How many photos of this nature have been taken in the last fifty years? Imagine, a book with similar photos; it would surely by at least five feet high. How many poems have been written that mention meadows? More than I would care to bet on. It would be an infinite number. In fact, at this very moment, rest assured that there's a poet somewhere who has just penned the word "meadow" or "meadows."After shooting this photo last summer, I thought about how many people would really love to go on a "day trip" out in the countryside to look at old barns. To be able to run through the meadow in a slow motion manner is an especially romantic idea. How many possibilities are there anyway. The slow motion idea of running through the meadow always ends with two lost lovers embracing in a slow motion embrace. Now that's a romantic day trip to the meadow.
- HUFFSTUTTER'S PHOTO ESSAYS
- My dad's dad, my grandfather, was nine years old when President Lincoln died from an assassin's bullet. Most people think I am speaking of my GREAT GRANDFATHER. NO, I am referring to my dad's father, my paternal Grandfather, Robert Levi Huffstutter, born in 1856. What does this information have to do with my profile? It might help the reader understand that I have a sense of being much older than I am in that only one generation seperates me from President Lincoln. This causes me to respond differently to society and many current events. In many respects, this is to my benefit, in other respects it dates my mindset. Perhaps this is the reason I value the moral standards and idealogies of older Americans, the men who were the soldiers and sailors I saw when I was a small boy,the men and women who fought a war for freedom without any doubts posted by a media with a questionable lack of national unity and purpose.