As a family we had been spending our summers on a lake in Indiana for three generations (four including my brothers and me), and I remember my dad saying that when his grandfather used to take him fishing on the lake, there were no speedboats, no noisy Jet Skis, and almost no homes on the lake. But that all changed, and my dad began to realize that the only reason our family was still on this lake was because he’d grown up there. We were there for tradition. His grandfather had been there because it was a beautiful and peaceful place at the time.

Sunday mornings are special to me because I don't have to wake early and get the kids off to school. It's the day I break my routine of going to the gym before work. My Sunday-morning routine is to wake up before everyone else in the household, sit here in my studio in the "model's" chair, and just think. It's nice and quiet, and I can look out over the property to enjoy the golden morning light.

As I was driving to the airport and rushing to catch a plane, my father sent me a text that said, “I’m going to come to your Plein Air Convention. I want to see what you do.” I was blown away. My dad was going to take his time and money to get on a plane and fly across the U.S., in order to be supportive of his son.

I feel like one of the luckiest men alive. I knew and spent time with my grandparents as an adult and had all four for many years into adulthood. Three out of four lived into their mid-90s, which is a strong indicator of good genes. I’m also blessed to have both of my parents, and they remain active, mentally alert, and very engaged. In fact, my dad flew out to the Plein Air Convention by himself and hung out with us for a couple of days before he went on a photo expedition. He wanted to see what his kid does for a living and be supportive. I’ve got a great dad and mom who support me.

This morning as I sit here on the back porch, I’m watching a mama sparrow bringing food to her babies in a nest tucked into the rafters of our porch. The little birds are learning to fly. I’m watching them hop from the nest to the blades of our ceiling fan and then on to the branches of the stately oaks in the back yard. As they jump, they first fall before they engage their wings, which then propel them to the next branch. If they forget to use their wings, which they do from time to time, they hit the ground, then shake it off, hop to a branch, and start over. Birds learn like we all learn. Trial and error.