Time and a River

Field Notes II.XLV: Photographing Easley's Mill over a three year span

Welcome to Field Notes!

Time is such a strange concept. It is measured so very precisely and consistently. At one end of the spectrum we tally eons and count the lifespan of stars. At the other end we fracture seconds into imperceptibly small shards, each with the power to alter a life. Somewhere in between lies the time frame of a human, measured sometimes in years and at others in heartbeats per minute.

While the measurement of time is precise, our experience of time is wildly variable. Time seem suspended in the good times, and they end before we realize their time has passed. When the doldrums arrive the gap between seconds spreads endlessly. During critical incidents every moment decelerates and we can perceive events in slow motion, but when we find focus in a flow state time zips by unnoticed. The inconsistency is enough to make one question reality.

I’ve been feeling these inconsistencies of time more as I grow older. Years compress in retrospect. Some days drag by, but there never seems to be enough of them. Then, I look at some of my co-workers and realize they are less than half of my age. Is that possible? Years last… an entire year. How have mine gone by so quickly?

The other day, on a quiet Sunday morning, I photographed a small cascade along the North Oconee River. It is a place called Easley’s Mill because, as I’m sure you guessed, a mill once stood there. Now its ruins and rubble form a watercourse for the otherwise languid river.

I realized while photographing it that this is the third November in a row that I have taken a picture of this spot. Looking now at each image, I can vividly recall taking it, though the years in between them seem to blur.

The autumn of 2022 was an interesting time. I had been working an incredibly tedious office job for three years. Three years in which time was stretched like putty by monotony. It was time for a change, and I transferred back to working on the road at the end of summer.

I saw the world outside with new eyes for a long time after that. I brought my camera with me and explored the nooks and crannies of the areas around me, where I have lived for more than 20 years. This is how I discovered Easley’s Mill, a hidden gem near the heart of town. In the early morning hours of November 1, I took the photograph below. I liked this image so much that I made a large print of it on metal, which now hangs on my wall.

A year passed. I’m sure it had all of the major events that each of our years contain. More so. It was a turbulent year. But now that I look at the photo below, the time between it and the previous one has vanished. I remember clearly that this was a wet November and this was my second attempt.

I had been anticipating photographing Easley’s Mill again. However, the first time I photographed it in early November 2023 I just did not capture what I wanted. I returned on November 22 and took this photo. The air was damp and I shivered as I watched the high water flow. I walked gingerly on the ruddy wet sycamore leaves covering slick rocks beneath to take this different composition, with a segment of the cascade framed between two trees.

Another year and November comes again. This year has been very dry. I don’t believe we had any rain at all in the month of October and the water flow at Easley’s Mill this November shows it.

Time is such a strange thing. Each of these images is just a moment of time, filled with a year’s worth of moments between them. A year’s worth of impressions and influences, stresses and triumphs. All of these moments work to shape both a river and a person. The river, just like the one observing it, changes over time. And yet, in these successive photographs of a place over time, each moment is frozen, stretched to eternity, while the intervening spans are abridged. The change is apparent, but not the life lived in between.

Objective time is a constant. A second will always be a second, a year a year, and we can add them into millennia that are measurable but can never be experienced.

What about subjective time? Our experience of a lifespan? I honestly don’t know where this train of thought concludes, but I do know that we have the tools of memory and of focusing on the present moment. We just might be able to use them to gain some control of our perceptions and help guide the flow of our own river of time.

How are you guys feeling the flow of time? Have you been involved in a project that developed over the course of years? Three years isn’t that long, in the grand scheme, but its long enough to feel the weight of it. Let me hear your thoughts and experiences-

Its that time of year- we’re counting down 2024 in weeks instead of months! Time for my 2025 calendar! I chose some of my favorite images, mostly from this year, but a couple from last year, to highlight each month.

The calendar is 11x8.5 inches and wire bound. It comes in at about $25 + shipping, depending on your location. You might recognize many of these photos from past issues of Field Notes. It might also make a great gift for anyone who loves the outdoors. Any purchase goes directly to support my work and is much appreciated! Get it here-

Are you getting something out of Field Notes? Help me make it better! You can do this by sharing, subscribing, or supporting with a paid subscription.

By the way, I’m still offering this PDF ebook to any subscriber to Field Notes, but I’ve encountered a technical problem that I haven’t been able to resolve with Substack. If you can’t download it from the Welcome email you receive, just reply to the email and let me know. I’ll send you a link to it in Google Drive.

Store