Y. Hope Osborn
Little Rock, AR
Expressing imagination and reality that captivates, inspires, and/or informs while enriching lives
MessageCollection: Bayou Bartholomew
Bayou Bartholomew is the world's longest bayou, trailing from Pine Bluff, Arkansas, US down through Louisiana for over 350 miles. According to Encyclopedia of Arkansas, during its 400-known-years history, it was a major trade route for the Delta. I only found out about it through a tip-off from a local who knew I was in Pine Bluff to photograph old buildings such as the Saenger Theatre that is a tale for another time.
For a town that needs all the rejuvenating support it can get, Bayou Bartholomew, must be the one of their most amazing best kept secrets, though here you trekked through brush, bog, and branch.
The next morning well before dawn's light, I was behind the building, going through a gate in a chain link fence, and making my way by sense of direction while trying to use my small flashlight aimed only at my feet for fall risks and truly boggy water (shoes were still soaked before I got there) based on seeing a tiny curve on the minutia on a rough map. Seeing a curve in the water, I knew I traced my steps away from the day before with nothing other than my sense of direction, I would get to the bayou at a spot where the golden hour might shine over Bartholomew. I didn't really know if there was anything to see, but I did find myself in the exact curve of waterway I expected, taking photographs with unusual and unconventional results.
No sign of the seven heavy bodies that splashed in the water while it was still dark. I kept my flashlight on a swivel and stuck a sturdy stick in the ground, not that either mattered considering I sat two feet from the water's edge. I did have the passing thought, Yeah, this would be a good place to murder me and no one ever find me.
My God, this must be close to what an Amazonian jungle is like with lush grass and trees and a orchestral cacophony of birdsong. I found my green on green summer landscape to practice summer photos on as well as learned history, practiced topography and astronomy, and simple ole American exploration. It was truly as someone said, "Magical."
For a town that needs all the rejuvenating support it can get, Bayou Bartholomew, must be the one of their most amazing best kept secrets, though here you trekked through brush, bog, and branch.
The next morning well before dawn's light, I was behind the building, going through a gate in a chain link fence, and making my way by sense of direction while trying to use my small flashlight aimed only at my feet for fall risks and truly boggy water (shoes were still soaked before I got there) based on seeing a tiny curve on the minutia on a rough map. Seeing a curve in the water, I knew I traced my steps away from the day before with nothing other than my sense of direction, I would get to the bayou at a spot where the golden hour might shine over Bartholomew. I didn't really know if there was anything to see, but I did find myself in the exact curve of waterway I expected, taking photographs with unusual and unconventional results.
No sign of the seven heavy bodies that splashed in the water while it was still dark. I kept my flashlight on a swivel and stuck a sturdy stick in the ground, not that either mattered considering I sat two feet from the water's edge. I did have the passing thought, Yeah, this would be a good place to murder me and no one ever find me.
My God, this must be close to what an Amazonian jungle is like with lush grass and trees and a orchestral cacophony of birdsong. I found my green on green summer landscape to practice summer photos on as well as learned history, practiced topography and astronomy, and simple ole American exploration. It was truly as someone said, "Magical."
