This past week while out with my five year grandson, he found quarter in the parking lot as we were entering the grocery store. Since he is still in preschool, he didn't know if it was a quarter, dime, or a nickel and had little knowledge of its value as currency. Currency was of little value to him since he was with grandpa today. He knew it was shiny, and he was lucky enough to find it and best of all, it was his to keep. In other words, he liked it for the excitement of finding something on his own and he was beginning to learn about the special joy of finding lost treasures.
I think that feeling of delight we experience when finding something unexpectedly matures as we grow older. Perhaps, we even unconsciously cultivate it. Let's face it guys, how many of us biked through our neighborhood the day before garbage collection seeking what useful cast offs could be imaginatively repurposed. As adults, how many times have we stopped at an estate sale just to see what might be found there? Maybe finding a lost item is akin to experiencing a personal act of Providence.
Sometimes we experience that same feeling when we find a forgotten treasure from our earlier years such as a forgotten toy or simple gift given to us long ago by a close friend or a relative no longer part of our lives. That item once lost in our memory was found again and now holds new meaning and has even greater value for us.
My photo for the week was taken at Nygren Wetlands while I was photographing egrets. The experience of finding this feather sliding easily across the water seemed to be like to stumbling upon a lost object. A difference here is that I did not physically possess the object, but I knew that keeping the feather would have diminished my experience since the feather was in its perfect location drifting along on the smooth surface of the blue water on a sunny October day. To touch it or try to retrieve it would destroy the mystical quality of my discovery by altering its context and purpose.
For this lucky photographer, the photo reminded me of how sweet it is to find something lost and how that simple object provides excitement and joy even without possessing it. Some finds need to be kept, some need to be set aside only to be cherished again, and some need to be left alone. For me, my image offered a glimpse of how solace and freedom appear naturally standing apart from the many distractions which compete for my attention. Since photography is truly a one way means of communication, I would be curious to hear if this image speaks to you.
PS When I first took this photo I knew it had a quality about it that I liked but couldn't quite articulate. I searched the web exploring the concept of what makes us repond to images. I discovered a website and a blog by a creative and analytical photographer named Ming Thein. Below, I will list his website and a reference to parts one and two of his article entitled "Photography and Psychology: How We View Images"
https://blog.mingthein.com
https://blog.mingthein.com/2013/10/29/photography-and-psychology-1/
https://blog.mingthein.com/2013/10/31/photography-and-psychology-2/
 |
| Aurora Borealis October 2024 |
Can you recall a that time in your childhood when you saw Santa at the department store or in your dimly lit living room on Christmas Eve? It was magical. You wanted to believe your eyes but could you really trust what you believed you saw?
That feeling was akin to my first experience seeing the aurora borealis through the viewfinder of my camera this week. Sure, I have stepped out on the porch looking to see the lights when reporters claimed they were visible here in northern Illinois. I have also driven through very dark rural areas hoping to see if I could spot them but -- zippo! When the local weather person said that the lights could be best viewed at 3:30 am or some such ridiculous hour, I decided that it was more fitting with my lifestyle to admire Ed's photos.
My friend Ed invited me to go out at 9:00 PM (which was a reasonable hour) to a local park near the foot bridge overlooking a small lake to photograph the aurora borealis. Since he has produced many great photos recently, I had every reason to believe that he could help me see this phenomena for the first time, and he delivered on his claim. Always nice when a plan works.
Life reinforces the idea that if you see it, then you can believe it. The converse being if you can't see it, you probably shouldn't believe it or should rationalize that you are not seeing it because you are in the wrong place or seaching at the wrong time. As we stood on that bridge in utter darkness, I looked up and I saw nothing. When Ed got his camera set on the tripod, the colors of red, magenta, and green splashed across his display screen. For me, this was my "Yes, Virginia, there really is a Santa Claus" moment. Not only were those brilliant skies appearing in his camera, I saw those same magical colors fill my viewfinder also.
What I took away from this experience was:
Of all the photos that I have taken on and above the waters at the Nygren Wetlands, this photo would likely be one of the least memorable. Just this week, I have taken beautiful images of water reflections at sunset, blue herons hunting gracefully over the still waters, I even took a photo of an American Bittern that I was lucky enough to catch out in the open near the water's edge. In a photo contest, any of these images would have been rated more highly than the one I chose to discuss today.
This image was chosen because I have discovered that photography generally consists of images that are engaging/exciting, novel, or visually stimulating for both the viewer and photographer. When creating those kinds of images, the photographer chooses to be the voice of the image by influencing its message in the way that it is captured and processed. Then there are the times when the image whispers a personal message and the photographer needs to just observe and ponder. For me, this is such an image.
The photo captures a brief moment when a small frog decided to cross the water's placid surface leaving no trace of his being there but for that brief moment -- a moment I, alone, was priviledged to witness. Some gentle ripples and a few bubbles on the water were the only fleeting evidence of his being there, and he isn't even visible within the scene which he created. At a future time, perhaps this small frog may rest on a colorful lilly pad to pose for another photographer who will give him his thirty seconds of fame.
Perhaps, I am thinking of this because it is close to the time of year when my father passed away, or perhaps, by some ironic circumstance, these older eyes come to see life with greater acuity than could be seen with younger eyes. Metaphorically speaking, I believe we each gravitate to our own place in the pond where we come to realize that this is the very place we were meant to be after all these years. Dad used to say that "some people cross our lives leaving a path for us to follow, while others simply leave the mark of a heel." Everybody leaves a behind a legacy-- ripples .
In a generation of selfies, it's a gift to find people who will encourage and shine a light helping others find their way. Through photography, I have met a lot of wonderful people. I have also experienced nature in ways which sustain my belief in miracles, and if you listen very carefully, you may even hear a message from a frog.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven ...
Although summer officially ended on September 21st and kids have been back at school for nearly one month, summer is now truly over. We all knew this time would come. We could see the signs, Friday high school football resumed, the apple orchards opened, spice and pumpkin seasoning reappeared in the coffee shops and restaurant menus. However, we ignored the message behind these signs and continued to stash bit of summer away during the weekends by grabbing a frosty treat with family and friends at the Dari Ripple. The warm summer like weather helped cajole us into believing that we could hold back of piece of summer all year but as Ecclesiastes says "a time to keep and a time to let go".
This past Sunday, September 29th, the Dari Ripple closed its windows for the 2024 season. Outside the business, a string of mourners formed to pay their respects by savoring a blue moon snowcone or a banana split for one final time. Gone, for now, are the carefree evenings when we sat at the picnic tables and simply talked and laughed. We disregarded cares for tomorrow and stowed away our cell phones to protect them from the sweet, sticky, streams of melting goodness, and for a few moments at the end of a warm summer carefree day, we became kids again.
My photo, taken at evening September 29th, is a final nod to all the ice cream stands across the midwest that are closing for the season.
