Finke Ink

It feels like I should be in Paris.

It is December and that is when we would finally land at Charles de Gaulle and not have to transfer through. We would prepare to visit our Christmas markets, dine at our favorite restaurants, load in at Theatre de la Ville. (Using my limited French to fight for more dressing rooms after having a croissant, sitting with the local wardrobe crew I’d grown to know so well.) Prepare for another run.

Prepare for the rainy golden nights along the Seine and down the cobblestones. To shop for beautiful things we allowed ourselves to need.
To welcome the Paris audiences. To fight the crazy, old, decked-out French ladies for food at the opening night reception. To know we had a holiday coming up soon, a break from touring. 

It has been one month since we moved out of Westbeth. I took one last look around the offices I’ve been in nine years and locked the basement door the final time.

The emotional burden of this could only be released in one place for me, my family’s farm in Northern Minnesota. I’ve been home (and it will always be called that) almost two weeks now and the combination of running barefoot through the grass, the scent of sun-warmed clover, alone time with a good book, talking with my folks, and so many pies (five so far, plus many shortcakes) is the only thing that could break the weight of ending nine unbelievably life changing years.

Time utterly devoted to letting go. Something I am being forced to get better at, one of the things I am worst at, this whole idea of moving on. One month ago I wrote, ‘For the last year I’ve stated I cannot afford to break until it is done. Yet now it is done and I am so afraid of breaking.’ Now each racing footstep to the top pond to oversee the sunset, each hour in the summer breeze, I release; leaching out months of despair little by little, replacing it with strawberries.

It is working, the earth is bringing me back. A few years ago my mother came upon a passage in a book and sent it to me, it was fitting then and is exactly true now;

“Twelve years I lived away from here, and what I missed - what I craved- was the lay of the land. A familiar corner, a particular hill, certain patches of trees. Somewhere along the line, my soul imprinted on topography. I returned, and the land felt right. The land takes you back. All you have to do is show up.” ~ Michael Perry 

Tonight at dinner, after buzzing around the farm with Dad on our four-wheeler and bringing in the wash from the line with Mom, we listened to Prairie Home Companion. Tonight’s News from Lake Wobegon was on strawberries; how the local preacher wanted to use them for communion from now on and the old lady whose secret to longevity was the combination of strawberries and rhubarb. (That was pie #3)
Another rather fitting moment. Mom and I then headed out to the field one last time this season, picking a bucket to bring to my grandfather tomorrow, as Dad made his rounds on the tractor, readying the earth for next year’s crop.

It rained on Friday, keeping our company inside until it finally let up, and then the three little girls were let loose to discover the puddle, reminding us what pure joy looks like. I never would have imagined the love of a little girl would have helped me along this path to lightness, but I was lucky to have it the last couple days, and the photo below was taken while carrying her around the farm.

There is nothing more beautiful in this world than the farm at magic hour after a good rain. The order of the rows, the color of the rye… the light hits everything so perfectly even all the blades of grass stand a little taller.

I am up in Nova Scotia this week and next, shooting a dance company, and with everything at Cunningham rapidly winding down this little Canadian break was very much needed. Though, like most places I go, there are a few MCDC alumni involved in this project and it has been lovely to work together again. 
(I did get a bit emotional when first shooting these dancers again, having had them in front of my lens for so many years. ‘A bit emotional’ is how I have been operating these last few months so I’ve grown rather accustomed to it.)

Landing in Halifax feels very similar to landing in Duluth with the trees and lakes.  Northern MN is basically Canada so I feel quite at home here. The choreographer’s parents are putting up all ten of us in their lovely home and the city is all walkable for us New Yorkers. Everything is clean and maintained and polite. My first walk to the theatre led me past five cop cars with lights flashing; a road block stopping cars in both directions with officers going to each driver. I thought, this is all very exciting— they must be on the look for someone! Then I got closer to the action… to find they were handing out pamphlets for Bike Safety Week.

There are ridiculously beautiful rhododendrons bursting all over the city and most of the houses are charming Victorians like these

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Yesterday I explored this port city. There are shipping references and art everywhere, but of course more common, and more fun, is how hockey is equally embedded into the culture.

The first store I went into had this rather loud chair made from hockey sticks

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It brought back memories of my brother getting the perfect angle while taping his stick every winter. And it demonstrates how good Canadians are at recycling. (They are VERY good at it. The city even picks up any compostable materials, so every home and business has three bins— garbage, recycling, and compost. Good on ya!)

I went into the Bank of Nova Scotia as it looked like a beautiful and well-preserved old building. And it was, with marble, brass and bronze, Maritime creatures in the designs, high ceilings and wonderful ornamentation. But the photo I took was when turning around to leave; the one advertisement in the space— have any NHL team on your debit card! 

(I was a bit miffed at first, thinking Minnesota’s should have been higher up seeing as we produce so many players, but then realized it was alphabetical and was able to leave in a peaceable manner.)

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I then climbed up this long path

to the Citadel that overlooks the city to take a picture of this BGS (bored ginger soldier)

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After giving him my sympathies for having to stand out in the blustery winds without underwear I made my way down to the harbor to see if there were things I wanted to buy.

There were a couple, but my favorite part was Carol. She owned a shop of vintage and local designer pieces, was very put-together with her hair, outfit and make up and was quite chatty. We talked of farming in this climate and the dance scene in Halifax and how they are putting in this expensive new library and, “Hello! I thought libraries were going the way of the ark!” and about the building that was being torn down next door and becoming a bank. “I mean, hello! A bank? But you know,” at this point she put her whisper hand to the side of her mouth, “the bank girls are some of my best customers!”
“Hello! How are they going to have parking? This road is so narrow! It’s a donkey trail!”
and
“They are going to put in parking for the executives in the basement, but hello! The basement always used to flood at high tide!”
and I got a good earful about the city planners that approved the retched design.

I ended up buying a couple barrettes because I couldn’t walk out after we had become such good friends (I’m not being sarcastic here; I really do like the woman). Then I took a few shots of what was left of this building. They were trying to preserve as much of the façade as possible.

(Sackville is the name of a road in Halifax, but we prefer to think of the Sackville Baggins)

I like how this sliver of what they could save seems to blend into the brick side of the nearby building.

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At night we go to the theatre, and it is nice to be able to say that again, I shoot and help out with last minute costume issues, watch old and new friends dance, and listen to amazing live music. Then we decide where to find food and drink while discussing the days before and ahead. Coming home to do more of the same, perhaps ending up on the floor as we watch a projection of the show on the ceiling while trading off between laughing and reminding each other there are people asleep upstairs.

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The space shuttle Enterprise flew to New York today, and as the plan was to take it up the Hudson River I knew we would have an amazing view from the rooftop at Cunningham.

With only a few minutes to spare I gathered a couple co-workers and we made our way up. We could see other roof-toppers and a crowd out on the piers as we talked about the end of the NASA’s shuttle program. About a minute after we walked out to the edge we received a text, “It’s there!” and while I’ve never wanted to be an astronaut, a wave of anticipation washed over as we strained to catch our first glimpse of it.

Here you can just make it out as it flew over the Statue of Liberty (which is even more difficult to make out, but you can see her head and torch poking out over the greenery.)

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It was pretty awesome, I must admit.

It came closer and I said, “Go back into the sun!” and it listened. Or the sun complied by highlighting a lovely cloud over New Jersey.

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It disappeared for a moment behind part of our building and we ran over to the other side, hoping for another view. Suddenly it was right above us and we all cheered! It was like opening a present that you thought was great, and then finding a secret tiny present INSIDE the first present… it was impossible to contain our elation.

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My colleague said it looked like a baby whale swimming by its mother and I agreed.

It looked so small riding on the 747.

Here you can see the NASA logo on the tail, (which is fun for people who love NASA)

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It was gone again behind another building, reappearing exactly where I needed it; getting the perfect shot to prove we were on the roof at Cunningham. Another really great memory to add to the many.