Vineland cover Tattoo

[Lindsay Smith]

The photograph was probably taken in Washington State in the early 1900's.
I could find out exactly if anyone is interested.  The below is from the
Whatcom Museums web site at:
http://www.cob.org/cobweb/museum/archives/kinsey.htm    (Edited somewhat
for brevity.)

Back to lurking

Lindsay


Darius and Tabitha Kinsey were a remarkable husband and wife photographic
team whose partnership began in Whatcom County in 1896. With Darius taking
photographs in the field and Tabitha developing prints in the darkroom, the
partnership continued for 50 years, capturing images of Northwest
landscapes, town life, portraits, and various industries.

Kinsey saw the woods as a great cathedral; the feathery grain of tree bark,
dappled forest light, the sheen on a locomotive and the grime on a logger's
shirt are all visible in amazing detail and give the viewer an immediate
sense of the atmosphere of the virgin forest.

For Kinsey, finding the perfect shot sometimes meant dodging avalanches,
crossing crevasses and jumping over rattlesnakes. On family outings, he was
known to jump out of the car on a moment's notice, set up his equipment on
the
shoulder of the road or disappear up a trail.


The Photographs
The Kinsey photographs were not intended as works of art but as records of
the people, places and industries of the time.

Among his most popular prints are scenes from all phases of the logging
industry, from the first cut of a giant cedar, to the skid roads, saw
mills, lumber yards and finally to the shipping ports.

Other subjects include transportation: oxen, steam locomotives, different
stages of train trestle construction, and architecture: churches, hotels,
cottages, bridges and dams. Kinsey also took photos of Northwest natives.
In these beautiful portraits, Kinsey captured every line, hair and blemish
of his subjects.

His love for the outdoors led him to photograph mountains, glaciers,
rivers, waterfalls, grasslands and prairies.

But Kinsey not only covered the Northwest with his camera; he also
photographed famous sites around the nation, including Yosemite,
Yellowstone, the Garden of the Gods in Colorado and Golden Gate Park in San
Francisco.

The Life of the Kinseys

Kinsey was born in Maryville, Missouri on July 23, 1869. The son of a
carpenter and horse trader, he spent his formative years in the
Missouri-Kansas area and came west with his older brother Alfred to
Snoqualmie, Washington, at the age of 20. The rest of the family came later
and built the Mt. Si Hotel at that site.

A photo studio in Snoqualmie drew the curiosity of young Kinsey and, in
1890, he bought his first 6 1/2 x 8 1/2 camera. After taking camera lessons
from a Mrs. Spalding in Seattle, he was in business.

In 1906, the Kinseys moved their business to Seattle. Kinsey decided he
would no longer take studio portraits but instead focused on the logging
industries and scenic views of the Northwest. Tabitha continued to develop
negatives and make
prints, which were then sent back to the logging camps to be sold to the
loggers at a cost of 50 cents to $1.50 a picture.

A fall from a stump in 1940 ended Kinsey's fifty-year career as
photographer. Kinsey died in 1945; his wife surviving him until 1963. Both
are buried at Nooksack along with other members of the Pritts family.


>JBFRAME at aol.com wrote:
>
>> May be wrong, but I always thought it was clear-cutting in Northern
>> California.
>>
>> jbf
>
>Yes, clear-cut, take a ride in "the bad Ninjamobile" along "the great
>Ventua"
>....the smell of distant fireworks, the spilled, the broken world."
>VL.266-267
>
>and Zoyd dreaming of Frenesi and a Television gig to bring her Home:
>
>The Wind Cries Mary
>
>   After all the jacks are in their boxes
>   and the clowns have all gone to bed
>   You can hear happiness staggering on down the street
>   footsteps dressed in red
>   And the wind whispers Mary
>
>   A broom is drearily sweeping
>   up the broken pieces of yesterdays life
>   Somewhere a queen is weeping
>   Somewhere a king has no wife
>   And the wind, it cries Mary
>
>   The traffic lights, they turn, uh, blue tomorrow
>   and shine their emptiness down on my bed
>   The tiny island sags down stream
>   'cause the life that lived is,
>   is dead
>   And the wind screams Mary
>
>   Uh-will the wind ever remember
>   the names it has blow in the past?
>   And with this crutch, its old age, and its wisdom
>   it whispers no, this will be the last
>   And the wind cries Mary
>
>
>Terrance van Winkle