128 years after the Spanish and Portuguese got things rolling over here in America a bunch of English folks decided to get in on the action. 290 years after that, I followed suit.
With plans to photograph the site of our nations founding at sunrise, symbolism and whatnot, I arrived in Plymouth somewhere between way-to-early, and 4am. Upon arrival I remembered a life lesson I have long since known, which is that no matter how early you rise, you will not get out-and-about before either old people, or fog. This morning I was bested by fog.
The Pilgrims sailed a ship called the Mayflower in hopes of finding religious freedom; I drove a vehicle called a van in hopes of finding a little financial security. Those are kind of the same thing right?
About 50 yards away from the reproduced ship is the rock itself.
Looking down at the walled in stone, fighting to get Malcolm X quotes out of my head, I realized that history is best learned through experience, rather than theory. So I went for it.
Appreciating that oft debated historical piece of geology, I recalled a forgotten principle of physics. Two hundred Sixty pounds goes down, much easier than it goes up. Standing at the bottom of that walled in pit, I mused that those who “break with convention” as I had cannot exactly call for help. While pondering upon this I realized that our fore-fathers, who discarded their native lands religious regulations, had done just that. They asked for help! Maybe I could do the same.
Driving on to my next locale I pondered if we can ever know how things really were in the past, just as a reader can never really know if my tale is fiction or not. My story is written, I have photographs, yet still, there is room for debate.
All I have to say, is no one not cast in bronze was there to see me, so my word is all you have.