I finally got the boy to go walking with me last night. It’s the only form of exercise I can kind of, maybe, if I’m lucky, get him to do. Night is falling earlier and earlier here in our corner of Southwestern Ohio, with dusk now hovering just after 7 p.m. With twilight already upon us, we forewent our usual nature park for a jaunt across the Purple People Bridge to Sawyer Point and back. When I bought the Canon DSLR, I knew that Brandon assumed it would go the way of the digital video camera I just had to have last year and have yet to take a single video with. But I think even he has been surprised by the use I’ve gotten out of the new camera in the few short weeks I’ve had it. I took it along on our walk last night and captured a few night shots of our city’s beautiful skyline.

Note to self: Next time bring a tripod.

It couldn’t have been a more perfect day to cover a story at Alms Park yesterday — warm, golden rays rippled on the river beneath a sky of the clearest azure blue. Alms Park is one of Cincinnati’s forgotten gems of a park — it’s small and while quaint and charming in its own right, lacks the grandiosity of its neighbor, Ault Park. To get to Alms Park, you must first travel through an area of Columbia-Tusculum known as the Rainbow District for the brightly-colored Grand Ladies dotting the hillsides. I snapped a few extra shots while I was in the area.
Alms Park:

Columbia-Tusculum:

I went out to New Richmond today for a story and saw the most gorgeous dollhouse and cottage garden. Oh, to have a white picket fence…

A local fire department offered a mini-media fire academy to a group of my company’s writers and photojournalists. The official explanation given to our editors for missing more than a half-day of work is that we would be better able to report on emergency situations if we better understood the job itself. Unofficially, dressing up in turnout gear, sawing sedans into convertibles and crawling in a controlled 600-degree burn situation sure beats sitting in a cubicle being hounded by voice messages and emails. Here are some photos from the day:

Strapping on an air tank

Me vandalizing a car

Me and co-reporter Shauna (I’m on the right) using the jaws of life to cut apart a car. The spreader tool weighs 75 pounds!

Better angle shot of us using the spread tool to pop open the rear door

The result? A new convertible!

Because nobody looks good after sweltering in too-big thermal turnout gear for three hours.

I was the only one of our group to have even an iota of experience in this kind of work. I was in two Fire Explorer groups as a teen, where I got to legally help burn down houses and scale the sides of buildings. I had my own turnout gear and regularly rode with local departments and later, after getting my EMT certification, with Cincinnati. So, when our firefighter instructors would call for volunteers, I’d look around, see everyone shuffling their feet in hesitation, and then raise my hand like an overeager Boy Scout.

The academy was made especially poignant by the department hosting it, Colerain Township. As locals will remember, the department lost two of its own earlier this year in a house fire. The whole morning really reminded me of how much I miss the whole firehouse culture and EMS work. When I finally finish my master’s degree (hopefully in June of next year), I’d like to become recertified again and begin volunteering with some local departments.

When my contractor neighbor told us that Newport’s historic East Row was comprised largely of gays and older émigrés from Indian Hill (one of the nation’s richest ZIP codes), I thought he was exaggerating or homophobic or a combination of both. But after being greeted by four gay couples in the first four homes of the eight-home Newport Garden Walk Sunday, even I had to admit the astuteness of his observation.

Despite Esquire magazine’s declaration in 1957 of Newport as “the most wicked city in America,” the city today is surprisingly conservative. The Committee of 500, a team of religious do-gooders, first set siege on the “Sin City” in the 1960s, declaring war on the city’s gambling, vice and prostitution bosses – for more on the city’s history, go here. By the time Brandon and I both moved here, much of the evidence of Newport’s illustrious past had disappeared, existing largely today in the memories of local old-timers who recalled the city’s heydays with equal parts nostalgia and censure.

The East Row Historic District sits comfortably at the foot of what is called Mansion Hill – the mansion in reference is the Wiedemann Hill Mansion, which was built for beer baron heir Charles Wiedemann in 1894. The area became a favorite of wealthy business owners and merchants in the late 1800s and its financial demographic hasn’t much changed since. Still considered one of the most prestigious and expensive areas of the city, stately Italianate and Queen Anne style homes mingle along tree-lined streets with many boasting impressive (and professionally designed) back-yard gardens. Here are a few highlights from them and our tour:

More photos are available on our online photo gallery here.