flowers and bones (9)

Life of Pie

My formative years were made up of blueberry pie. Each summer Mom would drag my sister and me to the blueberry farm where we’d sit on buckets and encourage plump, steel-blueberries from their perch. “Try not to get the stems,” Mom would instruct. “Or the green berries. Or the ones that have a hint of red—they’re too bitter. They’ll ruin the pie.” In between her cautionary tales, she’s slip into a quiet meditation, working methodically through the rows.

A Man, His Hands, And a Bag of Oysters

I have this habit of looking at people’s hands like I’m looking for clues. I find they reveal so much more than most people are willing to offer. They tell a story.

As Vincent Hooper hauls 50-pound burlap sacks of oysters, I can’t help but notice that his hands are big—too big for his average size, as if they grew in spite of him. His fingers look swollen and ashy around the joints and cuticles. The skin across the backs of his hands stretch tight, like leather gloves that are too small and worn to offer any real protection.

Carrots As Flowers?

Words and Photography by Ashley Bailey Most Saturday mornings Byrdie, Woods and I head over to the SFC Farmer’s Market for fresh eggs, organic veggies, and a popsicle (or 2).  While […]