About a week ago, we drove north along the shore of Lake Superior to Grand Marais, Minnesota. We carried a precious cargo: a dozen landscape images I took, printed out on canvas, metal and paper. They had been accepted for my first public exhibit at a local health facility in the town.

I was excited by this opportunity to share my hobby with an audience. Once we arrived, we were met by the organizer who helped us unload. He also showed us where the images would be hung. We left my works with him and headed home on our two-hour drive.

After a half-hour cruising past pine trees along the rugged landscape of Lake Superior, I began feeling like I’d left something important behind me in Grand Marais. The feeling nagged until I acknowledged it and searched my psyche for its source.

It didn’t take long for me to realize the important things I left behind were my photos! The feeling was similar to when I dropped both of my children off at college. I turned to Russ and said, “My babies! We left my babies back there!”

He looked at me quizzically, but Russ is a quick study and soon smiled.

I did not expect that feeling. I didn’t realize I was so attached to the images, many of which have hung in my home for several months. It’s not that I don’t trust the exhibitor, it’s more I feel like I’ve left part of me in Grand Marais. Of course, the feeling isn’t as strong as what I have for my human babies, but it kept coming back over the course of the next few days. Russ got used to hearing me blurt sporadically, “My babies, I miss my babies!”

As with dropping my children off to college, I hope this is a one-time thing that will get better with time. But it’s made me wonder if other photographers experience this when they let their images out of their sight. I’d appreciate hearing any impressions you wish to share.