“Do you see anything down there? That creek is beautiful. Is there a picture there?” Here we go again with the thousand questions.

         “No. I don’t really see a picture. I mean it’s pretty, but it’s not ‘picture’ pretty.” As I say this, I’m straining to see where his hands are in my peripheral vision. Is he going for the camera? Please, no.

         In a resigned tone, he says, “Alright. Let’s go.”

         Yes, thank you. Let’s go! As we drive around the bend in the county road, I begin to feel like a grade-A ass. Here my father is, trying to take pictures of the land he loves, and I’m giving him grief. To be fai...

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