A Trip to Sackrider Hill

Little Marcus was excited. It had snowed so much during the night that his school day was canceled. Whenever there were snow days, Marcus and his friends all knew where they'd end up; Sackrider Hill.

On snowdays, Sackrider Hill was full of kids with toboggans, sleds, saucers, trashcan lids, shovels, and anything else they could use as a ride to whiz down what seemed like a mountain. Marcus was excited to sled, which was one of his favorite winter activities, but he was even more excited in the hopes that Emily Struble was going to be there.


Emily Struble: a cute, curly blonde haired princess that all the boys in school, including Marcus, had crushes on. It was easy to see why. She was as sweet as any darling you've ever met and she was nice to everyone, even the boys and girls that not many kids liked. When she smiled, you'd think she was the happiest girl in the world. It was contagious. She was contagious, and Marcus had caught the bug.

"Mom!!! Can you take me to Sackrider Hill today?!"

"Well, I have to take care of some things right now," Marcus' mom responded, "but around noon I can."

"Yes!!!" Marcus shouted. He ran to get his snow clothes on.

"Honey, don't get dressed yet it's only nine in the morning!" his mother shouted, but to no avail. Marcus was in the zone.

Marcus loved his mom. When people said the word 'family', Marcus thought of only one person; his mother. Marcus had never met his dad, he had left before he was born. He didn't have any brothers or sisters either. When other kids would talk about doing things.with their dad or brothers, Marcus wondered what that would be like. His mom was his everything.

When they arrived to the hill, Marcus quickly spotted a group of his friends. As he kissed his mom goodbye, she informed him she'd be back in about an hour to pick him up.

"Okay mom!" he shouted back as he began his trek up the hill to catch up to his buddies.

When his mother returned, she didn't see him anywhere. The hill was rather large, and as she scanned its side, she began to spot some of his friend's familiar faces, but no Marcus. She decided to park the car and go searching on foot.  As she walked around, she finally spotted a little ball of a boy, all alone, near some pricker bushes who was shaped an awfully lot like Marcus

"Hey buddy, what are you doing?" she asked as she got closer to him.

"Nothing."

He was breaking little sticks and throwing them at his boots.

"I wanna go." he said.

His mother hesitatingly agreed. It was clear something was wrong, but no matter how much she asked him about it, he kept responding in the negative with one-liners like 'no' or 'nothing'.

What she didn't know was that while Marcus had been playing with a couple of his buddies at the hill, he had spotted Emily. She looked cuter than ever with her purple knitted hat pushing down her beautiful yellow curls. Marcus couldn't wait to go up to talk to her. Then it happened. Billy Walker, one of Marcus' best friends, went right up to Emily Struble and kissed her on the cheek. How could he do that?! Marcus was crushed. He knew that Billy knew that he liked her, but he did it anyway! Right in front of him! It was the ultimate back-stabbing. From that point on, Marcus had run and hid in the briers.

When they got home, Marcus went to his room and closed the door. He had so much rage inside him. He started punching his pillow, pretending it was Billy. Then he started to cry. He cried for a while, which finally made him fall asleep.

When his mother called for dinner, Marcus didn't even want to get out of bed. He was lying motionless, staring at the ceiling.

"Marcus! Get out here, dinner's ready!"

Marcus slowly sulked down the hall to the dinner table.

"Honey what's the matter? You haven't been your usual self since you went sledding."

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing now tell me. Did something happen?"

"No! Leave me alone."

"Marcus I'm not going to leave you alone I'm your mother. Now what happened?"

"Shut up! I don't want to talk about it!" Marcus ran back to his room and slammed the door.

Marcus had never said 'shut up' to his mom before. He felt bad for it. But ya know what he thought, she wouldn't leave me alone! He tried not to think about it. He didn't want to think about any of it. He wished today had never happened.

Marcus' mom opened his door and told him to come back out for dinner. "You don't have a choice." She said.

"Fine," he responded and walked down the hallway to his seat at the table

As they ate, all that was heard was the clink of their forks hitting the plates. She had made a ham, mashed potatoes, green beans, and dinner rolls. This was her favorite meal from when she was a kid. She's never been able to make it quite like her mother did, but she had passed away a few years prior and so any hope of some sort of secret recipe was lost.

Marcus finally broke the silence with, "These beans are nasty."

His mother turned and looked at him. He felt her eyes on him, but she wasn't saying anything. He finally looked back at her.

"What?" he said defensively.

She said nothing; just continued looking at him, one eyelid slightly lower than the other.

"What?!" he said more forcefully and with a child's bad attitude.

The silence was worse than anything she could say. It was driving him mad. He put his fork down on his plate.

"Can I go to my room?!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, how about you do that." she responded calmly. He walked off and silence took over the house.

Marcus had already gotten ready for bed by the time his mother came to tuck him in. She walked in peacefully and sat near his bed. A short pause lingered.

"Honey. Why are you acting this way?" she said quietly.

"I saw Billy kiss Emily right on the cheek! I hate him so much! He knows how much I like her and he didn't even care! I never want to see either of them again."

Marcus had held back his tears as he spoke, but when he finished he let out a heavy sigh. Then silence once again took the room.

"...Marcus, do you know what day it is today?"

Marcus was caught off guard.

"..Uh... no. What?"

"Today is my birthday." his mother said softly.

Guilt swept over Marcus like a cold chill. How could he have forgotten? His mind flashed back to how they had celebrated her birthday last year. They had both gotten dressed up and went out to a really fancy restaurant. Marcus hated getting dressed up and thought the food was horrible, but it didn't matter because it was her birthday and so she got to pick. Then they went to a movie that Marcus thought was so boring, but at least they were together. Marcus slowly began to cry, only this time, it grew into a weep. He forgot about the situation at Sackrider Hill. All he could think about was how terrible he had treated his mom, and on her birthday no less.

"Mom, I'm so sorry!!" he managed to speak through his tears.

"Honey! Come here," she said as she pulled him in to hug her. "I forgive you."

His crying got slightly heavier, than slowly began to subside. They held their embrace.

"Marcus I want to tell you something."

"Yeah?" he said still sniffling.

"When you don't forgive someone for something they've done to you, it's like a little thorn grows around your heart, and the longer they go unforgiven, the more that that thorn grows, and the more other thorns grow with it. Then when someone wants to get close to your heart, instead of feeling love, they just get poked. And sometimes, it's really hard to forgive people for what they did to you. But you know what? Jesus forgave you and me. He took those thorns that you put around your heart and he was nailed to a tree with them so that we don't have to have them anymore. So the next time you're having trouble forgiving someone, you need to ask Jesus to help you okay?"

Marcus asked his mom to pray with him to help him forgive Billy.

After their prayer, Marcus said, "Mom. I'm sorry for saying shut up to you."

"I forgive you," she said.

The cross at the top of Sackrider Hill, Grass Lake, Michigan.

My Mother's Father; a Valentine's Day Tribute

I never met my mother's father. He died October 8, 1984, just a short three years before I was born. It's interesting having a relative that most all of my family knew and loved, yet I never did. My view of who he was is based entirely on the experiences others had with him. Well... not entirely.

A while back, my diligent and meticulous Aunt Gail made a very well crafted and detailed book of the history of my mother's side of the family. Contained in this book are biographies, pictures, and even hand written letters of both my grandmother's and grandfather's. You see in the early 1940's, my grandpa was in Douglas, Georgia, in pilot training for the United States Army Air Force, and the closest thing to a text message back then, was to send a letter via snail-mail. We thankfully now have many of the letters my grandfather sent back and forth with his newly-wed wife (my grandmother). How romantic right?

So since it is Valentines Day and all, I decided to do a little online tribute to the grandpa I never met, who seems to have been quite the ladies man and gentleman.


Meet John DeWitt Kishpaugh, my grandpa.

Handsome no? To me this looks like some scene right out of a Nicholas Sparks novel.

Heading off to the Army Air Force

On his way with the Army down to Nashville, John wrote the following letter home to his parents:


Sunday Night 10/25/1942 at 8:20 P.M


      First experience on a train accounts for some of this writing. This is a swinging, swaying, son of a so-and-so. We are making fast time though. At this rate we'll be in Nashville before morning. The boys are sure a swell bunch of fellows. What few officers I've seen are real pleasant and will tell you anything you want to know. Food was swell - Milk - potatoes - roast pork - peach pie - string beans - tomato juice - I couldn't muggle the string beans.

All my love, DeWitt

I couldn't muggle the string beans. Don't you love that line?! I need to start using words like muggle. 

Grandpa with his Army plane. No wonder he had so much fun flying those! Looks great.

And what's a man in the Army without a woman at home to write to? Meet M. Joyce Powell Kishpaugh, my grandma:

Ow ow grandma! Certainly this had to have been a red dress. What a beauty.

Here's an example of one letter from John to Joyce:

       So you're wearing Gloria's formal. Bet it looks like a gunny sack - or are you getting that large?

I'm afraid I've been neglecting my writing duties lately but I'm sure you'll forgive me after this itemized account of my poker playing. Now I have about $200.00 I have won in the last two weeks. Kiss me honey! I'll send you a little at a time so in case a letter gets lost it wont be too much. 

      No more news except I love you and that isn't news anymore - put up with it again anyway I love you DeWitt P.S. I love you. J.D.K.

Now I see where I get my style!  First he comments on if she's getting large, then he showers her with 'I love you's. And yes, he really said P.S. I love you.

In one letter from Joyce back to John, grandma writes a nice and lovely letter as you'd expect a grandma to, then signs off with this:

      Be good, daddy, until I see you again, and then don't be. I love you sweetheart -

                                                                                                                        Mommy

Geesh! I feel sorta guilty reading that! But then again, how else would I be here? (Besides, I bet when writing this, she was unaware that her future grandson would blog about it.)

Then, the following happened as dictated by my Aunt Gail:

      With only about four weeks remaining in his flight training, on June 29th, 1943, John DeWitt Kishpaugh and his squadron were in the air for gunnery practice. The weather was terrible and visibility very poor. The control tower transmitted the instructions for all planes to return to base except Kishpaugh, who would make one more pass over the target area. Another pilot heard only part of that message and thought he might as well make one more pass over the target since it would be clear. Neither pilot saw the other plane as they collided. The other plane lost a wing and the pilot immediately bailed out to safety. John's plane suffered damage to the canopy and the controls. He was able to maintain some form of flight as he assessed the situation. As it became apparent he could not safely land the craft, he jotted this note on the envelope of his flight orders and tucked it inside his flight jacket.

Dear Joyce - This chute is going to open O.K. - But if it shouldn't I love you and see you later.

      The decision made, several factors went into play. If he let go of the controls, the plane would nose over to the right; since the canopy had been crushed he had only a 12-14 inch hole to squeeze his 6 ft 1 in. frame with parachute out of; there were many jagged tears to catch at his clothing and chute; and the slipstream held him against the damaged aircraft. Once outside the airplane, he was reaching back in to the controls while still attempting to free himself and push away, when suddenly all decision was made for him as his small chute opened, immediately followed by the main chute. He was jerked away, back over the plane's tail wing, which he later said sounded like a buzz saw as it took off his left leg. He was conscious all during the descent and held his hands tightly around his injured leg to stop the flow of blood, though his right arm was injured also. The wind was turbulent and he was tossed about, still hearing his plane circling around him part of the way down.

      As he broke through the cloud cover he could see he was coming down in a small orchard behind a farmhouse. The farmer, a sailor passing by and another man got to him quickly. The farmer and the other man made a chair-cradle with their arms and carried him to the farmer's car. The farmer drove at frightening speed to the hospital eight miles away, burning up the car's engine, which had been low on oil. The sailor sat in the front attempting to keep his white uniform clean. When John asked for a cigarette, the sailor lit one up and proceeded to smoke it himself. Perhaps that's why John left him with a remembrance of the occasion, a bloody hand-print on his shoulder. The squadron later took up a collection to pay for a new engine. 

Grandpa took the next few months to recover in a veterans hospital. His U.S. Army Air Force days were over. He went on to live a long, happy life here in Michigan, raising four girls, and living in love with my grandma until the day he died. 

Happy Valentines Day.

Dear Grandpa,

      I love you and I haven't even met you. I hope you're doing well with grandma up in heaven. I'm sure you're playing a lot of golf and the sun is always shining. And I bet you're running on two legs too! I look forward to the day when I get to join you up there. Until then, how about you send me a good one like grandma my way. O.K. I love you and see you later!

-Gabe

The Right Woman Could Turn Any Man Into a Poet

I've taken what I believe is the best picture I've ever taken hands down.

I'd very much like to hear your opinion on it. Very much. HOWEVER! Before you scroll to the bottom of this post to see it, you MUST read the story. Yes it's somewhat lengthy, but come on. What better do you have to do? Hawk on some random persons Facebook? That's what I thought. Okay now no cheating!

Please. Enjoy.



The other day I was tutoring in the Center, my workplace at Jackson Community College. I was thoroughly enjoying my in depth movie discussion with Kim, when I was so rudely interrupted to be told that I had a chemistry student there for me to tutor. Ugh. Actual work.

"Okay, I'll be right there" I said just trying to buy some time to think of some elaborate excuse as to why I couldn't help this student at the moment.

 Argh. Just get your lazy butt up and help them. It's what you're paid to do you vagabond!


Fine! I say to myself, but it better be a cute girl! I retorted only half jokingly.


As my interrupter pointed out who it was I was to tutor, I immediately forgot any possible reason why I could have ever wanted to do anything but help this student with whatever she needed. Yes... she. And what a she!

The first thing I noticed was her hair. You know the women with black hair that might have a little streak of bright purple or green in it for accents sake? This was like that, only I'm sure I have never seen these colors until I saw them on her. Wow! One streak of bright translucent teal, and then another of a subtle pink, each perfectly complimenting the next. It was like this girl invented a new rainbow and adorned her crown with it. Yet it truly was subtle, it didn't jump out at you. Instead, it just grazed your senses lovingly and beckoned you to come closer. I was struck! I had hardly said hello before immediately complimenting her on it, maybe even out of place, but I couldn't help it. By the time my eyes made it down to hers, I felt I might melt. Behind a pair of sleek, pink polka-dotted glasses were two of the biggest, most beautifully shaped eyes I've ever seen. This was not some American-hot Victoria's Secret model that I had mistakenly stumbled upon. Rather in major contrast to that, this was an Artists masterpiece. This was a sculpture crafted by The Creator Himself. This was Eve. And it was good.

I know what you're probably thinking. Great. Gabe's off the deep end for the next chick again. But this is where it's actually pretty strange. It wasn't that I had this overwhelming feeling of attraction for her like I've commonly felt for so many other girls. It wasn't a romantic, love-at-first-sight encounter. Maybe it's the fact that I'm getting older and can recognize alternate forms of relationships with the opposite sex. Or maybe it was the fact (please hold your laughter) that she had a kid with her. I truly don't think it was that however! Truly! I mean sure there was a little attraction for this girl, but mostly it was just an awe striking appreciation for her raw and individual beauty. It's hard to explain, which points me towards... well... my point.

Stick with me here, I promise I'm going somewhere with this.

So eventually she leaves and I can't wait to dote with my peers about how gorgeous this walking artwork I just worked with was. I run to my friend working the front desk.

"Did you see that girl I was tutoring over there?!"

"Yea!" she says in her lighthearted manor, "Her daughter was so cute."

"Yeah yeah, she was. But did you see her? You know, the gorgeous hair, and the amazing eyes?"

"Uhh... I guess I missed that."

What?! How could you miss that?! Okay whatever, you're a girl. I've gotta find someone like minded.


I quietly poll my trusted few in the room only to seemingly find that I'm the only one who saw the grand canyon of beautiful women walk out only moments before. I mean, they saw her. But none of them... saw her.

My poor broken heart. I was all alone in my wonder. What's catching a glimpse of an angel if you have no one to share it with? No one can verify that you're even sane! It's like hitting a hole-in-one on the golf course all by yourself. You might as well not even tell anyone. Might as well just have skipped the course and gone fishing...

...And sitting there, alone in my glory, that's exactly what I felt like. A fish. A fish out of water. And not that fresh fish out of water either, but the one that's been sitting on the dock for way too long and might flop around once or twice, but mostly just moves its mouth open and closed. Yea... that fish.

So I glance over. Robert? The one person I didn't ask. Eh, what do I have to lose?

"Hey Robert, did you see that girl that I was tutoring over there?"

"Yea, the dark haired one with the glasses?"

I perk up. "Yea, yea, that's the one. What'd you think of her?"

"Oh my God she was beautiful."

"Yes!!! I know right?!"

"She walked in and I didn't quite notice her at first, but then I caught a real glimpse and man! She's the kind of beautiful where she wakes up and she's already beautiful!"

"YESSSS!!!! That's excactly what I've been trying to say!!!"

AHHHHH. It felt so good. He saw exactly what I saw. There was no way I could explain it to anyone, but the fact that he just understood perfectly what I experienced was priceless.

So what the heck does any of this have to do with photography?!

you know, since this is a photography blog and all. Well dear, please allow me to reel myself in.

As I stated earlier, I have taken what I believe to be is the best photograph that I've ever taken. Just like the woman from my story, this photograph captures something that I find so hauntingly exquisite, and yet, I just can't explain. There's something so perfect about it. So beautiful. And yet, many people gloss right over it. It received 0 likes and 0 comments despite its lengthy stay on Facebook. I've shown it to a lot of people, to which most reply, "Uhh... okay... so?" And like many of my peers whom I originally polled regarding the beautiful woman, most people just flat out miss this picture. They don't see it.

And I don't blame them. There's no way I can explain why this picture is good. I've tried and failed. So really there's nothing else to say but to show you the picture and let you judge for yourself. If you look at this picture and say, "Hmmm. Okay." then be encouraged, you're like most people. I'm putting it up for a few reasons. One, to laugh at how different human opinions can be, and celebrate that. Two, to show you what I believe is the pinnacle of my work. And three, that maybe... just maybe... there are some Roberts out there who just get it. And they love it. Maybe it will bring you the same sense of escape and wonder it has brought me. 

So without further adieu, scroll down. 

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