Virginia home health aides look for state relief in pandemic

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Yanks’ mission unchanged: win 28th title, first since 2009

Earlier this week I asked my husband if he could easily find &ldquo;that photo of me crawling across the ice.&rdquo;
				A minute or two later, the picture was open on Mark&rsquo;s computer screen.
				It&rsquo;s an image from early January 2011, shot by former Times Leader photographer Pete G. Wilcox on a day when I had interviewed two ice fishermen on the frozen lake at Frances Slocum State Park in Kingston Township.
				I wanted to look at it because today marks my 39th anniversary at the Times Leader. The newspaper brought me on board in the summer of 1981, when I was still a student at King&rsquo;s College.
				But as I think about all the adventures a reporter can cram into 39 years, somehow that odd little jaunt on a wintry afternoon sums up so much of what this job has been like.
				For me, it&rsquo;s meant encountering people who don&rsquo;t want to talk to the media, persisting until I find willing sources, adapting when the situation calls for it and, when all is said and done, having a good laugh at myself.
				The assignment that took Pete and me to Frances Slocum that day was to bring back a story and photos of people who were outdoors experiencing some very cold weather.
				As I recall, few people were out and about, and two individuals who were hiking vigorously through the parking lot had waved us away. No publicity, please.
				We decided to approach the ice fishermen next, hoping for better luck.
				Pete strode out toward the middle of the lake in a sure-footed manner despite the slick surface, sort of like Thumper in the Bambi movie.
				I followed, much more gingerly and since I had not yet acquired the trusty set of traction aids that would slip over my boots and change my life, I soon realized I&lsquo;d make better progress if I crawled.
				So I shoved my notebook into my purse and, pushing it ahead of me on the frozen lake surface, I crawled out to the anglers.
				Push and crawl. Push and crawl.
				The fishermen watched this unusual procedure with curiosity, and I sensed we was about to reap a benefit. After all the trouble Pete and (especially) I were going through to reach them, these guys would not have the heart to wave us away with a &ldquo;no comment.&rdquo;
				No, they&rsquo;d tell us how thick the ice was and how the fish were biting. They&rsquo;d obligingly give their opinions on the weather. They wouldn&rsquo;t object to pictures.
				They would help us tell a story, and we would be grateful.
				After the interview Pete offered to take my elbow and help me back to shore but I declined, telling him I felt more secure going back the same way I&rsquo;d come out. &ldquo;This way, I don&rsquo;t have far to fall,&rdquo; was my philosophy.
				So he went on ahead, then turned around and shot the crazy photo, which he emailed to Mark. For his collection.
				I never really took a good luck at the image until this week. It shows the anglers, waiting for a nibble. It shows the pages of my notebook, fanning out like feathers from the top of my purse. What I like best is the look on my face. I am laughing from sheer exhilaration.
				And that pretty much sums up the last 39 years.

Celebrating 39 years, on and off the ice