Happy Fourth of July!

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The Fourth of July has long been one of my favorite holidays, even though I frequently do absolutely nothing special. I get all misty over the stars and stripes and love celebrating our national birthday even it's a private and quiet celebration at home. For those who plan to attend a display this year, I ran across this article on photographing fireworks. By next year, we will be all settled in Bear Valley and they have a wonderful big, old fashioned Fourth celebration, parade and all. I will put these tips to good use, I hope. Here's the link.

Shooting RAW

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Michael Tapes says we all shoot RAW. If you feel like quibbling, check out this very short video at his site. I have already admitted that I drank the Kool-Aid a long time ago and am completely committed. I would never go back to shooting jpeg, even though I understand the reluctance to add to the processing workload and the suspicion that it’s a waste of time and pixels (I was there for a little while myself). I found the video interesting. Again, the video is only a few minutes long. If you have strong feelings one way or the other, it's not likely to change your mind, but check it out.

Safaris and Bedroom Slippers

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By the time we rolled into the driveway in Bear Valley, it was a little after 8:00 PM. The last thing I expected to see was a lovely doe grazing happily on the meadow grass in the field next to our driveway. She was in the field that stretches west to the far edge of our property and continues, interrupted only by a few trees, all the way past the fire station and down to Cub Lake. She was startled, but far from panicked and I had time to frantically wrest the camera from the bag at my feet, rip off the lens cap, and snap a couple of shots before she began to move away. With only the 70-200mm lens, I still couldn’t get anything resembling a prize winner type shot, still it was a pleasure to enjoy her wild beauty and get a least something with a somewhat decent exposure in the fading light. We were fascinated by the ease and composure of her exit. Even in my limited experience, I have learned the truth of the theory that a vehicle functions as a surprisingly effective blind with many wild animals. They are so accustomed to seeing vehicles by now that they will accept one in their domain with relative calm. This doe was an excellent example. She wandered off, but she was far from desperate for her life.

That was Tuesday. Wednesday morning, I slept in and was finally up and about around 7:00 AM. First thing, I shuffled into the kitchen and dutifully hit the switch on Mr. Coffee, so The Husband would have his cup of java when he rolled out. Before I could bring myself to start the oatmeal, I simply had to grab some shots of the latest wild flowers. Most of the poppies were already gone, but these latest additions were charming. I grabbed the camera with that same 200 lens because I knew the light was changing fast and headed out the west side of the house—lightweight knit pants, black fuzzy bedroom slippers and all. After simply drinking in the scene for a moment and relishing the delicious colors that stretched before me, I stepped out on the porch and began to fixate on the flowers that were the objective of this morning’s trek.

At first, I sat on the porch steps and that seemed like an ideal perch. I could brace the camera with elbows on thighs and that was a plus, since none of the muscles in my legs or arms were yet fully awake. Of course it turned out that for one reason or another, the flowers nearest the porch weren’t quite right. Somewhat reluctantly, I put the sleepy muscles to work and started out across the one hundred foot fire break The Husband had cut a couple of weeks before. I couldn’t resist wading a bit into the fast-growing grass and flowers and decided to ignore the army of fox tails I was collecting in those fuzzy slippers and socks. The article I had read just a couple of weeks before about rattlesnakes in the valley crossed my mind and I knew I had to keep an eye on the footing in front of me watching for the hundreds of gopher holes out there. Nevertheless, you know how it is: I had to find the wild flower that was waiting for me.

While I became more deeply absorbed in what was at my feet—gopher domiciles, suspicious noises or movement in the grass around me, and bright, sunny flowers right and left—I was aware of movement off to my right. I jerked my head up and found myself staring at a doe that looked back at me every bit as startled as I. I believe that the movement I had seen was her head as it popped up when she became aware of me. We stood there transfixed for a second staring at one another, neither of us wanting to be the first to move.

I finally came to life and slowly raised the camera, but of course every setting was wrong and I was terribly excited. Well what to expect? I am not exactly experienced at facing a deer at that hour of the morning. In the first shot, she was chewing and looked a bit annoyed. I thought I had botched my first chance and that that might be the end of it, but once again there was no panic on the animal’s part. I venture that my heart was pounding faster than hers was. Though alert all the time, she began to wander leisurely toward that stand of trees. Fearlessly, I plunged deeper into the treacherous bush. No, wait; I got carried aware there for a moment. I plodded awkwardly in my blasted bedroom slippers, for crying out loud, into the uncut and taller grass, which of course meant even more fox tails and almost completely invisible footing. I tried holding my breath to avoid further alarming the doe as I followed her further into the field.

After we both advanced a few yards out into the field keeping our distance from one another, she apparently became more certain that I was harmless (that’s an understatement). I could swear that at one point she yawned. Heck, she may even have chuckled. At any rate, she finally began to cross my path and walked some distance parallel to me. Pretty cocky, huh? Because our land is terraced to drop several feet in elevation (eventually the land beyond ours drops down to the level of the lake), she had no trouble staking out a spot where I could see only her face and a bit of neck above the grass. We watched each other for a bit and periodically I snapped the shutter, but mostly I enjoyed our “eye contact”. She was probably about fifty yards from me (according to The Husband’s calculations later) and thanks to the 200mm lens serving as my binoculars, I could see her face quite sharply.

Eventually, the doe became bored and then ambled off down toward the trees leaving me to trudge back through gopher territory to the house. As I sat on the porch steps plucking fox tails from the fuzzy slippers, as well as the socks and knit pants, I turned over and over in my mind the delicious surprise and vowed in the future to never set foot outside without boots. You just never know when you will find yourself on safari stalking wild creatures through dangerous terrain.

In the Bear Valley Gallery here and here, I posted cropped versions of two shots taken during Wednesday morning's safari. I purposely didn't crop the first shot above, so you can get a bit of an idea as to how close I was shooting at 200mm. I know some of you know telephoto lenses well enough to make a good guess as to how close I was with the uncropped version. I wish I did.

One of These Days

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One of these days, I am going to get so organized that I will have several posts prepared ahead of time that I can then schedule to post while I am away. One of these days.

We needed to take care of some things at the house in Bear Valley and made a quick trip leaving Tuesday and returning last night. Of course, I had had such good intentions about scheduling posts that would go up yesterday and today. But, we all know about good intentions and how they often end. If I put it off too long, there is no recourse since we don't have Internet up there yet. (There' s lot we don't have up there—but that's another story.) Besides, the truth is even if we did have Internet, I am sometimes too busy to post during these rush-rush trips. I just have to get more organized.

One of these days.

Way Down Yonder

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The last time we spent some time in Bear Valley, we were treated two evenings in a row to a visit by some of our four-legged neighbors. On both occasions, the deer hung around the little stand of trees at the far edge of our property about a quarter mile (according to The Husband) from the house. (This deer, "way down yonder" is actually just beyond our property line.) I don't have the lens to get a good shot, but I tried my new 70-200 f4 IS lens combined with a 1.4 teleconverter and, after a bit of cropping, I managed to get this teaser.

I don't know how I long I will be able to tolerate not having a good 300mm lens that will work with that converter what with deer, coyotes, and hawks tempting me on a regular basis. A person can only tolerate that sort of pressure for so long. Right? Heck, I have even found myself fantasizing about a blind of some sort out in that field. Too many temptations.

Filling Up Hard Drives and Tracing The Lines of My Face

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I have no intention of delving deep into this topic of why some of us feel compelled to take photographs. Certainly, the subject has been examined by people far wiser, more articulate, and with decades more experience than I. Still, while I may have nothing truly fresh or original to bring to the conversation, I have been musing lately on my personal need to accumulate all these folders filled with images most of which will be seen by no one other than myself and perhaps, The Husband. Ultimately, I decided that it was useful to organize my thoughts on the subject and profit by the clarification that the exercise would likely produce.

A side note: Due to a typo (or so I thought), I misspelled the word compelled in the first sentence of this post. When I re-read my post for editing, I discovered that rather than typing compelled, I had written completed. Well, that certainly set me thinking in even more directions. Nowadays, making pictures does make me feel more complete.

At any rate, I had been thinking about how taking photographs helps me to see my world more clearly and to be more conscious of the moment. I have always appreciated the mystery and splendor of nature, but I am looking much more closely now because of time spent with a camera in hand.

It seems to me that, for one thing, there is an honoring, acknowledgment, or salute that is taking place when I snap the shutter. When I point my lens at something around me I make the statement: this matters—perhaps only to me, but still, I have now stepped forward to become the one of those who paid attention. In the giant scheme of things, my act of acknowledgment certainly makes a leaf falling of cosmic importance in comparison.

Of course what does matter is that when I point my lens at a thing, while I am connected with what I see, I am also refining my understanding of who and what I am. (Here, I am decidedly less than original.) Paul Butzi, for one, has written about this in some depth and fairly recently, if I recall, even though I don't remember all the specific articles. Moreover, just a couple of weeks ago, Andrew Ilachinski posted a wonderful article on photography as a tool for self-discovery. Andrew included this marvelous quotation that I have repeated here:

“A man sets out to draw the world.

As the years go by, he peoples a space

with images of provinces,

kingdoms, mountains, bays, ships,

islands, fishes, rooms, instruments,

stars, horses, and individuals.

A short time before he dies,

he discovers that the patient labyrinth

of lines traces the lineaments
of his own face.”- JORGE LUIS BORGES

Recently, I had a little lesson in how my paying attention connects me to a subject and causes me to become, in a way, attached to something I have photographed. On my first trip to Techachapi, California in 2004, when I had gotten my first DSLR, the Canon Rebel-D, I was quite taken with the dilapidated train station in the middle of town. Later, I learned that the old depot, having been built in the late 1800’s by the Southern Pacific railroad, was a revered part of the small town’s history and that it was on the National Register of Historic Places.

At the end of last year, we decided to retire to Bear Valley Springs which is just a few miles outside Tehachapi and I was eagerly looking forward to spending many happy hours on Tehachapi Boulevard utilizing my latest camera acquisition for further exploration of the wonderful old depot. As we began to make trips to (mostly only through) Tehachapi, I discovered that the station was barricaded due to a massive renovation that had been undertaken by community volunteers. Indeed, the fellow from whom we bought our house up there told us he was proud to be participating in the renovation. I had my fingers crossed that the town’s committee for the project hadn’t elected to improve on the structure and make it more tourist-worthy—you know bigger, better, and shinier. I confess I was a little anxious about the outcome.

And then, mid-June, we went to Bear Valley for a couple of days and when I spotted a sign proclaiming an arts and crafts fair at Central Park in Tehachapi, I convinced The Husband that he would need a break from weed whacking and we should take advantage of the opportunity to meet some folks from town. It turned out that Central Park was just off Tehachapi Boulevard and as we made our way to the fair that Sunday, I knew that our route would take us right by the depot, so I thought about checking the latest progress on the renovation.

The sight we saw took our breath away. Where the over a hundred year old building with the peeling paint and years of rich history had stood, there was only a pile of charred rubble. We both were devastated. Later that day, we learned that the building had been destroyed in a fire that had broken out in the early hours of Friday, the 13th and that by the time the fire department arrived, the building couldn’t be saved. Arson was suspected and the latest news is that fireworks were involved. It turns out the sprinkler system was to have been installed on Friday followed, within days, by the grand re-opening of the town’s pride and joy. According to the people we talked to that Sunday, the city has plans to rebuild the historic site. But, it turns out I will have to wait a long time to reacquaint myself with the delightful old Southern Pacific depot.

Mucking Stalls

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I am fully aware that inside jokes in a public forum are bad taste, but this isn't that inside—all it takes to become an insider is to read the previous post along with the comments.

Now, with that out of the way, Paul, here is our muck rake. Let's get to work on those stalls. I don't know about you, but I have a lot of work to do.

Technical Note: I don't know what is going on with Blogger the last few days, but it's cantankerous as all get out. Almost nothing about formatting works. Beside that, my jpegs here lose quite a lot in terms of saturation, hue, and vibrancy. That's new and I don't like it one bit. (I just remind myself, the program and service is free.) I hope you will click the thumbnail for the real version of my pictures.

Still Life and Expensive Passions

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For this pursuit of indoor photography I mentioned, I will have plenty of subjects for still life studies similar to the one above. Like any other self-respecting horseman, The Husband has quite a collection of tack. If I could still ride, I would have two expensive interests—both involving a great deal of gear.

That is a distinct similarity between the horse and photography worlds. For photographers, the temptation to add cameras, lenses, and bags seems never to end. Similarly, for the horse owner, there is always another bit you need, a better fitting and/or lighter saddle, a new set of reins, girth, or blanket to replace the old worn equipment, as well as new boots and shoes for yourself and the horse. Then there are the smaller items that get lost or simply wear out such as halters, lead robes, brushes, hoof picks, leg wraps, curry combs, buckets, and well you get the idea. Besides all this, you have to buy land or pay for a stable to keep the horse. (There is a reason so many horse people drive old beat up cars).

Oh well, at least cameras don’t eat—or do they? CF or SD cards? Still, there is perhaps an even more critical difference in the price to be paid for these two passions: cameras don’t leave piles of poop to be cleaned up.

Hmm. Come to think of it, maybe thanks to some operators, even that isn’t true.

Addendum: This one is a found still. I didn't look around for a clean bit. If you check the larger size, you'll see that the bit didn't get cleaned and I didn't set up any lighting. Just playing, so far.

Canadian-Style Inspiration

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A couple of days ago, I posted a link to some inspiring words. Today, I am offering a link to some inspiring images. If you could use a break from other things—or just need to reconnect with examples of the beauty that abounds on our amazing planet, take a moment to soak up the gorgeous sights Sean McCormick sees in the Neutral Hills of Alberta, Canada.

To Blog or Not to Blog

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After reading Niels Henriksen's thought-provoking post this week about reasons for blogging among other things, I realized that I am approaching an anniversary of sorts here at my blog thinking about some of the same issues Niels discusses. Just a few weeks short of a year ago, I chose the name for my blog on the spur of the moment and started this venture with some rather vague notions as to its purpose. Like Niels and many others, I am still trying to clarify exactly why I am doing this. Paul Butzi had a short, but fascinating series of posts on this topic of why we put ourselves and our work out there and his comments had been, in turn, partly motivated by a post from Joe Reifer (Paul includes a link to that post).

For me, blogging is partly about getting permission to sit in on a remarkable round-table discussion peopled by photographers who could well teach workshops that I couldn't afford to take. Alone, I don't have the expertise to carry on an intelligent technical discussion with probably a single one of the people whose blogs I read regularly. Yet, because the talent and skills of these people are matched by graciousness and generosity, I have been welcomed to sit at the table picking the brains of individuals who have decades of experience to go with their talent. My persistence and my effort has allowed me to feel part of this community. Since I don't have a local community of photographers, I have come to depend on this web-based community and it has now plays a vital role for me.

For quite some time I was a lurker on the web. While I read avidly, I rarely left anything behind. Finally, I got brave enough to post comments (often questions) and that became a little easier when I learned how kind so many photographers are. I still have far more impulses to post comments than the number of comments posted. Often, I am intrigued or inspired by the articles written on a blog that I frequent, yet I can't seem to put into words thoughts that are worthy of the original post.

When I began to get comments on my own blog, I was, for a time, a bit intimidated. Because I was keenly aware that these people had forgotten more about photography than I will ever know, the notice of my existence rendered me virtually mute. When I did get my bearings, I looked back at another reason for starting the blog. I wanted to thwart that part of my being that gets stuck on perfect. (Like the typical perfectionist, I am a million miles from perfect in any thing I do, yet I have long struggled with the need to get an “A”.) Any virtue can be carried to a vice and my work ethic and determination to do the best I can frequently veers into paralysis brought on by that nasty thinking circle: I can’t do it as well as others, so why do it at all. And this in spite of understanding full well that if you don’t do it, you will never get better at it. It is a struggle to stay on top of that—old habits don’t just expire and can’t be wished away—new habits must be cultivated to replace the old ones. The discipline—erratic though it is—to post frequently, urges me to let go of the need to put up worthy work (thoughts and images), and helps to keep me focused on doing the work. Meanwhile, the ongoing conversation helps considerably to keep me grounded , even when I am deeply discouraged.

Occasionally, a conversation with a friend or acquaintance in my non-web world leads me to mention my web-based community, and often that individual concludes that I am referring to a group where one posts photos for critiques by other photographers. Invariably, I find that once the person makes that assumption, I have almost no hope of explaining to them the real nature of a community that is based upon the exchange of ideas, support, and sharing of knowledge and/or experience, rather than ratings. Like anyone else, I'm sure, I welcome an occasional “well-done” or (with equal enthusiasm) the periodic “I wonder what would have happened if you …” Still, comments on the individual shots are almost incidental to the stimulating exchange of thoughts about the struggle to create. Being a part of this web community certainly does provide a form of validation and a critical one for me—just not the sort many people assume.

I have come to depend upon this exchange so much that when we make our trips to Bear Valley and I am without Internet, I feel a bit lost. It’s more than a trifle strange to feel so connected to a group of people I have never even laid eyes on.