nature

america’s best idea

Some of my earliest memories consist of tall trees, rivers, and the sweet clean scent of a mountain pass. Some of my best memories consist of high mountain lakes, deep canyons, cliffs overlooking oceans and lakes, and the museums of Washington, D.C.

Most of my vacations are ventures into our national parks. I can’t remember a time when we didn’t go to a national park at least once every summer.

Just thinking about recent years visiting the various parks and monuments in Arizona with my niece with cameras in hand makes me wistful for those moments with her in the stunning landscapes set aside for us to ponder the wonders of life.

inside –> out

“There are trees in our hearts.”
Nalini Nadkarni

On Facebook yesterday, my friend, Betty Schlueter, (who is an amazing photographer), posted a link to the TED video of Nalini Nadkarni, an ecologist who looks at tree canopies, interdisciplinary studies, and urging people of different backgrounds to unite for a common cause.

The first time I watched, I was attracted to the emotional appeal. I’m a tree-hugger. I love trees. I love to touch them, smell them, and talk to them. I’m not ashamed to admit that. I was interested in the idea of creating bonds between people who don’t have that connection to nature to nature itself. But I was also amused by her humor and the way she connected that humor to a very serious issue.

My second time through the video, I began to see the similarities in the way we approach our particular fields of inquiry. She invites artists into the forests to interpret them in a way that connects two seemingly different areas of interest: the sciences and arts. And this is how I approach my studies and teaching practices.

Yes, I’m a writing instructor. But I started off in geology. I like looking down, thinking about how everything is constructed from a foundational support, how it is built, layer upon layer, until it becomes something stronger and more stable.

When I’m in a writing class, I think of writing in different terms. I don’t think about how I interpret it. I’m much more interested in how the students in the class interpret it and how they can find it useful.

We’re working on the final projects of the semester. My classroom is entirely collaborative and students are working as a part of a team to put together the projects. I asked them, “what matters to you?” “What are your interests?” The class isn’t about me. I already know how to do this stuff.

So I ask them to be creative. Not because I expect them to be artists. I don’t. Many of them are pre-professional (med, vet, dentist, etc.), and others are business or agricultural students. While some of them may consider themselves artistic, what I really want to encourage them to do is to look outside of the box to think about what will suit their project the best. Sometimes that’s a wiki, sometimes a webpage, sometimes a video, and sometimes a message in a bottle (yes, I’ve received projects in all of these forms).

It’s about taking what is inside and bringing it out. It’s about going into the forest, looking up, and seeing the possibilities. It’s about looking into their hearts, and seeing the roots that grow there, waiting to connect to something bigger.

It’s about communicating with one another, sharing the excitement, and watching a project come to fruition.

I haven’t been disappointed yet. Each of them is amazing and contributes in ways that I could have never imagined.

breathless

photo by me

A friend came into my office yesterday and was telling me how she was lamenting that she hadn’t seen any of the current meteor shower. She had just moved into my area, which is very dark (and we are at an elevation of 7000 feet), and has huge windows in her house. She has been watching the night sky to see a “shooting star” and hadn’t seen one. She said that her husband had been delighted by the view that they had and had seen quite a few.

Then, while in bed, she watched out the window and the night sky lit up with a meteor. She said she was excited by it. Her entire face lit up and it made me smile.

It’s the small things, isn’t it? Those beautiful nothings we can’t control that surprise the heck out of us.

I love those moments. They come out of nowhere and take my breath away.

And I got one of those this morning.

I was driving to work, thinking about what is on my agenda this morning and listening to NPR. Here I was listening to a report about the pervasive poisonings that the KGB has done throughout the history of that organization. This led me to think about the space race between the US and Russia in the past and how we are now more global in how we go into space (or seemingly so, anyway — more collaborative, anyway).

Then…shooting across the sky, my very own shooting star.

It literally took my breath away.

A blip.

That made me smile and think about how amazing this earth is around us and how fortunate we are to be able to see things like that.

A beautiful nothing blip that took my breath away.

blessing and curse

photo by me

I love snow. I really do. I like how the untouched snow blankets the earth and makes it appear pristine and beautiful.

Snow is glorious.

But it’s also a pain. Only because we have too many people moving here who have NEVER driven in snow.

I’ve been driving in snow my entire adult life. I know how to do it and how to do it well. Okay, well can be subjective, I suppose.

I don’t think people realize that when they are going 10mph down a highway because they don’t know how to drive in snow that it is just as dangerous as driving as if there were no road hazards.

I don’t think they understand that.

And what is this thing about driving as close as possible to one another, in single file lines, down a road? There are 2 lanes, people! Use them! Don’t make it dangerous for the rest of us simply because you don’t know how to drive in snow!

Sheesh.

On a cheerful note, we got our first snowfall last night. And it’s beautiful.

good morning, sunshine!

photo by me

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. The rainy season is my favorite time of the year.

The sunflowers are a big part of that.

I own 2 1/2 acres and part of my property is covered in sunflowers waiting to bloom. I don’t mow it. I don’t even tend it. They just grow.

Gloriously.

Beautifully.

They sprout up, their yellow heads peeking out at me and making me smile.

I value my sunflowers (and even the purple mountain thistles that grow in-between them). A sea of yellow with purple dots.

Others mow down their sunflowers saying that they are a weed, a nuisance.

I let them grow. Wild. Free. Resilient.

My sunflowers are not really mine. They are the earth’s. But they are like me. Unconventional. Roaming. Sprouting up where not wanted (heh).

My field of sunflowers wakes with heads turned to the morning sun and say, “Good morning, sunshine!”

And I can’t help but smile.

sweet nectar

photo by me

I love rain.

Do I write this every year?

I love rain.

I love the way the earth cools down and the sweet smells arise.

I love the smell of the earth when rain has fallen.

It’s funny because where I live, I have horses next door. It is extremely windy out here and the manure often goes through the fence to land in my yard. I know, you’re thinking…ewwww…but contemplate horse manure. It’s mostly grass or hay. There is very little else in it. Grass and hay smell sweet.

So….(long story longer), when the rains fall, the sweet smell rises from the earth and permeates the air.

It is quite lovely…in that rural country sort of way (I know you city people are thinking this is all very disgusting).

The rain quenches me. It’s like my skin opens up and accepts the moisture in the air. My skin gets soft. My hair gets soft.

Did I mention that it’s been raining…

…and that I love the rain?

spring fever

photo by me

Baseball has started.

The cherry blossoms are blooming in Washington, D.C.

I see the little green sprigs of daffodils and tulips coming up in my flowerbed.

I *so* want spring to be here. I’m so ready for it.

But it snowed yesterday. Snowed.

That’s not uncommon for Flagstaff. In fact, I remember one year when it snowed all the way into June (June 16th, to be exact). May snows are not uncommon whatsoever.

But I’m ready for spring. I want to see those beautiful beaming faces of daffodils leaning into the sun, declaring that it’s springtime.

I want to see people out walking around, enjoying the warmer weather.

I want to quit wearing bulky sweaters and big socks.

I want my gas bill to go down.

I want to see new life taking shape, green trees whispering in the wind, and the promise of a lush (monsoon-filled) summer.

I want spring to be sprung.

yahoo!

photo by me

No, not Yahoo! (sung in that silly western voice)…but YAHOO!!!!

It snowed. Not much, mind you. But it snowed. Finally.

One of the cool things about the snow this morning, as I drove into town, was how the wind was blowing it. We are having 30-40 mph winds with 60 mph gusts. I was watching the mountains as I drove along the ice-encrusted roads (yes, I was paying attention to the driving) and I watched a huge wind gust roll down the mountain.

Now, I can hear what you’re thinking. I *watched* a wind gust roll down the mountain? How is that possible? Wind is invisible, right?

If you’ve ever lived in the desert, you know you can watch the wind roll in. It picks up the dust and creates a virtual wall of wind and dust.

Today’s vision was the same thing – but with snow. It was impressive. It had to have been a few hundred feet in height and an extra few hundred in width.

The snow is so light right now (not our typical heavy March snow), that the wind just picked it up and created a wall of wind and snow and rolled right down the mountain.

If I thought I could get it on camera from that distance in that light, you would have had the image. But it was too dark and I was too far away.

It was impressive, though.

for the love of…

photo by me

Another thing I love: water. I love the feeling of it as it washes over my body in the shower. I love to soak in it in a bathtub. I love to glide through it in a pool or the ocean or a lake. I like to hear the sound of it rolling over rocks, lapping at the beach, roaring through a canyon.

If I didn’t worry so much about the replenishment of water, I’d probably take 30 minute long showers or baths every single day. I will stand in a shower and get lost in the feeling of the water raining down upon me, soaking in the wetness.

The sound of water is pleasing to me. I love to sit inside during the monsoons and listen to the rain pour down outside, streaming along my windows. The way it creates puddles along my driveway and cleans my car and waters the plants is a joy. Walking around it, as it soaks my skin, is like drinking the sweetest of nectars.

I love the power of water. I love being in the ocean, body-surfing or boogey-boarding on a wave and feeling that fear and exhileration as a wave pulls me under. It humbles me. I realize, at that moment, that I am tiny. I am organic matter that will go back to the earth eventually while the ocean continues to roll on.

life lessons

click image for enlargement

Someone recently wrote to me and said that he wishes he lived in a place where he could take photographs of giant arrows and colorful ruins and miles and miles of barbed wire.

He lives in London.

I thought about this.

I lived in London and I took over a thousand pictures while there and it still wasn’t enough. I would love to return and shoot London in a totally different way now that my style has changed.

All of the Toronto photographers, whose work I admire greatly, and those who live in Vancouver (Canada seems to be rich with wonderful photographers) and those who live in Britain, Spain, South & Central America, and other places than here…I’ve been jealous of all of them. I’ve seen what they’ve offered and I’ve often sighed and wished I had something like THAT to photograph.

This morning I went out at 5 a.m. to catch the rising sun on the beautiful red stones of Wupatki National Monument. The sun is rising as I drive out. Dakota is sitting in the passenger seat, anxious to see where we’re going.

Nearly 40 miles outside of Flagstaff, we turn into the north entrance of the park. The sun is rising rapidly but there is a beautiful golden glow over the land. The sky is a piercing blue even at that time in the morning. It was still early, 5:30, and there was no one on the road or at the ruin sites.

We pull into Lomaki and I get out to shoot some pictures (I left Dakota in the car because dogs are not allowed on the trails).

The red stones of the ruins are glowing. My breath is taken away.

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world. (Heh…musical reference there.) I am lucky. I am surrounded by things that people travel to from around the world to visit. We have the Grand Canyon that usually draws them in. We also have the beautiful mountains, the lakes, the ruins, the red rocks, and so many other things that surround us. Photographers have been coming here for more than a century because it is so picturesque.

One of the reasons I have been trying to take more pictures of diverse things is because I want to share my world with Jonathan. I want him to be able to see the beauty of the desert southwest. It’s not the greens of Vancouver. We don’t have the amazing water. It’s a different kind of beauty. It’s stark. It’s hard to see sometimes. Pay attention, though, and it will jump right out at you.

I give a piece of myself in every photograph that I take. Whether I’m here, at home, taking pictures of the Peaks or a flower or I’m traveling to some other beautiful place, a piece of me is in each photograph. It is telling you a story about me.

If you listen closely, you will hear it.