its marshes, reedbeds and migratory birds. Since these lakes do not supply sufficient rushes suited to weaving, however, they travel all the way to Lake Sapanca every summer.
Over the next few months I photographed the family at every stage in the process of transforming rushes into finished articles, from rush cutting to weaving. Early every morning the men would board their long narrow punts and glide away among the reeds, propelling themselves along with long poles. For hours they would cut the rushes, wading up to their waists in water, and when they returned hours later, the boats would be laden with neatly tied bales. All day they worked amidst the tall reeds and rushes, some species of which are several times a man's height. I used to get up early and accompany them. We glided silently through the tall reeds with their yellow tassels at the tips which rose like a curtain, creating a horizonless world of their own. Only the blue sky was visible high above us, and the only sound was the rustle of the reeds