In early December of 2019 I would get more than some photographs.

I went down to a small town in North Carolina on my "Chasing Light" adventure. Such a small town that Wal-Mart is an hour away, and in Virginia. Well on my traveling, before I reached North Carolina, on the back roads of Suffolk, Virginia, I saw this wonderful, and unique, double barn structure. I couldn't get the shot I wanted from the road so I drove on about a mile. Then turned around. The place was calling for me to photograph it.

I drove up onto a one car wide driveway and parked so that the resident could see my car. I grabbed my "There Are Places" magazine and a business card and walked to the home. It had two front doors, so I rang the doorbell on the first door. No answer. The windows were unshaded and I could see the room was an addition and a sun room, with a stationary bicycle and "patio" type furniture.

So I went to the next door. Again no answer, and I could see into the den and no lights were on there either.

Now in the country they say that salesmen and strangers ring the front door; friends and neighbors come 'round back. So I drove to the back of the home. There the drive way opened up to accommodate two cars, and I could see a garage door on the backside of the house. But again, no one was home.

So I thought, "Get the shots and leave. You can do this in 10 minutes." But that sixth sense told me to wait. As I did I saw a car coming down the road. Something told me that was the person who lived here. And it was.

The car held a little old lady probably in her late seventies or early eighties who could barely see over the steering wheel, and who was watching me with a quizzical look. She remotely opened her garage door, and I stood waiting for her permission to come into the garage. She motioned for me to do so.

I told her who I was and what I wanted to do. She told me she had just come back from putting fresh flowers on her daughter's grave. Her daughter had passed away just a few months ago. Her grief and loneliness was so fresh that she even told me the day and time. Her husband had passed away a few years ago. My heart went out to her. I realized that the bike in the sun room would never be ridden again. Laughter would seldom break the silence in the living room.

She gave me permission, kind of puzzled as to why someone would want to take a picture of that old barn, and asked, "You're not going to try to sell me something are you?" I told her I'd love to send her some of the work as a thank you. Later she brought me an envelope, addressed, and with two stamps on it.

I shot mainly black and white film so it took a while to get the negatives developed and some prints made, but when I sent them I packaged them along with a tin of Christmas cookies and a note thanking her for letting me take the photographs.

The work is its own reward; I enjoy it even if the only person it means anything to is me. But the people I meet and the stories I find along the way bless my soul.