Here's the story behind this photograph.

It was Saturday morning in Smethport PA. This Saturday would be the memorial service and internment of Ted's father. I hadn't seen Ted since 1991 and hadn't seen his father since 1966, however both are important to me. Ted, because we were high school buddies and Mr. “Quinten” Johnson because he and Mrs. “Betty” Johnson always made me feel part of the family (that wasn't unique to me, they made everyone feel that way). Mrs. Johnson had passed in December of 2010, two weeks before the 70th anniversary of her marriage to Mr. Johnson.

I had driven the 85 miles from East Aurora, NY the day before in a wonderful bath of bright spring sunshine and warm temperatures. I was anxious to see Ted yet somewhat pensive due to the circumstances that instigated the long overdue visit. Ted, I learned, had often come up to Smethport from his home in Tallahassee FL, but we’d not made a connection on those occasions other than a night at our 25th class reunion in 1991.

Our Friday night reunion at the funeral home in Mt. Jewett was emotional for all the reasons you might imagine, but I was comfortable to be with the Johnsons, again, and to have spent time remembering Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. Although the melancholy of the occasion was present, I felt comfortable; as I had always when with the Johnsons.

Our Friday night together ended with Ted, his brother, Roger and I gathered outside Ted’s room at the Smethport Motel smoking cigars and telling stories. We parted at about 10:30 and I went to my room, but couldn’t stay there on such a beautiful star filled warm spring night. I gathered my camera gear and wandered the streets of Smethport until the large digital clock on the main street read 12:32 AM and 62F.

Waking at about a quarter pass six on this particular Saturday morning my objective, before preparing for the 11:00 AM memorial service, was to get a good country breakfast and then experience some of the wonderful high hill landscape of this part of northern Pennsylvania. Mr. Johnson must have loved the countryside that is the foothills of the Alleghany Mountains. Except for his time in the Navy, he spent all his 93 years within about 60 miles of his childhood home in Hazel Hurst.

Upon opening the door of room #3 and stepping into the day that was to be this Saturday, a heavily overcast sky and cool temperatures greeted me. What a change six hours had brought.

I found Myra’s Restaurant and had the special. Myra’s was the typical diner you would anticipate finding in towns like Smethport, unpretentious and friendly; comfortable and serving the “unhealthy” food country folks live on all their lives.

As I left Myra’s and headed up the road toward Port Alleghany the message from the sky said rain any minute. Country music came through the speakers in a response to my request to play “My Country List” on my Droid plugged into the car’s stereo system. Up and down and around the hills was the ride. Up a hill, peek and down then around a tight corner and up another and as you peek a vista appears that opens before you the view of deep cultivated valleys surrounded by heavily wooded high rounded mountain tops. Even in gray skies it is an overwhelming sight. It was time for me to turn back toward Smethport and at the crest of I hill I found a turnaround. I remembered a view I had earlier passed and on this return stopped, pulled over and gathered my camera gear, tripod and all, and hiked over the guardrail down a small embankment into the field that opened to the scene viewed in this photograph. I was setting up the tripod and it began to sprinkle and by the time I had finished the shot and shouldered the tripod for the short walk up the slope to the car the rain began. It was a beautiful Saturday morning in Smethport to be remembering Quinten Carl Johnson and being with his family.

Since mid August of last year I have been so very sporadic in posting to this blog. I think I just haven't had time to simply walk around with a camera and see what I see. Nearly all my photography has been with assignment to Buffalo.Com which takes most of my free photography time. I'm not complaining, mind you; just explaining. I stopped on the way home from work on a Friday night to take this shot. I didn't take the bumper to bumper route home instead went around the back way.

My father is 86 years old today, January 8, 2012. He was born in this little house on a farm off Jewitt Holmwood Road in East Aurora, NY. I remember as a young boy, sleeping in the up-stairs bedroom while spending time with my grandfather and grand mother. It was cold in the winter and hot in the summer. My dad and my uncle Fred slept in a bed upstairs when they were young, and my father tells of waking up in the winter with snow on the blankets; the attic was so drafty (it wasn't yet then really quite a bedroom) . The only really change in the shape of the house, that I can recall, is attached to the woodshed at the back of the house (small roof to the left of this picture) was an outhouse. I remember as a very young boy thinking it a much more convenient location than having to go all the way inside. The story goes that when my grandmother finally managed to afford an indoor bathroom, my grandfather was opposed to the idea as that kind of thing really shouldn't be "inside" your house.

An eventful week, PennState, Veterans' Day and Elaine and I were both in NY on separate trips. She for a school administrators' conference and I for a Canon Immersion Training Class. She got to stay at the Crown Plaza on Times Square and I got a Marriott Courtyard in Rye NY. Where's the equity in that? Anyway i had a great time in the Canon class. It also gave me an opportunity to shoot some more of the NYC Skyline. This view is from the top of the escarpment on Weehawken, NJ.

Autumn is nearing its pre-winter phase. During a walk through Hunters Creek the trees were pretty much leaf-less. Still the beauty of fall is all around.