…and the deer are creeping closer to civilization/safety. Spotted this doe just outside of Oak Bluffs.
She was with her boyfriend:
A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to go on a Journalism Adventure off-Island. Tiffany Smalley, a Vineyarder and a member of the Wampanoag tribe of Aquinnah, was receiving her degree from Harvard; she’s the first Wampanoag to graduate from Harvard in 346 years. So the Gazette wanted a photographer there to capture her receiving the degree.
This assignment was without question one of the most stressful I’ve ever had in terms of pre-event coordination—it’s one thing to photograph a graduation and a whole other beast to document just one person (out of the thousands of people at Harvard)—but once I actually found Tiffany (who was fantastically chill about everyone making a huge fuss about her accomplishment), it was way easier. It just took a while to get to that point, since she was busy doing all kinds of pre-graduation things; there was a bit of phone tag for a while.
I think I did an okay job with this assignment, but I wasn’t as creative as I would have liked to be, and I wish I had more photos of Tiffany with her family. I am, however, extremely glad that I rented a 70-200mm f/2.8 to use instead of my f/4.
I also stuck around for the afternoon ceremonies, where Tiffany received a posthumous degree on behalf of Joel Iacoombes, who would have been the second Wampanoag to graduate from Harvard if he hadn’t died just before his commencement in 1655. Ellen Sirleaf Johnson, the President of Liberia, was the featured speaker for those proceedings, which was amazing (her speech was also great).
Spotted during the afternoon ceremony: Arne Duncan, Class Marshall. Harvard is the ultimate in the “Go big or go home” mentality.
Tiffany and Wampanoag tribe chair Cheryl Andrews-Maltais receiving the long-overdue degree.
Not Tiffany (she’s still on stage), but I like this photo anyway.
Last summer, I photographed a story about the Mobile Poultry Processing Unit. When farmers here are ready to slaughter their chickens (or turkeys, or ducks), the unit comes to their farm and processes the birds. It’s about as local as you can get.
But for other livestock, that option doesn’t exist. There are no facilities, mobile or otherwise, on Martha’s Vineyard, to process the larger animals, so farmers have to take their goats, pigs, sheep and cows to the mainland.
Today I rode along with Julie of the FARM Institute and Remy (reporter and fellow Gazetteer) as Julie brought eight pigs to Adams Farm in Athol, Mass., for slaughter. Athol is a three-hour drive from Woods Hole, where the ferries dock. The ferry ride itself is 45 minutes each way. All told, we spent about eight hours in transit, plus an hour of waiting at the ferry dock on the way back, plus a stop in Taunton, Mass., to pick up grain (Julie, understandably, likes to make the most of these sojourns). It was a very long day.
I loved every minute of it. It wasn’t nearly as graphic as chicken day had been (nor was the smell as awful, fortunately). I wasn’t allowed to take photos on the kill floor (where the skinning, etc., happens—although we did get to look in there, and I didn’t think it was as bad as they were making it out to be), but I had access to every other part of the facility, which was fantastic. I loved that Adams Farm opened its doors to us (especially to a photographer), and were completely transparent about their processes and practices; I’m pretty sure that doesn’t happen at the large factory-type plants. I loved that you could buy meat in their store that was processed in the next room over (and I don’t even eat meat). I loved that one of the guys was keeping his three-week-old goat in the locker room because she had pneumonia and couldn’t be with the other animals.
I also loved that it was overcast and rainy, because a natural softbox is always awesome.
There were a couple of stories in the take from the day. The first, which is in this post, is the actual Vineyard story. The second is a more general “here’s what happens at a slaughterhouse” story.
FARM Institute farm manager Julie Olson sits on the Island Home as it leaves Martha’s Vineyard for Woods Hole at 7:00 a.m.
Pigs from the FARM Institute wait in the trailer while Julie fuels up at a rest stop on Route 190 in Massachusetts. It takes three hours to reach Adams Farm in Athol, Mass., from the ferry docks in Woods Hole.
The pigs receive ear tags before they are herded into the barn, where they will “enter the chute” later in the day. Ear tagging is a USDA requirement, as it enables butchers (and later, consumers) to tell where their meat came from.
Julie uses a board to herd the pigs into the barn, where they will wait with animals from other farms until it is time to “enter the chute.” As a rule, she isn’t attached to the animals she brings to the slaughterhouse. “It’s our livelihood,” she says. [I got to climb up a fence to take this photo! It was awesome.]
Julie moves a box of lamb meat from the Adams Farm freezer to her trailer. The lamb meat is for the Allen Farm, also a Martha’s Vineyard business. Because Julie was already making the trip to Athol, she offered to pick up the 33 boxes of lamb for the Allen Farm. She picked up only eleven bags of meat for the FARM Institute.
Julie is reflected in the back mirror of her pick-up truck, which can haul 3500 pounds. The load of eight pigs was relatively small compared to that of the previous trip to Adams Farm, during which she brought five cows to Athol.
The FARM Institute trailer sits among passenger cars in the hold of the Islander on the trip back to Martha’s Vineyard. Julie’s entire trip, which included a stop in Taunton, Mass., to pick up grain, took over ten hours, only one of which was actually spent at the slaughterhouse.
This is me, 22 years ago!
The photo was taken the day I got my very first fake eye. I didn’t get another one until I was nine. And after that, I went fifteen years without a change. So it had been a while.
But I have a new one now! I went to my ocularists in Boston today, and decided I wanted to take photos during my appointments (Joyce and Kurt probably thought I was crazy). I actually made a job profile video of the eye-making process (at an office in St. Louis) for Picture Story, but a) the video is not very good at all and b) I wasn’t a patient then.
I usually don’t like turning the camera on myself; it makes me feel like a serious egomaniac. But I really wanted to show this process the way I experience it, not the way somebody doing an actual Journalistic Story would shoot it…so l didn’t ask to go watch some parts of the process just to photograph them (if you’re curious, you can watch the bad video), because that’s not what I would do during a regular appointment. All of the photos were taken while I was sitting in my chair watching the magic happen (except the last one, which I took just outside of the office (hence the odd lighting)).
Joyce and Kurt made the new eye by building around the first one, so I went without for a while (got to walk around with a badass patch on when I went to get coffee). It is a very strange sensation, like the feeling you have when you lose a tooth and that gaping space is left behind.
They didn’t have books like “Monocular Max” when I was a kid. I feel old.
I’m still deciding how I feel about this eye.

The old one used to be a bit too small for the socket; it would get all squinty, and my glasses prescription was adjusted so that my useless left lens has a magnifier in it to make the eyes look more balanced. Now that I have a larger eye, it looks huge through my glasses (then again, I’m probably the only person who notices these things). Time to get a new prescription, I guess!
Also, the toning on a couple of these images is driving me crazy. I’ve given up for the time being, but will probably update later when I get the color balances more in sync.
I know New England winters are far crazier than Missouri ones, but I haven’t been here through the entire season in six years and so forgot just how bonkers they can get. I’ve already blogged about the post-Christmas storm that messed up my friends’ travel plans, but December was, apparently, just a warm-up for the main event.
This January has been the snowiest month in Connecticut history. Not the snowiest January…the snowiest month. Ever. I haven’t been to the gym in months, but am nonetheless staying in shape because of my regular snow-shoveling regimen.
Last night the weathermen predicted 9-12 inches of snow overnight. My parents and I woke up at 6:45 this morning to find…eighteen inches of fluff (and fortunately, it was fluff, not the icy kind of snow) piled all around our house like a lumpy comforter.
There are a couple of problems posed by 18 inches of snow. The first one is that my parents had to go to work, forty minutes away in Hartford…but the car can’t get out of the garage with, well, *that* in the way. We’re also running out of places to put the snow- those piles off to the right in the above picture are the result of every other snowfall this month.
The second is that our dog O’Lio, while he is a pretty tall dog (he’s a greyhound), couldn’t ford his way through the piles on the back porch to get to our backyard and do his morning thing.
Fortunately, my parents’ office called to let everybody know they didn’t have to come in until noon, which gave us time to clear the driveway and free the car from the garage. Meanwhile, I tackled the back porch. Once I got to the bottom of the steps and the backyard, I dug out paths for O’Lio to use…it’s like his own private maze out there now. He’s happy.
I should point out that all of this shoveling was done before 9 a.m. After finishing, I immediately went back and curled up in bed for a few hours…until I had to go back out again in the afternoon to take care of the other side of the driveway.
It’s no big secret that I love Boston. David and Halley, my friends who came up to visit from Texas (and got delayed by the snow), already knew this, but had never actually been to the city with me; it was a ton of fun exploring all over with them. We kept ending up on the Freedom Trail, but then again, that’s not all that hard to do in Boston.
Kiddos going sledding in the Boston Common [cropped; I liked the panorama-style composition better even when taking it].
Last week, New England and New York got shellacked by a blizzard (this week, we again got ten inches of snow, with another few expected tomorrow. Hello, winter!). Normally this would not be a serious problem, and I would just hole up inside and read books and do nothing (and, indeed, I actually did do that)….but two of my friends from Texas were planning to come up and visit right about when all of the snow came, and they had to delay their flights by two days because of it. Argh. C’est la vie.
However, the blizzard did make for some good photo ops!
My cousin Lucy shoveling off her front porch in Pawtucket, R.I.
I meant to post this first one when I took it just before Thanksgiving. The others were taken when I went back up to Maine a couple weeks ago for Christmas at my grandmother’s house.
Taken through the window at 6:20 a.m….when I had to wake up to take the dog outside. The blue light was great, though.