Generally, I fill this space with documentary data about the historic preservation at the American Tobacco Historic District.

Today, the care exhibited for human life in this massive construction project overshadows that priority.

It was human feelings that initiated this plan to save these historic buildings, for the quality of life within and beyond the boundaries of the Bull City. Since visiting this site regularly for a year now, I have been the beneficiary of, as the Beach Boys would sing, "good, good vibrations" from week to week.

Today was no exception.

For some time, I have been photographing the dismantling of the boiler systems in the Power Plant. This is a very large building crammed from wall to wall with a complex maze of pipes and boiler tanks. The cutting torches are now burning their way through this complex array of iron and steel vessels.

As I made my way across the ground floor to the rear of the building this morning, my spirit was cheered by the friendly recognition and greetings from workers. I have been genuinely honored this past year when workers have remembered me by name, calling out to me draped in camera bags as I have ambled around these structures.

When I reached the rear of the Power Plant, I tucked myself away out of danger and out of sight as my camera focused on workers on the upper floors torching their way through large sections of pipes. Suddenly, many large pipes at once were freed from a boiler tank and crashed their way down two stories in thundering vibrations that encompassed all of the building.

When that noise subsided, the silence was broken with the cry, "Mr. Casey, Mr. Casey, are you alright?"

Gideon Lecraft was literally running over obstacles as he raced from the front of the building. He called out, "I couldn't see you. Are you okay?"

Having been admonished many times by safety officers, Steve Barge and John Amole, "Look after thyself," I was indeed okay. I was aware of the need to be safe with such intensive work underway.

I was humbled by Gideon's care for my well-being. Yet, that is not an isolated phenomenon on this job site. I have been the beneficiary of great care from rank and file workers to construction superintendents to company vice-presidents.

The photo chosen to illustrate this story, in its own way, tells another story about caring. As I was making my way across the roof of the Strickland Building, I approached a worker on break wearing designer sun glasses. When I asked him about getting a funky picture of his sunshades, he protested, "Oh no, not without my safety glasses."

This man cared about safety rules, and he cared about following them. I assured him that it was probably okay for him to wear those "electric blue" shades since he was on a break.

Consequently, I think it prudent to sidestep a story this week about some statistic like the uniqueness of the Brand Tower in the Reed Building or how Nate Ashcroft has guided the preservation of wood and metal in this reconstruction effort, though those are valid points for future comments.

It seems more fitting for me to celebrate one year of documenting these historic moments with a tribute to the genuine caring from human to human that has dominated this entire endeavor.

I thank God for the many blessings afforded me by my association with so many good people doing so many good things for Durham and all of North Carolina. (And I thank God for Gideon Lecraft)