Seeing

My father was a welder by trade, but an artist by temperament. We often went on drives through the back country to look for stone in Schoharie County where I grew up. One of my dad's passions was masonry and he loved to work with stone. We would find stones of varying shape or color and throw them in the back of the pickup for his current project, whatever that happened to be. At times a wall, at times a patio.

The trips were edifying in that my father never just saw rocks when we were out rock hunting. He had an amazing eye for spotting wildlife. He would be the first to see turkey, red tail hawks, deer, or whatever else there was out there. I can still hear the excitement in his voice upon a discovery. "Oh! Look there's a hawk!"," Look there's a fox!", " Look there's an owl!" No matter where we went there was always a discovery.

I cannot say that at the time I was as appreciative of his gift of observation as I am now. I was fairly oblivious to what went on around me, often in my own world of comic books, Saturday morning television, drawing and solitary play in the woods and fields. I wasn't weird. Just not particularly present and not all that interested in the physical world in spite of my outdoor play.

Over the years, however, I came to share in his enthusiasm for spotting those things which I did not see then. Now when I'm out I see the egret looking for food in the local river, the sparrows flitting in the trees or grass, the sea hawks soaring in the draughts above me, and the pheasants in the garden. This awareness of my surroundings has taken time and training. But the spark was definitely planted by my dad. This gift has helped to hone and broaden my artistic eye and for that all I can say is, "I miss our drives, dad".