Continuity

I came across this first image, several months ago, while reading through an article in National Geographic, about coffee production in El Salvador, and specifically in the region of Santa Ana, where I now live. But that was before I took a job at Cuatro M, before I learned that the man I was working for was, uniquely, the nephew of the man who operated the mill from which that photo was taken, El Molino; and before I knew I'd photograph coffee being processed, as seen in the second image, in nearly identical fashion to the way they were in 1944, when the article was written.

My reaction was initial surprise, initially perplexed at how vastly things change, and yet how ever more vastly they are no different then before. I think, as they say, the world spins madly on, and develops, yet only within brighter pixels, and lenses capable of capturing a greater extent of the details; essentially people, fulfill roles and needs that have existed always, and perhaps a few more we've invented along the way.

So I believe in continuity, because Solomon said that there was nothing new underneath the sun; and if he had in fact, been granted wisdom from God, I believe that he knew exactly what he was writing; so I want that pair of eyes to observe the world, and I want to believe that it is, as it always has been; that the sin I, and society face, are not in some way more depraved then generations before; and that my weeping, to be spared the consequence of it, is not unending, just as David lost his firstborn son, rose and ate.

Change is something we point to and recognize daily, and for understandable reason, because it makes us believe good things can happen, that president's can fix nations, that disagreements can be hurdled, or that relationships can be mended; but I prefer to find continuity in my day to day, for the sake of the fact that it reminds me, humanity, has always and always will be in need of the redemption that always was, there, before the earth was formed.

I like change, for what it means in terms of improving the way we see the world, and live our lives; just like I enjoy new cameras and easier methods of transportation; but I like continuity, for what it means in terms of this world's ever present need for grace, and rebirth; in no greater or lesser quantities than the day Adam ate the fruit.

First photo, taken Beneficio El Molino - Santa, Ana El Salvador: 1944.

Second, taken Beneficio El Manzano - Santa Ana, El Salvador: 2011.

And yes, I took the idea from Natl. Geographic, and I like it.

Varietal Experiment Part 2 - 'Picking'

Second part of an experiment we're working on at the plantation. Really learning to enjoy video making/editing.

Music - Manu Chao '15 Homens'

Hello January 16

It has been some time....

First go at new editing software. Intro clip to a film we're hoping to make on an experiment with different varieties of coffee.

Dear Uncle Steve

My khaki shorts

and blue, zapzilla

t-shirt

were no match for your flannel

and blue jeans. My

soft hands and,

casual arm strength

held no sway underneath

your dolly cart,

desk loader and

assortment of

working man’s machinery,

like extra-terrestrials, looking

through,

my unpolished eyes,

still glowing with inexperience.

The baseball cap you wore

had more,

sweat than my entire body

but,

we worked hard,

to afternoon, sunset, and

evening through, and

even though i hindered, more

than helped

you let me lift things,

put my shoulders behind dressers,

kitchen tables and,

crawl into corners,

gathering

carpet squares, record

players, dishware,

tandem bicycles, golf clubs,

and speaker cables;

your life,

now stacked

neck high

against my chest

and arms and thighs

We were strangers,

we were family;

we were

opposites, and harmony;

like trials

considered joy;

you knew,

a thing or two

about having, and

losing, so,

leaving, you made

home, where home

always had been.

You drove trucks,

big trucks, for citrus

growers, and

house movers, but whomever;

I knew,

even before watching you,

could

tuck in and out

of any tight turn;

and back quarter inches

from obstacles, while,

fearing

no heaviness,

darkness, or emptiness,

and that days without

were but days within

to thank god for,

his compassion

to give today,

so when i passed

you’d call out “mike,”

to ask about school

and church,

or, whether my check

engine light was on

and if i needed work.

you told me you were giving double

while trusting god for the harvest,

and i saw eternity

in your sincerity;

in your grill tools,

pool net, and sandaled feet

simplicity,

in your leaf blower,

white shirt, ball-cap

clean trailer, and calm-bodied

surety.

We were strangers,

we were family.

We were

opposites, and harmony,

like trials

considered joy;

you knew

a thing or two

about having, and

losing, so,

leaving, you made

home, where home

should be;

over a meal,

in the bottle of

table wine,

through the resonating

laugher, and

in the second glass,

the mid-evening door knock

half gospel,

half politics,

half nonsense - whole,

we just enjoy each others

presence, talk;

the request for a good movie

the, middle age

and still make your wife laugh;

gladness

for your children’s

happiness, and

in grand babies.

I wrote this on a bus. I wrote it for my wife and kids running through my thoughts, for the ones that run physically through yours; as both stood at a distance, near the hope I’d somehow piece us back together.