A very Minnesotan summer.

As you may have noticed, I took a break from blogging this summer. I know, I know… I’m sorry. There were a number of reasons that I decided not to blog this summer, but that part isn’t very important. In any case, today is the last day of August and so it seems like a good time to begin blogging again. I’ve been at campus for 20 days now—20 crazy, stressful, overwhelming, amazing days. I’m still trying to process all that happened. Once I have processed things a little more, I will be posting about these last three weeks. Until then, I would like to give you a recap of my summer.

This summer, I…

Shot long exposure photos:

Spent time by the river:

Enjoyed Lake Superior:

Shot handguns, shotguns, and rifles with my family:

Shooting a milk carton at 300 yards

Had a Father’s Day picnic at Jay Cooke State Park in the freezing weather:

Shot bows with my dad and brother:

Went fishing with my family:

Watched the 4th of July fireworks:

Created a game with my extended family using giant marshmallows:

Shot photos of my cousin's wedding:

Spent a week as a counselor at one of my favorite places - Sand Hill Lake Bible Camp:

Old friend.

New friends.

My favorite boys.

 

Camped in western Minnesota:

Spent time with my cousin from Florida:

Had a photoshoot with a close friend:

Shot photos of my siblings:

It was an interesting summer. If nothing else, after a summer like that, I’ve never felt more Minnesotan.

The 15th Annual Father Daughter Ball.

I returned to California the day before classes started, and I did so for one very specific reason: the 15th annual Father Daughter Ball.

You see, 15 years ago, a few ladies decided to plan this ball, held at a local high school. My dad took my sister and I to it. I was four years old at the time. My sister was seven. And now here we are now, nineteen and twenty-two, and we’re still dancing with our dad. The event grew rapidly each year, and it’s now held at a much larger venue. But even with each change along the way, we never missed a dance.

I wish I had some of the photos from years past, but they’re all at home. Looking back, some of our dresses were ridiculous. Some years we even matched. Then when we were in high school, we wore our prom dresses.

A lot of the dads and daughters we used to go to the event with stopped going years ago. I think some of the daughters got “too cool” to dance with their dads. But Liz and I never did. Honestly, our dad is the cool one.

Each year, we thoroughly enjoy our time there. This year was no exception. The night begins with a nice dinner, followed by a few hours of dancing. Normally, it has been our tradition to go to Perkin’s to eat after the dance. Unfortunately, because I still had packing to do and would be waking up at 5 am the next morning, we opted not to do so.

That didn’t stop us from dancing the night away, though. They always play some classic songs like “Walking on Sunshine,” along with some slow ones such as “Butterfly Kisses.” This year, they played “Whip My Hair.” Needless to say, Liz and I did just that. It was so much fun. She and I always dance around like crazy, and my dad follows suit. We can act like complete hooligans, and it doesn’t seem to bother him. Other dads and daughters often look, point, and laugh at us. They’re obviously jealous of our moves.

One of my favorite parts of the night is all of the crazy pictures we take. At the end of the night, I always set up my tripod and use remote to take all kinds of photos of us. My dad goes along with whatever ridiculous idea that Liz and I have for a picture. It’s wonderful. Please enjoy some of my favorites from the night:

The classic sign.

We laughed so hard when this was taken. This is one of my favorites.

Nothing like the classic shoe picture.

We had Cold Stone for dessert!

The program marking our 15th year.

Fancy centerpieces.

My sister loves doing crossword puzzles.

These two little girls just make me smile.

We were dancing up a storm.

We have to take at least one nice one.

What a stud.

Another favorite.

Sisters - Liv and Liz.

Fish faces with a fish eye.

Beverly.

I spent some time in the doctor’s office today. I was at the newest clinic building in downtown Duluth. When I first walked in, my eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the never-ending windows that overlook Lake Superior. My ears were filled with the gentle hum of conversation, and I noticed a few people enjoying coffee. The scene was peaceful, in a way.

Radiology was a different story, however. Although the waiting room was not far from the main entrance, conversation had died away. My eyes scanned the silent room when we walked in, and the eyes of a few people looked up and met mine. I wasn’t sure what to make of this area. After checking in, we found seats in the middle of the room.

I took my latest C.S. Lewis read out of my purse, but I didn’t open it right away. Instead, I continued to look around. A little old woman who I had noticed in my initial scan caught my eye again. This time, I looked closer.

She was hunkered over in a wheelchair, barely moving. In a chair next to her sat an older man who I can only assume was her husband. The woman wore pajama pants striped in multiple shades of blue and a matching top. On her lap sat an ice cream bucket with a plastic lining. I instantly realized its use and silently hoped I wouldn’t have to witness it.

The feature that caught my eye the most, though, was the look on her face. Distress spread across it, and her husband wore an expression to match. My heart broke a little bit.

Doing my best to focus, I began to read my book, occasionally glancing up at the couple. At one point, her husband got up and walked to the desk. A minute later, the receptionist came out and spread a blanket across the woman. She pulled the blanket up close to her chest. She must have had an awful case of the chills. I pulled my head back down and in to the pages of my book, after saying a prayer for her.

“Beverly!” a woman’s voice announced. My eyes shot up in natural response. The little old woman raised her hand, and this other woman came out to wheel her to the back. Beverly’s husband now sat alone.

A short time later, he took a phone call. His expression perked up during it. I caught bits and pieces of what he was saying. He told the person on the phone that they were there to find out why Beverly was sick. I wondered what was wrong.

Beverly was eventually wheeled back out to her husband, looking similar to when she’d left. Her husband told her about the phone called, his mood seeming to have improved because of it. He then stood up, grasped the back of her wheelchair, and wheeled her out. Just like that, they were gone.

I wonder if they were able to learn why Beverly was sick, or if they’ll find that out at all. I’m not entirely sure why, but her face has stuck in my mind. I wonder about her story and the things she’s experienced in her lifetime. I wonder if she knows the Lord.

Perhaps, for me, Beverly was simply a reminder. A reminder that there are a lot of sick people, everywhere you go. A reminder that all kinds of people are waiting for some type of news. A reminder that there is an entire world in need—and I want to be Christ’s hands and feet throughout it.

Snowy drives at 5 am.

Waking up at 4:45 am is always interesting. I don’t care what time you went to bed the night before—it’s still early.

I had a very specific purpose for waking up that early, though. I would be going with my mom and grandma to the airport. I, however, would not be going any farther than that. Rather, they were heading to Florida for my aunt’s birthday. They were flying out of the Duluth airport, which is about a 25 minute drive from my house. My mom would drive there, and I would drive her car home.

When my alarm so kindly went off that morning, I rolled out of bed and grabbed socks and a sweatshirt. Now, don’t judge too much—I was already in sweatpants and would be heading back to bed once I got home. I didn’t find it necessary to change.

My mom had been up since 4 am, so she was all set to go. I pulled on my coat and boats, and we headed out the door. My grandma lives nearby, so we picked her up and hit the road.

That good old Minnesota weather decided it would get in our way, though. It was snowing, and the roads weren’t in great shape. My mom took a back way to the airport and drove well under the speed limit. The drive took longer than normal, but we got there safely.

I said goodbye to my mom and grandma, and my mom instructed me on the route that she wanted me to take home. Hoping that the roads would be the clearest, she told me to head through downtown Duluth and to the interstate. That meant I would be driving down the hill, which I was a little nervous about.

I plugged in my ipod, and selected my most recent playlist. I was going to enjoy my drive. I was wildly alert for the time of morning, so that didn’t worry me. I find that my awareness instantly heightens when I’m behind the wheel. If for some reason I even felt the smallest ounce of sleep, I already had someone in mind to call.

It was a funny thing driving through Duluth at 5 am. I drove past the mall and surrounding area. Everything was lit up, but it was as dead as ever. There was something oddly peaceful about it. Even though the roads weren’t great, there were only a few other cars to compete with. I headed down the hill without a hitch, and got to take in the lights over the lake.

Once I got onto the interstate, I realized something: I really enjoyed the drive. I enjoyed the stillness—the emptiness.

The traffic started to pick up as time went on—people heading into work. I only saw one car in the ditch, though. Everyone was moving pretty slowly.

Once back home, I sat on the couch for a little bit, drove my brother to school, and headed back to bed.

It snowed lightly for most of the day. Fresh snow is the other thing that brings stillness to an area. I couldn’t resist; I headed outside and took some pictures.

Oh, to be in Minnesota.

Snowflakes in my hair bring me joy.

The Royal Engine Company.

On Thursday the 6th, The Royal Engine Company played at Beaner’s Central Coffeehouse in Duluth. 

The band is from Minneapolis, and my sister is good friends with them. The band is composed of three guys--Micah, Aaron, and Zak: 

This was their first performance outside of the Twin Cities, and it was their Duluth CD release. That day, a CD review was written by John Ziegler and published in the Duluth New Tribune. The review was as follows:

CD review: Royal Engine Company’s 'Original Works' draws on many musical styles

The Royal Engine Company came together in a college dorm jam session. 

Zak Stelter borrowed a banjo and was joined by Micah Patchin, and then by Micah’s cousin Aaron Bristow, as the foundations for their folk rock trio were laid.

The group retains the enthusiasm of kids just having fun making music together and blends that with the sophistication that comes from increased technical expertise.  

Bassist Bristow acknowledged of the group “there’s nowhere we can hide. There are no synths and no distortion. What our fingers are doing, that’s what’s going to come out.” By their own description, what does come out might best be imagined as “vaudevillian folk.” It’s a sound that draws on traditional folk, bluegrass, jug bands, skiffle and even the ’60s British folk sound of Pentangle and Sandy Denny.  

The REC’s new disc, “Original Works of Fiction,” begins with a little accordion-backed prologue with a barker introducing the group a la the Beatles “Sgt. Pepper.”

The acoustic guitar strums a raucous rhythm pattern opening “A Place To Call Home” in a tale of working hard and trying to get to the promised land. While the banjo clanks out volley after volley of notes that pump the tune along, there are some celestial vocal harmonies, sloshy interludes between verses, a pungent harp solo, and a blistering racehorse ending that would put even the most ardent bluegrass ensembles to shame.

Banjo lines usher in “They Are Thick As Thieves” with an ominously sinister vibe, while accordion hovers in the air providing a stylish noir shading. The REC has an almost cinematic feel for shifts in rhythm, tempo and orchestration. From the hushed quality of a single instrumental element (like a lightly picked acoustic guitar) to expansive swelling vocal harmonies, “Original Works of Fiction” sounds like it could be the backdrop to an upcoming Jim Jarmish film.  

“In Sight of a New Dawn” recalls Seals & Crofts and their gentle “Summer Breeze” ’70s style of acoustic pop-rock. The guitar’s lovely arpeggiated chordal intro gives you the feeling of majestically sitting on a cottony tuft. The text centers on the beauties of life memory and sunsets at the end of day.  

Aaron Bristow said of the Royal Engine Company “we’re noble gentlemen with a little oil and dirt on our faces. We’re artists who shovel coal.” The REC is indeed a blue-collar little trio who cover a fair degree of musical acreage and who revel in the bucolic tranquility of life at its finest. 

They come to town this weekend for the Duluth CD release of “Original Works of Fiction.” Check them out.

 My friend Derek and I met up with my sister and her friend at the show. I ended up shooting photos almost the entire time. Despite some difficulty, I managed to get some shots that I really liked.

I don’t know if you’ll be able to tell from the photos, but these three guys made use of a banjo, acoustic bass, acoustic guitar, mandolin, tambourine, high hat, bass drum, harmonica and accordion. That's right. It was rather impressive. I encourage you to check out their myspace or facebook. Their album, “Original Works of Fiction" is available on iTunes. 

Here are a few more photos from that night: