Life along the Willamette Valley here in the Pacific Northwest is great! The Cascade Mountain Range to the east, the mighty Pacific Ocean to the west and in between numerous lakes, rivers, and a whole bunch of wonderful people. Photography and writing, though not on a professional level, I so enjoy documenting what the eyes see and the heart feels.
The name of this blog, The Conglomerate Lode, comes from a copper mining district underneath the town of Calumet, Michigan on the Keweenaw Peninsula of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. During the summers of my youth family vacations were spent here visiting relatives in what is known as Copper Country Dad born a few miles south of Calumet in the village of Atlantic Mine a copper mine as well. It did not take long for me to become transfixed with the region as it is remote, beautiful, adventurous, and quite
The Copper Country exposed my young mind to crisp, clean air, blue skies, and a stillness so definite you could hear cars from a mile away, people talking a couple blocks away, and a country side with a mystique all it’s own it was heaven. That awareness sharpened my young senses developing over time a better view of the world; photography and writing allows the mining from the grey matter experience of these emotions I hope amuse, entertain, or enlighten.
The writer’s half of me started at a Christmas party I’d been invited to by a friend, circa 1994, or more frankly has been a part of me going back to those deep emotions derived from the Copper Country. On loose leaf paper I recall writing pages of summer fun and literally these pages were loose there was no intention of starting a journal I just felt compelled to write the events down and did this periodically until the party of 1994.
Enjoying the holiday and comradery I was asked by one of the quests where I hailed from and along the way described a Midwest winter in St. Clair Shores, Michigan. I expressed how the kitchen window became encased in condensation on the warm inside when met with cccooollldddd temperatures outside well, the individual listening paused, absorbed, then informed I should be a writer. From that moment on writing spilled forth filling journals and binders of paper, and instead of classes I self-taught before long the passion to relate life experiences and observations spilled out.
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