At the end of August, 2005, inspiration came. In the week that followed, the feeling grew, waking me from a too-long mid-life slumber. By the weekend, in early September, I began what I felt I had to do.

I am, at heart, as a photographer, a traditionalist. When crisis strikes, when wars ravage the land, as great storms rise up out of the deep to smite the belly of our nation, I look to tradition, to what traditionalists have always done in time of need. I did what needed to be done regardless of its financial cost to myself, its toll on my family. I looked deep into myself, considered my own role in society, assessed the meaning of life, the meaning of my life.

I did the only thing I could do, the only thing to do:  I made photographs.

Photographs of rocks. Of trees. I photographed a few bushes.

I strengthened our traditions.