This will be a short post. Well, shortish. Short for me.
Sometimes I don't have all that much to say. I will thank you not to snicker.
Audrey and I (Erica was unable to accompany us this time) took another mini-day-trip (meaning it took up only part of the day) last Saturday.
You may or may not know this about me but I am more or less obsessed with ruins.
I love the abandoned, the left-to-rot spots. I don't know why. I have a list of ruins I plan to visit, get to know, and subject to my lavish and sincere photographic attentions.
Sometimes I think ruins remind me of cemeteries, where all that is going to be done, has been done, and what is left is the marveling at how quickly it all went.
But I know a big draw for me is the quiet, the calm, the peace, of no more struggle.
Not that cemeteries or abandoned places have given up. They haven't. In fact they supply so much noisy beauty, it takes specially-trained ears and eyes to hear and see it.
As for my eye, it may not be especially trained in any sort of classical or traditional sense involving schooling or anything, but it has trained itself to see.
Since becoming especially enamored of photography within the last ten years -- meaning, I refused any longer to think, you're not a photographer, leave it to those who know what they're doing, you've been told and best heed, you are no artist -- I have learned how to look at things.
That is to say, I've learned a great deal but I hope to continue learning until the day before I'm ushered out of this world.
And I don't care what anyone thinks about any of that. I really don't. But I'm chuffed when they think (of something I wrote, or of one of my pictures): That's pretty neat.
So it was that Audrey, Dagny, and I merged onto I-77 Northbound, destination Fairfield County, home to many historic wonders including the tiny towns of Winnsboro and Ridgeway.
On the way I actually stopped to take a picture of a parked semi trailer emblazoned with Old Glory.
And also the -- ahem -- interesting signage on the brightly-painted building beside which the trailer sits.
Winnsboro was chosen as a preliminary destination because there is a historic clock tower there (not much else, sorry Winnsboro), and Ridgeway, because of the school ruins.
By the way: Winnsboro's aforementioned clock, at over one hundred years of ticking, is billed as the oldest continually-running clock in the United States. I'm only reporting what I've read and what is said.
In addition to the clock and its charming tower, I did get this shot on South Congress Street in Winnsboro -- once a bustling retail community but now not so much -- because you know how I love such upshot perspectives on vintage buildings.
Then on to Ridgeway, a scant fifteen minutes away by chariot.
When old Ridgeway High School was demolished -- I know not when -- a single doorway was left standing.
There's no actual door; only a pedimented archway and enough brick around it, to let it stand there.
Ivy has made it its mission to decorate one side of the structure in a most lush and stylish fashion.
The doorway dominates a field on an ordinary residential street in the sleepy town, only a block off the main drag which I told you about here.
I learned of the school ruins (such as they be) only after not one, but two somewhat recent visits to Ridgeway, which drowsy hamlet turns out to be a deep reservoir of photographic delights. If -- again -- you know where to look and how to see.
And now I'll have to go back because soon after arriving at the ruins, I realized I was there on the wrong day and at the wrong time of that day.
The ruins face southeast; meaning, they're best photographed as the sun rises and strikes the front of the structure.
Also the day was relentlessly bright, nearly cloudless. And as the sun sank behind the ruin, it would render it a mere silhouette.
But we popped The World's Cutest Little Baby up on the ledge anyway, and she began smiling and laughing at her mother, and my lens loved her tiny face and sparkling eyes for a few minutes.
We will take her back too, at which time we will plan better, stay longer, and do it all more justice, if only of the poetic variety.
Before leaving for home, we swung by a quaint lovely church with a small immaculate graveyard, where honeysuckle was blooming rampant, perfuming the warm air like you wouldn't believe.
It was a day for doorways and I'm a sucker for a red ecclesiastical door. It did not hurt that said door was set in a gothic archway itself set into a chalet-style roofline under antique slate shingles, flanked by genuine leaded-glass windows, beyond a perfect wrought-iron gate at the start of a brick path shaded by old trees.
The scene brought heaven to mind.
And there was a nice black amber-eyed dog, who approached and wanted to be friendly but wasn't sure.
We inadvertently allowed him outside the main gate and were concerned until we realized he freely goes in and out. Even so, Audrey offered him one of Dagny's arrowroot cookies to lure him back inside.
But he balked. I was like: In or out, Blackie. Make up your mind. You remind me of that freestanding door down the street: neither here nor there.
Upon which he stepped on a burr (or something), temporarily semi-laming himself, and loped off across the adjoining property. It was our signal to move along too.
Until we return to Ridgeway and environs for further adventures and additional artistic opportunities, I hope I haven't ruined your day.
Au revoir for the nonce, friends and neighbors.
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Happy Wednesday
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Monday, May 25, 2015 at 06:44AM 
