Crossroads
by
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At first I cannot comprehend the significance of what I am witnessing. A man appears in the frame as it comes into focus, and his story unfolds before me. I see him standing in a poorly lit garage, the sole source of light coming from a naked bulb hanging from the cored above. He is a big man, tall in stature with a broad chest and wide shoulders. His muscular arms are clothed in a dark blue flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing brawny forearms. Everything about this man feels powerful and strong. He is someone you would turn to for guidance and support. At this particular moment, however, he looks devastated and hopeless. His posture is slightly hunched as he stands over a well-used workbench; a thin layer of sawdust covers not only the bench but everything else in its path. Tools of all shapes and sizes line up along the wall. The fresh pine smell fills the room as he cuts the wood for his project. Underneath the workbench, a small beat-up electric heater illuminates the area, putting out as much heat as possible. The man picks up a brown piece of sandpaper; its grainy surface catches the yellow light and glistens for a moment, shining with brilliance foreign to the shabby garage. With the care and precision of a man half his age, he sands the wood. I can feel the intensity of his actions, and see the loving detail he puts into his work. I can hear his shallow breath turn to ragged gasps as he fights to smother his inner emotions. It seems like hours have passed when I witness the long-awaited release. From the wall in front of him, he reaches for the chisel resting on the two rusty nails that hold it in place. He starts to carve a cursive letter into the wood as the tears gather slowly, hesitating. Each blink forces the tears out and away down his checks. Never once lifting a hand to wipe them away, he lets them slide down his weathered face. Each of the tears eventually falls to the floor the pine-wood dust swallows them up. The man is not ashamed to cry; he accepts the tears as they flow. Time slows as I watch him work. He lovingly wipes all of the sawdust from his project when the carving is complete. His movements are slow and methodical, letting me know he never wants to let go. There is a certain determination in his stance; nothing is going to stop him from completing his project. The muscles in his arms flex as he lifts the heavy, yet delicate creation. His winces as he carries it from the workbench to the pickup truck parked in the driveway. The project he stated a few days ago is now complete.
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About the Book
My camera weighs heavily around my neck. I walk around the structure looking for the best angle, making sure the sun’s glare will not distort the picture. …
As I bring the camera into focus, I see something I didn't expect to see. Startled by the sheer power of what had been evading both my lens and my mind, I start to see images of how this object came to be, and why it is here …
At first I cannot comprehend the significance of what I am witnessing. A man appears in the frame as it comes into focus, and his story unfolds before me. I see him standing in a poorly lit garage, the sole source of light coming from a naked bulb hanging from the cord above. He is a big man, tall in stature with a broad chest and wide shoulders. His muscular arms are clothed in a dark blue flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing brawny forearms. Everything about this man feels powerful and strong. This is someone you would turn to for guidance and support. At this particular moment, however, he looks devastated and hopeless.
In August 2003, Shana Duty gave up the comforts of her home and the security of her job for the opportunity to travel the United States with her husband, Coner, a long-haul truck driver.
When Shana embarked on her journey in an 18-wheeler, she had no idea that the highways would hold such a poignant story. Armed with a camera she bought at a local flea market, Shana began capturing the world that sped past the windshield—listening while the roads spoke to her. One day while Coner parked the truck on the shoulder of I-25 just outside of Albuquerque, New Mexico, Shana began photographing a wooden structure on a median when suddenly a man appeared in the frame. As his story—both tragic and inspirational—slowly unfolded before Shana, she soon realized that living on the road with Coner was becoming an eye-opening experience that she would never forget.
What Shana saw that day changed her life forever. It was only after Shana returned home that life turned full circle and she vowed to share what she witnessed in the middle of a highway median with the rest of the world. This is her Crossroads.
About the Author
Shana Duty traveled all over the United States with her husband while nurturing her photography hobby. With encouragement from her husband, she turned her hobby into a profession. Now widowed, she lives in Texas with her dog, Little Boy. This is her first book.