Shoppin'

You don’t take a photograph, you make it.

~Ansel Adams

To photoshop or not to photoshop? That is the question. Ask 100 photographers how they feel about post-processing and you’ll get 100 answers. Some will argue that the sign of a good photographer lies in the SOOC (straight out of camera) shot. Why rely on Photoshop when there are so many possibilities using only your camera? “Don’t do it!” they insist.

If someone can take museum quality photos with nary an edit, they are indeed a far better photographer than I. I agree that the art of photography should likely be accomplished in the camera using its compositional properties, but I also believe a little tweaking never hurts. It can make a good photo a great photo. Heck, even before the advent of modern technology, the masters were manipulating their shots both in and out of the darkroom. Of course it’s much easier to accomplish today. All it takes is the know-how as to which buttons to push. Plus, it’s just so darn fun to see what Photoshop can do!

My approach to purchasing editing software is akin to the type of camera I use. Why spend hundreds and hundreds of dollars on a high end DSLR when I can get the same effect from the manual settings on my glorified point and shoot? While I’d love Photoshop CS, the granddaddy of imaging editing software, I am really stingy about handing over a fist full of Benjamins for it. For about one-seventh of the cost, Photoshop Elements (PE) is a great substitute. Until I’m up to speed on how it works, I’m happy with the less expensive version for my photography experiments.

I initially was intimidated by all the bells and whistles of PE, but dove in anyway. Much of what I knew was self-taught and resulted from a little bit of trial and a whole lotta error. But I knew I was underutilizing its features and barely scratching the surface of what it has to offer.

Enter Kim Klassen dot com. I don’t even remember how I stumbled upon her website, but Kim has proven to be a godsend with her post-processing techniques. She’s one of those people who embody the spirit of encouraging and assisting fellow artists by unselfishly sharing her talent and knowledge. Through her online courses, one of which was FREE! (you remember how I feel about free, don’t you?), she introduced me to things in Photoshop I never quite understood and many of which I never even knew about.

Her Skinny Mini tutorial is an introduction to the software, which addresses either PE or the full-blown CS version. The ten-day course is self-paced, which means you can do it at your convenience from the comfort of your own home while wearing bunny slippers.  Just sign up, receive a classroom password, review the videos, and go to town! She provides step-by-step instruction and the photos, and also offers a message board and Flickr group to which you can post comments and photos for feedback. It was nice to know that I’m not alone in my Photoshop ineptitude, and I found myself in the good company of some very eager-to-learn and creative people. I think I even picked up a blog follower! Woo hoo!

The course initially reviews the software desktop and menus, as well as basic functions like cropping and adding text.

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We then delved a bit deeper with layers (something which previously made my head swim) and textures.

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Words like opacity, dodging and burning suddenly began to make sense.

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And if you sign up for her mailing list, she’ll provide you with a new texture each week … uh huh, for FREE!

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I can't believe how much I learned in just ten days!

Have I mastered all the ins and outs of PE yet? Heck no! My post-processing skills will always be a work in progress, but I know where to turn to for guidance. Kim’s website is now my go-to for all PE questions. I realize post-processing isn’t for everyone, but if you’re a creative type like me and have jumped on the Photoshop bandwagon, be sure to visit Kim.

Point of Little Boats: A Visit to Huron County

If you connect the dots of all the places we visited while criss-crossing the Thumb, our travel path would likely resemble a spider web. There was a lot to discover. Cute little towns planted in the rolling farmland, antique shops jammed with treasures, friendly locals, great eats, and miles and miles and miles of craggy coastline. You’re probably wondering if I’ll ever blog about anything other than lighthouses, but hey … this is Michigan. It’s a peninsula. With miles and miles and miles of lakeshore we’re gonna have lots and lots and lots of these coastal beauties. We ended our weekend tour the way we began.

There are differing opinions as to how Huron County was named. Most agree it was an altered form of the French word Hure, “head of a wild boar,” for the untamed appearance of a tribe of Native Americans. (Ironically, the tribe never adopted this name; they instead called themselves Wendat (Wyandotte), “dwellers on a peninsula”). The county, which is located at the tip of the Thumb, has over 90 miles of Lake Huron beaches and more shoreline parks than any other county. We were headed to one in particular.

Located in Lighthouse County Park, the Pointe aux Barques Light ranks among the ten oldest lighthouses in Michigan. Its name means “point of little boats” and characterizes the shoals and reefs that lurk beneath the shallow waters presenting a hazard to the watercraft that rounds the Thumb from Lake Huron into Saginaw Bay.

The U.S. Lighthouse Service built the first beacon on this site in 1847 after President Polk appropriated $5,000 for its construction; Peter Shook was its first light keeper. His wife Catherine took over after he drowned in 1849 and became Michigan’s first female light keeper (while simultaneously raising eight small children!). There were a total of ten different light keepers of the Pointe aux Barques Lighthouse.

In 1857 the lighthouse and dwelling were replaced with the present 89-foot tower and attached house. A brick assistant keeper’s house was added in 1908. When the last keeper retired in 1939, the Coast Guard converted the tower to an unmanned lighthouse.

By the time we arrived the winds were whipping and the ominous skies threatening to burst. But this type of weather is exactly why lighthouses were built. Bring it on! We poked around the keeper’s dwelling, which today houses a museum containing memorabilia of the lighthouse, its history and keepers, as well as many ship wrecks that lie under the local waters. You can also climb 103 steps to the top of the tower, but it was too late in the day for us to do so. That’s probably a good thing with my fear of heights.  Though I would have (eventually) made the effort, I was just as happy to enjoy this one from the ground.

This stop proved to be a great end to a great weekend! Let’s see what else Michigan has to offer …

Carved in Time: A Visit to Sanilac County

With the technology in today’s world, messages are created and relayed instantaneously. Hit the send key and you can zap an email, text or tweet across the miles in the blink of an eye. But communication wasn’t always this speedy. Think snail mail. When was the last time you actually sat down to handwrite a letter? What about the days before the ballpoint pen when all that was available was quill and ink that had to dry? Or let’s go wayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy back centuries before when the first attempts at passing along information were carved in rock.  Amazingly, an example of this earliest form of communication can be found in my own backyard.

Sanilac County was named for a Wyandot chief. Some say that Sanilac means “without lake” and it’s true that the county does not have one natural inland lake. But its unique and interesting site makes up for the lack of interior lakeshore. Sanilac Petroglyphs Historic State Park contains Michigan’s only known rock carvings attributable to Native American Indians. They date back 300 to 1,000 years to the Late Woodland Period and, after being discovered following a fire which ravaged the area in 1881, provide a glimpse into the lives of an ancient people who once occupied the area. With Mark’s background in archeology, we’ve been meaning to check this out for some time. We finally made it!

We initially zoomed right past the site’s unmarked parking area, but backtracked and finally located it.  Turn left at the dead deer! From the parking lot it’s a quarter-mile walk to the petroglyphs along a crushed limestone trail lined with wild flowers.

The carvings were cut into a type of rock known as Marshall Sandstone. About 340 million years ago the area was a river delta. Sand, mud and lime deposited by the water hardened to form the sandstone. Outcrops of this formation are exposed because the glacial soils that cover much of the Lower Peninsula are very thin in this area.

The soft stone allowed an unknown Native American tribe to easily cut it. That, however, has proven problematic. Subsequent generations had found it just as easy to add their names and doodles; some of the carvings have even been removed! Graffiti and vandalism combined with natural weathering has made the actual petroglyphs difficult to see (and photograph!). Most of the carvings are not discernable at first glance.

I understand it’s best to view them on an overcast day with a flashlight to illuminate them from the side. But with a little bit of concentration and a lot of squinty eyes, the depictions began to emerge: Lines, hands, flying birds, animal tracks, spirals.

The 25 x 40-foot sandstone slab contains roughly 100 carvings.

There is concern that without protection and preservation efforts, the carvings may be lost. As a result, the state has made a series of improvements to the site. A large pavilion has been built over the rock and surrounded by a locked chain link fence to keep out the riff raff. The petroglyphs can typically be viewed during the summer Wednesday through Sunday from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. when staffed with interpreters.

The park also contains a 1.5-mile loop over the Little Cass River and through the woods past the remains of a 19th-century logging camp and historic Native American settlements. The trail is open 8 a.m. until 10 p.m. daily. It was hot during our visit so we didn’t check out this part of the park.

The petroglyphs, though? Very cool! What message do you think they send?



Outside the Box: A Visit to Tuscola County

In addition to coastlines, much of the Thumb of Michigan is characterized by picturesque farmland. Tuscola County proves to be no exception. Its name appears to have been created by our friend Henry Schoolcraft, and is believed to be a combination of Native American words dusinagon, meaning “level,” and cola, meaning “lands.” Through most of the 19th century the county’s main industry was lumber. Unfortunately, in the late 1800s, fire destroyed the land and wiped out its profitable timber industry. The area rebounded by taking advantage of the newly-cleared terrain for farming. By the turn of the 20th century, Tuscola’s county seat and largest city of Caro was home to the second largest beet sugar factory in America. How’s that for a comeback? With all that farmland you know what that means, don’t you? Uh huh. There’s a barn or two in the neighborhood, one of which is really outstanding in its field.  (Sorry ... I’m definitely my father’s daughter!)

We were antiquing first thing in the A.M. and struck up conversation with THE nicest people. Tuscola County is also known for its friendliness!

We asked what there was to see in the area and were told a visit to the former Purdy homestead was a must. When I heard the words “octagon barn” I was all over the idea. I had seen it on some website, but dismissed a stop since it was billed as an agricultural museum. Who wants to spend time looking at a bunch of rusty old farm equipment? *ahem* What in the heck do I know? Had the Tuscolans* not pointed us in the direction of the Purdys, we would have missed a true local gem and some major county history. Lesson learned!  *(Disclaimer: I have no idea if this is what they are called; I just followed in ‘ole Henry’s footsteps and made it up!)

At the age of 21, James Purdy joined his father at the Bank of P.C. Purdy and Son in the village of Gagetown and soon became its President. Under his leadership the bank flourished and was one of only two in Michigan to remain solvent during the Great Depression. Post-Depression Americans had become leery of financial institutions, so Purdy met with other bankers in Lansing and formulated a plan to restore faith in the banking system. He felt the federal government should insure the investors’ money, and convinced Senator Arthur Vandenburg (from Grand Rapids!) to introduce a bill into the Senate. It gained the support of President FDR and led to the formation of the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC). Score one for Purdy!

Through the years Purdy and his wife Cora purchased 520 acres of property at the intersection of Huron Line and Richie Road; their slice of the county pie was known as Mud Lake Estate.

In 1919 they hired local builders George and John Munro to construct their craftsman style bungalow.

The house featured 15 rooms, including three full bathrooms (which was very uncommon in rural Michigan at the time), 8 bedrooms, a fieldstone fireplace, a built-in kitchen icebox, a covered porch used for entertaining and dancing, and a five-room basement set up as living quarters for the hired help.

Needless to say, it was very elegant for its time, and the Purdys welcomed guests willingly and often. The family moved in on May 19, 1922 and resided there until 1942 before returning to Gagetown.

During a trip to Iowa in 1923, Purdy saw an octagonal barn and decided he needed one of his own.

At the time, state and federal agricultural departments were promoting round and octagonal barns as the buildings of the future; you gain more square footage of space from the same amount of material with this design than by building a typical rectangular box-type barn. Plus it looked way cooler! When he returned to Gagetown, Purdy again hired the Munro Brothers to construct a similar structure. It took about a year to complete.

The three-stage roof with dormers and 32 nine-light windows is unique to the Purdy barn; most octagonal barns have a gambrel roof without windows.

The spacious interior features a sophisticated ventilation system and a circular hay track. Okay, I'll admit it ... this was much more interesting than I thought it was going to be. I’ll even go so far as to say that the farm equipment was fascinating!

We also learned that most of the property Purdy had acquired was swampland. His goal was to build a peat-fired plant to generate power to Gagetown and neighboring Owendale. Unfortunately, he abandoned the idea after discovering he couldn’t get the peat hot enough to produce the amount of steam needed for the engine to drive the generator at a constant RPM. Commercial power was finally brought to the site in 1938, but the restored powerhouse still stands as testimony to Purdy’s ingenuity.

The farm had several owners after the Purdys and parcels of land were eventually sold off. In 1991 the DNR purchased 80 acres which had been deeded to the Pinney State Bank of Cass City (now Chemical Bank); this parcel connected two larger parcels already part of the Gagetown State Game Area. The DNR had no interest in the buildings that came with the property and considered demolishing them. The locals were horrified. Enter Friends of the Thumb Octagon Barn.

A group of concerned citizens banded together to save the barn and other structures. Working with the DNR, they obtained the right to use the land and restore the buildings. In exchange for providing liability insurance for the property and presenting a 25-year plan outlining their objectives for the site, they control 8.2 acres and have permission to hold events there. A win-win for all involved!

Once the original buildings at the site were secure from further deterioration, the Friends developed an Agricultural Museum for the Thumb Area. Volunteer caretakers greet visitors and offer a history of the site, as well as attend to the lawn and flowerbeds. Needless to say, ongoing restoration and maintenance cost big bucks. A nominal fee is charged for the 90-mintue tour of the barn and house, though I have no idea of what it is since Mark paid for it (read: he’s a great travel companion!).

If you ever find yourself in the middle of Tuscola County farm country, track down and see the Thumb Octagon Barn and Agricultural Museum. It’s worth the visit!

Blue Water: A Visit to St. Clair County

On the eastern shore of Michigan lie nine quaint waterfront communities and 140 miles of coastline. Parks, boardwalks and beaches (and antique stores!) border Lake Huron and the St. Clair River. The waters in this area are cobalt and turquoise and sapphire. But would you expect any less from something called the Blue Water Area?

Due to travel plans which were altered at the eleventh hour for Memorial Weekend, we decided to resurrect our idea to tour the Thumb. Neither Mark nor I had ever visited this part of Michigan before and figured we could cover a lot of ground over the holiday weekend. St. Clair County is at the southern end of the Blue Water Area and where we began.

First stop St. Clair. What a charming little town! Palmer Park is a primo riverside public area earmarked for recreation and relaxation. The St. Clair River is one of the heaviest traveled rivers in the world, and connects the southern end of Lake Huron to the northern end of Lake St. Clair. As part of the world’s longest shipping canal—the 2,347-mile St. Lawrence Seaway—it’s not uncommon to see freighters passing up and down the river. And across the waterway? That’s Canada, eh!

A bit farther is the Blue Water Bridge. Opened in 1997, the international border crossing is a major trade and transportation link between Port Huron in the U.S. and Sarnia in Canada. Not sure if it’s an everyday occurrence or just a holiday thing, but on the day we were there it was lined with bumper-to-bumper traffic.

But my favorite part of the county, though I’m sure this comes as no surprise, is the Fort Gratiot Lighthouse. The oldest in Michigan, it was built in 1829 by Lucius Lyon who became one of Michigan’s first two U.S. Senators. The light marks the entrance to the St. Clair River from Lake Huron.

The grounds are an active Coast Guard facility, but recently became part of the Port Huron Museum.

It is closed to the public, as was evidenced by the barbed wire surrounding the property. We had to walk down to the beach from Lighthouse Park in order to get a photo-worthy perspective of the building. I was so intent on finding just the right angle that I didn’t watch where I was going. I tripped over a piece of downed fence and managed to spear a toe. Ouch! Ah well … not only have I managed to tour another Michigan county, but by bleeding into Lake Huron I left a part of me there as well!