Driving home from school, I noticed an old Ford pickup truck on the side of the road. Next to it was a man painting a canvas of the the farmhouse and barn across the field. Quickly, I decided to turn around, go back, and ask to photograph him while he painted.
After parking along the fence line and walking through weeds that reached my calves, I announced myself. My he looked familiar! I laughed and poked him in the arm as I reminded him that he was the man who owned the Turnipseed Nursery. (Yes, I can be dorky like that.)
He smiled and laughed and totally put me at ease. We talked for the longest time about how he runs the nursery in the summer and paints the rest of the year.
"Like a real artist?", I asked. (Again, things just jump out of my mouth sometimes.)
"Yes", he smiled,"like a real artist."
Because he grew up in the area, as did his parents and his parents' parents, he was able to regal me with stories of my town back when there was only one paved road and a population in the three digits. There also used to be a bridge at the end of my road that washed out in the 60's and the town didn't have enough money to replace it. Turnipseed was the last name of his great great grandmother and the nursery has always been run by a family member.
He also invited me to his art studio; it's on the nursery property. Whenever I was out and about and wanted to stop by, I would be welcomed. But, since this was his painting season, he may not be there. In that case, I could just come back.
Just for grins and giggles because I pretty much knew the answer, I asked if he had an e-mail address where I could send some of the pictures I took.
"Nope. Don't have a computer.", he says nodding his head.
Of course he doesn't. That would ruin everything.
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