September 13, 2021 — It started during the Halloween snow last year. On October 30, the various weather misers got confused and the winter one threw an inch of white atop the dead brown leaves. My first reaction was to panic because I couldn’t remember how the snowblower worked or where my winter coat was. My wife Lindsey immediately cut two holes in a sheet and pushed our oldest daughter out into the cold to take photos. Like she had personally submitted the request for snow and had this idea planned for a while.
And then she just kept making ghosts. All winter. Using children (which we have a pretty good supply of), sheets and blankets (less so), and either the cold landscapes or our yard and the forest behind it or the cozier parts inside our house.
She ended up with a series of eerie, beautiful ghost photos. She posted a few on Insta, we had one printed and hung in our library, she sold a few, and then she just stopped. As mysteriously as she started. Didn’t give a reason, even when I asked. Just one day I didn’t arrive home to our children shivering over a mug of hot chocolate while surrounded by piles of hole-pocked linen.
Her ghost phase was over.
Like it had only been something to pass a winter.
But I stick even my worst content online for digital posterity, so I wasn’t going to let her get away with burying some of her best. I’ve gathered them all here on this page like I’m F. Murray Abraham in Thirteen Ghosts.
Enjoy her ghosts.
And then she just kept making ghosts. All winter. Using children (which we have a pretty good supply of), sheets and blankets (less so), and either the cold landscapes or our yard and the forest behind it or the cozier parts inside our house.
She ended up with a series of eerie, beautiful ghost photos. She posted a few on Insta, we had one printed and hung in our library, she sold a few, and then she just stopped. As mysteriously as she started. Didn’t give a reason, even when I asked. Just one day I didn’t arrive home to our children shivering over a mug of hot chocolate while surrounded by piles of hole-pocked linen.
Her ghost phase was over.
Like it had only been something to pass a winter.
But I stick even my worst content online for digital posterity, so I wasn’t going to let her get away with burying some of her best. I’ve gathered them all here on this page like I’m F. Murray Abraham in Thirteen Ghosts.
Enjoy her ghosts.
