love & lifestyle photography

picket fences

Carey Rudisil photo

On this day, I borrowed pieces of my photo-journalist friend.  Literally, borrowed her curiosity and ears for other people, strangers.  We were on one of our creative days, shooting and shopping and seeing something new.  I had finally found the opportunity to stop at a property I'd had my eye on in Nelson with a shabby white picket fence bordering abandoned vehicles and a house propped up by its surroundings. 
We tucked our vehicle into overgrown lilacs and exited, cameras slung around necks.  I overcorrected camera, compensating for giggles that were tired of being contained.   And as we shot, adjusting things in the yard to suit our purposes, a figure came out from behind. 
At this point, it's important to note, I am a big chicken.  I take pictures of people at great focal length so that I don't have to ask their permission lest they say no.  I expect the no's, having grown up in a bustling city where everyone is busy and well versed in saying no.  So I was sure this tall guy in ratty sweatshirt was going to tear into us.
I have heard myself say that every life tells a story.  I believe the words.  Despite my mantra, it surprise me when - instead of abuses - Terry approached us with picture album and story spilling out of him.  And not just any story but recounting the rescuing and raising of Randy the raccoon, abandoned by his mother and perched in the tree that came down in his dishevelled front yard. 
I snickered inwardly.  Minutes earlier, I had been frightened by a man who bottle-fed a baby animal and let a thing with claws share his livingroom!
Terry's story served as a reminder to my chicken-self, placing picket fences around my heart, trying my darndest not to get hurt, that we can borrow courage from our friends. 
That life really is better shared.