The White Picket Fence
25 Jan 2010
My American Dream was to simply live a good life. To set roots somewhere, find a bit of sunshine and fulfillment. The need to belong has taken me on many different paths. Still, moving has not always been a constant in my life.
One of my dreams was to own a place to call my own. A place where I could always come home to. A place big enough for my two boys to run around. A place where they can live out the hours of the day happy and carefree.
I never imagined this home would be surrounded by a white picket fence. Really, the picket fence is inconsequential. Aesthetically, the fence does not do anything for me. Visually, I can't get past the fact that it needs a new coat of paint and much needed repair. This fence has been a thorn in my side.
Lately though, two people have mentioned how the white-picket fence is an integral part of some of my photographs. I looked through my photographs, those I have uploaded to JPG and those I have kept for myself. The fence is nearly always in the background, in one form or another.
I shouldn't be surprised this is the case. The backyard, with the white picket fence as its border, has been more than a playground for my two boys. It has been a place where they have grown and developed. The same holds true for me: It is here where I've grown as a photographer, always following my boys' steps camera in hand.
Most of the pictures are of my two boys, though there have been lots of children that have played in our backyard: friends and neighbors have spent long evening hours.
The white picket fence seems to hold it all together. At least for now, it has contained us. One day, the boys and I will venture beyond its pickets.