Today I am taking one of my usual strolls through one of the trails near my home. When I get out of the car with my cameras and start to walk I can feel the tension of the morning begin to slide off my shoulders and fall to the ground. Nothing particularly bad happened this morning, there were small things like not having one of my websites cooperate with what I wanted it to do. And I was running late as I didn't want to leave my daughter at home alone and waited for my her to get ready to leave the house for where she was going. I had planned to start a series of plein air paintings today, and I could tell, as the minutes and an hour or so ticked by that there would be no time to take my painting gear, set up and paint and have enough time to get back before my daughter returned.  My change in plans determines that I will scout out locations today and take pictures to see the compositions of the painting I hope now to do tomorrow. So here in the woods with my camera in hand, I walk away from my self-inflicted tension of the morning and I move into the sanctuary of the trees that cast shadows and pinpoints of light all around me.

 The woods feel like home to me. They calm me. They are not appreciated by enough people as the mood enhancing experience that they truly are. And I'm glad because that means that even on this Saturday, except for the occasional biker or hiker I am pretty much alone. I can hear the birds and the wind blowing through the trees and I can take as many pictures as I want without worrying about anyone being in the picture.

 I find several locations for tomorrow's painting and also for a few paintings after that. But that isn't the only thing I found in the woods today.

 As I am snapping some rather picturesque shots that include a rock-strewn stream running through the woods, I hear voices behind me. Being a fairly cautious person, I slowly move toward the noise keeping hidden by the boulders and trees around me. I find several young men moving a rather large metal structure that resembles the skeletal remains of a bridge. It is, in fact, a bridge that used to run across the stream a little further up the trail. The images they create while they try to move this thing are good ones and I ask permission to take their picture. As I follow them through the trails, snapping pictures of their progress I get the story of the bridge and how it washed away quite a while ago. And having just found it, they were attempting to restore it to its rightful place. As I want to post the photos on my blog and give their names, I ask if anyone has any paper to write down their names or at least give me an email address so I can send them the photos. No one has paper or pen or even a phone. One of the guys says, "Do you have video? I can tell you our names on the video."  So with the other camera I have in my pocket, that indeed does take video, we start a small movie on how to move a bridge. It's a study in how to work as a team and I am impressed by these young men who work so well together to haul this very heavy iron structure upwards through a rocky wooded trail. They don't argue, but rather listen to each other as needs arise.

"There's a rock in the way; we have to move to the left."
"It's getting heavy; can we put it down for a second."
"Everyone lift together . . . 1, 2, 3 . . . lift."

And of course I am stumbling backwards just in front of them, trying to get the shots. I'm snapping photos with my right hand while I'm taking videos with my left, and even though the woods are not all that serene at the moment I'm having a great time. It's great to watch their progress. They succeed in getting this structure to its destination with determination and a wonderful sense of friendly camaraderie and I'm feeling really good about being able to preserve this moment for them.

As it turns out, the mom of one of the guys, for reasons of privacy does not want me to post the video on my blog, so you will not see it posted by me. I am instead sending it to her son so he can share it with the other young men who are in it. But the story does not end here.

And that will be my next blog.