TJ Hirst

Our neighbor, Paula, is spontaneous. She likes to borrow our children and introduce them to new activities and adventures in Minnesota. She’s been trying to get us to Crow Wing State Park along the Mississippi River for years. Still, our family has visited at least ten other state parks but not this one which is less than 10 miles away. (Maybe it is because most of her invitations to that one seem to involve winter camping in one of the sleeper cabins.)

She called with her latest scheme for an evening activity just as I started fixing dinner—to go geocaching in Crow Wing State Park. I had no idea what geocaching is; she had to explain. Apparently we were going to use a handheld GPS, global positioning system, to locate a hidden box at certain coordinates. (I found this informative explanation for GPS novices like me).

I think I caught on, but I always have to learn by doing. When I told my kids where we were going, they had to explain to me that it is not geo-CATCH-ing. Yes, I knew we weren’t going to try to catch a GEO, but rather than look even more dense, I just piled in the car with Paula and Mark (her husband) and my family.

They had printed out the coordinates and clues at geocaching.com and the kids unscrambled the clues on our way to the park. Once we were on the riverside trail, I never had the chance to look stupid; everyone wanted to be the leader who figured it out. Several of our family members, who will remain anonymous, took hold of the GPS with exuberant confidence and began walking in the “right” direction, until we had to turn around and head the other way. At one point I succeeded in slowing them down long enough to teach me how it all really worked.

We swatted and scratched at mosquitoes along the right path and the lead searchers lightened their interest so that we all walked together down this historic trail, which was originally the Red River Ox Cart Trail, used by fur traders traveling from Canada through primitive Minnesota to St. Paul. Even earlier, “according to historian William Warren, this was the scene of a major battle between the Dakota and Ojibwe Indians in 1768,” (see Crow Wing history).

The history markers about Crow Wing, a 19th-century frontier town at the confluence of the Crow Wing River and the Mississippi, attracted me away from the other searchers. I lagged behind with my camera reading the signs and taking pictures of the restored Clement H. Beaulieu mansion. That was fine since they had sent NH running back 1/2 mile to the car to grab a Minnesota state quarter to put into the box when they found it.

When NH and I caught up to them, the explorers had just discovered that they had been following the minutes and seconds, not degrees, and overshot the correct coordinates by a mile or so. Oops. We all turned around and retraced to the right site where we searched and searched like we were little kids playing hot potato at a kids party.

NH spotted some flattened grass. And he and Paul waded through waist-high tick-infested grass to discover the box together inside a hollow log. The contents of the box disappointed KH—random trinkets and a 40%-off coupon for a new GPS at Best Buy.

True, we came away with coupons and a a mess of mosquito bites, but this grown-up version of seek and find not only taught us a history and geography lesson along the banks of the Mississippi but how fun it can be to solve something together. More pictures on our neighbor’s site. Thanks, Mark and Paula, for adding your spontaneity to our family.

My childhood memories of Independence Day include a parade of neighborhood children through our subdivision carrying homemade signs and riding tricycles and move on to the professional floats that attracted much larger crowds to Fair St. Louis beneath the Gateway Arch.

Now, we’re living in Brainerd, a smaller railroad town turned resort community in central Minnesota, and take part in what the community organizers hail as “Minnesota’s 4th of July Capital.” Truly, I am amazed that 35,000-40,000 people turn out for the parade, community corn feed and fireworks display, but there is something about a small town celebration that attracts the spirit of the day. Last year, when we visited elsewhere for the Fourth, it just didn’t feel like the same holiday to my kids.

I have mixed feelings about the large crowds that such community events draw together. When a large cross-section of people gather and bump up against one another you see and hear things you normally don’t. When my children were young and I was a little more cautious and probably a lot more judgmental, I felt on edge throughout such celebrations. Now, with time, they’ve grown easier in their needs and I’ve grown calmer in my attitude, and we all enjoy a good parade capped off with too much food and a burst of fireworks.

The parade itself is a phenomenon to me. Usually, it isn’t more than a two-hour stream of local dignitaries and princesses waving from the backs of convertibles, fire engines blaring and spraying hot crowds, floats on the backs of flatbed trucks, campaigning politicians, drum lines and dance lines, and a Shriner’s band.

This year we were honored to have General Bruce Carlson, a four-star general in the U. S. Air Force as the parade’s grand marshal. He grew up in Brainerd and is now commander of the Air Force Material Command at Wright Patterson Air Force Base in Ohio. Even though this parade it is not a television-choreographed display of all things fantastic, the crowds staked out the best spots with blankets and lawn chairs the night before and early in the day.

All things seem right in America when you can leave your blanket along the city curb with four rocks weighing it down from the wind and come back to it eight hours later, untouched except for four complimentary flags laid upon it for us to wave while we watch. It is enough evidence to pass over current pessimism of American values and enjoy what attracts the big names and the big crowds to a small town parade.

Then answered Jesus and said unto them, Verily, verily, I say unto you,
The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do:
for what things soever he doeth, these also doeth the Son likewise.
St John 5:19

Jesus Christ’s relationship to Heavenly Father established a pattern for us in following His Father and ours. On this day that we honor fathers, the power of my own father’s example is deep in my heart. Day to day, in little ways, I follow him as he follows Christ. Glad to be with you today, Dad!

The emotions at a baby’s birth—anticipation, pain, gratitude, and love—are rarely captured by a camera. Birth is a private story but one that portrait photographer, Minna Dyer, wanted to tell.

As a mother she knows these emotions. As a photographer her work expresses the life and love of families, especially mothers and their babies.

But when she approached a couple in her family and asked if she could document their birth experience, she discovered, “Giving birth is very different from watching someone give birth.”

Photographing the birth was unique. Her purpose was to be a photographer, but sometimes the events took her attention away from that purpose. She had to remind herself that she was an observer and they didn’t need her there. Quite obviously, she couldn’t direct the shots like she was accustomed to doing.

Despite some awkward adjustments, she found her place. “As it became more emotional, I felt more intrusive. I would need to take a step back. Then I would take an opportunity to take a few steps in and take a few shots and then retract.”

She created a beautiful and tasteful birth slide show, using music to soften the documentary-style photography. “I didn’t want it to be so raw. Music was the key; it adds a completely different element. Music makes us feel.” Her photographs do the same thing.

By experimenting with different angles or perspectives in different environments or situations, she uncovers genuine emotions.

Minna captured one such candid moment in a family by lying on her side with the camera very close to her. Her point of view highlights the body language that connects the couple to each other and their child.

When she edited the photograph, she enhanced the color with her settings. “I wanted to saturate it and make it pop.”

When Minna is deciding whether to make a photograph black and white or color, she simply tests it with editing software. “Sometimes I like to focus on the people. Sometimes color can be distracting. If the color is not doing anything for the photograph then I make it black and white or sepia to focus on the content rather than other visual stimulation.”

The resulting combination of perspective and color focuses on the joy evident in that family picture.

In her personal life, Minna finds joy in both motherhood and photography. When she has been busy with family responsibilities and hasn’t taken many photographs, she knows she is missing something in her life. But, likewise, she can sense if her photography business, Miriam Lovell Photography, is putting too much pressure on her husband. “Dan is very supportive and would never tell me he doesn’t want me to do this, but, I know when I am needed. I just don’t get carried away since I have other responsibilities. My priorities are at home.”

Her personal priorities guide her focus as a photographer. Through portraiture, she perceives and preserves human emotion. The resulting photographs visually invite viewers to feel what her subject feels. And a bond of understanding is born.

Focus on the Details, Part III is the final post in a series from an interview on portraiture with Minna Dyer of Miriam Lovell Photography. View photo cards and her gallery of photographs at her website. Learn from her regular photo assignments on her photography blog. Her images are copyrighted by Miriam Lovell Dyer of Miriam Lovell Photography. Images cannot be used without express written permission.

My parents live in tornado-weary Missouri and have a weather radio that blares warnings repeatedly during the spring storm season. A few years ago they bought us one, although we have fewer in Minnesota. We set the radio to beep for watches and warnings rather than sound a verbal alarm.

This weekend, within hours of my husband heading out of the house, I was on my own with these storm clouds, an hour of consistent bleeps from the radio, a tornado warning, and three anxious kids.

Storms tempt us to watch their approach and fury. If my husband were home, he’d want to head to our crow’s nest—the highest point in our house.

But with mom in charge, who is cautious and always heeds warnings, we prepared the essentials—weather radio, cell phone, flashlights, sturdy shoes, blankets, books, and cookies. The neighborhood tornado sirens sounded and we settled into our basement storage room for a family outing. The first thing my youngest asked was, “Can we say a prayer together.”

After 45 minutes of reading a children’s magazine, talking about safety precautions and occasionally checking the radio for updates of the storm’s path, she assured me that the “prayer worked.”

We emerged to find the storm had blown over without blowing too hard. One of them asked the question, “Did we need to go downstairs after all?”

I said, “Of course. It was good practice if nothing else.”