And All With a Leaf

In Illinois, autumn is much more pronounced than in Tennessee. Growing up, I was used to trick-or-treating while light snow flurries drifted down from the pitch black sky. Nashville does not experience such a drastic declaration of my favorite season. In fact the passing of the first day of autumn (September 22, as marked by the autumnal equinox) was as un-noteworthy as a day could be. I felt no chill in the air, no insatiable desire to buy spiced apple cider, nor a sudden urge for pumpkin carving.

The herald of autumn was nowhere to be found. No signs nor exclamations of joy were proclaimed. The earth was preparing to enter into a deep and restful sleep without the usual pomp and circumstance. And upon noticing this, I was deeply saddened.

But wait...I saw something, something whispering instead of declaring. A lone, fire-red leaf lying on the grassy carpet below. Though it was alone, it was still doing its duty to share the wonderful news of autumn's arrival. And I was no longer saddened.

The photo below was taken the morning after my wife and I camped at Montgomery Bell State Park just north of I-40, west of Nashville, TN. I could almost smell the hot apple cider.

18mm, f/3.6, 1/400 sec
The Lone Herald, Montgomery Bell State Park, TN

Blue Highways

Have you ever hopped in your car with a direction in mind instead of a destination. You know, instead of, "Alright, we are on the road to our vacation destination," you might say, "Let's get going, we are headed west." There is an endless number of possibilities to what you might encounter. You might find a restaurant along the way, or some interesting homeless man to buy a meal for, either way it makes for a good story.

Several years back, the book Blue Highways by William Least-Heat Moon was recommended to me by my friend Shawn Sechrest. I read it and henceforth had my eyes opened to a new world and way of seeing the country. The book is the story of a man who simply set forth on an adventure around the United States with nothing in mind, but a general direction and a desire to stay off the interstate as much as possible.

Highways are what existed and transported Americans around the country before the massive interstate network criss-crossed our nation. It is this, in some people's opinions, prehistoric road system that leads travelers through the hearts of small towns and away from the bustling interstate.

It is on these blue highways that my friends and I found some of our most memorable adventures. A snow covered Massachusetts town, a homeless couple we ate with, a cascading waterfall; we came across all these things because we took the road less traveled. So next time you are thinking about hitting the road, opt out of the normal, boring interstate and take a chance on the highways.

The following picture was taken while traveling down the road on vacation with my in-laws. That white car in the wheel of the semi is us.

Our Car, Somewhere in East Tennessee

Taking in the Moonlight

I love the mountains and being a long way away from civilization. So even though I was around a small town in July of 2005, it was just about as far from civilization I could get. I was standing outside a little school house in rural Salta, Argentina. There was a little electricity, but I think it amounted to powering 4 incandescent bulbs in the entire town, all of which resided in the tiny school house. So even though there was electricity, I don't remember there being an electric hum.

It was in this silence that I was looking out at the mountains with a full moon in the sky. Without a need for a flashlight, I walked around outside and took in a southern hemisphere sky, which contained stars I had never seen from my northern hemisphere home.

Staring at the sky, I set up my camera on a pocket-sized tripod. And after trying out a few different exposures and ISOs, I felt like I had the image I was looking for. After a few more moments of silence, I packed up my meager camera equipment and headed back inside to sleep on the tile, school floor. The image that follows is what came from my moonlight photography.

29 mm, f/4.0, 30 sec
The Argentine Night Sky, Salta, Argentina

Ice on Kluane

We were looking out at an ice-covered lake, stopped in the middle of the highway and it was 3 a.m. The odd parts were it was the end of May, there were absolutely no other cars on the road, and it was as well-lit as an overcast day. We were driving up to Alaska and were making a short stop to take in the pristine and silent landscape. There were no pull-off, but the scene was too incredible to miss.

It was Kluane Lake in the Yukon territory in Canada and at 3 in the morning there was still plenty of light to see. No headlights needed. With two of our friends quietly asleep in the back of the van, Luke and I decided to walk around and take in the world around us. There was no electric hum, no traffic, simply the sound of the cool breeze blowing by our ears and the feel of the crisp air on our skin.

As we drove further north, the nights became less like nights and more like days, sometimes too bright to sleep. We continued to see more sights that captured our attention. There were more breezes that filled our ears and a continued absence of the seemingly constant electric hum that fills our lives.

As we finished our tour of Alaska and headed back south on the Alaskan highway, we passed the lake one more time. But in the span of 5 short days, we found almost all of the ice that covered Kluane Lake had melted and the arrival of summer had come full circle.

Kluane Lake, Yukon, Canada

Lights in the Evening

This entry is not going to be very poetic or introspective, but simply an explanation of one of my photos. I took this at night in our apartment complex when we lived in Dallas, TX. I enjoy nighttime settings for a couple reasons. 1) Not as many people are out and therefore, you have a little more freedom to set up a shot and not have to worry about someone walking into the frame. 2) You can do long exposures do to the limited amount of light. 3) There are different lights you can work with, all of which provide a different feel to the image. Flood lights, street lights, house lights, stars, the moon, etc.

In the photo of the tree, the last reason I just wrote really comes into play. In this image there are two different types of flood lights (fluorescent and incandescent), the lights in the sky from Dallas, and also a few apartment lights. When I took the image, I really wasn't sure how well all the lights would come together, but I liked the tree and just gave it a long exposure. Photography is simply the manipulation of light, so if there is ample light, you might as well see how it comes together.

The Complex at Night, Dallas, TX

18mm, f/8, 15 sec

The Necessary Elements

It must have taken time to become so aged. Time and determination. It had survived when so many others had not made it. It was big to say the least. Not the biggest I had ever seen, though. But it had character.

I stood there and I stared at a beautiful, gigantic tree in the middle of the park. While taking in its grandeur, I couldn't help but wonder how many other trees like this one, once dotted the park's interior before being cut down to put in paths and grass lawns for picnickers. And why had this one survived out of all of them?

But beyond this question, I wanted to be like that tree. As I said before, it had character. A thick, sturdy trunk with roots wrapped around its base. A heavy layer of bark covered the flesh of the tree like the scales of a dragon. It had been beat up and weathered; experienced storms, rain, snow, sleet, wind. There were scars telling the tales of what it had seen over the years. As I stood there, I noticed other passersby were looking at it, enjoying everything it had to show for its battle against the elements. I wanted to be like that tree. Not because I wanted to go through hardship and suffering, but because I wanted to stand up underneath them and come out on the other side still whole.

Perseverance, steadfastness, and toughness are just a few of the words one would use to describe the tree. These are all traits I would love to possess and, to some extent, do possess traces of. But it is time that brings them to fruition. At one point, this great arboreal mammoth was a sapling; a weakling who had very little chance of survival amidst the giants surrounding him. But as the years passed by, it grew, probably with a longing much like the one I possess. And in the end, it was time and determination which allowed the desire to mature and the scars to tell the tale of who the tree was.

The Tree, Stanley Park, Vancouver, British Columbia

The One That Got Away

As I have mentioned in previous posts, during college, my friends and I enjoyed taking road trips. We saw many noteworthy landmarks: Old Faithful in Yellowstone, the Golden Gate Bridge, the bright lights of Las Vegas, Downtown Manhattan. But there was one landmark that got away. The Grand Canyon.

It was on our 'West Coast' trip. We were driving straight west from Tennessee through Albuquerque and then heading north to the Grand Canyon. It was going to be our first major stop on the trip. Of all the places we had been, this by far was going to be one of the most anticipated destinations of all our journeys. But as we entered the national park boundaries, we noticed there was something wrong.

There was a thick fog in the direction of the Grand Canyon. Not just a fog you might see in the early morning before the sun burns it away, this was a fog that would stop traffic, flights, the docking of boats, you name it. But we forged ahead, thinking, "Surely it can't be this thick all the way along the canyon." Boy were we wrong. We drove along until we reached a pull out and saw a path that led onto a viewing area. As we walked closer to the edge, our hearts sank. The fog was obstructing all possible view of the canyon. It looked like we were in a blizzard it was so white. So after I took the following photo, we loaded back into the van and headed on our way, a little disappointed.

The photo that follows is not the greatest piece of photographic artwork in the world, but it is a constant reminder to me of how you can't control everything and how it doesn't always go your way. Just a side note, I did end up going back to the Grand Canyon a few years later and hiking it rim-to-rim.

A Foggy Day, The Grand Canyon

On a Dirt Road in Saskatchewan

We had been driving almost non-stop from Fairbanks, AK and we were tired of the maroon interior of the van. The stench was reaching an all-time low and our diet of trail mix was catching up to us. All of this was no surprise; after more than 9,000 miles in a van with 4 guys, the quality of life is sure to be lessened.

So a few miles past Saskatoon on a flat and deserted highway, we thought a dirt road turn-off would be worth it. Simply letting the van air out was worthwhile. So we got out of the van and ran down the road for the sheer joy of movement and could not believe the blue sky stretching for miles over the green expanse of central Canada.

I still remember the sound of the dirt and rocks beneath my feet and the breeze blowing across those northern plains. It didn't have the striking features of a mountain range nor the beauty of open water like an ocean, but there was a simple beauty found in the flatness and unobstructed view of a prairie.

Featured in the picture below is a 1993 Ford Aerostar. The exact Aerostar that carried me and my friends to 49 states during our 4 years of college. It was captured in this photo shortly before its passing at over 280,000 miles. It lived a full life.

Our Van in Saskatchewan, Just South of Saskatoon, Canada

Waking Up in Appalachia

Our cabin was right on the side of a mountain. Driving up the driveway was a thrill and nerve-racking at the same time. It was as steep as a ski slope, making part of the family queezy and the other part excited every time we revved the engine to make the climb. There were other homes within sight, but I don't remember ever seeing any neighbors. Along with the solitude of our home, there was an incredible view. Courtesy of the second-story back porch, we were able to see over the trees and across to the the next mountain. The weather, the natural beauty, the rising and falling light at the beginning and closing of the day was all visible to us.

Mornings were my favorites. My father-in-law would always beat me out of bed, but when I woke, I would sneak out of my bedroom, trying not to wake my wife. Then head down stairs, trying not to wake other family members, and fill my coffee cup. Finally, I climbed back up the stairs as silently as possible, once again attempting not to disturb the slumber of the others, as I exited onto the porch and found my father-in-law already enjoying the cool morning air.

With the early rays of the dawning sun and a warm cup of coffee, we would sometimes talk, sometimes read. There was ample time to gaze out at what the landscape wanted to give us. Providing some insight into itself that those who were part of the scene would not be able to appreciate. We were above it all and because of this, bystanders instead of participants.

This particular morning a heavy fog lay over the forest below. Obscuring our view, but enhancing it at the same time. Time slowed a bit, the fog adding something new to the landscape and providing a serene panorama to enjoy with our taste of Sumatra. So with the wind lightly blowing and the coffee steaming lazily, we chatted and discussed the finer points of life and whatever else came to mind.

Fog in Appalachia, Outside Gatlinburg, TN

Unafraid Over Breakfast

As mentioned in a previous blog, A Morning With My Dad on the Mountain, my dad and I arose early one morning on vacation and set off in search of photographs, wildlife, and breakfast. As we reached the western side of Rocky Mountain National Park, we decided to search around the back roads of Grand Lake, CO. In theory we were searching for moose, but I think we both knew it was futile. So we went on another little side adventure, unsure about what exactly we were going to find.

As we turned around a bend, we were no more than 5 feet from a deer standing beside the road. Now remember, we were in a 15-passenger van which is neither quiet nor calming to wildlife. So I was shocked to see the deer stand perfectly still and gaze at us with indifference. It seemed we were just another couple of mildly annoying observers who stopped to gawk at her enjoying breakfast.

While staring at each other, I was able to take a few pictures, actually having to zoom out a little because we were so close. When we had our fill, we drove on discovering a dead end and nothing else very eventful. I am not a biologist or animal psychologist, but I thought about that deer as we drove back over the mountains to our cabin. Maybe she had become accustomed to people, maybe they had fed her before, or maybe she was simply fearless. Either way, this deer was no longer frightened by 15-passenger vans and men with zoom lenses.

But it was peaceful, the light was still soft, backlighting the deer as it munched happily on grass. So with pink ears and deep brown eyes, the deer enjoyed her breakfast with a little entertainment for her viewing pleasure; us. There was nothing but the soft hum of our engine even though houses were within viewing distance. There were no lawn mowers cutting the grass, no passing cars in the early morning, and no dogs barking. We simply had time to enjoy nature and one of God's creatures close up.

To get this picture, I used my Nikon VR 70-200mm, f/2.8 lense with my Nikon teleconverter TC-20E II. Even though the teleconverter stops down the f-stop a few notches, it was much cheaper to purchase than another telephoto lense with a longer focal length.

320mm, f/5.6, 1/800 s
Deer In Morning Light, Near Grand Lake, CO

Using One's Hands

My great-grandfather was a carpenter. I don't use this title as someone who frames houses (though there is nothing wrong with this), but rather as a true woodworking, build-anything carpenter. In fact, before he passed away, he was the last person alive in Illinois who could make a wagon wheel. This blows me away. I think the only thing I could make from wood is a spice rack.

I tell you all this because I have noticed that trades involving the skill of one's hands is on the decline. There used to be a time where people lived on a trade and in order to become accomplished at that trade, they became an apprentice under a master of that trade. Blacksmith, carpenter, printer, etc. But in this age of office jobs and corporate ladders, the simple art of working with one's hands and creating something has lessened in its use.

So I was pleased when I went to Gatlinburg with my wife's family and found Alewine Pottery in the Great Smoky Arts and Crafts Community. Walking through their building was like taking a step up into a mountain community. Wood floors and a banjo/bass duo out front gave the place an earthy feeling you don't get amidst the bright lights and cheap novelty shops of downtown Gatlinburg.

As I was perusing the pottery-lined shelves, I saw another area with large glass windows to view the potters at work. It was not a high-energy show, but rather a display of creativity, art and skill, often absent from our everyday lives. So I stood there, watching and taking pictures of an artisan at work and not once did I wonder why he wasn't doing it more efficiently through mass-production.

A Potter at Work, Alewine Pottery, Gatlinburg, TN

Being Pregnant

Being a man, I do not profess to know everything about being pregnant. I have never and will never have a child growing in my womb. And, most likely, will never know the pain and effort it takes to push that little child out of my body. That being said, I do know what it is like to have a wife who is pregnant. So, to this I will try to offer my humble opinion.

Having a pregnant wife is an incredible experience because I see someone I love so much, grow and nurture a child I have never met, but already love and care for. It is hard to watch my wife be in pain or uncomfortable or nauseous or any number of things that happen to her during pregnancy. I almost feel guilty because I don't ache the way she does and therefore can't fully identify and understand what is happening to her body. It is exciting to feel our daughter kicking and punching and moving around inside my wife because one day she will be in my arms kicking and punching and moving around. It is like standing on the edge of the unknown; not knowing what it is like to have a child of my own to care for and nurture. One who needs me and my wife to survive. How else is the baby going to bathe and eat and find shelter and relationships. It will be utterly helpless and depending on us. But finally it is one of the most amazing things to ever happen to me. Because when it comes down to it, all those emotions and feelings are what make it unique, memorable, exciting, and even a little scary.

The following picture was taken on a swinging bench on a dock in Charleston as my wife and I were talking about our daughter and what to name her.

Pregnant on the Dock, Charleston, SC

You Can See It In the Hands

There is something about looking at someone's hands. They seem to tell a story about the individual that no other part of the body can. On close inspection, you can see the lines or scars that went previously unnoticed. And of all the body parts, the hands seem to be the most unable to resist the wear of time and beating that we put our body through.

The photo that follows contains hands that can tell many stories. Stories of prayer, travel, child-rearing, preaching, counseling, and a battle with cancer, just to name a few. These are the hands of my grandfather-in-law. They are now at rest, but when the picture was taken he was in the midst of that battle previously mentioned. But it was Christmas and he was with family. I know he was tired. He took a few more naps than usual and there was a clear expression on his face of the exhaustion felt in his body. But all his sons were home and nothing was going to keep him from experiencing one of his final family gatherings.

I took this picture as he was sitting in an armchair, surrounded by the family he loved. It was low-light, but luckily his hand was directly under a lamp. It was simply one of those photos that you were glad to capture and knew would be looked at for years to come.

Papa's Hands, Alabama
Nikkor 70-200mm, 170mm, f/2.8, 1/80 sec

Mountain Gazing

The following photo, besides being found here on my blog, can be found resting in a frame on top of my brother and his wife's television in their living room. It was a wedding gift from me to them. It wasn't entirely a surprise because they had told me they wanted some of my photography, so I printed a few of my favorite photos and put one in the frame. So there it sits, reminding me of a road trip and the vast distance between me and those mountains.

When my friends and I started road tripping during college, I had half seriously/half jokingly thrown out the idea of driving to all 49 driveable states. So during our first road trip freshman year, the idea was somewhat laughable. But as college progressed and we drove to more and more states, the idea became a possibility and then a reality.

In setting out for our final voyage, we had already seen a lot up until that point. El Capitan in the midst of a snow-covered Yosemite, the giant Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center, and our nation's capital building in Washington, DC. But I don't think we really knew what to expect on our final drive up north. We had no idea about the moose, buffalo and bighorn sheep who grazed alongside the highway as if watch passing cars was watching their favorite primetime show. And we certainly didn't know about the constant and casual appearance of no-name mountains that would garnish well-known names if they were in the lower 48.

I guess that is what makes this photo so impressive to me. It wasn't a well known mountain. And even though it is quite majestic and noteworthy, as far as I know it doesn't even have a name. It is just another one of the many striking, precipices along the route to the great white north. I have to admit that while taking that last college journey, I found myself gazing absentmindedly at the mountains we drove through. They captivated my attention even when I didn't know it. It was in those moments that I wondered whether or not those who lived there even noticed them anymore. Had they become desensitized to the grandeur out their back door, or did they catch themselves gazing in wonder at them the way I did?

I love Ansel Adams and I guess this photo is my small tribute to his influence on my nature photography. Though he has left an indelible mark on my photos, I actually took this from the inside of our van as we were driving 70 mph down the road. I think he would heartily disapprove. And who knows how much better the shot could have been if I simply had gotten out of the van. Que sera, sera. I guess that's what you get when you road trip in fast forward.

No-Name Mountain, Yukon, Canada

A Little Change In Perspective

Someone's perspective can change a lot. Often it is simply a change in perspective that brings understanding between two people who share nothing in common. Other times, it can turn resentment into sympathy or anger into love. I think the problem is that we (as humans) tend to view situations in light of how they affect us. In other words, it is our perspective which gives us a frame of reference to interpret what happens to us. For example, if an acquaintance walks by us in the hallway at work, but does not even look at us, our first reaction might be that they are angry with us. The truth might be as simple as they are having a bad day and there is something on their mind. We probably had nothing to do with it, but our perspective makes us think we did.

My point is, there are many times when we just need to change our perspective to see the truth of the situation or, even better, the best in someone. There have been any number of arguments between my wife and me that could have been avoided if we simply assumed the best about what the other was trying to say. If it can work in my marriage, I am sure it could work in other relationships.

Changing perspective in photography can also be powerful. In fact, it is the most impressive photography that can take a normal object and show it in a completely different light. These are the photos that make you stop and look instead of just flipping past. The photo that follows is one of those where I tried to change the perspective a little. My wife and I were sitting on a bench swing on a dock in Charleston, SC when I took this photo. The scene before me was nothing really impressive, but I thought it might be worthwhile to try something different. I set the camera to 18mm and set the focus to about a foot. I held the camera down by the nail head and just snapped away. Voila! I hope this can more than anything, be a reminder to change your perspective every now and then.

The Dock, Charleston, SC
18mm, f/3.5

A Morning With My Dad On the Mountain

The day before, the whole family had decided to get up early to try and spot wildlife. We were awake before sunrise and set our sights on Bear Lake inside Rocky Mountain National Park. It was great to get up there before the crowds flooded the paths and cluttered the otherwise pristine landscape. But in the end, we did not spot any wildlife. Everyone was a little disappointed, but spirits were still high and we all enjoyed ourselves. In our hurry to get to the lake, we had passed up photo opportunities of incredible views in the emerging sunlight. So my dad and I decided it would be worth another pre-dawn excursion to catch these images we missed the first morning.

Alone in our enthusiasm, we hopped in the van the next morning, while the rest of the crew continued to slumber. We set off with a specific picture in mind. There was a valley on our side of the mountain that would be perfect as the sun rose just behind it. After reaching our destination and snapping as many pictures as we could rattle off in the the rapidly brightening scene, we realized we were plenty awake and already halfway toward the other side of the mountain. So we took the opportunity to travel over Trail Ridge Road, into the western half of the park. We wanted to try and spot any moose that might be lingering around the marshy area outside Grand Lake, CO. And even if we did not see any moose, we figured breakfast would be a great consolation prize.

While driving over the mountains, a large group of elk distracted us for a short while. Being up so early, traffic was slow and we were able to take our leisure in admiring the landscape and the elk herd. The photo that follows is a picture of my dad taking a picture of the elk. In the background you can see the mountains, almost eye level to us.

I know that the picture below will not win any photo contests and there is nothing extremely striking about the scene, but it is still special none the less. You see, to me it is not just a man sitting by the side of the road taking a picture. To me it is a reminder of a morning spent exploring with my dad. In this picture, I see a man who, like myself, was enjoying the morning sun, the solitude of nature, and the joy of capturing the landscape and moment around us. My dad and I are alike in many ways, as is evidenced by the fact that we were the only ones willing to sacrifice sleep to look at the mountains. And that morning was a time of sharing in the experience as much as anything else. These times have become more important as of late because they are actually soon going to be very rare. In the not too distant future, my wife and I will be moving out of the country for several years. We won't be making any trips to see family over Christmas or Thanksgiving. No extended weekend trips for family get togethers. And simple memories like a morning drive over a mountain and searching for moose will be much more precious than others might be able to understand.

Dad on the Mountain Top, Trail Ridge Road, Rocky Mountain National Park