a.d. elliott - Take the Back Roads

Dear Henry, I decided to go for another day trip pilgrimage, this time to the Shrine of Our Lady of the Ozarks in Winslow, Arkansas. The shrine is located alongside Highway 71 near the top of Mount Gaylor.  The parish began in the early 1940s after two women, Ann Gulliott and Elizabeth Sublett, tired of traveling to either Fort Smith or Fayetteville, Arkansas for mass, petitioned to establish a parish for the rural area of the Boston mountains. The building site was offered to the diocese by Clara Muxen, a retired nun and teacher, after she had raised the money to purchase an abandoned gas station. The first mass of the new parish was said on October 25, 1942, by Father Lawrence Schaefer, who traveled in from St. Joseph's parish Tontitown Arkansas.  The church itself wouldn't be built until 1945, with its official dedication by Bishop John Morris occurring on August 25, 1946, although the parish's first resident priest, Father Francis Matkin, arrived in January 1944

Dear Henry, Have you noticed that pain isn't ever represented as something beautiful? Pain is something that we run away from and hide from. We try, unsuccessfully, to carve it out of our lives and it is always portrayed as something disfigured, something ugly. It took the study of water for me to see how incorrect those beliefs are. Water has always enthralled me. I love to swim, I love to find hidden springs and water flowing over bluffs and I absolutely love to photograph it. Seeking out beautiful waterfalls and peaceful lakes to contemplate and shoot has gotten me through some of the toughest moments of my life. That's because water is amazing. Did you realize, that all of the water currently on the earth has been here pretty much since the beginning of the earth itself?  And, did you realize that with the constant cycle of evaporation and rainfall that a single drop of water has, by now, circumnavigated the globe millions of times over the millennia? Water

Dear Henry, Have you ever heard of the little porcelain figurines called Precious Moments? The other day, while looking for a road trip I could tackle with all of the current COVID restrictions, I stumbled across information about the Precious Moments Chapel, a mere hour away. I really wasn't sure what that was, but it sounded interesting. I had vague memories of Precious Moments, the doe-eyed figurines that were really popular in the 80s. I had somehow connected these figurines with the overdone 80s style, floofy weddings and expected this road trip to be an adventure in kitsch and nostalgia. I even qued the Wedding Singer soundtrack up for the drive there. I was so wrong. The Precious Moments figurines are designed by the artist Samuel J. Butcher, and while, yes, they enjoyed a period of immense popularity during the 1980s, they aren't trivial and floofy. The figurines are angels, and the chapel he built is a prayer. I ended up going on an accidental pilgrimage.

Dear Henry, Have you ever felt like your story was just way too much, and so you chose never to tell it? Fish and I suffer from that scenario, and most of the time, we won't tell our story. Lately, though, because of the (obvious) physical limitations imposed by my accident , I have been asking many questions about how I handle chronic pain and PTSD because, most flatteringly, people seem to think I manage my conditions well. Unfortunately, it is complicated to talk about "just" the issues I have from that one tragedy because, really, there has been far more than that. I will try to be brief. Fish and I both had extremely challenging parents. Fish's story isn't mine to tell, and I will leave the story of my childhood to my parents' public records (I would never be able to run for Congress; the media would tear my parents to shreds). I will only mention that this was a hard taint for both of us to overcome. Terrible parents rarely teach appropriate

Dear Henry, Years ago, back when I first started taking pictures, I heard an urban legend about the ghost town of Lucin and I was determined to check it out. Lucin Utah is in a barren and deserted northwest corner of Utah near the equally barren and deserted border of Nevada.  Its heyday occurred in the early 1900s, during the period of steam engines and when rail was the preferred method of long-distance travel.  Lucin was a water stop for the Central and Southern Pacific Railroads and when steam engines were phased out, the town died.  It was completely resident free until 1997 when it was purchased by the Soviet defector Ivo Zdarsky, and from what I gather he really doesn't stay out there much at all. The stark beauty of Utah's West desert is something to behold, however, and when I heard (unsubstantiated) that the town of Lucin had a standing phone booth, I decided this was something I had to get a picture of. So Fish drove me 200 miles outside of Salt