Day 77: My maternal grandfather was a photographer in the days of glass plates and hand-tints, and sometimes I find a scene which begs to be treated in the same way. Eatonville's Mill Pond is one of those locations, although I would have liked to include the old sawdust burner which once stood just north of the pond. It blew over in a windstorm a decade or so ago, and while most of the newer residents of the area thought of it as an eyesore and bade good riddance to it, there were a few of us who mourned it as the passing of an old friend. I can recall when, as a child travelling with my parents from the east side of the mountains, its deliciously scary bulk would dominate the night, glowing red with internal fire and spitting sparks through its mesh canopy. It was one of three we passed on our way from Yakima, and if I was asleep, my father would wake me to see each one. Unfortunately, I lost the opportunity to photograph it before it collapsed. The best I can do now is imagine how my grandfather might have portrayed it in a hand-tint.
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