The subtitle of this blog — “The life of a small-town photographer” — encompasses more than just the many photos I post here; being a photographer in a small town can be a rather public vocation, and that means every now and again there are stories that can be told about life between the pictures.

Having managed to avoid doing anything notable while growing up in Chelsea, I’ve long been accustomed to knowing pretty much everybody who knew me.  But since my work has gained prominence in the community, I find myself in the opposite situation: I’m known by more people than I know.  Most of the resulting encounters are fairly pedestrian, but one recent occurrence left me chuckling.

Not long ago, I was hired to photograph a group of local veterans gathering at the depot.  The group turned out to be fairly large, and since the depot’s parking isn’t exactly extensive, I ended up having to park on a nearby street.  As I was walking to the depot, a police car drove past me and stopped at the end of the street.  I began to wonder: had I done something wrong?  Had I parked in the wrong place?  Did my beard exceed the legal limit?

I was certain I had no reason to worry — and it wouldn’t look very good if I tried to avoid him, right? — so I kept walking.  It didn’t take long for my curiosity to be assuaged; when I reached the end of the street, the officer rolled down his window, smiled at me and called out…

“Hey!  What are you shooting today?”