Photo / Diaries, Entry #1:

My Aunt Karen is a special person. She has the warmest heart. We didn’t get to see each other a lot growing up- maybe once or twice, every three years. Now that I am older, I try to visit more. She lives on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. There’s two grocery stores on opposites of town. She tells me the other generic grocery store is the “better one.” Every time I go back there, it’s like nothing has changed. Her house looks the same as it always has. Something about that is really comforting; like a warm hug for your brain. She told me she got a new stove, but I wouldn’t have even noticed if she didn't say anything. I kind of like it that way. Aunt Karen is a Christian, but one of the nice ones. On our way to get açaí bowls together, she told me God made me who I am. Part of his great big plan, or something like that. I question God a lot. But, she tells me I’m loved. I tell her she’s loved, too.

The Flower shop was a special trip we took together that week I was in town. She had mentioned she wanted to take me there, so we went. It was a muggy afternoon. Sweat dripped down my chest. I felt like I could pass out at any second. I wandered around what must have been hundreds of flower beds, and came forth to every one of my Aunt’s calls, “Over here! What do you think about this one?” I showed her some flowers that I liked, too. She let me pick out the one she would buy for her garden. We settled on the geum. I had never heard of that flower before that day. We purchased the geum, and took the road (yes, the singular road) that lead back to her house. I made a photograph of her with the geum on her deck. She just kind of lended herself to me. After I was through making her photograph, she called me over to the corner of her garden. She started to rake the dirt. She explained how raking the dirt and planting flowers reminded her of her father. I smiled. She was wearing his straw hat. It was much too big for her, but it kept the sun out of her eyes. At least, that’s what she tells me she wears the hat for. She points to two spots in the ground parallel to one another. “I planted some of MomMom and PopPop’s ashes over there..” I look down at my feet. I remember that I still have their ashes in the bag she sent me four years ago. Grief works in funny ways. “It’s hot out here,” she says. “Let’s go get some iced tea.” I hate iced tea.

I look up and catch the sun again. I made hot dogs on the stove, and took them outside to eat. The trees that used to sit behind the garden gate were cut down. They used to keep the heat off the lawn. My cousin Maddi says she misses them. I watch the birds fly to, and from the birdhouse. I look at pictures from the year before; the trees were still standing. Time falls backward again. I look down at my dog, and am reminded that it won’t be like this, forever. It’s all part of “His great big plan,” or something like that. We drove down to Ocean City as a family for a day. We looked out at the water, and ate Thrasher’s Fries like we used to when we were kids. They tasted the same as they always had. Nostalgia crept in.

Before I left town, my Aunt told me she named her geum “Colorado,” so that she could be reminded of our time spent together that afternoon at the flower shop. I hope the sun beams through the garden gate, illuminating “Colorado,” in every hue of orange. At the very least, I hope she catches a glimpse of it.

Accompanying Photographs made in April of 2022. Made on Fuji 200 35mm film.