A clouded door

As I was going through Timm's digital archives yesterday afternoon, I revisited some shots he took in March that were obviously for a commercial job: all of them are titled "Medford" with some additional description. He did work for a number of the small towns around Salem - Medford, Silverton, Canby. I'm going to guess it was for a visitor's guide which the town had contracted with Mount Angel Publishing for.

The weather for these pictures was not ideal for photography - cloudy, dark, wet. I wonder how much of Timm's aspirations were squandered by Oregon's frequently bad weather. Now that I think of it, most of Timm's "keepers" were in sunny weather, when the lighting was best. We have of Timm what remains on film; so much of what could have been said by him must have been lost when the weather didn't permit a good picture, when his camera stayed in its bag. Well, it's not like we've been cheated, really - there are probably two or three thousand photos in his slide and digital archives - but there must be a poorly-lit background or periphery which must be far, far larger. For all of the words I have committed to paper or computer, most of my life didn't make it that far.

* * *

I've only been to Oregon twice; the first time was in autumn 1995 for Timm's wedding to Mik, and the second last April after he passed away. Perhaps fittingly the weather was fair and October-bright for his wedding, swirly and dark for his memorial. We just missed some truly remarkable spring weather; the weekend before Timm died he took photos on weather that was clear and blue and sparkling. But by the time I flew in on April 19 all had clouded over. The five days we were there it was cold and wet, the latest winter temperatures had lingered in the state, with this massive fists of cloud strolling fast over the terrain, in from the Pacific Ocean. It rained, it sleeted, it hailed, it snowed, with temps in the mid 30s to low 40's for much of the time.

The pictures in this post, which Timm took the previous month, capture the surliness of that weather - foreboding, perhaps, Timm's death, or at least imaging well the Oregon I remember the second time around. Like that afternoon we drove through Salem on the way to the funeral home, admiring all the trees in blossom and red and yellow tulips fisting up blossoms in front yards, when suddenly it turned dark and darker and hail begin tumbling down in a total whiteout, bouncing off car roofs and covering all in a sudden white carpet. And then, minutes later, it stopped and cleared, the sun came out gleaming meltingly over all, and then suddenly again, clouds rolled over again.

The pulse of Pacific weather as I recall for those days was big and fast and wild - so different from the hot sallow swelter of Florida. It was a big part of Timm's life, not so much captured on film but there in his melancholy and moodiness and restlessness. Not long before he died Timm told Mom that he was finally giving up on Oregon's wet weather and was considering moving to someplace warm - not Florida but something even more apolar, like Cozumel or Belize. Timm seemed to love the geographic extremes.

But he didn't quite make it out of Oregon.

I don't know why these pictures so caught my eye yesterday. Here in Florida, in late July, it is infernally hot every day and then the storms stroll in, building high and higher in seabreeze fronts which march in across the state from either coast. Maybe they make feel storm-harrowed the way these pictures suggest. Our old calico cat Zooey hasn't eaten for two days, is very weak, cries at the door to be let out; we think she wants to go off to die. We were both up last night at different times with her, petting her, trying to console her, get her to eat; it's been a long night. We plan to take her to the vet this morning where she will probably be put down. Maybe auguries of death have this sort of heavy cloudiness to them, the swirl of the dark unknown, chilling and sad. Maybe all future doors are dark on this side, before we have passed through them.

RIP Zooey, ?? - August 1, 2008