Small town, big fish!

A blank page. Rather like the beginning of each day. Now what?

My sojourn in Barstow began almost three years ago.

Six months in hell I had spent- at the Fort Dodge Messenger before coming
here. A miserable excuse for a newspaper in a lousy town.

Coming here was like the cliched breath of fresh air. The desert was
invigorating, the people nice and I felt as if I could stay forever. But my
feet have gotten itchy and it is time to maybe think of moving on.

There have been a bunch of photo awards and even one for feature writing
(ET call home) - hey, I am rather proud of that. Kinda funny when a
photographer's story takes a third place in features over some stories by
seasoned reporters.

I have seen my photos published all over including the Washington Post and
the Sunday London Times.

I have been made the special projects editor at the Desert Dispatch -
designing ad posters and editing our special tabs and Exploring Barstow - a
promotion of sorts.

So staying here would be easy.

As I was coming home from work yesterday I marveled at the ease of my work
day.

First off an accident - of course it is a holiday weekend. Then the opening
day at the local BIG water park. I got overheated and sickish - nothing new
anymore. Bringing up the end of the shooting day a routine
event-at-the-park kinda thing.

Back to work to file the art, made sure a special page I designed around a
story I wrote and shot was going to print ok and then home.

Accidents used to scare me. "What if I don't get a good shot?" What if the
CHP won't let me in?" "What if the semi's force me off the road trying to
get to the accident?"

Big events used to scare me. "What if I don't get a good shot?" What if the
event givers won't let me in?" "What if the semi's force me off the road
trying to get to the big event?"

Routine events used to scare me. "What if I don't get a good shot?" What
if the event givers won't let me in?" "What if the semi's force me off the
road trying to get to the routine event?"

All questions that used to terrify me when I was new here. They don't any
longer.

After too many accidents, lots of big events (well, big for Barstow) and
all the little stuff, I quit giving those questions power over me, oh,
after about a year.

Nothing scares me now - not rattlesnakes or helicopters or the voices of
the dead. Nope, nothing scares me now - oh, except for single men, but that
is another story entirely.

But, back to yesterday. Going to the accident was a snap. The cops were
great. Firefighters were great. I knew most of them, they knew me - came up
and said howdy - I got my shot and info and left.

Water park opening. I ran into the mayor who gave me a hug, several judges
who are members of an oldies rock band said "Hey Lara, what's happenin'?"
the owners of the water park were thrilled I was there and gave me lots of
bottled water.

Did I mention it was like scorching hot?

Going back to the paper I thought about leaving Barstow. How hard that
would be. How simple and easy it would be to stay here....and safe.

Maybe it is the safe part that makes my feet itchy. Or maybe it is the part
about shooting things the fourth time around.

OH MY! On one hand that is cool, you know what to expect and can go looking
for something different, or you know what to expect and there ain't NOTHING
that is going to be different.

There is a job possibility I am considering - a public information kinda
person. One of those people the media drives nuts when trying to get
information.

The pay is outstanding.

The job is in a bigger city - but still close enough to the desert to be
do-able. ( I have decided I don't ever want to live away from the desert.)
Culture would once again be my friend.

Like the symphony and art museums and intimate coffee shops and bookstores
would be available...close by and not two hours away.

The pay is outstanding.

I could dress like a girl more often. Get rid of the baseball cap and khaki
pants as a work uniform. And I wouldn't have to shoot girl's volleyball any
more.

And did I mention, the pay is outstanding.

Choices to be made. Make a real living. Have more frequent dental
check-ups. Pay off the credit cards. BUY A CAR WITH AIR CONDITIONING! New
adventures. New people to meet. More responsibility. A grown-up job. New
adventures!

Or...

Stay where I am welcome at everything. Where folks tell me how much they
like my work - or not. Where the mayor hugs me despite a negative story or
two by an overzealous reporter. Where the police chief inquires to my state
of mind (remember that little spate of depression a while back?) Where for
the first time in a many a long year I feel as if I belong.

But where I am bored silly when things are slow. But also where I am
allowed creative freedom to shoot and write on a variety of topics.

I don't want to be an old lady on this small town gig - hobbling up and
down a football field trying to capture the action, yelling "You go sonny!"
in a quavering voice.

But it's safe.

So a blank page - the rest of one's life - or at least the foreseeable future.

Lara Hartley May 28, 2000

"Passion is the source of our finest moments.
The joy of love... the clarity of hatred....the ecstasy of grief."

-Angelus

Behind the Viewfinder - A Year in the Life of Photojournalism
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