It began as quest and ended as an adventure. It got underway on narrow back road in Spartanburg county and radiated out across the region, nation, and globe. It originated from a personal passion for photography and evolved into a new vehicle for discovery and research. It took place in the here and now but connected to events long past and others yet to come. It bridged natural and human communities. It saw summer give way to fall, flowers to leaves, long days to short. It started alone but slowly became a noisy band of brothers and sisters talking, sharing, and learning together. Three months, ninety three days, and tens of thousands of miles later this first stage of my photo-a-day journey comes to an end. It is time to set a new course. My participation in this wonderful artistic community has been deeply edifying. Finding a new image to present each day and then exploring the connections among those images in thought and words has been a challenge from which I have benefited more than I can express. It both has opened my eyes to new ways to visualize the world around me and it has renewed my enthusiasm for writing. The processes by which words and images impact perception have often been set at odds with one another in scholarly communication research—and maybe they deserve to be—but my experience has been one in which the visual and discursive have woven in and out of each other in unpredictably exciting ways. But now I want to explore new possibilities. I have a long term scholarly book project that will need all of my energy to finally complete. Based on the encouragement I have received from my peers in the Pbase community, I am also going to explore publishing these last three months of PaD entries in some form. I still find it unlikely there would be an audience for such a thing but at least some of you think otherwise. I also need to get back on the bike. While good for the mind and spirit, photography lacks the aerobic intensity that is going to be necessary to discard the twenty pounds that have gathered around my waist as I have slowly stalked the next macro. Now, don’t get the wrong idea! I’m not going anywhere. I am fully addicted to my camera and PaDing. I intend to continue posting each day and commenting as much as possible. I even hope to take my camera along with me as I enter this new period of my life. But I am not going to be quite as eager to search out a new shot each and every day and I hope to let the images I do collect speak more for themselves for a time rather than carrying water for my often hyperbolic rhetoric. For those of you not up on your Latin, chiasmus is a figure of speech in which a portion of text ends how it began. This shot was taken in downtown Spartanburg. The statue is of Daniel Morgan—hero of the American revolution. The experience of the backcountry settlers who made a life for themselves along the foothills of the Appalachian mountain has been a central thread that has woven its way throughout these PaD entries so I thought this photograph was a good choice to close the chapter. It began as a quest but ends as an adventure which—of course—knows no end.

In the year 1750 Thomas Terry was born in Yorkshire, England. Thirty-five years later, in the prime of life, he boarded a ship for the New World. History doesn't record what drew him to the backcountry of South Carolina but he was an ordained Methodist Minister so he was most likely moved by the Spirit in one way or another. He settled near the banks of the Reedy River in area that would later be known as Fork Shoals. Terry's wife and five children, along with Mrs. Terry's brother, followed him a year later landing in Charleston, SC in 1786. Unfortunately, the city was suffering from an epidemic of yellow fever and as their wagon worked its way slowly northward across the state Mrs. Terry and four of her children died along the way. Only her brother and one small daughter made it to Fork Shoals to deliver the sad news to Thomas. Five long years passed. The area around Fork Shoals became known as "New Ireland" because of the immigrant families that settled here, a welcome development for a Methodist Minister. In 1791, fortune doubly shined on Thomas. He married Rebbecca "Ann" McDowell, the daughter of a wealthy Charleston merchant who had emigrated from Dublin, Ireland. He also founded his own small church named, not surprisingly, Terry Chapel. The church would later change it's name to Pisgah Methodist and still holds services each Sunday just minutes from my front door. Thomas Terry and his church would provide an anchor point around which the little farming community of Fork Shoals would grow. During the great textile boom of the late nineteenth century, enterprising businessmen would use the flowing water of the Reedy River to add a large red brick mill, and for a time, a small town sprang up around it. But when the mill fell victim to the collapse of the textile industry in the 1970's, Fork Shoals returned to its rural ways. Now, only the empty mill, a small village of old mill homes, and Pisgah Methodist, mark this spot along a busy Greenville County road as distinct community. But communities have a way of way of surviving in the hearts and minds of the people who live there even without buildings and storefronts, and so I noticed the signs go up a few weeks ago: "3rd Annual Fork Shoals Christmas Parade." Now this was an event I couldn't miss! After making up for our missed Thanksgiving trip to Waffle House, my wife and I found a parking spot at Pisgah Methodist and began walking through the surprisingly large roadside crowd taking pictures and speaking to our neighbors. It was delightful. I have learned that the best strategy for dealing with the "Are you with the paper?" question is to just smile and keep shooting. I received many wonderful smiles in return. We walked up the hill to the start of the parade route and then followed it back down, giving my Olympus it's first real workout. I couldn't have been more happy with the results and eventually I will post a few more of the best shots in a separate gallery. This one was taken at the very beginning of the parade. I can't think of a more appropriate lead "vehicle" than a horse drawn carriage! I don't know who was in the driver's seat but I wouldn't be a bit surprised if it wasn't one of the many descendants of Thomas Terry who still live in the area. But even if it wasn't, I'm sure somewhere he was smiling down on his little village along the bank of the Reedy River as it celebrated the start of the Christmas season.

I am nearing my three month anniversary as a Pbase member and regular PaDer. It has been such an exciting learning experience that it seems far longer. I have only been taking pictures on a regular basis for a little more than a year but I have learned more in these last twelve weeks than the previous twelve months thanks to all my peers in the Pbase community. Some of you may have noticed that up to this point I have taken my photographs with a somewhat unconventional camera--at least by Pbase standards. If I do say so myself, the little 5 m.p. fixed lens Lumix that has gone with me everywhere for the last year has proved to be a pretty effective tool for rendering the things I see as best I can. But it is only natural that as my interest in photography has grown so has my desire for a more sophisticated companion--in other words, a DSLR. With the Christmas season approaching I began the research process to figure out what would be my best option. Frankly, with so many choices and such a big investment at stake(for me anyway...I am a teacher after all) it has been a difficult and stressful process. I will spare you all the internal debates since I know you each have experienced something similar but when Circuit City dropped the price of the two lens kit version of the Olympus Evolt under $700 and, at the same time, South Carolina declared a sales tax free weekend, the choice was made for me. And so I drove home through the bumper-to-bumper "Black Friday" traffic looking at the pretty grey box sitting on my seat and feelings successive waves of excitement and guilt over the purchase. Of course I had to let the battery charge when I got home which gave me time to busily catch up on neglected housework in a vain effort to make up the extravagance to my wife. When the light finally turned green I dropped in the battery, clicked on the 40-150, and headed out into the yard. My first impression was how heavy it was. And to think the Evolt is the lightest of the bunch! Until that point I had never even really held or looked through an SLR so you'll imagine my surprise at how bright and HUGE the viewfinder seemed. I set it on Auto and started wandering. I was hoping the lens would give me a little more telephoto than it did but I tried to capture some of the yard birds, dried weeds in the late afternoon sun, some beautiful red sprigs of sumac. I next headed across the street to the horse farm. I have shot these beautiful animals with my Lumix many times but the ability to see the shots rendered so clearly and sharply was thrilling. The sound of a real shutter was also so wonderfully solid. I was anxious to see the results so I quickly headed back in and fired up the laptop. As soon as the images started transferring I could see the difference. When I opened them full size there was a sharpness and saturation that distinguished them from those taken by my more humble Lumix. I wouldn't say they the difference is night and day and I think the Panasonic will still stay in my repertoire--especially until I acquire the lenses necessary to do what this little all-arounder can--but it was pretty exciting to have gone straight on through to the other side. Now if my wife would only start talking to me again. But if not, I'll be redirecting my Thanksgiving wishes to Circuit City's 30 day return policy!

Our home is a ramshackle affair. The original central portion of the house was a small, one story cracker box probably built in the 1930's or 40's from rough cut timber that may have been cleared from the surrounding land on which it now sits. Sometime later a front section was added to make space for a growing family, and more recently still, another two rooms were stitched onto the back. There isn't a level floor in the place. Other than the large converted attic that serves as our bedroom--commissioned by the most recent homeowners--none of the home's construction was likely done by professionals. The families the lived here before us were working people, self-reliant, and accustomed to doing for themselves. Their workmanship was spotty but functional and it gives the place a rough around the edges character that I appreciate more than my wife. But we didn't buy the house for the state of the walls and floorboards . As real estate people say, "location, location, location." The house sits at the peak of rolling granite dome in south Greenville county near the rocky shoals of the Reedy River. We are still blessedly far from the nearest subdivision (though, sadly, they grow ever closer). But the day I followed the "For Sale" signs along narrow country roads and the house for the first time there was one thing that generated by instant affection for the place: the huge white oaks that tower over the front yard. The one nearest the house over-shades almost the entire roof, creating leaf-clogged gutters, tannin stained shingles, and a never-ending litter of acorns such as those picture here. And I wouldn't have it any other way. The first time my father saw the place he suggested that we immediately remove the broken bricks someone laid into the hard dirt surrounding the tree. But I would sooner cut off a finger. Some loving hand from the home's past placed each one just so and they are as much a part of the place as the creaking floors and sagging chimney. As you can see, they also gave this earthworm refuge from downpour that we experienced yesterday. And so, to all those who came before me and left their mark on this old place, I dedicate this shot and give thanks. Hopefully it will provide us shelter for years to come.

Growing up in central South Carolina, snow was a rare and mysterious event. Even the slightest winter weather meant a day off from school so for as long as I can remember I have watched low pressure systems work their way across the television weather map hoping against hope that a few flakes made their way to the Midlands. At that time it seemed as if only the Upstate of South Carolina was ever lucky enough to get snow and I imagined it a never ending winter wonderland. Now that I live here at the base of the Appalachian mountains I have learned that snow is only slightly more frequent--perhaps two or three "winter weather events" occurring each year--usually more ice than snow. So today, when I should have been dead tired from trip to San Antonio, I couldn't help driving an hour and half north to my favorite stomping grounds along the Blue Ridge Parkway when I heard the first snowfall of the year was occurring in North Carolina's high mountains. The peaks along the North Carolina/Tennessee line received several inches but at my destination--Mount Pisgah near Brevard, NC--it was only a pretty dusting. The Parkway itself is closed this time of year so I was able to hike along the empty road for mile or two in a light snow to take this shot. As I was driving home it occurred to me that while I have been to Mount Pisgah and Pisgah National Forest many, many times I knew little about its history. And when I did a little investigation I was once again amazed to discover a set of unexpected connections that has woven itself through the journey I have been on for the last several months. Mount Pisgah is of course a Biblical reference--the place where God revealed the Promised Land to Moses. The place in present day North Carolina which bears this name was once Cherokee land. They called the mountain Elseetoss. As regular readers of this blog know, I have have often found myself exploring pieces of Cherokee history with my words and camera. In fact, the book I took with me to San Antonio was "Footsteps of the Cherokees" by Vicki Rozema and in it I had just read about the complicated story of how the Cherokees came to side with the British during the Revolutionary War. So imagine my surprise when today I learned how Pisgah got its name. In September 1776, Patriot General Griffith Rutherford, set out from Old Fort, North Carolina (another place I recently visited and photographed) with a war party. Their goal was to attack Pro-British Cherokee strongholds in the heart of the Appalachians. Advancing along the lush valley through which the French Broad River flows, Rutherford and his men saw Mount Pisgah for the first time. One of Rutherford's men--James Hall--who was also a preacher, upon seeing the rich, fertile land surrounding the mountain made the connection to the Biblical Pisgah. Sadly, Rutherford and his men would be successful in destroying many Cherokee villages during their expedition, though the Cherokee's fatal decision to align themselves with the British made the battles a necessity in the fight for independence. And to follow this connecting thread one stitch further, in 1780 General Rutherford would march with the infamous Horatio Gates to the Battle of Camden where he would be wounded and actually captured by the British. And some of you will remember that just weeks ago I was in Camden photographing the reenactment of that battle! And so it goes. From a childhood fascination with snow, to my growing love for the natural wonders found in the mountains of Appalachia, my interest in the Cherokee who made those mountain there home, and my wonder at the backcountry settlers who gave birth to our democratic republic--imperfect though it was and may be--my camera continues to lead me down unexpected paths and the wind back on themselves in endlessly fascinating ways.

746. That might be a record. I got up at 6:00 so I could catch some sunrise shots along the riverfront and ended the day with shots of the same Rio San Antonio lit up in her night finery. In between, I piled up 746 shots. Oh yeah, I also presented my paper and watched a couple of other panels. By the way, did I mention I'm tired. As I said yesterday, San Antonio is a fantastic photographic destination. For those of you who haven't been here, the San Antonio river winds through the heart of the city hemmed in by old stone walls, spanned by lovely bridges, bordered by multi-story homes, restaurants, and shops and accessible by walkways which follow most of its length. Along the way a half-mile loop of flowing water diverts from the main channel and this area is the heart of the tourist area known as the "riverwalk." The PaD shot was taken here. Colorful pontoon boats carry tourists past the bustling river side paths and those are the lights you see arcing across the shot. But as much as I enjoyed my time out in the city with the camera, the real highlight of the day was seeing one of my former undergraduate students present an ethnographic performance at the convention, which, of course, I also happily photographed. Ethnography is the study of the communication practices of a culture. It is a method used by anthropologists and usually involves living in a cultural setting for an extended period so that the research can observe the intimate details of life in that culture. My student is in a sub-discipline of the communication field called Performance Studies. This method studies a culture and then re-creates its cultural practices in a unique kind of theatrical performance. More specifically, my student--Hannah--spent hundreds of hours interviewing coal miners in and around her home in West Virginia and then re-created their stories in a her performance. As you might imagine, they were stories filled with pain and hardship but also hope and joy. She and her fellow performers did a remarkable job. It was actually Hannah who gave me the title for today's PaD because I had suggested that she go to graduate school in performance and I recommend her to my alma mater UNC Chapel Hill where she received her PhD. I can't tell you the pride I felt in watching this beautiful, intelligent young woman take her scholarship to such an amazing level. As far as I know, this is the first undergraduate student that I taught who followed my path as a communication scholar and it was deeply satisfying to meet her on the other side of the circle. I know she will do the same for generations of students to come--the circle going on unbroken.