I have travelled widely since graduating in 1992. Australia, Cambodia, India, Namibia, Philipines, United States of America, are just a few of the countries I’ve visited – and no, I don’t work in in the airline industry.

What hails from far away, we say in Dutch, is nicer. And so I thought too, until I ‘discovered’ the Greek isles of the Cyclades in 2002, a mere three hours flying from home. I am smitten with the area, and always look forward to returning and spending some time overthere…

Every island, whether large or small, is special and has unique features that sets it apart from it’s neighbours. This also goes for Milos, the biggest island in the Cyclades, and, incidentally, the location where the French unearthed the Venus of Milo – loosing the statue’s arms whilst transporting it to the Louvre (or so it is said.)

Milosians are a proud people who haven’t sold out to tourism, primarily because the extraction of rare volcanic minerals has sustained the island’s economy in such a way that people haven’t had to leave for Athens on the mainland or places even farther away in search of a living. And they really do have the right to be proud! Crystal clear water surrounds the horseshoe-shaped island and wherever you go wonderful and very colourful rock formations can be seen. The island’s flora and fauna is unique and even boasts a venomous snake: the vipera lebetina. In plain English: levantine or blunt-nosed viper.

Whilst strolling on one of Milos’s beautiful beaches, I noticed this small piece of driftwood, picked it up and, on arriving back at the hotel, presented it to the hotel manager, whose habit it is to decorate the walls of the hotel’s open air corridors with very artistic groupings of driftwood, shells, ropes, etcetera.

On being presented my gift, the hotel manager immediately said: “What a beautiful piece of driftwood, it reminds me of our indigineous snake…” and with no further ado set about fabricating the typical snake tongue out of a toothpick. When he was done, his eight years old son contributed some little stones, and I took this picture. So there you have it: the simple story of how to acquire a happy Greek holiday memory!

Idsert Joukes

Ft. Dickerson is one of the earthen Civil War (Union) forts still remaining in Knoxville, TN. It overlooked the city, was intended to defend Knoxville from Confederate forces holed up near the river, and did repulse the Confederate Cavalry forces of General Joseph Wheeler in November 1863.

That said, it’s also the beginning of a romance. . .

A good friend of mine decided to take me on a Civil War tour around Knoxville. He’s a huge Civil War fan and I didn’t know much about it–my historical interest lying on the other side of the ocean. I was new to Knoxville and he thought it would be a good way to introduce me to both the city and it’s history.

We spent a wonderful day following the path the Confederates traveled, visiting their headquarters at Bleak House and finishing the day here, at Ft. Dickerson.

Six months later that friend and I were married and I’ve considered this site to be the beginning of our romance ever since.

(This photo is of one of the cannons on the rampart of the fort, and was taken 27 July 2003.)

Medb (Knoxville, TN, USA)

I had other, better photos to write about, but I found myself going back again and again to this one. It’s blurry, the lighting isn’t right, the doorframe is in the shot… you’ll just have to trust me that this scene was much more aesthetically pleasing at that moment in real life. My husband George was folding things in our bedroom as I walked past: clothes, sheets, towels. We were getting ready to move out of our apartment into our first house. Well, technically you could call it my second house, since I lived in a house with my parents before; for George it would be the fourteenth.

George was born in Budapest, Hungary. Both his father and his mother are architects, and his father owns a contracting company. His family would move into the beautiful new houses they had designed and built, then sell the house after a year or so; they also rented apartments in the city. By the time he came to the U.S. as a 12th grade exchange student, he had lived in thirteen different places, none of which had ever lasted long enough to be “home.” He remembers multiple streets, multiple houses, multiple neighbors, multiple cats. This was a completely alien idea to me; there is only one house in my childhood memories. I remember always looking at the same spot from my bedroom attic window to find Orion in the sky. He never moved.

George and I had been dating for just a week when he moved out of the college dorm for the summer. Being here on a student visa, he was only allowed to work on campus and part time; his minimum wage income was barely enough to rent a small, shabby apartment in a building near the dorm. George had to scrub the walls, floors, and counters, even fumigate for cockroaches when he first moved in. He kept it clean and was never less than grateful for his borrowed possesions: a mattress on the floor, a clock radio, a phone, a few dishes and silverware, and an old TV with three local stations. Clothes and books were the only things he had brought from home. His family was not poor:

“We just moved so much,” he explained, “I never had the chance to keep unnecessary things.”

Five summers later, George and I bought our first house. He used to joke that Hungary was not his home anymore, but America didn’t feel like home yet either, “so I must be somewhere out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.” Now the word “home” brings to his mind the image of a specific house on a specific street, a specific cat and a very specific wife. He has come a long way from Budapest and from that first apartment. As for me, I found Orion from our new house’s windows (he still hasn’t moved). George and I made our home here, together. And we won’t have to pack moving boxes again for a long time.

Melissa (Ohio, USA)

It is dark and snowing lightly. The temperature is exactly at freezing. I hear the sounds of the sirens of ambulances and the barking of the neighbor’s dogs as someone approaches. They become louder and then fade away.

Now it’s silent. I’ve been sick all weekend with the flu and my eyes feel heavy, and burn and I should really be resting.

At the end of the weekend, when I should be feeling better but I’m not; I’m feeling reflective and I want to think about better things. So to distract myself I take up my camera to take a few pictures.

I have some wonderful dried seahorses. And from time to time I take pictures of them as studies. There seems to be an infinite number of images hidden in their light, dry bodies.

One of the seahorses I bought in the Chinese herbal medicine store. The storekeeper kept her little boy at the store and he got to play amongst all the marvelous things, most of which I could not even identify, that they sold there.

She was very friendly and wrapped up my seahorse in brown paper. And I took it home, away from the small wooden box that it shared with dozens of other dried bodies of seahorses and away from the little store that swirled with strange, medicinal smells.

I use my camera to yet again to peel away more images from my dried seahorses; this time taking distorted photographs through pieces of rippled glass.

I remember as a little boy reading about seahorses. I lived thousands of kilometers away from the ocean. I’d had never seen it, but I would walk to a small nearby library and take a picture book of the ocean from off its shelves and amongst the smells of dust and stale paper I would imagine the smells of the sea, and the lives of the strange animals that lived in it.

The seahorses in the books were not dried up skeletons, but lived amongst the seaweed and were decorated with splendid colors and chased the small animals that were their food. They played and mated and lived until they were caught by the fisherman that sold them to aquariums and pet stores to get money for food, strong liquor and to repair their boats.

You see, anything is possible, especially when it is dark and one’s imagination is strong and particularly when one longs for warm seaweed smelling air and the dark ocean with its rhythmic, soothing waves.

The dried seahorse that I am photographing becomes alive in the reflections and refractions of the rippled glass. The diagonal streaks of light that shine through the glass become forests of seaweed that are its home.

Finally, I put my camera down and fall asleep dreaming of warm waves that are paradoxically full of life and full of peace.

The End.

Dale Hudjik (Edmonton, Canada)

I was walking through sagebrush and sand, picking over pinion cones looking for pine nuts. My friend was with me, but he was a long way off. I had a little tiny advantix camera with me which was getting sticky from the sap. I was continually coming across these odd traces of people here before me; last week or last month or last year. This object hanging from a tree was riddled with bullet dents. I don’t know what it was. It looked as if it belonged there though it clearly didn’t. I wonder if the people who placed that target and shot those craters into it knew that they were making something really striking, at least to my eye. I wish now that I had removed it from the tree and taken it with me. Somehow, at the time, that felt like stealing.

Walking away from that spot, I went off to explore some rocky outcropping. I walked around the back side of it and looked down to see a goat which had been killed. It seemed to be partially burned. A rock circle surrounded it. I guessed it was some sort of sacrifice. I also guessed that the people who were responsible had little knowledge of what they were doing. Still, it gave me a sinking feeling and a sense of dread about the place. I left that spot and headed for sunshine instead of shadow, but not before thinking seriously about taking a picture of the goat. Disgust finally won out.

I went in search of my friend. I needed company after being so chilled. As I walked, I saw the bottles and cans strewn all about; some new, some old and rusted red. This place was just a hundred yards or so from the road, with lots of rocks which hid you from sight. A clear picture of the mayhem which happened here frequently began to form in my head. Everything I had seen described in my mind inebriation and gunfire and ignorance run rampant.

I thought of how the land seemed to absorb the human leavings. The cans turn the color of the dirt and the hapless goat is now a peaceful pile of bones. The target in the tree could still be swaying in the breeze as if it had grown there. I hope it is. It is testament to natures ability to carry on in spite of…us.

Steven Wolf (Reno, NV, USA)

This is my son five years ago. We were participating in the FIRST Regional Robotics Competition in Ypsilanti, Michigan, the first for both of us. Steve’s mentor had asked him to install some parts for the control system. My wife snapped this picture as he got to work. The shot captures Steve, our team’s robot, and a small glimpse of the other activity in the pit area. In this picture I see trust, opportunity, confidence, concentration, skill, and much more. Just another moment in what for thousands of us is an awesome experience year after year.

As an engineer and mentor this picture captures the essence of the FIRST robotics competition. The acronym is “For Inspiration and Recognition of Science and Technology”. The goals include creating a demand from students for more and better technical education. We hope to help change a society from one that honors primarily entertainers and athletes to one that also recognizes the importance of those who improve our lives. The experience of getting to know engineers and other mentors on professional and personal levels gives students a great introduction to the possibilities of engineering and other technical disciplines. The program is growing every year, with over 900 teams this year.

Part of what makes this picture special to me is it being my son, part of our team which we help start. He’s working on our robot which we helped build from an assortment of parts and raw materials. It seemed natural that he would be the one to do this task. After all, he helped wire and program the robot. The trust shown by the engineers and the team was a great gift to my son. His confident attitude and willingness to try new things were encouraged and strengthened by such trust and opportunities. During his involvement with the team Steve confidently talked with engineers, business leaders, and congressmen. He became a team leader and helped recruit teachers and new sponsors. The skills and confidence gained are helping him do great things in his life.

Scenes like this don’t seem unusual to me anymore, but they are to most of the world. This picture brings to mind hundreds of similar moments I’ve witnessed since then. When I look at this picture, I remember all the sights and sounds of competition. I remember the gracious professionalism, the challenges, the fun, the friendships, the exhaustion, and everything else that I’ve experienced in FIRST. I hope for a future when scenes like this are commonplace to most of the population, just as familiar as the student athlete or musician.

Steve has moved on to college now, and I’ve moved on to helping another team. As I get ready for our next competition, I look at this picture, remember where we started, and dream about where this program is taking all of us. Then I start thinking about how we can do more to help some students on programming, presentations, making parts, etc. I think about how we can help start a new team or do things better next time. And so it continues.

Mark Pierce (Grandville, MI, USA)

At the time I made this image, I had approached photography with some deliberateness and seriousness for about a year-and-a-half. Most of my pictures were taken on the fly, capturing images from my everyday travels, but not in any sort of documentary or slice-of-life way. This shot was different because the circumstances in which I encountered the elements were different and because I specifically set about to create, or find, those circumstances

I am a lazy guy. I like to sleep in. My wife forced me to get out of bed before sunrise and take a walk with her down the road out of town. She did this to encourage me to grow as a photographer. We skirted along this golf course as the sun came up. Looking off to my right, I saw the frost encrusted fairway and something about the gentle, perfect curves of the course drew me in. As the sun rose, the rise grew more and more saturated with early morning light. This made all the difference.

Technically, I am still familiarizing myself with the controls of my camera. I frequently use the macro-mode crutch for obtaining good depth of field and pushing the background well out of focus. I laid down in the dead, frost-coated grass and set the camera down on a mini-tripod to steady it. I don’t recall thinking about the exposure, but I suppose that was set by the spot meter when I set the focal point with a half-press of the shutter. I still have a hard time keeping all the technical aspects straight in my head while I focus on composing the shot in the LCD or viewfinder.

Ultimately, I dislike talking or writing about my own photography. I want my images to speak for themselves, to invite a viewer to investigate them inch by inch and to find something new on each successive viewing.

Todd Walker (New York, USA)

After a pleasant day of walking around the zoo together, my guest and I headed out to Pacific Beach. We were to meet some friends of mine at a beachfront restaurant for dinner.

As we walked up to the restaurant, I snapped this picture.

I was happy to be introducing my friends to one another. All are people whose company I enjoy a great deal. I had more than a sneaking suspicion that they’d all get along. Good, intelligent people tend to mix nicely.

On the other hand, I was also quite sad. This was the last evening of my guest’s visit. I’d had a wonderful time with him. The conversation was fantastic, the laughter was frequent, and the opportunity to do so many touristy things was a lot of fun. Another thing was that my home suddenly felt full again. It felt warmer somehow. His presence breathed new life into the rooms that had recently seemed devoid of any pleasant feelings.

I was going to miss my guest. He’s a good friend and would always be welcome in my home – wherever it may be. It was hard to know that our time together was coming to a close.

The dinner was a rousing success and we continued the evening with some drinks at a bar down the street. It was a lovely way to end a pleasant day.

And that evening seemed to be a catalyst for the true beginning of what has become friendships that have grown stronger over the last couple of weeks.

This photo will remind me of that moment when I felt so sad over one friend’s impending departure, and the joy and warmth with which I’d been embraced by my other friends since that evening. One ending created a new beginning. Kind of like each sunset leads to the rise of the sun again the next morning.

Da Goddess (San Diego, CA, USA)

I won a photo challenge with this picture. Maybe because of its depth of field, maybe it was the composition or the color or lighting, maybe all of the above, maybe none of the above, I don’t know, but when I look a this photo I see none of that. What really comes to my mind first is what these balls have done and do and are still doing to make people happy.

These aren’t ordinary run of the mill bingo balls. These balls live in a nursing home where I work. If you look closely you can see they are worn and old. Im not sure they even make wooden bingo balls anymore, most Ive seen are made of plastic, like ping-pong balls. These have the look of time worn fun about them.

Every Saturday, these balls are taken out of the dark and croweded closet and put into the spinning basket where they shine, if only for that one day a week.. and so do the faces of the old folks who play bingo on that day. The room grows quiet as everyone listens to the mellow tumbling sound of the balls spinning. Then, with baited breath they all wait for the black painted number chosen to be called out. B-4… and then mumbles and giggles and sighs and the process starts again.

Most of the balls look old and worn out and probably wouldn’t be given a second thought if passed by on the street, just like the people who use them every Saturday, but despite their appereance they can bring great joy and some excitement to a few that play bingo every weekend there at the home.

Tudy Flansburg (Utica, NY, USA)

I don’t recall what age I was exactly, and I’m not sure where the picture was taken (I also have the nagging suspicion that my Uncle Bill took it not my Dad) but this picture is about so much more than the fleeting moment it captures.

My parents got our dog, my dog, shortly after I was born. Sintra, named after a small town in Portugal, was my companion for 13 years. We played together, ran in parks, splashed and paddled in lochs, rivers and burns, and even survived the noisy, wailing, curious little thing my Mum brought home from the hospital one day.

It’s an odd thing, the bond between a dog and its owners, and especially between a dog and a boy. Difficult to explain to anyone who has never had a dog, but akin to a brotherhood (despite the fact Sintra was a lady) and made all the stronger because essentially we grew up together, sharing the trials and tribulations of childhood; The great lipstick cookie experiment, or the shared disgrace of traipsing mud through the house (again). When we were both young we shared many characteristics, curious to a fault, easily excitable and loved having our tummies tickled. Actually, come to think of it, not much has changed for me… I digress.

For us Sintra was part of the family, and so we accommodated and compromised where required, putting up with that wet dog smell when she’d gone for a swim,m,olidays confined to the UK, or taking her for a walk in the rain, none were a hardship as she was always bounding around like a puppy at the excitement of it all, especially the intoxicating mystery that was “going for a W-A-L-K”. She was someone to race round the garden, someone to play football with, and someone to hug and talk to when you’d been bad. She was a great listener and she didn’t even mind if you ate her dog biscuits.

Ahhh memories of autumn walks in the surrounding hills, the leaves clinging to branches, the wind refreshing never cold, and a golden coated retriever bounding ahead, disappearing round the corner of the path to a chorus of frantic cries “Get back here!”, then reappearing from behind us only to stop suddenly to check out something VERY interesting under that old rotting log.

She was no angel, frequently sneaking cakes and biscuits off the coffee table when she thought no-one was looking, and as she grew gracefully older lost her exuberance but gained so much character. She was a wise old lady who knew what she wanted out of life and it certainly wasn’t to hare off chasing a stick, no matter how much coaxing the person who threw it gave her. No she liked a walk, a paddle, and a lie-down. A simple life. A dog’s life indeed. She always knew when to leave you alone, and when to wander over and bump her nose into your lap, looking up at you as if to say “it’s OK, we’ll get through it”.

She was part of the family, there is no doubt about that, and I probably see my relation with her through fairly thick rose coloured spectacles but she is remembered fondly and often missed.

So, to the person that said: “You can choose your friends but you can’t choose your relatives” I offer this:

“Acquiring a dog, may be the only time a person gets to choose a relative.”

Gordon McLean (Hamilton, Glasgow)