And there’s where the resemblance ends.
Still in the grip of the coronavirus pandemic, my wife Cheryl and I find other ways of exercising. Our fitness clubs are still closed in Sun City Ctr., Florida. Not exactly loving it, we do our early morning walks on the nearby golf course in our over-55 community. Lately I’ve been noticing golfers emerging to play their nine holes. I generally give them a wide berth, but one day I ran into one as I traipsed along the fairways by myself.
He too was alone, with his set of fancy clubs and golf cart. I asked what it was like, not being able to play golf with his buddies because of social distancing. “Thought I’d hate it,” he said, “but now I’m beginning to like it. Nobody to razz me when I slice, nobody to keep score, nobody to compete with. Maybe I’ll just keep it this way when the pandemic is all over.”
I used to think photography could be done that way too, alone, and a lot of times I did it like that in Massachusetts. But last year I visited an oriental market in Tampa with my friend Marty Jukovsky, who was visiting. We’re both photographers, but I’d left my Canon Powershot in the car (no idea where his camera was). While I was perusing the rice noodle selection, Marty came over and said, “You gotta see this.”
The young boy lying on the bags of rice seems to blend perfectly with his environment. Perhaps it’s fitting, since the store was probably owned by a relative, like his grandfather, and he may inherit it. “You should get this shot,” Marty said. “I left my camera at your house.”
I agreed and returned with the camera. I was so glad Marty noticed this shot. I would’ve missed it entirely. It was his gift and I’ll probably always have it. It won’t ever break, wear out, or get lost. And I’m pretty sure, even now, that I won’t get tired of it.
Most of all, it proved to me that photography is a hobby best done with others.