Summertime

Sorry it has been so long since my last post. Summer is a busy time around here with friends and relatives visiting and vacations and all. I still take time to head out to the woods, but usually with a couple of other people along. It’s nice to have someone to talk and laugh and share the sights – kind of cuts down on the photography though. I don’t figure my guests want to sit on a rock for half an hour watching me fiddle with my camera and move my tripod all over the place trying to get a good shot of some old tree stump.

Anyhoo, a couple of days ago I went out by myself on what looked to be a typical summer day here in upstate NY. It was cool and misty in the early morning, but with a clear sky the afternoon turned bright and hot and muggy.

After a morning splashing around in some gullies, I wandered uphill through a stretch of trees with a lot of undergrowth – hot buggy scratchy work – toward a pond I know. Once I reached the pond I turned south into an old apple orchard and then up some more to a wide open pavillion. The floor was soft and springy with wall to wall carpeting made from years and  years of fallen leaves. I could see a long way between the tall straight pillars of sugar maple holding up the fluttering green roof. Here I could have a seat on a fallen bole and rest a bit while the sound of a summer breeze flowed high above my head.

I got up and wandered aimlessly for a while trying to identify the things around me. There were sugar maples mostly, but mixed in there was white pine, american hornbeam, shagbark hickory, red oak. Down at my feet there were may apples, jack in a pulpit, trillium, and just emerging from the brown floor were indian pipes.

I came out of the woods onto an access road. All the strip of land between the edge of the track and the trees was awash in summer flowers. Mostly I saw queen anne’s lace forming a white undulating blanket about three feet high. Filling in any spaces were fleabane with small white pins radiating out from a yellow eye. To spice things up there was some sprays of lavender chickory and rare but eye catching were the thistles with bright purple crew cuts on their heads.

As I walked along these unkempt flower beds, I noticed that everywhere there was activity. A constant buzzing and flitting sound filled the air. Mostly there were bees - striped orange honey bees and yellow and black bumble bees. They were very intent on their nectar gathering so with their heads buried in the blossoms, they didn’t pay me any heed at all no matter how close I came.

A bit more wary were the butterflys. They flew from one flower to another without stopping long on any one and they would flit elusively away whenever I came near. Monarchs added their orange and black to the riot of colors. There too came the black swallowtail adding black, yellow, and a hint of blue. Orange and black frittelaries and bright yellow sulfers and dusky brown wood nymphs did their part. Just for good measure blue and green dragonflys hovered around looking for a little something other than nectar.

I came back to the flower fields three or four times during the day. It was such a bright sunny alive active kind of place in contrast to the slow shady thoughtfulness under the trees.

MDW

A Day of Contrasts

Everything was wet and green and lush, almost tropical looking, as I stepped into the woods in the early morning. Although the sky was clearing with the promise of plenty of sunshine, the heavy rains during the night had coated everything with a rich glossy finish.

Sometimes you can pick up a stone that is dry and faded and not much to look at in the hot sunshine, but you take that stone and toss it into a stream or let a wave wash over it and, viola! The clear colorless water magically paints swirls and stripes of vibrant beautiful color. Just remember that the water holds the key. Take the stone home with you and by the time you get there it will have dried and faded and you will wonder what possesed you to pick it up in the first place.

This morning the trees, the grass, the leaves, the stones were all touched by the magic of the water. Water dripped on my head whenever a breeze shook the trees. Water soaked my boots and my legs as I shook the tall wet grass.

As I went further in, I came into an open upland wood. Leaves high above my head formed a shifting many layered canopy allowing only wavering spotlights of sun to reach down to me. I walked between pillars of brown and grey on the soft earth carpeted with years of fallen autumn leaves. The ground echoed hollow beneath my feet as I walked over dark caverns hewn by thirsty twisting roots.

As they so often do, my feet lead me down through the trees to a stream. The ravine that steers the water down the hill side is wider and more open then most. The soft muddy walls slope down gently forming a wide V that funnels and concentrates the sunlight. No more watery sheen covering everything here. It is hot, bright, and dry. The ravine not only concentrates the sunlight, but it also concentrates the water into a single flowing ribbon.

The water splashing white in the sun overwhelms my camera and sometimes even it overwhelms my eyes. My feet beneath the water are cool, but the sun beats down on the rest of me as I follow the stony undulating course of the ravine. The stream is like a long flowing oasis in the middle of a parched desert.

I came to a point where I could not follow the water for a while. The waterfalls were too steep and the stones were too slippery. I climbed out of the ravine and worked my way down the hillside using the trees to keep myself upright until I came to a point where I could rejoin the water.

Suddenly I was in darkness. At least it seemed dark after the bright sunshine just above. The ravine walls had changed to layer upon layer of dark stone rising sheer, almost straight up leaving only a narrow window at the top. The window didn’t open on the bright sky – it was overhung by long arms of trees reaching across from either side to greet one another. It formed a sort of cave. I looked upstream and I could see the light at the mouth of my cave where things are still bright and shining. I looked downstream and saw my dark damp cave wandering on down the hill.

I followed on down the hill for quite a ways with the ravine floor sometimes shallow and quiet and other times steep with the water falling from ledges and splashing into deep pools with a hiss and a roar. The sun forced its way in from time to time, but never as fully as it had up at the top.

Late in the afternoon while working my way back up the stream, I was taking a photo when I noticed little rings popping on the surface of the pool in front of me. In short order the day’s contrasts took another turn as thunder rumbled and the once bright sky opened up with a waterfall of its own.

I found a somewhat dry spot close to one wall under some especially dense tree branches. This worked for a while and I thought it was slowing down when a flash and a deafening boom close by heralded a new onslaught. The rain redoubled its efforts and even under my leafy umbrella I was getting drenched. I looked around, but there was no place better to hide. My whole world was a sheet of rain flapping in the wind.

To add insult to injury, it started to hail! Marble sized balls of ice started ricocheting around between the rock walls. They pelted me left and right. All I could do was stand and take the beating.

The stream quickly began to gather all the falling water into itself. The once crystal clear rivulet became a muddy torrent. From a distance the water looked like weak chocolate milk. On closer inspection, I could see that the water was not as homogenous as it seemed. The slower moving pools simmered with a roiling water mixed with brown soil. There was an iridescent quality to the mix. It was like light brown metallic paint being stirred, but never completely mixing.

After a half an hour or so of this tumult, the storm slid away as quickly as it had arrived. The sun broke out again and the thunder receded into the distance. As I sloshed dripping back up the stream, I found all the falls gushing with new energy. Having received a fresh influx of water, they seemed eager to be rid of it as soon as may be. They wanted to expel this raucous new comer and get back to their lazy summer showering.

After a time I came back to the top of the hill and to the open woods and fields. Everything was rich and covered with a glossy sheen. Water dripped on my head whenever a breeze shook the trees. Water soaked my boots and my legs as I shook the tall wet grass.

MDW

What Kind of Photographer Are You?

I was browsing a few blogs the other day and I came upon a discussion regarding the topic of what is a photographer or who would be considered a photographer as opposed to someone who just snaps some pics at the family BBQ. Well, I’m not going to get into all that.

It set me to thinking about a different topic along the same lines that I have pondered before – What kind of photographer am I?

Let’s assume for the moment that I can describe myself as a photographer and that descriptions like hack are not allowed. When I tell someone that I’m a photographer or that I “do photography”, I usually get a couple of different views.

One view is that a photographer is a photographer is a photographer. A photographer is someone that can use a camera to take any kind of photo be it a studio portrait, an expansive landscape, or a sporting event. Although it’s true that I can probably use my camera to take basic photos of all kinds, to be really good at say studio portrait work requires a certain amount of specification in order understand the in and outs of lighting and other things that make people look good on film as well as the intangibles involved in creativity and rapport with the models. I am without a clue here.

I can usually get folks to quickly realize that there are various subdivisions of photography each with its own specialized equipment and knowledge base. They probably just had never thought about it before.

On the other hand, when that bit of confusion is cleared up, the second question arises as to just what kind of photographer I am. What’s my shtick?

I usually say, for lack of any better qualifier, that I’m a “nature photographer”. This helps a little, but not much. Does that mean that I take pictures of animals and birds? Well, not usually. Does it mean that I do landscapes? Sometimes, but not too often. Macro photos of flowers and stuff? Sort of – sometimes. Well what?

I really don’t know. I do know that I take a lot of photos with water in them. When I’m in the woods I’m always drawn to the siren call of running water. I don’t think that I can say that I’m a “waterfall photographer” really. Some pics are waterfalls, but usually they are small unnamed things of only a few feet. Sometimes they are nothing more than a splash over a rock in a running stream. Sometimes they are kind of abstract views of water.

I also do other things – leaves, ice, snow, pieces of old junk, flowers – stuff like that there. It is all sort of nature-ish, but not something that I can tie up in one neat little word.

Anyway – the boy is bugging me to go do something so I better end this ramble. Suffice it to say I usually tell people that I do nature photos and if they want more explanation, I usually say something like – “Oh, you know, sticks and rocks and things like that”.

MDW