It was one of those strange mornings in the middle of a New York City winter. A low-pressure area had pushed the mercury well past the 60-degree mark, leaving the city foggy and drenched. Water was everywhere. Thick obstinate drops hung on every railing, car, and structure, sporadically replenished by a renewed effort from the sky. . .

Contributing editor Ingrid S. Krampe traveled to a remote area in Baja, Mexico last summer to watch photographer Glenn Dubock shoot a windsurfing spread for Windtracks Journal. Dubock makes the one-week trek about six times per year, despite the rattlesnakes, jumping cacti, blowing grit, and incessant wind. He says it's just part of his job - we should all be so lucky.

It's better to get there at night so that you get the full impact," said Glenn Dubock as we headed south over the Mexican border on the Nada bus. "It's like no place you have ever seen. You'll wake up tomorrow and say, 'Oh, now I get it.'" That first morning I thought I did.

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Daybreak comes early and finds Punta San Carlos on the Baja peninsula covered in a soft, ephemeral mist. As the camp slowly untangles from its blanket of sleep, the smell of coffee percolating on the gas range drifts by the blue bubble tents and mingles with the clean smell of the sea. There is no wind here now. That begins later in the day when the mesa and the mountains, warmed by the Mexican sun, suck in the cold air from the ocean. Then it blows and blows and blows . . .

I had to ask. Things don't change much in Wisconsin.

There, dancing the polka doesn’t necessarily make you a candidate for the funny farm . . . forget about tofu and sprouts —beer and cheese are the food groups . . . and (be still my beating heart). the fat lady still splashes from the keg straight into the beer mug every time the Brewers make a home run. Moon Pies rule, and dairy princesses hold court at the county fair, and perch fries are more popular than French anything. And watching the Packers on Sunday afternoon is but another of life's venerable sacraments.

On May 21, photographer Jay Maisel returned to his alma mater in New York City to participate in the 11th annual LIncoln High School Photography Contest. Half a century after graduating and despite the fact that the holds an art degree from Yale University and completed a one-year painting internship with Joseph Hirsch, noted 20th century painter, Maisel still counts LIncoln High photography teacher Leon Friend among the most important influences on his photography career. And that's saying a lot . . .

In  an unassuming warehouse building in Lower Manhattan, Stephen Hellerstein's studio occupies a 9,000-square-foot corner space overlooking the Hudson River. In the late afternoon when the sun is low on the horizon, the large old factory windows reflect the sun's golden dollops from the water 12 stories below.

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Designed by his wife Maria, a painter and architectural designer, the studio is both warm and cosmopolitan, a reflection of Hellerstein's commitment to life and work. If there is a dividing line between the two, it is flimsy at best . . .

"Rumor has it that when Monte Zucker sells his used equipment, photographers scramble to purchase it, because they think it will bring them luck. Of course the equipment is not the issue. Pictures are made by photographers not cameras." - Clay Blackmore