You Get Out of It What You Put Into It

Long House, Mesa Verde Nat. Park

When it's too hot to paint the house or mow the lawn, I just stay inside. I watch TV or take a nap.

The people who lived in this place, Mesa Verde, didn't have that choice. They had to spend every minute of their lives just earning that life.

They had to search for water for their crops and food for their families. All I have to do is turn on the faucet or open the refrigerator. Somehow the water and food magically is always in there.

Did they respect that life more than I do because of all of the work they put into it? Did they cherish every and any moment they had?

I need to look at things differently.

.

Suzi Yahzee

Suzi Yahzee

While I was in Monument Valley taking a workshop, one of the things we did was visit a Navajo weaver named Suzi Yahzee. She lived, as she has her whole life, in the middle of the park; first in a traditional hogan and now in a very modest house next to the hogan.

She had a traditional Navajo loom set up and sat in the hot sun weaving for us for almost an hour while we did our best to capture the spirit of what we saw.

When we finished there, we all went to another part of the tribal park and took pictures of Suzi's daughter Effie; dressed in traditional Navajo clothing; riding a horse; and herding sheep through the sand dunes.

I felt funny taking these images. Here were these two women putting on a show for us like they were part of a circus and here we were; happiliy snapping away. It just didn't seem right.

Effie Yahzee

When I asked our Navajo guide how old Suzi was, he said "some say she's 100 years old". She has been doing this same thing; putting on her show, since the 1930s. Her entire family depended on her getting up every day; sitting at her loom; and posing for the tourists.

This didn't make me feel any better. It made it seem ever more wrong.

Then the Navajo guide told me not to feel so bad. There's nothing else really for them to do in this place, and besides, she was charging our group $400 per hour!

Good for you, Suzi.

Wishing it was Fall

Crisp Point Lighthouse, Michigan's UP

They said it was going to be hot this week and is it ever!

Summer hasn't been my favorite time of year for some time now.

When we were kids Summer used to mean months off from school. Days to play in the woods.

Now all it means is the days are hot and there's not enough time to get things done that need to be done.


Now the best time of the year is the Fall. The days are cool and the colors are bright. Time to wrap things up and settle in for the Winter.

The Cool of the Woods

I grew up living not to far from the "woods" as we called it and the small creek running through it.  One summer when I was about 10 or 11 my brother, the neighbor kids, and I would spend almost everyday hanging around in that small tract of trees.

We would play at just about anything. Making forts; building dams in the creek; having battles.

Tremont, Great Smoky Mtn. Nat. Park, USA

Anything we could do to keep ourselves busy for the summer and keep ourselves in the cool of that woods.

Thanks Mr. Carrier

View to Peter's Island, Lake Huron, Michigan UP

This week they say it's going to be in the mid-90s all week. We shouldn't complain about the weather, but we do.

There's nothing we can do about it. We don't have many options, except one.

I'm hiding inside all this week thanks to Mr. Willis Haviland Carrier, the inventor of air conditioning

Second Chances

Here's another one that I screwed up the first time I tried to capture it properly.

The first time something was missing. It wasn't quite right. It lacked that little extra, but I didn't know what.

The next time I tried, about three years later, I knew what it was missing.

It was those little bitty yellow leaves on the rocks. Not a big deal, but they made the difference.

Sometimes you get a second chance at things.

Growth

I was recently asked to be a judge at the annual competition of the local camera club. As I sat there looking at the approximately 800 images, I saw my photographic life flashing before my eyes.

I saw all of the mistakes; all of the attempts; all of the hopes that I had made over the past years.

I entered these two images into a large juried show about seven years ago and really consider them as the first of my serious attempts into photography. Thankfully that judge must have felt sorry for me because the top one was accepted into the show. If he had thrown both of them out, I probably would have given up.

I sat there judging others and couldn't help but think of all of the work it takes to put into making special photos and how I would have felt if neither of these were judged acceptable. It was hard at times to give the images a  low grade, and I do admit that I maybe bumped them up into the next level if they were even close to deserving it. The last thing that I wanted to do was to discourage anyone from trying.

I keep these two images on the wall of our family room. Not because they're anything to admire, but because they always remind me of how far I have to go.

Every Picture

I don't remember names very good at all and I often forget other things, but I can tell you where every picture I've ever taken was located; what the weather was like; what time of day it was; and just about everything else about it.

Thousands of them.

Even the bad ones. 

I wonder why? 

This one is of the reflections in the Little River in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park on a warm Friday afternoon last October.

Alone in the Park

I often go off alone in the early mornings to find that special light that happens only at sunrise. This was taken on one of those mornings this spring in Wyoming.

I got to this bend in the Snake River just before daylight and just sat at the river's edge waiting for the first light of the day. It had rained the night before, and the mist still hung in the trees beyond the river. As the light came up, the stillness and the peacefulness of the place became something special.


When I look back at the trips we take, it's the times like this that I'll always remember.

First Light of 1-1-11

Since I'm on a roll with naming the last couple of blogs with numbers, here's another one.

I didn't feel like just laying around this past New Year's Day, so I took a ride to a place I've always had good luck finding photo opportunities at, Hocking Hills, Ohio.

I got up about 3:00 a.m. and drove through the dark, getting there just before sunrise. As I walked into the gorge that makes up a large portion of the state park, the light came up over the edge of the hillside lighting up the misty morning.

Easy to name this one.

650.1

I spent a little time yesterday going through images from our Teton's trip and came across this one that I didn't see before.


When I came across 650, the grizzly sow from the last blog, she had two cubs that were in a nearby tree. I aimed my camera at that tree, but didn't think I caught them as they kept moving up and down between the limbs.


Here's one of them peeking out, but I didn't catch the two of them together.

There's a rule that we use when we are on our trips out west that an old Indian told me. If you find it, you get to name it.

I'm claiming this one. His name is 650.1.

650 was her name

Of all the times I've been to the Western states, I've never seen a bear. Everyone who goes out there always tells me stories about the bears they've seen, but not me.

At least not until our trip this spring to the Grand Tetons National Park and Yellowstone National Park.

I was out at sunrise one morning looking for something to take pictures of, but the morning was grey and the color was bad, and I headed back to the room. While rounding a curve in the two lane road, a delivery truck was blocking most of my side of the road and I had to go into the other lane. Paying attention to the truck and the curve, I didn't see what was coming up on the driver's side of my car just a few feet outside my window.

A bear. Finally. A big one. A grizzly. And she had two newborn cubs with her climbing a nearby tree.

I set up my camera and started shooting. Before long, several other cars had stopped and a couple of park rangers came to aid in the "bear jam". I stayed there for about 45 minutes; then rushed back to pick up Denise and Sloan at our room. When we got back she was still there trying to figure out how to get her cubs down from the tree. Eventually, they came down and all of them scurried off into the trees leaving us in awe.

The rangers knew her and were waiting to see how she made it through the winter. Her name was 650; and I'm glad I met her.