Molten Lava Sky

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Absolutely minimal processing. One tweak of exposure. A tiny bit of noise reduction because it was shot with the G7 at ISO 400, at least. Maybe 800. No Kidding.

We were on our way back from Los Angeles, Thursday, and The Husband decided on a whim to take the all-freeway route back home. We had both just commented on what a beautiful day it had been with the air still clean and fresh from the rain earlier in the week. We were crossing the Mojave Desert when the sun began to dip to the horizon and we could see we were headed for a lovely sunset. We couldn't have known we were in for this treat. The Husband pulled off the freeway in the Mojave Desert and we stood, for some time, gaping at this giant cloud looking more like molten lava than any cloud I have seen. I wish I had been carrying a wide angle lens and a camera to do this justice, but just watching this marvel was reward enough. Any record at all was a bonus for me.

A Short Trip with the iPad

Okay, I didn't process this while on the road. It was a very short trip. But, the photo is a drive-by shot taken on Highline Road—part of the back roads route we take to Los Angeles. This was taken with the G7 on the way home and I did process it on the iPad.

By the time we got home, I had this bug to use the Connection Kit to get some files from the SD card to the iPad and then process at least one using the apps I have been experimenting with. Call it a dry run in anticipation of some travel in my future. Boy, it felt good to feel up to getting out and seeing some of the world. Our house is comfy. I love my views, but gee whiz I do get a bit of cabin fever.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Making the Most of It

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I wonder if that is what is happening. Are many making the most of this waning summer? I know I become more conscious each day that this late arriving and much savored summer is coming to an end. The days are already shorter. The nights are cooler. Like the child out of school and dreading September, I want to hang onto each shred of my precious summer. The balmy evenings, the easy-going mornings enjoying the kinder summery breezes, even the cloudless skies have warmed my bones and brought a welcome relief from the long, cold, seemingly endless winter.

Yes, winter has its allure with bracing cold, crisp air; blankets of snow turning the simplest landscape into a wonderland; and cloud shows that provide inspiration for weeks to come. But, I never think to call winter charming or comforting. Spring invigorates me. Autumn makes me especially thoughtful. Summer calms me, bringing a kind of deep peace. Childhood memories? Probably.

These last few days are to be noted. Taken into account and stored in memory. I will need those images in my mind that first Autumn morning when there is ice where the daisies grew. Ah, well, each season has moments of being my favorite. For now, I am a summer girl through and through.

Wild Daisies

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The wild daisies are one of the reasons I love summers in Bear Valley Springs. I never tire of them. Yes, they are absent the refinements of so many other lovely flowers. And, the daisies certainly are neither fragile nor difficult to propagate. Far from possessing the mystery and delicacy of so many other blossoms, these common, wild things—weeds, really—dominate the landscape here by July. For weeks, they stand, merrily waving in the summer breeze, savoring the sunshine, and generously spreading their simple joy.

Let The Husband wage his relentless war against the mustard, if he must. But, woe be unto any who dare mow down all my daisies. Fortunately, we long ago negotiated peaceful co-existence: a portion of our landscape has been assigned to the daisies; the remainder is subject to the mower. As a result, all all is well with us, just as it is with the ever-cheerful daisies.

Telling Stories With Images

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I enjoyed the responses to my last post and probably will post similar questions in the future. A great big thank-you to all who participated in the conversation. I appreciate the time taken to share your stories and each comment left me with something interesting to contemplate.

The story elements that evolved in my mind as that recent image emerged were rather dark. There was a sense of being lost in a forlorn and harsh environment—a cold, brutal wind stung my eyes. Even though there seemed to be vast open spaces around me, I was hemmed in by something I couldn't see. Everytime I felt I was about to gain control over events, I was faced with a dark and unexpected turn. The mountains were a challenge that I somehow had to reach, for the only hope lay on the other side.

I am intrigued by the connection between the elements in a picture and the properties of the story that emerges. For me, it isn't a clean and linear line. It is as if the image whispers stories to life and the stories then play on me as I process the image. I have come to think of that interplay as a kind of a dance. The intellect is in charge, then yields to the heart. I know precisely where I am going and how to get there.... Then, I lose my way and stumble about taking cues from what?  A dream, a memory?

When I stop molding an image—when I am ready to share it and say "This is it—for now", the result sometimes feels like something that is not really my own. There is no one or thing to blame, of course, but neither can I claim full credit—if, indeed, any is due. I led during parts of the process, but there were moments when it felt more like following. It was a process that took me to a discovery.

There is another aspect of images and communication that intrigues me. I have noticed that some people seem to think that if the image is made well enough it will say the same thing to all viewers. Wouldn't that turn the entire communication experience into a guessing game? "Guess what story I meant to convey with this image." That sounds like a really lame parlor game.

We all bring our unique life experience to every contemporary experience. We, each, arrive at any given moment with our particular baggage and that baggage will affect what we read into the story before us. Just as you and I would visit the same spot, but return home with different photographs, shown the same image we will read different stories featuring our particular characters and playing off our personal history.

The responses to my invitation for your stories gave me a good taste of what I was craving—some conversation about personal emotional responses to an image. What more could I have asked? The photo here was taken on that same stretch of highway as the last picture. This one calls to my mind very different stories, even though the setting is similar and the characters in the image certainly look similar. I hope this one suggests stories that speak to you.

Broken Wings

If I walk out to the road and back, alone, the killdeer seems quite calm. Note seems. For all I know, her little heart is pounding frantically in her breast as she holds fast to guarding her precious charge. But, she doesn't budge off those eggs.

When, instead, it is a family walk—The Husband, Galen, and I, the story is quite different. Either mama or papa (we are never sure which) goes into the full protection mode. We see the apparently frantic bird skittering across the drive on those stilt-like legs toward the road or, sometimes, we are even treated to the "broken wing act".

Now, what predator could resist following an injured bird hoping, any moment, to pounce on the seemingly helpless prey that pathetically flails just ahead of you? Of course, as you follow the lure, you are being taken ever further from the fragile eggs. (We tread carefully and if the silly bird begins to approach the road, we turn back. We don't want her to dash out into the road and we don't want the eggs left unprotected for long.) Whatever the path of supposed pursuit, when you, the predator, have traveled a safe distance from the nest, the bird is miraculously healed and soars back over your head to the eggs.

We had not seen a killdeer nest on our place until this year. I suspect that they were drawn by the puddles in the circle portion of our driveway. Those puddles threatened to never dry. Because there are plenty of predators around here, I have been concerned from the beginning about the chances of ever seeing killdeer chicks. More recently, I am most concerned that these eggs are never going to hatch and the poor bird will not have her babies this summer.

I did a bit of reading and learned that killdeer chicks remain in the egg longer than most bird species and neither of us can remember exactly when The Husband first spotted the eggs. Meanwhile, The Husband has blocked off the circle so a visitor will not clumsily roll their vehicle over the beautifully camouflaged eggs. We are holding out hope for a little longer. However, we are certain that mama is rapidly running out of time. Nature is full of harsh lessons and disappointments. In spite of the sadness I fear for the expectant mother, I have enjoyed having our very own killdeer educating and delighting us on almost a daily basis.

Note: This post was scheduled for publication Monday morning. During Sunday evening's family walk, we noticed that both mother and father killdeer were in attendance. Mama seemed unwilling to leave the nest to lure us away from her eggs and Dad, instead, was handling guard duty. Hmm. That has not always been the case. Then, on a slight detour from our usual path, we found what was apparently one of the precious eggs, far from the nest. Panic. We had just seen a hawk close by only moments before.

The Husband marked the location of the egg so we wouldn't step on it while I went back to check the nest and see if, indeed, an egg was missing. Mom stood inches away from the nest, but was doing her best to lure me away. Dad came back to pitch in. There were eggs missing all right. And, in their place there were fuzzy little creatures in the nest. I didn't want to get too close for a good look at the newborns. But, I smiled and celebrated all the way back into the house. Mama killdeer knows how to play bird with a broken wing, but she won't have a broken heart. (Yes, I know birds don't have broken hearts; but, hey, that is part of me that is still a girl.)

The Road to LA

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We left home at 4:30 Am Tuesday for my appointment at the hospital in Los Angeles. Since I didn't want to add a camera to the list of things for The Husband to lug around, this one is from the archives.

We may not be overjoyed about the fact, but the two-hour trips to LA are a big part of our routine now. This is my romanticized impression of the back way—the route we take unless there is snow and ice in our area. First, we have to drive into Tehachapi, then Highline Road takes us to Tehachapi Willow Springs Road through the windmill farms. By the time we the turn onto 90th St. West (where this photo was taken), we are past the town of Mojave, nearing Rosamond, and well down into the desert. Say farewell to our mountains.

By taking this route, we avoid the ten or fifteen minutes it would take to get from Tehachapi to the freeway. It saves some of the monotony of freeway driving and usually saves the travel time. That is, is unless you get stuck behind one of the big trucks that use this road. In that case, you have to slow down and enjoy the scenery. Eventually, we cut over to the 14 freeway and then it's over an hour of being sandwiched in one of those lanes among all the other cars, buses, and trucks headed to Los Angeles and outlying suburbs.

Don't get me wrong. Freeways are marvelous time-saving developments, and I am big time in favor of them. Still, sitting on one for hours at a time causes me to lose touch with where I am. For me, it is an odd and disorienting sensation. Narrow, back roads aren't as safe, in general; but, they seem to be human scale.

Scenes along Tehachapi Willow Springs Road and 90th Street West, such as this one, have now become part of who I am and where I live.

Bad News and Customer Service

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We got some quite disturbing news this week. I will leave it at that except to say that I know myself well enough to know that I will not be at my best for a while. I am almost certain to have more bad days than good ones, until the news is encouraging. I apologize in advance if I am slow to respond to comments, erratic in posting, and miss many days of making web rounds. 

Meanwhile, some thoughts swimming around in my head: Do you love your bank? Probably not. I know that I wasn't feeling too kindly toward mine. I won't mention the name, but they are one of the biggest in the country and certainly have California pretty well tied up. Specifically, I was ticked off because a business account of mine had recently been whacked with some outrageous monthly fees. I had not dealt with it—just a couple of things on my plate recently. That was my fault. But, that did not stop me from being annoyed by the exhorbitant deductions from my balance every month.

One of the many things we dealt with, while in Los Angeles Tuesday, was banking. Amazingly, this megabank doesn't have a branch in our nearby small town. When I sat down with a lady at one of those lobby desks, I was only there about an ATM card that had expired right around the time I had surgery. (Another thing that hadn't been dealt with, because it wasn't high on my priority list.) Well, lo and behold, this kind lady preceded to ask me about that account with the nasty fees and volunteered that she could switch the account so my required balance would be quite reasonable. Whoopee! No more irritating deductions. I jumped on the opportunity, of course. 

It is one thing when a company takes care of a problem because we have requested said action. It just feels so much better when the company representative spots the situation and offers to solve a problem that wasn't even on your radar at that particular moment. Today, I am still feeling all warm and fuzzy about that big bank with B and A in its name—at least about the representative at that one branch.

Out in the World, Again

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During my many months of recovery and relative isolation, I had forgotten what it is like to be out and about with anything resembling a social life. Friday, I went to a birthday luncheon (that lasted three hours—hey, women can talk!). We were celebrating the birth of a dear friend and it was a warm and lovely early afternoon. I came home to feed the dog, catch my breath, and collect The Husband to head off to the the monthly arts gala in town, the First Friday event. That meant two hours of hubbub bouncing back and forth between two galleries, meeting exciting new artists, touching base with artists I knew already, and bumping into old friends that I hadn't seen in months. I came home at the end of the evening totally exhausted physically and so hyped mentally that I couldn't sleep. All this activitiy had come on top having just begun to re-read Freeman Patterson's Photography and The Art of Seeing. It dawned on me Saturday that I had not absorbed that much stimuli over the course of one day in over a year. Yesterday, I was still a bit of both—exhausted physically and buzzed mentally.

I had already committed in my own mind to participate in the BVS Cultural Arts Association Annual Art Show (how's that for a mouthful?) this year, and Friday night solidified that decision. The big order for my friend/client, L, is done, and I'm just waiting for some packing goodies (for a finished sort of gift wrap) to arrive, so I can ship it off. I am ready to take on the next challenge. In spite of the work the art show entails, I am looking forward to it. I hated missing out on it last year.

This past Thursday, we were on the road and will be again one day next week. This time the medical appointments are for The Husband. The photo above was taken on the road west to Arvin. Most of our doctor visits mean the road south to Los Angeles—a not nearly so scenic drive. I decided to mine the more scenic photos for something to post here.

The photo is from the shoot, "On the Road to Arvin" and was taken with the G7. This one is a good example of why I indulge in drive-by photography. All along this route, there are very few places to pull off the road. Besides, we were headed home, running late already, and moving fast. There was no time to think, just react. Afterwards, I realized that I had responded to the frame that surrounded the mountains in the distance.

Mostly Boggy, with Some Sunshine

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Since we moved here, the small pond at the BVS Equestrian Center has been nothing more than a hole in the ground. When I drove down there Thursday, I was quite surprised to see a real pond—full of water. Of course, I shouldn't have been surprised. We have had quite a lot of rain this winter. All our trails are still slick and there are small sections of the walking paths at the Cub Lake recreation area that remain under water.

The Husband has had his share of frustration with the wet trails. A couple of days ago, he took the chestnut out for a trail ride and ventured off the valley floor. Unfortunately, at the end of a steep grade, Lancer hit one of those slick spots and, after a brief slide, ended up standing three-legged with a scraped hind leg. After being hand-walked for about half-an-hour to the Equestrian Center, where The Husband hosed off the leg with warm water, Lancer was ready to go again. After a couple of days off, I'm happy to report that neither is the worse for wear.

We have been enjoying a long, lovely stretch of sunny weather, but this week the forecast includes rain. Not much snow this winter, but plenty of the wet stuff. It may be a few months before I start doing part of my walking down at Cub Lake.

Free at Last

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Lately, I haven't published posts about places I have been and I am combing through archives for photos. That is because I haven't been anywhere! Things have been very quiet in my life for a several months now.

But, things are finally changing. My endurance level has increased and, in the last few weeks, the pain level in my back has decreased dramatically. My left leg is still a bit strange. But, at least it actually feels like it belongs to my body.

Besides, my being mostly housebound was about more than physical issues. I haven't had a valid driver's license for months. It came due for renewal late last year and the last thing on my mind, at that time, was driving.

Tuesday, The Husband and cruised down to Arvin for my appointment to take the written test. (Yes, the photo, above, is another of those drive-by's and taken with the G7. I would love to say that I spotted the hawk first, then waited for the right moment. But, that would be a lie. We were moving way too fast. I am grateful for all gifts, great and small.)

All went well at the DMV, and I now have one of those temporary paper licenses that fills in, until I get the official one in the mail. By the way, I have read that, in California, the delay on those plastic cards can be two months—or more. Interesting, since the temporary license expires in two months. Hmmm. Wonder how that works?

Nevertheless, for now, I am a legal driver. I feel like a kid who just got out of school. At last, I am free to see how much driving I can do without stirring up my back. Being more independent will open up considerably more photo opportunities.  Hot dog! Time to fill up those hard drives.

Is There a New Camera in My Future?

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For the last couple of days I have felt an urge to experiment with my Canon G7. Off and on I have enjoyed shooting with it, but I bought at it at just about the worst time to have purchased that camera in Canon's line. The G7 shoots only jpeg and I cannot talk myself into being satisfied with that format when I have worked so long with RAW files.

The last couple of days, I have been reminded of how nice it is tote the lightweight camera. It's quite handy for my walks. The photo above was taken during my Sunday evening walk/therapy session. I walked two-thirds of a mile in my trip to the mail boxes and back. Finally, I am moving beyond our drive. One thing was clear: for now at least, a DSLR would have been heavy by the end of the jaunt. Still, as convenient as the point and shoot is, I miss the controls of my DSLR's, and I miss the heft of the heavier cameras when it comes time to frame and trip the shutter.

Unfortunately, I recognize this urge to use the G7 for what it really is. I am flirting with an upgrade to the G12. There are several reasons. Better performance at higher ISO's would be a welcome bonus. The sensor in the G7 is several generations old, and I feel confident that the G12 would give me more flexibility to shoot in lower light. Still, the ultimate frustration with my current version of a point and shoot is the inability to shoot RAW files. That is the true source of this edition of gear lust.

No doubt the smaller camera would always be my second choice and picked up only when conditions make a DSLR impractical. Not surprisingly, the G7 suffers badly when compared to the 40D and 50D. I have no illusions that a G12 will fare dramatically better in a direct comparison.

I am still on the fence about this. I know there are many photographers who are deeply satisfied with the Canon S90. While some of them are people I greatly respect for their more informed opinions, I find myself stuck on the notion of a G12. I can't determine whether I am dense, stubborn, sentimental, or just old enough to be stuck in my ways.

We shall see how this turns out. But, for now, the G12 is the clear front runner.