what do a plane crash, home soap-making, and spanish conquest all have in common? oddly enough, these seemingly unrelated occurrences, separated by time and space, all coalesced at the end of last month into what was, for eileen and me, one very unusual weekend. it began on thursday, october 22, at approximately 11:20 a.m. eileen and i were running a little behind, stuffing the last of our luggage and camera gear into the trunk of our honda civic. the hour had arrived for our much anticipated trip to jacksonville, fla., where we would shoot a portrait session for eileen’s cousin michael and his wife samantha. since the drive to florida isn’t one we can make very often, we were turning the shoot into an extended weekend, visiting with michael and sam, as well as with our littlest china-doll-of-a-cousin faith elizabeth and her parents, our tito jody and tita mila.

now comes the unpleasant part of the story. (if you’re reading the blog today to escape the horrors of your newspaper, please skip ahead to “the happy part of the story.”)

we hadn’t been on the road for three minutes when i began to see flashing lights. police cars. at first it was just one, tearing out of the police department adjacent to the tiny airport a mile from our house, leaving a cloud of dust behind it. i pulled over to let it pass, then got back on the road — not for long this time. it was a second car, then a third, sirens blaring. more cars followed. i lost count. as we approached the bypass, even more police were coming from the highway, along with fire rescue trucks. i was trying to imagine what kind of event could possibly be unfolding. a high speed chase? an attack on the university campus? i had never seen such a large emergency response in our little college town. the journalist in me awoke, and i finally convinced eileen to let me follow my nose to the scene of the — well, whatever it was.

we pulled into an empty driveway across the street from a legion of emergency vehicles, all lighting up a quiet neighborhood like las vegas. i jumped out of the car, locked and loaded my cameras, and speed-walked toward the first wide-eyed bystanders i saw. “do you know what happened?” i asked.

“i just heard a noise,” the woman said. “but they’re sayin’ a plane went down behind those houses.” she pointed to the row of one-story homes across the street.

i crossed, jogged through the flashing lights and past an empty ambulance. officers had already strung yellow tape around a large block of several houses. i approached an officer interviewing a witness. “do you know what happened?”

“plane crash,” he said flatly.

“is there anywhere you can get a good view of it?”

“dunno,” he said, and walked away. a lot of officers were walking the street. few looked very busy. apparently, there was sadly not much to be done at that point.

i decided to try my luck with the police major on the scene. “is there anyone who can take me across the police tape to take some photos for the paper?”

“no,” he said.

“is there anywhere i can get a better line of sight onto the crash?” i asked. if i had known where that question would ultimately lead me, i might not have asked at all.

“i don’t know. you’re not crossing that tape. maybe you can see it from the other side of the houses.” he shrugged, pointed down the sidewalk, then turned away.

i just walked up and down the sidewalk for a few minutes, standing on my toes and craning my neck for a view. nothing. no way into the fenced yards. then one of the neighbors waved in my direction. he had just pulled into his driveway and asked what was going on. i explained, and he told me i might be able to see into the other yards from behind his house. i thanked him, and he led me back.

he pointed me toward the heavy underbrush that lined his backyard. i moved forward just a few yards, grappling with my cameras and pushing back vines. i looked ahead to see if there was any end to the thorns in sight. no, still lots of thorns ahead — and something else. something like a fallen tree, but dark, painted. it felt like several seconds before i processed what i was looking at. my eyes moved across the dark log until it merged into more metal rising from the forest floor. a vintage japanese airplane loomed over me, nose-down in the dirt.

i stood silently for a moment. then three officers appeared behind the aircraft’s bent wing. my hands were shaking; so i steadied myself against a tree and shot two frames. the camera’s shutter snapped. “hey, what are you doing there!?”  the officers had seen me. i hadn’t exactly been trying to hide. they were shouting orders now.

“what are you doing!? i told you…” it was the major. “you! get out of here now. i said go!” barked an officer with him. “freeze! don’t move. you’re under arrest,” yelled the second one simultaneously. at that point, i was pretty perplexed. i had never been told “you’re under arrest” before, and i certainly had never been told it while being ordered “get out” at the same time. i didn’t know what to do; so i just kinda waddled in place like a lame duck. i learned something that day about lame duck waddling: police officers don’t like it — or at least not when you do it in place.

the first officer ran toward me, yelling. “stop! give me those cameras!” i was stunned. i hadn’t done anything wrong. didn’t cross any yellow tape. didn’t trespass on anyone’s property. didn’t get closer than 10 yards to the crash — and even that was hugely unintentional. this was america, darn it! not china! what about freedom of the press!? even the investigation of an accident scene is supposed to be open to public scrutiny! everything i learned in journalism and constitutional law classes told me i should refuse to surrender my property to unlawful seizure. but the gun on his belt told me otherwise. so i mustered up what guts i could and in a shrill voice begged, “can’t i just give you the memory cards and keep my cameras?” he looked at me like i was speaking another language. then he took my cameras.

they took me back to their flashing lights, got my information and made me erase the contents of my cameras in front of them. they spoke more politely after that, explaining that they don’t want the victims’ families to find out about the tragedy the wrong way — like from the newspaper. i apologized for interrupting their important work and sincerely meant it. but i was also perturbed at their misconduct. since when did police have the right to censor information they think people shouldn’t know yet. i understood their adrenaline was flowing, and i appreciated their concern for the families’ feelings. thankfully, though, police aren’t the only ones who can handle information sensitively and ethically. the u.s. constitution gives that right to the people in the form of a free press — and for good reason. also thankfully, i was able to unscramble all those 1’s and 0’s from my memory cards and salvage most of my photos of the wreckage. here‘s one just before the police nabbed me.

now, off my journalist’s soapbox and on to…

the happy part of the story:

once safe and sound in jacksonville, we had the best time with our floridian family! of course, as in every good filipino home, we were welcomed with food — lots of it. tita mila makes the world’s best pot roast, hands down. in fact, on the car trip down, tita mila made the mistake of telling eileen over the phone about her pot roast dinner plans. the result was eileen squealing in loud delight and i nearly driving off the road in horror. we were also inspired by michael and sam’s new hobby of hand-making soap at home. the process isn’t too difficult, and the results are really cool! we’re now enjoying some very fresh-smelling strawberry and cucumber melon soap (two distinct bars of soap, not mixed together) they gave us. they’ve even branded their creations “hands and feet soap,” along with an awesome logo with a handprint and footprint — the negative space between the two forms a heart shape. so clever! most of the weekend we spent playing with our adorable cousin, faith elizabeth. if she were royalty (and she practically is, as often as she plays at disney princesses), she would be queen elizabeth the brilliant. this girl can read, write, greet you in seven languages, and carry on conversation with adults, all at the tender age of three! and she’s the happiest, best behaved kid i’ve ever met. (way to go tita jody and tita mila.)

saturday was the shoot. and we couldn’t have been more excited that michael and sam chose to use nearby, historic st. augustine. all the stone of the spanish fortress lent a very romantic background, and inspired us to pull out the lights for some really dramatic shots, as you’ll see at the bottom. the heat in st. augustine was a shock to the system after leaving georgia in cold october. but these two were great sports (especially sam, who tramped around in heels all day, walking much further than we do on our normal shoots), and they really worked the camera well together!

how to avoid cannonball wound: do NOT stand directly in front of a cannon. (how true that is.)

we fell in love with this enormous tree we found in the courtyard of an historic presbyterian church. i’ve also fallen in love with this image; her gaze really seems to tell a story.

vanity fair called. they want their models back.

yet another example of what great sports these two were. the top of the fortress wall was absolutely the best texture to shoot against. it was also the most uncomfortable surface possible — the spaniards’ version of a bed of nails. but michael and sam sucked it up and lay down on the jagged seashell-encrusted wall, all in the name of art. the results were worth it! (easy for me to say.) 😉

big shout out to tito jody, our favorite assistant photographer who helped out tremendously with the shoot! thanks!

and to sam and michael — thanks for being so photogenic! (not to mention all the hiking around in the heat.) we always have a blast with y’all. we had a great weekend with everyone! (all except the speeding ticket on the way home. yeah, that’s the “automobiles” part of the title.) we miss you already. come visit soon!