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Every time I am tempted to leave my camera at home, I think about the many times when I have regretted that decision. One never knows what the light will be, what the world will offer, what moments will unfold.
Still, when we head down to Cub Lake for a walk, I often think, “Gee, the camera is heavy. I don’t need it. I have more photos to process than I will ever finish. I should spend more time walking and less time photographing.” You know the dialogue.
Lately, I can almost never leave the camera behind. I suppose that I one day I may have to forego the camera, just to demonstrate to myself that I am still in charge.
Still, when we head down to Cub Lake for a walk, I often think, “Gee, the camera is heavy. I don’t need it. I have more photos to process than I will ever finish. I should spend more time walking and less time photographing.” You know the dialogue.
Lately, I can almost never leave the camera behind. I suppose that I one day I may have to forego the camera, just to demonstrate to myself that I am still in charge.



Traveling through the foothills entails a never-ending display of delightful colors and flowing, sensuous shapes. The greens of spring are an unearthly electric green and the oak trees, for a short time, are a pale and remarkable lavender. But for much of the year, the hill sides are golden. By summer, the grass is starved for water and baked to a rich gold by the California sun. I never tire of the spectacle. My one sadness is that, on the road through the mountains, there are few places for pulling off the highway to enjoy the countryside, and there are precious few side roads for exploring. Mostly, these are scenes that one must hold in the mind; or, in my case, shoot like a mad woman from a moving vehicle. Occasionally, my crazy experiments yield something that pleases me and brings back the feelings of awe and peace that I draw from the landscape.