as to make the most informed decision. In operations, you never have the complete picture. Perfect becomes the enemy of the good. You must act before perishable time lapses that closes windows of opportunity and heighten risk. No decision, therefore, is actually a choice, and is one that can come at great cost. While perhaps counterintuitive intellectually, in espionage, risk aversion increases danger to our operations and people.”

from the 2021 book, The Recruiter, by Douglas London,

First, I love driving in Antigua. Though I have adjust to driving on the opposite side of the road, it is a much more relaxing experience. There is no road rage—the bumpy, narrow roads means the maximum speed is limited. And besides, where are you rushing to anyway? You are in the islands, after all! Nobody in a pick-up truck runs up your tail, using their vehicle as a weapon and putting your life in jeopardy.  That gets really old, doesn’t it? Instead, in Antigua (and some other islands I have visited), the rule of the road is common sense. If there is a person walking in the road—and there are always lots of people walking in the road—you slow down and shift lanes when there is a clear opening against incoming traffic. There isn’t the “zero sum” attitude we see with aggressive American drivers. Horns are honked constantly—but these are not warnings or expressions of anger. Instead, short taps are used to say hello to friends in other vehicles, or to thank someone for letting your car proceed first. I’ve never seen anyone use their car as a weapon. And let’s face it, a car is an expensive and valuable resource, and there probably isn’t a fat insurance check arriving to replace your damaged car if you live in the Caribbean. So people drive with an entirely different attitudes than those aggressive American drivers that annoy us all.

Second, I missed my photographer buddy Ed. After a day of shooting or flying in a helicopter, we would grab dinner together in Antigua.  We’d discuss all kinds of things, from photography to investments and even his love of watches. He always knew the little, out of the way local places to eat.  One of our favorite places was on the front porch of a home that had no menu but served great West Indian curry. Earlier this year, news came from England that Ed had a brain tumor and the whispers around the yacht club in Antigua weren’t terribly hopeful. I loved being back in Antigua but I kept looking for Ed, and found myself praying for his health.

Lastly, the ocean has a way of unifying people. I wouldn’t call it an enemy, but the ocean is a worthwhile adversary that challenges us, and forces us to work together. It is amazing to watch the sailboat crews—men and women of all ages, shapes, sizes, and nationalities—working as a team. Twenty year-old women pull halyards alongside 60 year old men. Experience isn’t a function of age, but of time at sea, of mistakes already made, of disasters avoided. In Antigua, I’ve seen young members of the permanent crew direct guests twice their age crewing for the race weekend. It is one of the things I love those aspects of sailing—people working in unison, sliding along on the wind using the energy of Mother Nature alone to carry them to their destination.

"The world is filled with love and joy and beautiful people. If you are going to be at odds with the world, you are probably a person that doesn't have a passport and lets commercial news media shape your world view.  Because if you can get out there, you gain an empathy for the other 96% of humanity." 

Camera Predictions 2022 from PetaPixel

“It is commonly thought that life is a collection of the places you visit. But this is an illusion. Life is a collection of events, and these are the results of choices, only some of which are ours to make.”

As a photographer, this town is one of my favorites. It has very few places where you can take a photograph, and the locals don’t seem to like photographers, so it is a strange place to be a favorite location. But perhaps the best part of being a photographer are the brief encounters you have with real people, the real conversations you have, the real connection you make with other human beings.

So on a late December evening, I return into this old Florida town in hopes of photographing the full moon rising over water. I park my car on the grass next to a narrow canal, grab my two camera bodies, and walk to the end of the street. From my research, the house at the end of this little peninsula should have a perfect view of moonrise. It is about 50 yards to the last house, a bright green clapboard structure. As I round the corner, I see a silhouette of a man seated on a weathered screened-in porch and say loudly, “Excuse me, good afternoon sir.”

“Who’s there?” the man shouts without turning.

“My name is Rich, good afternoon,” I reply, wondering if he is blind.    

“What do you want?” He barks, still without turning.

I explain that I’d like to take photographs of the moonrise over the water from the edge of his property.

“Fine, I got no problem with that,” he replies. “Name’s Jonesy,” he says, finally turning his head slightly. “I can’t see you, I’ve got a hernia. Hurts right here.” He points to his sternum. Not the common place for a hernia, I think.

“No worries,” I reply and take a few more steps so he can see me.

The man is seated on a stool, wearing an old pair of jeans, a weathered green t-shirt and glasses. “What’d you say your name was?” He asks.

I repeat my name and my desire to photograph moonrise and step closer to the porch to give him a business card.

“Sure, take all the pictures you want, I got no problem with that,” he shrugs.

I thank him and tell him I’ll be back in about an hour to set up for moonrise. 

“Guy two doors down gotta’ dog, he barks, but he’s friendly,” he adds as I leave the property.

The town is really just a tight jetty of land that sticks out into the water. There are a few restaurants on a tiny thumb-shaped bay, and a real fish market. The other dominant feature is a tightly-packed trailer park, decorated with Christmas lights for the season.

I walk up the bumpy road, past my car and into town. At the edge of the narrow canal, a couple is cutting and cleaning their catch on a fillet table. I continue into town, and a pair of older couples seated on a picnic bench enjoying the late afternoon sun surprise me with a friendly wave. The light is getting softer now as the sun slides towards the horizon. I see the commercial fishing boats along the pier in the little bay and turn into the parking lot to survey the location.

"You can't come in here," says a 30-something man who pops out from behind a truck. He is wearing the high white boots of a commercial fisherman in these parts.

I wave and turn 180 degrees.

"Thank you," he says. His comment surprises me in this gruff old Florida town. 

I continue onward, walking past a couple of restaurants lining the little bay. There are several cars turning around me as guests arrive for dinner. A dusty black pickup truck roars past, perhaps the same one that the man popped out from a moment ago. At the end of the little bay is a bar/restaurant, mostly empty now, but with a few musicians on a small stage preparing for the night's entertainment. A police car is parked just ahead, and the Sheriff suddenly appears and our eyes meet. I give him a disarming wave, and he slides into his cruiser. Turning around the end of the bay and coming back up the other side, I see an opportunity to photograph the commercial fishing boats with a long lens and walk over to the water. I peek around a small yellow-painted building and find a leg and foot sticking out, propping up a door, with the person mostly inside.

"Excuse me," I say loudly.

A startled middle-aged man pops his head out.

"Didn't mean to surprise you, but do you mind if I take a couple shots from this property," I ask.

"No, go ahead," he says, and returns to washing something in a sink that is inside the door.

I grab a couple shots in the nice light, and then continue down the opposite side of the bay. There are homes and buildings here blocking the views and I continue to the end where I find a messy lot with a nice, unobscured view of the bay. There are a couple decrepit "No Trespassing" signs dangling from a post. I look around but see no one. So I settle for taking a couple shots from the street and turn around. 

I snap a couple more shots of weathered nautical gear scattered around town. 

Then I remember that I talked to the GM at one of the restaurants last year about taking some photographs while on the property, so I walk back to the other side of the bay--a trip of maybe 120 seconds. I duck into the darkness, and at the receptionist desk I am informed that the GM is not in today. I leave a business card and head back out into the warm evening light. I exit the parking lot and meander down to the bend in the road, where there is a large restaurant on the water, with signage proudly announcing that it has been operating since the mid-1800s. Today, it is closed.

I return to the street and turn right and can now see my car along the finger canal. The whole canal is bathed in warm light. There is a man cleaning his skiff and I notice that I might have parked in his spot. So I stroll down and start a conversation with him. He is in his mid-40s, and he owns a small weekend house on the island. I apologize if I parked in his spot; he tells me it is not a problem, he isn’t using it. I promise to be out of his way in an hour. I open the trunk to grab my tripod, while we talk a bit about the fishing and the town. An alarm from an astronomy app bings on my phone giving me a five minute warning before moonrise. I excuse myself, thank him for his patience and walk back to Jonesy’ house.

I can smell the cigarette smoke before I round the corner. I spot Jonesy in the same spot where I left him, but this time he is puffing on a cigarette. 

“When’s the moon coming up?” he asks still facing the same direction.

“Couple minutes, less than 5,” I tell him.

“Setup wherever you want,” he says. “I ain’t going nowhere.”

I walk to the point, set up the tripod, mount the camera, and look up. And suddenly, there is the moon, giant and tinted in the pinkish hue of early evening.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to cut the grass today,” he apologizes.

“Not a problem for me,” I shrug, getting to work.   

“Take a shot of the Sheriff!” he calls out. I look up and a police boat is entering the bay from the right.

“I don’t think so,” I call back, and hear him chuckle.

Photography is a lot of “hurry up and wait” and then just a lot of rushing when the light is right. I get the focus set and start snapping some shots. There is still a lot of light and I want some glassy water so after a few shots I add a 10-stop filter. 

“Why don’t you come back here?” Jonesy suggests. 

I’ve taken enough shots at my first spot, and I need something a bit more interesting in the foreground, so I walk around to the side of the house facing the water and see a little pier, maybe 25 feet long. Sure enough, there is a better foreground from this perspective. I get the camera set, and start shooting. 

“Where’d you park?” Jonesy asks.

“A couple houses down, over on the canal.”

“You can park here,” he offers.

“Probably too late for that,” I think aloud as I continue to work. “I talked to your neighbor and he said it was fine to leave the car there for a little while.”

As the evening darkens, I realize I forgot my remote shutter release in the car.  There are clouds creeping in from the top and bottom, and I realize the moon is going to be blocked in a few seconds.

“I think we are going to lose the moon for a bit,” I announce to Jonesy.

“Yep,” he says now from a standing position on the exterior deck. 

“I won $10 on the scratch off lottery today,” he pronounces.

“No way, congrats,” I smile looking back at him.

I snap a few more shots using the camera’s shutter timer, and then the clouds begin to encroach on the moon. 

“Man,” I moan, “I forgot something in the car. I’m gonna’ leave my cameras here for a second,” I tell him.

“Not a problem,” he says through a puff.

So now I take off running back to the car. 

“Run Forrest, Run!” he chuckles. I realize now that Jonesy has a sense of humor.

A grab the remote shutter release and run back to my spot.

“You didn’t miss nothing,” he tells me.

The moon is still behind the clouds as I attach the remote shutter release.

“Sunrises are beautiful here too,” he says.  “You fish?”

“I do, I fly fish” I tell him.

“You can’t believe what swims past here,” he says nodding at the dock. I notice a light has automatically turned on at the edge of the tiny dock.

“Like what? Sharks?” I ask.

“Sharks, rays, dolphins, all kinda’ fish,” he says.  “You ever caught a snook?”

“Yeah, I have. Caught some little ones yesterday.”

“I want to show you a picture of a fish I caught before you leave. You ain’t going to believe the size of this fish,” he says proudly. 

“Sure, sure,” I say, wondering what I am getting myself into. “How long have you lived here?” I ask, awaiting the moon’s reappearance. 

“15 years,” he says.

"Nice spot to live,” I say to him.

“Yeah it is. A rich guy owns the place and I’ve been taking care of it for him. But he’s sick now, so he hasn’t been down for a while.”

The top of the moon begins to emerge from the clouds.

“I gotta’ get the place fixed up now that all these are million dollar houses,” he says, referring to the steady rise of home prices in recent years. “But I ain’t been feeling good. I got this hernia,” he says pointing to his stomach. “But the doctors don’t want to do nothing about it. I can’t do a lot of things, can’t bend over and tie my shoes.” 

“You sure that’s a hernia?” I ask. “Might want to have someone take another look at that.”

“The muscles are all torn up. I can’t get a doctor’s appointment. I got insurance but it takes a month to see a doctor.” 

“Torn abdominal muscles, huh? Can they operate on it?” I ask with the moon almost full again.

“Yeah, but they say they don’t recommend it.”

“Maybe get a second opinion?” I offer.

“I want to, but it take a month to see a doctor,” he repeats. 

"I might be inclined to try the surgery if you can’t do anything,” I say.

“No I can do stuff, I just can’t do all the things I need to do. I worked a couple hours today,” he says.

“Where do you work?” I ask, leaning forward to look at the emergent moon through my camera.

“At the big restaurant.” He names one of the restaurants down the street but I don’t understand him.

I start taking shots with my remote shutter release. I experiment with a few different settings to try to get smooth water with a long exposure, but without losing focus on the moon moving higher in the sky.

After a few minutes of silence I hear, “It’s my birthday today.”

“Oh yeah? Happy Birthday, Jonesy.” I say. 

“68” he pronounces.

“68 today?” I lob back.

“No, not today. At noon,” he clarifies.

I think to myself that is an awfully precise birthday.

“You were born at noon?” I ask.

“I gotta’ go take a leak.” He says. “You want a beer?”

“No thanks, Jonesy,” I say, “I have to drive back.”

“How far’s the drive?”

“About an hour.”

“Traffic is bad, everyone is coming in for New Years,” he says.

“Yeah, I’ve seen a bunch of people going through red lights recently,” I add.

“Gonna’ be crazy tonight, everyone coming in around New Years.”

“Are you going into town?”

“Nah, I ain’t going nowhere,” he repeats.

With that, he is gone for a few moments, and I am left to the quiet of the water, and clouds, and breeze, and the moon. I remove the 10-stop filter and adjust some settings. These are the moments—the oneness with nature—that I love as a photographer. 

“You ever think back when you were young?” he asks on his return.

“Oh yeah, all the time,” I say.

“I mean like in high school and after high school,” he clarifies.

“Sure I do. It doesn’t seem that long ago but time goes fast,” I offer.

"Man we did some crazy stuff. Crazy. But it was so much fun.”

I let him speak but he doesn’t add anything more, just sighs “Crazy, but we survived it.” And he takes another swig of his beer.

A few more minutes pass. 

“I’m here alone,” he announces. “My wife went back to the Indian reservation. Her brother got sick up on the reservation so she left to take care of him.”

“The reservation down here?”

“Yeah,” he said, as if it there were only one. The reservation is only about a 30 minute drive from where I am standing.

“How long ago was that?” I ask wondering if I should have not pry.

“Three years. But we talk. We’re good.” He sips his beer.

I continue shooting as the moon ascends and a beautiful line of moonlight reflects across the bay. 

“Well, I’ll be out of your way in a few more minutes,” I say.

“I wanna’ show you that fish before you leave,” he reminds me. “So what do you do with these pictures?”

“I sell artwork to a lot of hospitals and medical offices.” I reply.

“I’d like to get one of your pictures.”

“Sure, no problem. Just give me your email address and I will send it to you,” I offer.

“I don’t got email,” he retorts.

“OK, well give me your address, and I will send you one.” I pull out my cellphone to enter his address.

“I’ll pay you for it,” he says.

“No, you don’t have to. You let me shoot on the property, I will send you one. What is your address?”

There is a long pause and some confusion. He starts to give me the address and then corrects it.

I read it back to him.

“No, that’s not right,” he says and gives me some changes.

Again, I read it back to him. “You gave me a street address and a PO box, which one do you want me to send it to?”

“There aren’t any mailboxes for these houses. Send it to the PO box but you also need the street address,” he directs.

I return to my work, and take a few more shots as the moon begins to dissolve behind the clouds.

“I think that’ll about do it for me,” I say, pulling my head back from my camera.

“Let me get that photo,” he says and disappears inside.

I start packing my gear and have a last look around on a beautiful night.

“Here, here it is,” I hear him calling from inside before he reappears on the porch. 

I walk over and turn on my phone’s flashlight. Sure enough, it is a massive snook. 

“That’s enormous!” I exclaim.

“Caught it right here,” he points to the little dock. “You can’t believe the fish that swim past here.”

“Nice fish,” I nod and hand him back his picture.

“There’s a lot of big ones right here,” he says. 

I look over to the little pier and see fish swimming in the small dock light.

“That’s a great fish.”

He starts to retreat to the porch.

“Well, thanks a million, Jonesy. I appreciate you letting me shoot on the property.” Since my phone is still in my hand, I figure I better check his address one more time before I ship him a photo. I read aloud his address.

“No, no, it’s 105 not 519” he shouts. 

“105?” I ask, thinking those numbers are very different.

“Uh, yeah, it’s 105,” he stammers. 

We review the entire address one more time. I’m feeling less confident than when he originally asked for the photo.

“Which way you going out?” he asks.

“Just round the same way I came in,” I say.

“Oh, okay, cause there is a big hole on the other side of the house.”

Noted. 

“Come back anytime,” he says.

“Thanks, I’ll send you the photo. And happy birthday. Maybe have another beer.”

“Nah, I can’t drink too much,” he says as I snap the legs together of my tripod.

“Nice to meet you,” he says.

“Same here, and maybe have that surgery, Jonesy,” I muse aloud.

“Docs don’t recommend it. I don’t know, maybe I will.  Be careful getting out of here,” he adds.

“I will,” I say as I lug my cameras and tripod around the corner of the house.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he calls out in the darkness.

As I start down the bumpy road, I can barely hear him say “Have a good night.”

EPILOGUE

“Jonesy!  Jonesy!” I call out as I round the corner to the side of the house with the porch.  “Hey Jonesy, you in there?” I’m pretty certain he is since I can smell cigarette smoke as I near the house.

“Jonesy!” I say louder this time.

“Who’s there?” he barks from inside the house.

“It’s Rich, the photographer. I brought you something.”

It is a beautiful January evening and I am going to photograph sunset over the Everglades in about an hour.  I decided to stop by and drop off a canvas print of my moonrise shot to Jonesy as a thank you. After getting home from my last trip to town, I wasn’t convinced Jonesy had gotten his address correct. After some time trying to validate the address and zip code online, I was even less confident. I decided to have the print shipped directly to me and that I would drop it off on my next trip into the area.

Jonesy appears through the door wearing an old blue t-shirt and jeans. He looks better than last time. 

“Oh, hey, how you doing?” he asks.

“Pretty good. I got a photo for you.” I respond.

“No way,” he says with a hint of excitement.  “I thought you forgot about me.”

“Nah,” I shrug and place the box with the canvas print in front of him. “Just took me a while."

“Let me see,” he says, but doesn’t touch the box, almost as if he is afraid of it.

“Take a look,” I say, and nod to the box.

“Can you pull it out?” he asks.  “My hands are kinda’ shaky.”

“Sure, no problem, Jonesy,” I say enthusiastically.

I slide the canvas print out of the box and pull off the plastic cover and proudly hold the print up for him to see.

“Whoa, that is awesome,” he says in a strangely calm voice.  “Look at that, oh man, that is awesome,” he repeats with only a slight rise in voice inflection.

“You feeling okay, Jonesy?” I ask.  “How’s your gut?” 

“It’s okay, I worked today,” he reports back, now taking the print and holding it for himself.

“Here is one of my business cards as well.” I push the card towards him.

He looks at it, “Hey, that’s different than the last one you gave me,” he says examining the card.

Now I am impressed—people rarely pay attention to business cards and I don’t think anyone has ever noticed when I gave them a different card. “Yeah, this one’s for a book I am working on, Jonesy.” I explain.

He puts the print down on the wide wooden handrail and takes the card.  “That photo is awesome” he repeats again.

“Well, it’s yours. Look,” I point to the back, “there’s a spot on the back where you can hang it.”

“OK. Great,” he says staring at the print.

“Okay, well enjoy it, Jonesy. Just a thank you for allowing me to shoot here.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says. 

“Sure I did,” I say, as I start to retreat.  “I gotta’ run, Jonesy, I’m heading up to a spot to photograph sunset.”

“Oh, ok,” he says, “you leaving now?” I get the sense he would like me to stay and talk. I also get the sense he is a little overwhelmed by the simple gift. Perhaps Jonesy doesn’t get too many free things in life.

“Yeah, well, the sunset is in about 45 minutes and I gotta’ get set up.”

“Where’d you park?” he asks.

“Right here at the end of the street,” I point around the corner.

“You can use the driveway to turn around,” he offers. 

“Thanks, I think I will be okay, but thanks,” I say as I reach the corner.

“Yeah, okay” he says.  “Well, come back any time.”

“Thank you, Jonesy. Thanks for letting me shoot here.” I say as I disappear around the end of the house.

“Come back anytime,” his voice echoes in the distance. 

--Andrew Cohen & Brian Cox, "The Planets"

June 4, 5:30pm EDT.

RSherman_A RSherman_B RSherman_C

• "..the growing evidence that access to blue spaces--particularly coastal environments--might improve health and well-being."
• "This kind of research into blue health is vital to convincing governments to protect, create and encourage the use of coastal spaces." (Dr. Matthew White, University of Exeter) 
• "Approximately one in six adults in England suffer from mental health disorders such as anxiety and depression, and these are far more likely in people from poorer backgrounds. The findings suggest that access to the coast could help to reduce these health inequalities in towns and cities close to the sea."

This study is part of Europe's BlueHealth project that investigates the links between climate, environment, and health.  For more information click here:  BlueHealth

To read the University of Exeter study or the excerpt from Science Daily, click here:  Exeter Study

Source:  University of Exeter. "Coastal living linked with better mental health: Living close to the sea could support better mental health." ScienceDaily. ScienceDaily, 30 September 2019. <www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2019/09/190930214514.htm>.

--Andy Schell, "Islands in the Atlantic" for Sail Magazine, August 2019

• The baseball season, the wonderful time of spring and summer with long days and warm nights on the field.
• My personal season of baseball—the years I played from childhood through college
• The season of falling in love and courtship
• The various school seasons, from high school to graduate school
• The season of weddings—the age when I got married and so did most of my friends
• The season of baby showers and new birth for friends and family
• The seasons of illnesses for family and pets
• The seasons of puppyhood
• The seasons of personal illness, injury and recuperation

In the midst of these seasons, the experiences and associated feelings seem permanent:  injuries will never heal, wedding invitations will come every year, dogs will play forever.  But then these seasons end, and strangely, as time passes, the very opposite occurs:  the seasons which occupied so much of our lives now feel very distant. 

Time flows by.  Like water in your hands, we can never hold onto it.  I believe photography is a coping mechanism that helps us deal with the stress of passing time:  we can capture images—freeze moments in time—that live permanently on the screen or paper.  Grandma is still in the garden, babies are still babies, and summer is still summer. 

I loved living in the Caribbean, the weather was essentially the same every day and the hours of sunlight changed very little from winter to summer.  I remember returning home several times from dog walks, wiping sweat from my face, and looking up and seeing football on TV.  I would be very confused, because it was still “summer” outside.  The flow of time was far less perceptible there and I felt at peace.  For example, I didn’t’ feel the pressure in August to pack in as much summer activities as I could as the days began to shorten.  When living in the Caribbean, if I didn’t do something “fun” this weekend, it didn’t matter, because there were 51 other weekends with virtually the same conditions.  Unfortunately, that season of my life has passed, but I have to admit, I wouldn’t mind revisiting it again someday—it was such a calm, happy time. 

Today, I find myself in a season that is hard to define.  Perhaps it is best described as a season of wisdom—a time to both pursue greater knowledge—through reading, travel, conversation, experience—and a time to share what I have learned with the next generation.  I am enjoying this season, although I would prefer to be somewhere like the Caribbean where I do not feel the strong current of time passing by.  And I wonder what season is next and what it will hold for me.

At the end, he provides one of many quotes that stood out to me: 

"And one final point--we never really know where the next great scientific discovery will come from, nor who will make it.  Opening up the thrill and wonder of scientific discovery, creating innovative and accessible ways to reach out to the widest young audience possible, greatly increases the chances of finding and inspiring the new Einstein.  Wherever she might be."

Asking that you join me in commemorating the 100 year anniversary of the armistice that ended WW1 (we now know this as "Veterans Day" here in the USA) by downloading the FREE Bells of Peace app. It will ring 21 times on 11/11 (or you can leave it off) in remembrance of our fallen.

Yeah, I know it may be inconvenient for the bells to go off at work--but then again nearly 117,000 American servicemen and servicewomen died in WW1 so taking a moment might be a nice idea.

You can find the app for Android and iPhone here: Bells of Peace

“Finally, one is struck with the overwhelming mediocrity of the personalities involved.  The character of each of the leaders, diplomats, or generals was badly flawed by arrogance, stupidity, carelessness, or weakness.  There was a pervasive tendency to place the preservation of one’s ego before the preservation of peace….  It was not fate or Providence that made these men fail so miserably.  It was their own evasion of responsibility.  As a result of their weakness a generation of Europe’s young men was destroyed….  Of all the cruelties that people have inflicted on one another, the most terrible has always been brought by the weak against the weak.”

"France had suffered as much as any country and more than most, the [First World] war having taken nearly 3.5% of her population, one of every four men between the ages of eighteen and thirty.  But a dozen other nations were similarly bereaved.  From Portugal to the Russian steppe, men were learning to live without a limb or all their limbs.  And learning to live with the compulsive twitching and trembling that were among the mysterious symptoms of shell shock, a new kind of affliction the name of which reflected ignorance of its cause."

"General Charles Summerall...told MacArthur directly: 'Get me Châtillon or a list of five thousand casualties.'

'If this brigade does not capture Châtillon you can publish a list of the entire brigade with the brigade's commander at the top,' MacArthur replied.

Edwin Vaughan, a British Officer, as told in John Keegan’s, "The First World War"

--President Woodrow Wilson

Today I start with an excerpt from General John “Black Jack” Pershing, Commander of American Expeditionary Forces letter dated November 9, 1917 (source:  My Fellow Soldiers” by Andrew Carroll): 

"I am glad you realize, and I hope all Americans will realize the vastness of our undertaking and the necessity for very loyal support whatever may happen. We are fighting for a cause that made us great as a nation, and we must all stand together."  

"The writer's standard of fidelity to the truth should be so high that his invention, out of his experience, should produce a truer account than anything factual can be.  For facts can be observed badly; but when a good writer is creating something, he has time and scope to make of it an absolute truth."  (source:  Hemingway on War and Its Aftermath, National Archives)

Tuskegee Airman Floyd Carter Sr. dies at 95

http://www.bbc.com/news/in-pictures-42604221

You can see more of George Rodger's excellent work here:  George Rodger

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]]> (Richard Sherman Photography) https://www.richardshermanphotography.com/blog/2017/11/14265926 Sat, 11 Nov 2017 00:11:00 GMT https://www.richardshermanphotography.com/blog/2017/9/14262402 Upcoming Travel: Great Chesapeake Bay Schooner Race/Annapolis, and the Great Smoky Mountains for fall foliage.

"Travel has always been a way of defeating this sinking feeling, partly because travel is a form of escape, and travel itself--the elemental farewell--becomes the fugitive fantasy of a new life, travel inspiring a sense of hope.  I began my real life, my life of intensity and solitude and discovery, as a twenty-two year-old traveler in Africa, then elsewhere, everywhere, and that formed me as a writer, alert to every sound and smell and to the pulses of the air."

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Two days in an underwater cave running out of oxygen

]]> (Richard Sherman Photography) https://www.richardshermanphotography.com/blog/2017/7/14258695 Fri, 21 Jul 2017 04:07:44 GMT https://www.richardshermanphotography.com/blog/2017/7/14257389 As we celebrate another Independence Day, I reflect on one of my favorite commercials with the magnificent voice of Paul Harvey and incredible photography. A wonderful slice of Americana:  Ram Trucks Commercial 2013

]]> (Richard Sherman Photography) https://www.richardshermanphotography.com/blog/2017/7/14257389 Mon, 03 Jul 2017 22:07:00 GMT https://www.richardshermanphotography.com/blog/2017/6/14256789 I wanted to share a recent article on my work from a local site:  Gulf War Vet Captures Peace In His Art

"For in war, the fate of the nation may be staked upon the outcome of a single battle, and in turn victory or defeat in battle hinges largely on the character and ability of a single individual, the Commander in Chief. This is necessary because only by concentrating the power of decision can unified action be assured, and without unified action victory is impossible. It is so also because moves in battle cannot be debated around the conference table and decided by majority rule; they must be decided swiftly by the commander on the basis of his own judgment and with full realization that each move, once made is irrevocable. To make such decisions requires extraordinary courage and self-confidence."

"I wonder whether you seek adventure when you're young because you're still trying to make a plot out of your life, to shape it into a story, and then you reach an age when life begins to tell the story for you."

Here is the quote from an article in Sky & Telescope about black holes:

"We're terribly human people, and the psychology kind of took over," says John Kormendy (University of Texas at Austin)....  "Scientists get very sure of the things that they think they're very sure of.  And sometimes they've been wrong--and when they are, it's a hell of a job to change the folklore."

]]> (Richard Sherman Photography) https://www.richardshermanphotography.com/blog/2017/2/14245191 Mon, 06 Feb 2017 20:02:42 GMT https://www.richardshermanphotography.com/blog/2017/1/14244746 My online exhibit, "Above a Black Sea" runs today through February 28th at the Red Filter Gallery. Visit Red Filter Gallery

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I call this guy "Oscar." He is a friendly, old, sandy racoon that sleeps in a trash can down by the beach. When you get close, he pops out and watches you walk by.

]]> (Richard Sherman Photography) https://www.richardshermanphotography.com/blog/2016/12/14240650 Sun, 18 Dec 2016 00:12:10 GMT https://www.richardshermanphotography.com/blog/2016/11/14237793 This year I attended a ceremony in my local community of Montgomery, NJ to commemorate Veterans Day.  I was impressed with the turnout from youth organizations.  Here are a few photos. 

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"Traveling is the most powerful self-development tool available to humanity. The more you travel the more you learn through the diversity of other places and people, the more you understand how the world and mankind are the most beautiful treasures available to all of us.”

Now recently there has been debate about individuals who do not stand for our National Anthem. I have no problem with it; after all, freedom of speech is guaranteed by the constitution. In my opinion, calling out a problem with non-violent speech does not hurt our country. However, I will stand for our National Anthem so long as I am able. I will stand because other people no longer can. I will stand for those who battled and tried until they had nothing left. I will stand for women and men who run to help strangers, who stand in harm’s way in our defense, and for those who gave the ultimate sacrifice so that we may live free.

"...the most important effect of travel is that it does in fact change a person's life and their perspective on the world. Often this comes at a very crucial time in an individual's personal development..."

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness....  Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.”

I am not a perfectionist. Instead, I see life as a series of trade-offs: some good, some bad with most of our decisions. Travelers also face trade-offs, and I call this “The Traveler’s Paradox.” Travelers are always on the move—off from this place to the next, excited about the prospects of the upcoming trip. When they arrive at their destinations, they see the locals or ex-pats meandering down cobbled lanes or dirt streets, loitering over long meals, chatting with friends on park benches in the middle of the day, patiently tying their fishing nets. The traveler is often envious, sensing the peace and quiescence of their lives. But the traveler’s life is different: the clock is always ticking. Whether their trip is measured in days, weeks or even years, there is a subliminal urgency to prolong the time, to maximize the experience. For photographers, the sense of urgency isn’t subliminal at all: our days are governed by the clock and the light. So simply put, “The Traveler’s Paradox” is this: the traveler is always going, but the resident is already there. We are always moving, planning, going. But the resident is already where he or she needs to be. Thus, their days are longer, their pace slower, their lives seem more peaceful. Travelers imagine what it must be like to live there, to walk home with baguette in hand, to loiter over meals, to sit on the park bench. And yet, we know we cannot be that; we have the traveler’s soul. When we start to settle down in our own homes, something stirs deep inside us. Before long, we are back planning the next trip; what will be the next adventure? We have to go over the horizon: there are places to see, and experiences to be had. And the cycle starts again. All the while, the residents that we envy are strolling down cobbled streets, playing dominoes in the park, and sipping espresso in cafés. We are going, they are already there.