As I write this, I’m wondering what happened to September…. and August for that matter.  But, here I sit, less than a week before an amazing trip to the American Southwest for the Alternative Photography International Symposium (APIS) and I’m finally finding time to talk about Van Dykes I made in June, July and August.  Either way, here we are.

For years, I’ve been envisioning a pair of Van Dykes that I wanted to create out at the mine that involved the entire family, but I felt that, being the responsible parent, I needed to wait until Aidan was old enough to have him out there safely.  Even though he’s five and well mannered, I still was very careful about him going out to these places and, for the most part, had him confined to a “safe” corner and entertained by an iPhone until he was needed for the shot.  That said, I thought it was necessary to show him, as old as he is, what his dad does every weekend that he’s away.  I resent that my MFA pursuits have kept me away from my family as much as they have but I am eternally grateful for how understanding they’ve been through it all – because of them (and the sacrifices they’ve both made), I’ve had the flexibility to create some work that I’m truly proud of.

Families were a big part of these Alaskan mining settlements and company towns – and to the outsider, that concept seems foreign, I’m sure; the Gold Rush-era stereotype is a male-centric role with lonely wives left in the Lower-48 until they strike it rich.  All too common, though, homesick miners relocated their entire family – some even giving tall-order promises to their beloved to build a “proper” southern home in the wild Alaskan Frontier (which definitely explains some of our awkward architecture downtown).  For some miners, being 30-40 miles away from the family was no better than 4000, so families weren’t situated in Fairbanks but at the mines themselves.

Years ago, I had noticed a particular family home at a local mine (which I obtained permission from the landowners to photograph) where a child had scrawled on the wall with crayon. I knew that I could use this bit of a story to create a larger one about the unexpected aspect of family life in Alaska’s wild frontier.  Through searching the building – this last time for artifacts – a moment of serendipity struck as I found an old, worn alphabet block from the family that used to live in the home.  Together, my wife, Aidan and I created a moment that almost looks to be a moment out of a Norman Rockwell painting – the quintessential parenting moment among all this decay, ruin and hidden history.

Aidan had a blast at the mine – especially seeing the Stamp Mill and all of its engines and machinery (no worries, all precautions were taken).  I have many shots of his awestruck face in some brilliant light that I should share sometime in the future.  For weeks afterwards, all Deanna and I heard about was how he was already looking forward to the next trip to the mines to see his dad at work.