As A Man Thinketh, By James Allen (With my photographs)

I am very proud of this first attempt a publishing my photographs. I have always loved James Allen's book, so it was the perfect choice for my maiden project.

"It has been said that James Allen is the “most quoted man you’ve never heard of.” In 1902, Allen published As a Man Thinketh, universally acknowledged as a classic book on self-examination. The precept conveyed in Proverbs 23:7 (“As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he”) inspired the book’s title. It also captures the essence of Allen’s philosophy. Through his eloquent and succinct prose, Allen conveys his thesis that it is up to the individual to form his own character and create his own happiness.       

In 1985, 15-year-old Bowman Gray IV lost his father to a heart attack. Later that same year, his mother gave him two gifts—a copy of As a Man Thinketh and a 35-millimeter camera. At the time, he did not fully appreciate how important these two gifts would eventually become to him. In his 20s, Gray, like many others, finally understood Allen’s words and began to change the way he viewed himself and how he interacted with the world. Through the years, Gray also developed his skills as a photographer. In this gift edition, he couples his own color photographs with Allen’s timeless advice to produce an inspirational book that will stay with readers for years to come."

John F. Blair, Publisher
978-0-89587-387-3
$24.95 hardcover
11 x 8 1/2
112 pages; Full-color photographs throughout

Order the book here.

Or if you want a signed copy, click on my profile and email me and I will send one to you - I will invoice you via paypal.

Second Chances

Those of you who have followed this blog for a while have read about the old family farm - Brookberry Farm. It's a special place and over the last few years I have grown frustrated with those that trespass at will to hunt, ride ATVs or use one of the old vacant houses to hide out from parents to smoke a little dope and drink. Well, this last Monday night as I crawled into bed and turned on the news I was horrified to see one of the vacant houses on the back of the property on fire. I flew out there and met with the Chief and investigator, etc. Long story made longer, after I had sent emails and made phone calls to all of the local schools, homeowners associations, the Chief of Police and the Sheriff, the boys knowing the noose was tightening, came forward. Four of them, one age 15 the rest are 14. All from good families. As angry as I am, I find myself a little heartbroken for them. Although their records will be sealed when they turn 18, this will haunt them for the rest of their lives. The fear they felt, the anguish of disappointing their parents and greater yet, the uncertainly of what their fate will be now having been charged with trespassing and arson. I pray that this is sufficient enough for them to pivot off and move forward in good orderly direction. The alternative is that they just believe they are simply bad kids, so they do what bad kids do. This is a quandary that takes a lot more pain and effort to drag oneself out of.  We are a nation that not only believes in, but counts on, second chances. God knows I would be nowhere without them. I believe that these are good kids who did a terrible thing. I just hope that they believe the same of themselves.

The photo really has nothing to do with this post, but being that it is a black and white negative of a positive color shot, it shows that there is always more to everything we see.

"When you make a mistake, don't look back at it long. Take the reason of the thing into your mind and then look forward. Mistakes are lessons of wisdom. The past cannot be changed. The future is yet in your power. "

Hugh White

Summer

The Summer Day

Mary Oliver

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean-

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

Tobacco Auction - Guest post by Doug Grimes

This was done by a good friend who was knee deep in the industry - 

 

Tobacco Auctions Making a Comeback?
by Yarddawg, AKA Doug Grimes

For most of the last century August created a special stir and air of excitement for local tobacco farmers as the leaf auctions opened. It was an annual late summer ritual. The streets of Winston-Salem and many other communities throughout the southeast were filled with the sweet perfumed aroma of the golden leaf. To this day not many smells will rival that of freshly cured tobacco. The type mostly grown around here is famous and known throughout the world as Flue-Cured Virginia or Bright Leaf. The sale of the crop put food on the table, clothed the family, paid for college educations, bills, and afforded a decent lifestyle for many hard working folks. Despite its controversial reputation, tobacco farmers are still a viable part of many communities in Forsyth County. Controversy is nothing new for tobacco. It goes back to Sir Walter Raleigh's expeditions in the late 1500's. Tobacco remains a resilient weed in many ways.

For almost forty years I was involved in the leaf tobacco auctions and leaf trade as a buyer. When I first entered the business it was considered an honorable profession. Despite the popular notion and negativity in vogue today, tobacco farmers and tobacco workers are good, honest, hardworking folks. I traveled around the world buying tobacco. As I like to say from America to Zimbabwe and everywhere in between. Beginning in the late 1990's tobacco companies started to re-think tobacco auctions. By 2001 nearly every company was entering into contracts with farmers directly to grow tobacco. These contracts all but killed tobacco auctions. By around 2005 or 2006 auctions were no more. The old auction system was certainly not perfect. The new contracting system isn't either. Sometimes change can bring about unintended consequences. The reasons are complex and too difficult to explain simply or effectively here. There is a small movement afoot to re-establish auctions. I witnessed one such attempt on August 17 in Rural Hall in an old unused tobacco warehouse. Yes there is a tobacco auction in Forsyth County once again. There is another attempt to revive the auction in both Danville, Virginia and Wilson, North Carolina with something akin to a "silent auction". But the one here is an honest to goodness, real, live, old fashioned tobacco auction. There will be a few more auction sales in Rural Hall in the coming weeks. In case anyone is wondering, it is open to the public and is an interesting spectacle if you've never seen one. Right now the chances of a successful long-term revival appear slim. But who knows?

As a way of introduction to the uninitiated, allow me to introduce you to a five minute video narrated by Mr. Page Roberts, retired tobacco auctioneer. Page won the 1982 World Tobacco Auctioneer Championship competition, beating out about 50 others, which was sponsored by RJ Reynolds for several years as part of its "Pride In Tobacco" campaign. You will not meet a finer human being or professional than Page Roberts. Simply put he was one of the best ever. Page, a Virginia native, auctioneered in Winston-Salem for many years. This is part of my history and the history of many locals whether directly or indirectly or even not involved with the industry. Tobacco is still an important part of Winston-Salem's past, present, and future. I think many will enjoy this short and informative history of the Tobacco Auctioneer. I should also mention that the auction in Rural Hall was led by another class act and another former World Champion Auctioneer, Chuck Jordan, who currently resides in Winston-Salem. But if you know Chuck please don't tell him I called him a class act.

Back from Maine

Its only been three days since we left and I already look back on our time up there as in a dream. The intense blue sky, the heavy blankets of fog, the cold waters, country lanes and of course, that soul filling ever so sublime smell of the pine forests combined with the salt water. I did pick and have started reading E.B. White's first collection of Essays "One Man's Meat" if you have not, click on the title, buy it and read it, you'll be glad you did.  I took upwards of 1000 pictures and saved around 640 or so. I'll get to producing the slide show as in years past soon. One highlight was spending an afternoon with Jim Fowler, you may remember him as host of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom and the guy who let wild animals climb all over Johnny Carson. We talked about the health of the oceans and the environment in general. I was honored that he shared his vision with me. More about that later. For now here are some samples of what July had for us.

Click here for the slide show - sound on.

Update from Maine

Just a note to say that I am not being negligent here, just that I only have my laptop which I do not use for photo management, etc. I have taken about 700 photographs from lobster boats emerging out of the fog to more close ups of seals on the rock, some lighthouses, etc. I will download, edit and post when I am back at my desk.


I also am reading the first collection of E.B. White's essays "One Man's Meat" which is no less amazing than the collection I read last year. I have met the current owners of his farm just down the road from where we are and will be taking tour of the place soon. Serious food for the soul.

Best - BG

Back to Maine

It's interesting that my two favorite poets, Sandburg & Longfellow, are sons of two of my favorite places: Sandburg, NC - Longfellow, Maine. I should also tip my hat to E.B. White and his time in Maine after leaving New York. I fell in love with Maine as a child. My parents had a house in Port Clyde where we spent our summers. My memories of learning how to ride a bicycle and being allowed to take off on my own at age 6 or 7 to ride all the way to the Port Clyde General Store (Now owned by the LL Bean people). I can still smell the moisture from a morning rain rising off the asphalt warming under the August sun as I strained against the pedals climbing the hill before it crested above the bay by the Marshall Point Lighthouse. I swear I thought that I was going so fast by the time I got to the bottom of the hill, that had I grown wings I would still be flying. I miss that. Anyway, this Friday my family and I will be heading back to Blue Hill for a short stay. We will stop by the Port Clyde General Store to look at my hill and to refill my soul with a touch of my youth. This year will be special however, being that my Mother will be with us. She and I have not been together in Maine in about twenty years or so. It will no doubt be a trip down memory lane as much as it will be a vacation. Thanks Mom.

Saturday afternoon just off the highway.

One thing I really love about the south is that you can pull off most any main road and find an old house or tobacco barn. They all seem to represent a slightly more simple life when we did not worry about Greek or Spanish debt, or massive oil spills and corporate corruption. I know that it was a time that held its own worries and problems, but those issues seem solvable whereas today's I am not so sure.

Not Exactly The Red Hot Chili Peppers

The Chilis sang about LA in a huge hit back in the early 90's "Under The Bridge Downtown". I actually did like the song. However, here in NC specifically on the Forsyth and Yadkin County line where this bridge crosses the Yadkin River, I think the main chorus would be "Under that thar bridge over yonder...."(Insert banjo riff)

The Bridge
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I stood on the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city,
Behind the dark church-tower.

I saw her bright reflection
In the waters under me,
Like a golden goblet falling
And sinking into the sea.

And far in the hazy distance
Of that lovely night in June,
The blaze of the flaming furnace
Gleamed redder than the moon.

Among the long, black rafters
The wavering shadows lay,
And the current that came from the ocean
Seemed to lift and bear them away;

As, sweeping and eddying through them,
Rose the belated tide,
And, streaming into the moonlight,
The seaweed floated wide.

And like those waters rushing
Among the wooden piers,
A flood of thoughts came o'er me
That filled my eyes with tears.

How often, oh, how often,
In the days that had gone by,
I had stood on that bridge at midnight
And gazed on that wave and sky!

How often, oh, how often,
I had wished that the ebbing tide
Would bear me away on its bosom
O'er the ocean wild and wide!

For my heart was hot and restless,
And my life was full of care,
And the burden laid upon me
Seemed greater than I could bear.

But now it has fallen from me,
It is buried in the sea;
And only the sorrow of others
Throws its shadow over me.

Yet whenever I cross the river
On its bridge with wooden piers,
Like the odor of brine from the ocean
Comes the thought of other years.

And I think how many thousands
Of care-encumbered men,
Each bearing his burden of sorrow,
Have crossed the bridge since then.

I see the long procession
Still passing to and fro,
The young heart hot and restless,
And the old subdued and slow!

And forever and forever,
As long as the river flows,
As long as the heart has passions,
As long as life has woes;

The moon and its broken reflection
And its shadows shall appear,
As the symbol of love in heaven,
And its wavering image here.

Tanglewood Cup Steeplechase 2010

This was the 45th running of the Steeplechase here in NC after an eight year hiatus. The break was required to figure out how to keep spectators from getting too loaded and taking off their clothes. So, a dress code was implemented and rules of conduct enforced. What an amazing time for everyone. I am looking forward to next year's running already.


Steeplechase slide show click here.

As A Man Thinketh, By James Allen

Please consider pre-ordering my new book. It is a reprint of James Allen's most famous work set along side my photographs. They will ship in September. This is a project about two years in the making as I have talked myself out of it at least ten times. I love the book and have included some of my favorite photographs that I have taken over the last five years or so. Thank you for your support.

Pre-Order the book here.

Boca Grande 2010

Here is the link to my slides from this year. I went a little overboard with the sunrise shots at the end, but was truly an amazing morning, light breeze, the caws of the birds, the splash of mullet and the occasional burst of breath from an unseen manatee in the water below me.

Boca Grande Slide show 2010

What's the conversation here?

So I says to Fred, "Hey I don't think you should eat that, it doesn't look real!" So what does he do? He swallows it whole and gets yanked up out of the water by his lips and we haven't seen him since! I mean for fish he was a really great guy.

Return to Stone Mountian, NC

Daniel and I decided to go climb in the rain yesterday. The clouds were heavy and broken and despite the low cover, visibility was great. We went and hiked about 3 years ago through the valley looking up at the mountain, this time we went to the summit. If you ever have an afternoon available, this hike is a must. It will wear you out, so eat your Wheaties before you go.

Previous post on Stone Mountain.

Stone Mountain State Park.

The Ragged Old House

I found this amazing and haunting old place out in Yadkin County, NC. I loved everything about it. Boy, if walls could talk.

The Ragged Old House
By: Sally Roberts

---

As I passed by that ragged old house

The shingles all rotten and battered,
Most of the windows were still in their places
But some were all broken and shattered.

As I looked longingly at the old house
A tear had formed in my eye,
No one lives there no more the old house is empty
And then I began to cry.

The owners moved out a long time ago,
And the old house is there all alone.
The grass is all dead the porch broken down
And the weeds, oh how they have grown.

I walked to the porch then opened the door
It's hinges were old and rusty,
Some cobwebs were hanging up high on the walls
And the room was all dirty and dusty.

The curtains were torn the pictures all crooked
The mattresses were old and rotten,
There were memories in this old house
Memories that were somehow forgotten.

This house that is ragged battered and worn
And its hinges all rusted and old,
Belonged to my Grandma and Grandpa back then
This ragged old house I was told.

Random Field

I had about one hour to drive around and look for places that stirred my soul. Oddly, this field was squawk dab between a budding mega-church and a housing development. It seemed that if you could shut off the noise of traffic and walk across it hearing only the breeze, the crunch of the dry grass below your feet and the frenetic chirping of the birds hiding in the small grove of trees, it could drop your blood pressure by about 25%. It was enough to spend a few minutes thinking about it and photographing it to help my pressure some. Scenes like this offering us a chance to decompress are becoming too few.

Wind energy ain't nothin new 'round here.

THE WINDMILL

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Behold! a giant am I!
Aloft here in my tower,
With my granite jaws I devour
The maize, and the wheat, and the rye,
And grind them into flour.

I look down over the farms;
In the fields of grain I see
The harvest that is to be,
And I fling to the air my arms,
For I know it is all for me.

I hear the sound of flails
Far off, from the threshing-floors
In barns, with their open doors,
And the wind, the wind in my sails,
Louder and louder roars.

I stand here in my place,
With my foot on the rock below,
And whichever way it may blow
I meet it face to face,
As a brave man meets his foe.

And while we wrestle and strive
My master, the miller, stands
And feeds me with his hands;
For he knows who makes him thrive,
Who makes him lord of lands.

On Sundays I take my rest;
Church-going bells begin
Their low, melodious din;
I cross my arms on my breast,
And all is peace within.

Boca Grande, here we come

All of you by now are all too aware of how much we love this place and how lucky we are to be able to go back each spring. We set our plans last night; The Innlet, tennis, fishing with Capt. Tommy Locke, bingo at the Gasparilla Inn and time by the water with the stack of books that have collected on my bedside over the last few months.

Previous posts on Boca Grande.

The Gasparilla Inn

Captain Tommy Locke (Best guide on the island)

Best PSA I have ever seen.

Karen Gray Design -New Location!

My ever talented and beautiful wife has yet again transformed an old dull space into something fantastic. Having just moved from her previous location in Reynolda Village, Karen Gray Design is now located in 114-R Reynolda Village. Fabric, unique items and sewing classes.

I really did marry one of the last truly great women in the world.

Karen Gray Design

Reynolda Village