Road Chasing

Like dust haphazardly settling after a breeze bustles through, it’s become an unplanned tradition for us over time. The hustle of those sticky hot summer months is winding down – I can feel it in the cool air as I sit in the early morning hours by the window I cracked open to hear the crickets. We’ve started our school schedule – wobbly at first, like those new, half-confident, half-tentative pushes of bike pedals as you try to get off the ground. We’re leaning into new rhythms while savoring the last sweet drops of summertime memories – a week at the county fair, popsicles and water table play on the driveway, playing “treasure hunt” to find juicy ruby-colored tomatoes in our jungle of a garden.

It’s this time of year where I’m stopped almost abruptly – something about the shifting seasons and mid-August always makes me look at my children even more intently. They’re growing. They’re growing up! And it’s happening right in front of me. Like a new seedling, most days are not noticeable growth. But every August, I become extra aware of the longer legs, the lanky arms, the bigger hands – hands that used to be chubby, dimpled, so easily swallowed up in mine. I feel so lucky to be noticing this. When God reminds me to stop and pay attention, I try so hard to do so. Heaven forbid I slog along in my days, forgetting that their childhood clock is ticking on, no matter Mama’s attitude or the amount of dishes in the sink.

Every August, for many years now, I’ve committed to capturing these souls in the end-of-summer moments that someday my husband and I will hold desperately tightly to. My husband’s gone overseas, but being the sole adult never stops me when I’ve got my 12-year-old Canon, a rickety tripod, and that mama-determination in tow. Promises of rare pieces of candy accompany us also. We gather our growing selves up – them, with their slightly scraped knees of childhood and me, with my pregnant belly that I clothed in a simple dress – and pile into the van.

It’s that time again.

It’s time to go road chasing.

I coined this term years ago, living as a new mama in a tiny town surrounded by corn and soybean fields. I would spy shafts of golden evening light slanting their way through the windows. It would be just about time to put my baby to bed, but I knew it was time to get out there. Sunsets aren’t known for staying. I’d buckle my baby (or two toddlers, as the years moved on) into our red pickup truck, grab my camera and tripod, and leave our little old white house behind. The goal was always trifold: get out of town and into the country (dirt roads only), find a lonely road and chase it down, and…snap some photos to freeze these moments in time.

We live in a different town now – much bigger than our old tiny town, but still a small town by the world’s standards. The good news? My rural-leaning heart simply has to hop in the van and drive a few minutes before the houses fall away, the road dust floats up, and the green fields full of cricket sounds begin to whizz by my open window. We’re still surrounded by roads that need chasing.

And so, we’re off again. More children along for the chase every couple of years. I point the van westward, my eyes scouring the horizon for the best view of the sunset. We open the windows, squealing as our hands are buffeted by that heavy, humid summer air. A few flies sneak in. And we zoom on – nothing reckless, but just fast enough to feel like we’re losing the world behind us and chasing down something good.

Eventually, my indecisive self will settle on a “there! This is it!” A lonely, melancholy corner of the world where no one else has probably ever stopped, and no one ever plans to notice. But we do.

The photos don’t take long. Afterwards we give ourselves time to pause. We pick up rocks, we admire a farmer’s rustling corn field, we run our hands through green summer grass. We watch new-to-us beetles and get dust on our sandaled feet.

It’s hard to decide what my favorite part is: the chasing down of an elusive dirt road? The day growing dim with only us to see it? The quiet – the knowing that you’re the only ones out there? No other car will come. The golden sunset light (maybe not as strong this year, but just as special)? The sifting through of precious pictures later on, thankful that once again I was able to capture us all in a moment in time?

I love it all.

Why go road chasing? Golden hour (whether to you that means tonight’s sunset rays, or these sweet golden innocent days of childhood) only lasts so long.

Go chase it down.