Looking up through morning frost, Magdalena, NM, December 2011
"I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure in the landscape - the loneliness of it - the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it..."
-Andrew Wyeth
I don't agree with the "prefer" part of this quote; I much prefer the lush abundance of summer and the easy living that comes with the long, warm days. Winter drives me indoors, away from the sun and fresh air, and the short days leave me slightly bereft, especially in these weeks around Winter Solstice. Winter's Bone, a stark depiction of loss and redemption in rural Missouri, highlights both the cold, grim harshness of midwinter and the bone-deep resilience we summon to survive it. I'll be calling on my reserves a lot this winter and will also be hoping for a trip someplace warm before long to refill the well....
No running water thanks to an unexpected hard-enough freeze. More snow on the way. And then I go to sit by the fire, one of winter's few pleasures (for me), and my seat is taken. Fine then, I'll just go crawl into bed and hibernate. I think bears hibernate not just to save energy but to spare themselves the inconveniences of winter. Maybe I'm projecting a bit....
I used a flash on this photo, the effects of which I always end up hating, so I ran it through Topaz's B/W effects plug-in and took away most of, but not all of, the color. Riley is a bit out of focus, something to check more carefully next time.
I posted this poem about a year ago, and it bears repeating as we in the Northern Hemisphere slump toward the darkest day of the year.
I heard a bird sing In the dark of December A magical thing And sweet to remember.
"We are nearer to Spring Than we were in September," I heard a bird sing In the dark of December.
-Oliver Herford
We do get "real winter" here in New Mexico, USA, but thankfully we also get a lot of sun, which I can enjoy all winter thanks to two large south-facing sliding glass doors. Last year I packed trays of greens and then seed starts onto open shelves in these sunny spaces, a successful endeavor I plan to repeat along with overwintering some tender perennials I can't bear to leave to the elements. Fuchsias have always been among my favorite plants. They're a bit temperamental -- they need conditions that are not too hot, not too cold, not too sunny, not too dim -- but I persist in growing them and did quite well with this plant on the shady front porch this summer.
As cold weather descended, I decided to see if it could overwinter inside, and so far, so good. I took these shots with my 35mm f1.8 lens, which is getting a lot of use these days because I'm snowed in and bored almost to tears because, really, I'm not much of a homebody. I want to be outside. All the time, or close to it, or at least by an open window. I did make it outside for a while yesterday to sweep and shovel snow, dust off and bring in wood for the fireplace, and play with Maggie and the dogs just before the sunset, which probably kept me from losing my marbles altogether.
We got 10 inches of snow up here yesterday, followed by a biting cold front that drove the temperature down to -5 by midnight. This all made for treacherous roads (even major lengths of I-25 were closed until late this morning) that probably won't be safe to drive for another day or so, so I had to cancel on five clients today and am trying to keep from going crazy with cabin fever. The dogs and the cats are all bouncing off the walls, literally except for Lucy, but every time I open the door to let them out they rear back and glare at me as if to say, "What is this -- make it WARM!" I guess I could catch up on paperwork and coursework and cleaning, but I'd much rather be working with clients and socializing with colleagues after several days of being housebound. Maybe the dogs and I will walk around town so I can get some photos and they can, well, sniff everything like dogs do, and run and play, and burn off some energy. I guess winter is really here, dang it.
Hand-blown glass chile on geode fragment, Magdalena, NM, Dec. 2011
One benefit of staying in on a wintry day is looking closely at everyday objects and figuring out ways to see them differently. I used my somewhat neglected 35mm f1.8 lens for these shots; it's a very fast lens, which I don't really need outdoors, and the shallow depth of field that happens at such a low f-stop doesn't work well with moving critters or wind-tossed flowers. Yesterday, stuck indoors in low light, I had a chance to rediscover its versatility and unique perspective. I gave this glass chile, made by an Albuquerque artist, to my mom two years ago, and the geode fragment came from a hike I took way up into the Magdalenas last summer. Nothing compares to natural light, and the weather was so volatile today that these shots, taken maybe five minutes apart, show an entirely different sky in the background as clouds tumbled from the mountains into town.
Last winter I gave myself the assignment to explore winter colors and textures, and though I doubt I'll ever grow fond of the season I did enjoy gaining a new perspective on its subtle natural beauty. This year I'm revisiting the assignment and, for now at least, will be exploring what might be termed "intimate landscapes," that is, the small beauties I find and create within my and others' homes this season. This shot was just what I was hoping to present for this week's I Heart Macro. The begonia plant, still a baby, was a cutting from a dear friend's plant (hers is easily 6 feet tall) and has graciously decided to begin blooming just as winter finishes off the last of my tender flowering plants outside. I got some other nice indoor shots today that I'll share during the week as I find time to Photoshop them. I hope you all have a good week.
Riley the cock-eared, knock-kneed, bigfoot mystery mutt, June 2011
Still a cock-eared bigfoot goofball, and we love him for it
I saw a great sign today: "You're not weird; you're a limited edition."
I will totally be using that line with my clients this week, especially the teenagers.
Not that being "weird" is a terrible thing, right? Kids call each other weird as a put-down (adults do, too, but usually behind each other's backs because, you know, we're so much more civilized than mere children), and everyone is afraid of being "weird." Yet the most memorable, approachable, endearing people (and animals) I've known have all been "weird" as in different, unusual, quirky, eccentric.... Maybe it's something a person can better appreciate in others as well as self with age and wisdom. I find it fascinating that "weird" is also a noun that derives from an old Scottish word meaning destiny or fate -- it seems fitting, given that some people, at least, move away from "normal" as they age and free themselves to explore and express their unique selves.
Precita, Drago, and Blaze roaming the range, Magdalena, NM, June 2011
Since June I've had the great pleasure of being able to go out to my dad's property north of town not only to let the dogs run and enjoy the stillness but also to commune with a small band of horses belonging to friends. It has taken some time to get to know them, for them to trust me and for me to tune into and read their cues so I don't scare or push them away. Now, even if I forget to bring them treats, they seem pleased to see me and usually walk with me and the dogs for a while before heading off to graze on their own. They are proving to be very therapeutic company both for their calm, centered presence and as occasional mirrors for issues I can't see or understand using my "rational," word-dependent left brain.
La bella Precita
Precita, the lone mare in the group, was skittish with me in the beginning and I had to approach her slowly, but over time her trust has grown and now she's usually the first one to find me and the last one to wander away. Sometimes when I'm standing or sitting among the horses she comes up to me and gently nuzzles my hand or even rests her big mug on my shoulder. Other times she comes up and nudges me, then dances away with a little crow-hop and buck as if to say, hey, loosen up -- find your Inner Mustang and play a little, or just bolt and run, whatever it takes to get away from that dust devil kicking up in your head. No words, no analysis, just play for a change.
Today Precita trots up to greet me and nudges my arm just as I'm focusing my camera on a nice shot of near-twins Blaze and Drago mirroring each other perfectly. I'm still feeling raw about something that happened yesterday, and I'm so intent on getting a perfect photograph -- what, am I on assignment from National Geographic here? -- that I push her back and she snorts, which startles Drago who looks like he might break the mirror pattern. Prescita once again nudges me gently and, annoyed that the camera gets shaken again, I put an elbow to her jaw and exclaim "Git!" She rears back from me and then puts her head down by her hooves to rub it, and it's then that I see the chunk of half-dead cholla caught in her mane just behind her ears, the long thorns likely digging deep into her neck. I realize Precita is in fact trying to tell me something important. I can't "hear" her because my head is churning with my own stuff that compels me to callously bat away this creature who simply wants to stand near me and, by the way, would I be so kind as to remove this awful thing digging into her neck.
Just as I reach up toward her, Precita turns tail and bolts up the hill, stopping for a moment to buck the living crap out of some imaginary demon riding her and yanking the reins and spurring her flank raw, then charges over the crest and out of sight. I thought, wow, that's some hell of a tantrum, girl. A hour or so later, as I'm sitting on a rock watching the other horses graze, I feel a soft nudge at my shoulder. I slowly raise my hand to her and she nuzzles it gently, standing quietly behind me as if to say, okay, I'm done now, I'm back, we can be friends again. And finally, I get the cholla out of her mane.
I'm glad she trusted me enough to come back, eventually.
I know that sometimes we forget how to use our words.
And sometimes we just don't want to use our words. Sometimes bolting and bucking and running far away feel so much better than stammering and struggling to say just the right words. We run away just to get it all out, just to say, fine, you weren't really listening anyway so to hell with you. (For now.)
Humans can be really dumb sometimes. They ignore or mistreat or take for granted those who care about them, four-legged and two-legged, then wonder why they get left behind in a cloud of dust. A few wise ones ponder their part in what happened, wait and hope for their runaway friend to come back, and do their best not to callously provoke another galloping tantrum. I understand why Precita runs: she's been penned up and reined in hard and spurred raw, and she never wants to go there again.
The horses have grown their winter coats, and not a moment too soon as cold storms begin blowing across the plains. We got a bit of rain here last night, but the precipitation mostly hung around in the mountains and left a good amount of snow to brighten up the view. I took the dogs for a long run today and visited the horses today to make sure they have flowing water (they do) and just to stand with them in stillness. Blaze let me lean on him for a good while, sheltering me from the brisk winds and occasionally nuzzling my pockets for treats. All I had was an apple Larabar, but he seemed quite pleased with the exchange. As was I.
I posted the "realistic" version of this Devil's Weed pod a few weeks ago but kept thinking it needed something.... So tonight, having had a LONG day and an unexpected long drive home (but much-needed for both myself and my girl child who was really missing her mama tonight), and feeling very far from calm or sleep, I thought I'd put on some music and play with some images in Photoshop. The image above started out with an accident: while working with a "hue" slider I slipped it way too far to the right, then... hmmm. And then, to the left... whoa, that's kinda cool. Then Monkey Mind woke up in a kerfluffle and I had a moment of, Oh, no, that's TOO FAR out there -- totally not believable -- what am I thinking -- let's just go back to realistic, shall we.... Just then, this line played through my headphones and, given that I have the music cranked up to GOODGODWOMANAREYOUFREAKIN'DEAF, I did manage to really hear it:
and if I close my mind in fear please pry it open *
And so I kept playing, letting my fingers slip and slide across the color palettes and exposure settings, recklessly prying open my safe ideas of "realistic," and soon I realized I was letting go of the day's stresses and disappointments and my expectations and rules and everything else that walls me in when I allow it to. What is "realistic," and what's so sacred about it that I give up the freedom to play and have fun and just let the process go where it will, even if it goes someplace I'm not expecting to go?
I don't care whether this image is "right" or not. I think it's pretty cool.
* lyric from "The Outlaw Torn," Metallica {why, yes, I do listen to heavy metal sometimes...}
Bosque Sunset, Bosque del Apache NWR, NM, Nov. 2011
A great conversation with some artists recently inspired me to push myself out of my comfort zone in photo processing. I tend towards realism, which makes photography a perfect medium for me (not to mention I can't paint or draw worth a plugged nickel), but sometimes a photograph captures a moment that might be better expressed less literally, more figuratively... I'm not sure what the best words are to express this, so I've spent the past few days playing visually to see how I respond on a gut level to various effects.
I saw right away that this photo in its raw form was kind of flat; the composition was okay, the detail was pretty good but not good enough to zoom in (have I mentioned that I'm dying for a fast telephoto lens? Next year, perhaps), and the color was good but not striking enough to carry the image. So I applied Photoshop's black-and-white filter, which was okay but not fabulous (I do much prefer color to B/W -- my own visual bias), and then slowly ramped the color back up and added sepia and selenium toning (using Topaz Labs' new B&W Effects, which is a fun and fabulous Photoshop add-in) to "antique" the image. This seemed to bring out the snow geese, which helped me realize that I didn't really have one stand-out focal element in this image -- oh, pretty birds! oh, pretty trees! oh, cool lines! -- and that perhaps this is what I struggle with most in landscapes.
So, food for thought. Please feel free to offer whatever feedback you have on this image; it's definitely a work in progress. I'm really enjoying the process of experimenting and letting go of the idea that I have to create a "perfect" image, and I'm open to suggestions and inspiration.
My brother visited last month and enjoyed some family time, some adventure time (a motorcycle trip to and into the Grand Canyon with Dad), and lots of autumn sunshine. His departure was delayed one day because of that crazy snowstorm that charged up the East Coast... yo, bro, I think it's a sign. Dad took this picture of us in Box Canyon (aka The Box), about 10 miles west of Socorro, and I just had to shake my head looking through the shots because my boychild is intentionally making a goofy face in every single one.
I haven't had much time for photo processing lately, but I try to at least look through my recent photos every few days to see what stands out and play a bit. I love this evening shot (above) of Riley because it really highlights his huge feet, and as he begins filling out (showing his Mastiff side a bit more every day) he is becoming a very handsome dog. He's not easy to catch standing still; the shot at right is much more typical of him, especially when we're out on the property. That morning he thought it would be fun to dash into the pond, roll around and get good and muddy, then run full-tilt towards me -- there's a wake-up call for you. He is a handful but is also a big sweetie, and I'm very glad Dad rescued him for us.
This amazingly hardy and beautiful cosmos greeted me this morning, having weathered several hard frosts over the past few nights, and it seemed a perfect symbol for this particular day that I call my re-birthday. Three years ago today I finally let go of a "coping mechanism" that I sensed was doing me far more harm than good. As my mental fog lifted I began to see and hear and feel so much more clearly -- and so much better -- than I imagined possible. Things I struggled with began to make sense, or to simply fall away as unimportant. I began to learn how to deal with events and situations and learn from them, and move on, and I began to feel strong enough to face rather than duck discomfort and uncertainty. I turned inward and found my core; now I turn outward to really live this life I've been given and to be there for others as others have been there for me. "Cosmos" refers to entities ranging from this cheerful flower to the whole universe, but the term (from the Greek kosmos, "order") also connotes harmony, which manifests in every living thing that emerges miraculously from the darkness and chaos of not-living.
Any day that starts with a few moments of sunshine in the garden is already a good day, and yet this day managed to get even better. The seeds sown during my past few years of slow, persistent, sometimes imperceptible effort and transformation have finally begun to bear fruit, and I saw it so clearly today when a client facing some pretty major challenges told me he was beginning to realize that no one is helpless, that even when he has no idea what to do he keeps trying anyway, and that whatever happens he will know he did his best and never gave up. He didn't get this from me or from a book or some spiritual guru; he found it within himself. What a daring journey to embark on, trekking deep into the wilderness of heart and soul; some days I feel like a sherpa, and it feels like a huge privilege that people ask me to walk with them during their travels.
Two Trees at Sunset, Bosque del Apache NWR, New Mexico, Oct. 2011
I'm in the middle of bedtime madness with the kids, but I just had to post one of my favorite shots from today's trek to the Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge. I might finally be getting the hang of landscapes... maybe because I've given up trying to follow The Rules and just shoot what I like. As I began working with and cropping this image, I realized that it really needed to stay near-centered, which breaks the sacred Rule of Thirds, because... well, it's about two trees, it's about contrast, and to me this is what the picture needs to look like. I'm pretty sure I'll look at it five years hence and see how I could have done it "better," but today, yeah, it's one of my favorites. The color in the Bosque right now is stunning, and while the Sandhill Cranes and Snow Geese have returned for the winter, the crickets and cicadas and other "singing" bugs are still there to amp up the auditory experience.
The appropriately named Devil's Weed (Datura stramonium), Magdalena, NM, Oct. 2011
Not much to say today, but I wanted to participate in I Heart Macro this week (I find everyone's entries so beautiful and inspiring, especially this dandelion) so I grabbed a shot of a native plant that seems to embody the harshness of our ongoing drought. Today the kids and the dogs and I will be heading down the hill towards water, to hike along the Rio Grande bosque (wetlands) where the cottonwoods are deep gold, the tamarisks are brilliant auburn, and the Sandhill cranes are starting to settle in for the winter. I hope you all are having a wonderful Sunday -- to East Coast friends and family I send a good thought for digging out of that nasty cold white stuff....
As predicted, a major cold front swept into New Mexico this week, bringing a strong chill, snow up north, and amazing cloud formations. On my way out of town on Thursday morning I had to pull over to catch this shot; I was entranced by how the clouds embraced the ridge, draping the canyons as if protecting their wildlife from the sudden chill. And then, the ravens; the image at left is a crop from the one above. I fervently wish I had a fast, crisp long lens (300mm zoom at least) to really capture the detail instead of having to over-process the image to bring it out... but this will do for now.
October is incredibly beautiful here in New Mexico, with the deepest blue skies, golden sunshine, changing leaves... and of course it's a bittersweet time for any gardener because it brings frosts that slow and finally still the garden. Here's one of my last harvests of this wonderful, colorful season: plum and heirloom striped tomatoes, tomatillos, purple bell and yellow banana peppers, and fiery cayennes. Salsa, baby. Not that I've had much energy given my schedule and commute, but this weekend I hope to make and can some serious salsa and tomato sauce, and also bake with some of the wonderful pumpkins I pulled out of the garden earlier this week. What I'll miss most about this year's garden, which is now all but gone: wandering the rows and stuffing myself with cherry and pear tomatoes as I gathered produce for the next few days' meals. Methinks a greenhouse is in my future....
Self-portrait (with Apache) in sun and shadow on raw dirt. Magdalena, NM, Oct. 2011
I don't like neglecting my blog, but you know how it is when things press in and choices have to be made. I had to start ramping up my internship hours this week, which means more time in and commuting to/from Albuquerque, so I can finish the program next June and finally start working for money in this new career. Marital/family therapy seems like a great fit for me. And I have lots of ideas for making the career my own with twists like canine and equine therapy for kids (and maybe adults) with PTSD, therapy retreats for couples and families, that sort of thing -- somewhere down the road. In the meantime, I'm working, learning, and taking care of myself and my kids and animals, including spending as much time as I can out on the property in the open air. I love it when the horses come out to greet us, and the dogs take off after rabbits, and the kids start running and climbing and howling like banshees and just letting off steam. If I could build a house out there right now I would, because it is where I find peace almost without effort: I just have to stand for a moment in the stillness, and my soul settles. What a treasure.
Hollyhock bud after the rain, Magdalena, NM, Oct. 2011
Double rainbow in the Magdalena Mountains, Oct. 2011
Yesterday was a day of thick clouds and steady rain that gave trees and grasses and perennials a much-needed drenching before the weather turns cold. It revived my flower gardens that are bestowing a final burst of color on us, and today I noticed new cilantro seedlings around the herb bed just in time for that final batch of salsa. As frost approaches -- it's quite possible we'll get at least a light frost this weekend -- I feel (as always) that I just haven't had enough time in the garden. I will especially miss wandering through the rows with Maggie, both of us eating handful after handful of cherry tomatoes and little pear tomatoes; I had planted five or six different varieties to hedge my bets, and they all produced quite well. My favorites: the orange cherry tomatoes -- even sweeter than the red ones, which themselves were hard to beat. Summer is just never long enough for me.... Another gift yesterday: just before sunset, the sun broke through low clouds to give us a beautiful double rainbow. Enchanting, as always.
