“Yeah.”
“Hi, Shelby. This is Heather fromWild Horizon Magazine.”
“Yes, hi. How are you?” I asked, carefully keeping out any sign of panic from my tone. I had been very optimistic about this opportunity before I realized how terrible a photographer I was.
“I see that you’re interested in applying for the photographer opening?”
“Yes,” I said, proud of my voice not wavering.
“Great. The company has decided to open it up to new applicants. Along with the application and resume, we’ll need eight to ten nature photographs taken by you and printed to an 11x14 size. The pictures should be in our office by August 10th, so be sure to get them to the post office with enough time. Our team will then review the images, and if we find a photographer we’re interested in, we’ll call them back for an interview.”
Even though I was convinced I might never be ready for a photography position at this level, I now had almost two months to practice and hone my skills. That had to count for something.
“Is this something you’d be interested in?” Heather asked after a moment.
“Yes,” I said, finding my voice. “Absolutely. I’d love to apply.”
“Great. Do you have any questions?”
“Are there any restrictions on the types of photographs you’re looking for?”
“Animals and landscapes are what we’re looking for. You can have people in some of the images, but make sure they’re not the main focus. We want images that tell a story. We also want them only lightly edited. I’m talking just enhancing the colors with the slightest hand. We want them to look as natural and stunning on their own as possible. And if you don’t get this position, we are still happy to have you work as our office manager. How does all of this sound?”
After giving Heather another resounding yes, I hung up the phone. She’d be sending me the official email later this morningwith more detailed instructions on where to print and mail the pictures and how to apply.
“Who was that?” Jake asked as he blew bubbles for Sophie.
After I filled Jake in, he gave me a high five.
“When did you get into photography?”
“A few years ago. I found an old camera of my mom’s in the basement. I love it, but I’ve been doing portrait photography for a few years, and I’m worried I might be terrible at landscape.” I proceeded to tell him about my excursion earlier that morning.
He shrugged. “You know how to practice. I’m guessing most photographers don’t nail every shot on the first try.”
“No. But there was a moose and a baby, and the fact that I messed up those pictures might haunt my dreams.”
“You’ll get it next time,” Jake said as he tickled Sophie before picking her up, squealing, over his shoulder. “I’ve got to get this little runt over to Kelsey’s. See you for fishing!”
I watched him go.
Even though I had given Jake grief about our practice last night, he was right. Nobody knew better than I did about what practice could do for a person. Of course, my style of practice before now had been of the basketball-court variety and less of the shirtless-men type. Jake had sprung a lot of things on me in a short span of time, but I woke up with a feeling that if he tried it again tonight, I’d be more ready for him.
Between flirting practice and photography practice, the next month might be pretty busy. But who knew? By the end of summer, there was an exciting possibility that I could soon be a photographer at a respected national magazine and perhaps become someone…dateable.
Watch out, Boise.
The fresh,mountain air filled my soul as well as my lungs as I stood on a ledge next to the Salmon River, camera in my hands, later that day. I snapped a few pictures, sans people, of the river carving its way down the mountain. Pine and deciduous trees lined the banks, and a busy otter showed off his diving skills across the river. I adjusted my stance and brought the camera once more to my eye, this time zooming in on the delightful scene of three female cousins, ages ranging from eighteen to twenty-two and each of them ogling every part of Cowboy Jake while he casually and charmingly taught them the ropes of fly fishing.
The tallest brunette, who looked to be maybe twenty and completely out of place wearing waders and knee-high rubber boots on a river, sidled up beside Jake, throwing a confused expression on her face until Jake stood behind her and showed her the correct snap of her wrist needed to throw her line. The obvious ploy, combined with Jake’s oblivious attitude, had me choking back a laugh.
For all Jake thought he knew about dating and flirting, he seemed pretty clueless about the scene playing out right in front of him.
Jake caught my attention and waved me over. I snapped a few more pictures of the crew before stepping off my perch to join them once more. I hadn’t been planning to fish when we set out on this afternoon’s excursion, but Jake had insisted I throw on a pair of waders and rubber boots over the top of my chino shorts and t-shirt. And I was already glad he had. My feet remained dry as I maneuvered through the water toward Jake.
By the time I reached him, Jake had set the three women up with their own poles and spaced them all farther down the river.
Away from him.