Don't Change The Image...

South Carolina summers are hot and humid. Full of bird-sized mosquitoes, Canebrake rattlesnakes, and endless grass to cut. Unless you’re at the beach or on the lake, you’re typically inside sitting in the AC, with a bottle of backup refrigerant in one hand and a massive glass of sweet tea in the other.

We were bored. And when the boys and I get bored, we trade the refrigerant for a first-aid kit and an attempt to sweet-talk Hannah, the emergency veterinarian, to go on a date with us. “I’m flattered, but I'm only dating patients I don’t have to treat every week,” she always tells us. Smart move, Doc.

On this particular humdrum day, we decided to sight in every rifle, shotgun, and pistol we own, and shot at every spray paint can, watermelon, and propane tank within a crow holler radius.

As the “Head of Security,” Dirt got a few calls from the neighbors warning him about potential propane tank bandits and to be on the lookout. He loves a good ego boost.

Deafened from all the shooting, we went back inside, sat under the AC, and wound up, once again, as bored as a cow dog with no cows.

We were in the barn area when we remembered Uncle Charles just returned the thirty pounds of Tannerite I lent him to help him destroy his beaver dams. Tannerite is basically dynamite with one distinct difference — the only way to ignite the explosion is with a high-velocity rifle round. You have to shoot it.

With a scoot in our boogie, we hopped on the hood of the Jeep to grab the laundry basket full of Tannerite and other small bags from the top shelf and placed it on the hood.

As soon as I started shuffling bags out of the way, there it was, wedged in the corner between a bottle of oxidizer and aluminum powder, my old Nikon camera. I dusted it off, turned it on, and took a picture of Dirt next to the Tanneritie.

Taking that picture sparked a burst of creativity I hadn't felt in a while – and it provided the perfect solution for the summer's hobby – taking pictures of Dirt doing everyday stuff.

We immediately blew up all the Tannerite (30lbs at once actually. 29lbs more than we should’ve. I was actually a bit nervous that the North Air Force Base, just down the road, was scrambling fighter pilots) to celebrate the discovery of finding the summer's boredom’s cure. We grilled steaks for dinner on a charcoal grill and jumped out of bed the following day, eager to start our new vocation.

Dirt loves being a model. He even takes on the stereotypes: sassy, high-maintenance, and always asking about his hair. Mud’s just in it for the hotdogs.

The farm took on an entirely different form when we started taking pictures. The woods looked different than before. We started noticing how the sun shapes light around the trees and how the morning fog only reaches as high as the tallest crop.  Everything surrounding us became a potential photo opportunity – a story to tell.

The boys and I would work together to construct a shot. Sometimes, it would take minutes, and other times it would take weeks. Occasionally, I would have to train a new trick to make the intended photograph seem natural.