The Road Not Taken

Posted by dkrashb on January 21, 2013

“Fly left!” “You Fly left!” “I am flying left!”

At the Sandhill Crane Festival, a woman who seemed to know the refuge well told us about a pond that was supposedly a short walk away. She advised us to follow the rope that had been erected to keep people in the viewing area from wandering too far into the refuge.

When we reached the end of the roped-off area, a gravel road led in the direction the woman had indicated. I had a moment when I wondered if we were supposed to go down this road or not and thought briefly about going back and asking one of the wildlife officers, but I reasoned that walking a road with no sign and no rope in front of it would be OK as long as we didn’t stray off the road.

“Darn it! I told you to fly left!!”

We went about 200 yards when we suddenly heard a fast-moving vehicle approaching. It was coming in so fast, we moved off the road in fear of being run over. It slid to a halt on the gravel and two wildlife officers jumped out of the truck. One was moving with the energy of someone in the midst of a flight-or-fight adrenaline response. He looked irritated and sounded angry. I don’t remember what he said, but what he communicated was that he viewed us as either idiots or criminals for not realizing we weren’t supposed to walk on this road.

“I give up. Just go wherever.”

We responded amicably, but felt obligated to explain. No matter how pleasant we were, his accusing tone did not diminish. Afterwards, for my husband, who felt like he had pushed the point home that it was not unreasonable that we would think it was OK to walk down a road, the incident was over within minutes.

I, on the other hand, felt like I was a bad person for not asking first. Feeling bad quickly turned to anger, “Why would he think it was obvious we weren’t supposed to walk down a road? Why was he so angry about it? It was a simple mistake–he didn’t need to be so upset!”

“Hey, you up there! Mind if we join you?”

I played this scene over and over in my mind, thinking of different things to say ranging from sarcasm to empathy that either ended in cutting him down to size or connecting with him and having him understand that I’m a nice person who made a mistake.

In the end, I realized that, of course, this is really about an inappropriate need to please others.

Feeling like there’s someone out there who will tell a story about me being stupid (or worse) hurts. I want to take the story out of that person’s mouth and rewrite it. But the only person who suffers is me as I waste time inside my head writing a script for a new exchange that will never happen. That time would have been better spent enjoying being with my husband, my dog, the sunshine, the glory of life.

After all, I am enough. Mistakes and all.

“Sure–just fall in line!”

Sandhill Crane Festival

Posted by dkrashb on January 20, 2013

View of the refuge from the main viewing area

Every year, the Chattanooga chapter of the Tennessee Ornithological Society volunteers for the Sandhill Crane Festival. While we’ve gone to the Hiwasee Wildlife Refuge two years in a row to see the Sandhill Cranes, we’ve never gone to the actual festival. We decided to give it a try this year.

A small flock of sandhill cranes flying overhead

Because it’s a wildlife refuge, dogs are not welcome. So, Tisen had to go to doggy daycare for a few hours. This put a slight damper on the event for us, although I understand why dogs aren’t allowed. We chose not to stay for the birds of prey show the Eagle Foundation was scheduled to provide, for example.

Same flock, regrouping

The cool thing about the festival was the TOS volunteers. They set up scopes on the observation decks and called out sightings of interesting birds. Were it not for the TOS volunteers, I would not have seen a Whooping Crane for the first time (although I’m hesitant to count it–it was so far away that even with my binoculars, it was just a flash of white amongst a flock of Sandhill Cranes) or a Golden Eagle.

A trio of cranes

The Golden Eagle was perched amongst some trees on a far away island. I could only see it through a scope. It had its back to us, so were it not for one very experienced TOS member who knew how to tell the two apart, I’m not sure any of us would have realized what we were witnessing.

We saw immature Bald Eagles, one adult Bald Eagle in the air and a second on a nest through a scope, Ring-neck ducks, and Canvas-back ducks all thanks to the skills of the volunteers. I would have spent a lot of time figuring the ducks out and then not felt confident I had it right. It’s just more exciting to bird with people who know what they’re doing.

Same trio with wings down, up, and flat

The weather also made it exciting to be outside again. Bright blue skies, tons of sunshine, and warming temperatures all made me smile ear-to-ear.

Although, during the festival you have to park at an elementary school in the nearby town (village might be more accurate) and take a bus to the viewing areas.

The recent rains created a slight delay in our return shuttle ride. A couple of miles from where we were parked, a flatbed tow truck pulled out across the road, blocking traffic in both directions. They stopped to pull a backhoe out of a muddy ditch where it was stuck.

This ended up taking about 20 minutes. So, we got to sit on a school bus and watch while these guys used a winch from the truck and another guy pushed the backhoe with a front loader and together, they hauled the backhoe out of the mud and onto the truck. When we got going again, we passed the giant mud puddle–it was a red, gooey mess that looked like a giant wound. Hopefully the sun will “heal” it quickly.

Single crane over the lake

Fondness

Posted by dkrashb on January 19, 2013

Ahh. Sunshine. I guess it’s true that absence makes the heart go fonder. After so many days of rain, the sudden appearance of the sun was almost shocking. It started Thursday evening around sunset. A break in the clouds allowed the sun to poke through. The bank of clouds on their way out of town traveled quickly across the sky as the sun sank toward the horizon.

I can’t remember the last time I was so glad to see the sun, even if it was calling it a night.

Black and White Version

This created something of a photographic challenge. The clouds were dark and moving fast. The great dilemma between getting enough depth of field to shoot the whole scene and needing a fast enough shutter speed to freeze the clouds. The only way to achieve this is with a very high ISO setting. That means some noise I’d rather not have.

Much like life, photography is an attempt to balance alternatives to get the best possible result since you can’t get exactly what you want.

But the glimpse of the sun made up for it. It reminded me 2 lines from a poem a friend recently shared on Facebook:

I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.

I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.

I started appreciating the sun more about 4 days in–the next 10 days of rain were overkill. However, after a 2 week separation, I was about as grateful as it gets for sunshine.

Setting Sun in color

I wonder if Tisen feels this way when I’m gone? He seems just as excited when I return after taking 5 minutes to check the mail as when I’ve been gone for over an hour. But when I’m gone for days, he goes absolutely nuts. It’s like he’d given up hope and my sudden reappearance throws him into an uncontrolled frenzy.

I wonder how dogs keep track of time? Tisen seems to keep a regular schedule during office hours. He gets up once I’ve made my coffee. He’s like clockwork about noon when he decides it’s time for his mid-day walk. And he never fails to start pestering me to walk and feed him at the end of the day, although sometimes he gets started a little early.

But when it comes to the last walk of the day, he doesn’t seem to notice at all. He’s content to lay on the sofa with us until well past his bedtime. Conversely, if I walk into the bedroom, he goes to bed. He does this with no regard to the time of day.

On weekends he doesn’t seem to have any sense of time at all. He will sleep in later than I can on some Saturdays. It’s almost as if he doesn’t believe I’m up and making coffee if he didn’t hear an alarm go off first.

Ah well, maybe that’s why a dog’s years are so much longer–they lose track of time.

Fading light

Weathered

Posted by dkrashb on January 18, 2013

Taken last June before the drought dropped the water levels

Water, water everywhere

We had ridiculously warm weather last week accompanied by what looked likely to be 40 days of rain, which brought with it gradually colder temperatures.

Today, they predicted of a dusting of snow downtown and up to 3 inches at higher elevations.

For those of you who have never lived in the South, there aren’t any road crews with snow plows and salt trucks to keep the roads ice and snow free. And, while the mountains may be relatively small down here, they’re still plentiful and steep enough to send vehicles careening off the road with only a bit of ice. So while it might seem a little silly to get all worked up when you’re from Ohio and living in a flat part of the city, it actually makes sense as to why the town is shutting down.

It started at noon with early dismissal of the schools. Given that it was still in the 40’s at noon, that seems a little overly cautious, but the kids were sent home early to ensure the bus drivers weren’t having to navigate steep slopes coated in ice.

Then, the businesses started sending people home and closing early. I was supposed to get my hair cut today. In fact, I was supposed to get it cut last week. My stylist was sick last week and they decided to close a hour before my appointment this week. I guess I will let my hair grow for a while. That’s OK–if it’s going to be cold, I’d kind of like a little extra insulation.

Not getting my hair cut also freed up some time to walk the dog. Since my husband’s building closed early, he came home at a decent time and joined us for the walk. We walked through Renaissance amazed at the water levels. The manmade wetland has turned into a pond. The barriers that slow the flow of water are completely submerged. The little creek that runs through the park swelled and overflowed and turned the woods into a swamp. There is no division between the creek and the wetland.

When we walked along the river, we realized the Tennessee River was higher than we’ve ever seen it before and rushing downstream so quickly, I’m surprised there weren’t rapids. But I guess all the things that would cause rapids were too far below the surface.

The boat launch ramp under the Market Street Bridge has disappeared. In fact, it looked like the sidewalk across the river was submerged as well. We began to imagine the city being swallowed by the swelling river.

While I don’t think there’s much danger of that, I did make time to go shoot from the common area balcony again. I’d taken a shot from the same spot while attending a photographic society field trip here last June. I dug that up and was amazed by the comparison.

The good news is that it’s supposed to stop raining for a while. Just in time!

In the Gut

Posted by dkrashb on January 17, 2013

Forest-grown ice cream cones–really beautiful

Is it 2 weeks straight of gray skies and pouring rain, the limited daylight, the fact that I just had yet another birthday, and/or the colder temperatures that make me draw into myself and reflect on life? Perhaps it’s just what winter is for. There is, after all, a lot of precedence around the notion of withdrawing for the winter to be reborn in the spring. Seems to work well for the plants, anyway.

This dead branch became hot real estate for the local lichen community

But in withdrawing, I find my gut talking to me. So far, it hasn’t learned to speak English. It seems to speak through general achy-ness. It pokes at me like it’s really trying to tell me something, but I have no idea what it’s trying to say. I envy people who know what it means to “listen to your gut.”

While technical Lichen doesn’t “bloom,” it sure looks like it does

This is not new. My gut started talking to me when I was a teenager. I was pretty sure it was saying “Run!” every time I was on my way to school. In more recent years, a friend who, shall we say was not-immersed-in-the-world-of-engineers, suggested I ask my gut what it needed. Desperate to understand this mysterious, recurring pain, I tried her suggestion and sat quietly for a bit, taking deep breaths. I thought to myself, “What do you need?” directing my attention to my gut. The immediate response was, “More fiber.” I laughed out loud. But, more fiber didn’t quiet my gut.

Another ice cream cone

What did quiet my gut was more relaxation, more presence in the moment, regular exercise, and learning to breathe. So, why is my gut talking to me now? Is it trying to tell me I should have been on some sort of elite detective team? They all have talking guts, right?

Let’s think about this logically. When stress happens, the body reacts. If we ignore the stress, we don’t discharge it. So, we start habitually tensing areas of the body where we react to stress. My jaw is another good barometer of when I’m feeling stressed. It’s talking a lot too, and I don’t mean through my mouth.

My gut and my jaw are telling me I’m not dealing with stress effectively, but the problem is, I’m unclear about what the source of the stress is. My job is not more stressful than usual. Other than having moved a month ago, there haven’t been any major stress-creating events in my life. So, if the sources of stress haven’t changed, I guess that means the discharge of stress has.

Tiny “blossoms” against moss

Well, let’s see . . . I haven’t ridden my bike in weeks. I have only been making it to one yoga class a week. I haven’t rowed for months. I’ve only been hiking about 3x since October. Hmm. I think I’m starting to get the message now.

Rain, rain, go away! I want to ride my bike today!

Fern-like Lichen producing another structure that looks like blooms

On the Subject of Enough

Posted by dkrashb on January 16, 2013

Turkey’s Tail

Enough is one of those concepts that seems deceptively simple. When someone is serving up a giant portion of something, we say, “oh, that’s enough, thank you” to let them know we can’t eat that much.

But what is enough?

I’ll lichen you if you lichen me

According to Joe Dominquez and Vicki Robin, when it comes to money, “enough” is the intersection between being able to cover your needs/comforts and still having time and energy to enjoy them. It’s the point when to obtain more would have diminishing returns.

According to Brene Brown, “enough” is about sufficiency: “Sufficiency isn’t two steps up from poverty or one step short of abundance. It isn’t a measure of barely enough or more than enough. Sufficiency isn’t an amount at all. It is an experience, a context we generate, a declaration, a knowing that there is enough, and that we are enough.”

More turkey’s tail

Yet, we are collectively bad at knowing when something is sufficient. This may be an American culture thing, but let’s just take a look at cars. How many Americans drive giant SUVs designed for off-roading? How many actually drive off road. Ever. It’s like buying a mountain bike to ride on a paved bike path. If you’ve ever ridden a mountain bike on pavement and then hopped on a road bike, you understand the physics behind “efficiency” in a deeply personal way.

The color purple

A road bike is enough for riding on the road. More rubber in big nobby tires, more bounce in soft springy shocks, more strength in a big frame all adds up to more work to go forward. If you don’t need to ride through mud puddles, over tree stumps, or up incredibly steep slopes, a road bike is enough.

But where we get into trouble is the day we decide, after having purchased a beautiful road bike, we want to try mountain biking. Soon, we have a mountain bike and a road bike hanging side-by-side in the garage. Now, when we want the mountain bike, the road bike is in the way and vise versa. It suddenly takes a certain amount of space and twice as much time to get the bike we “need” down and put it away again. Before we know it we’ve gotten so irritated by getting one bike out of the way to get the other bike down, we’ve given up on biking all together.

Log covered in Turkey’s Tail

So, we decide both bikes are too much and we sell them. But now, we are not getting enough exercise.

I don’t actually know where I’m going with this, but I think the message is the same in all cases. Enough is a balance point. Whether we’re talking about money, cars, bikes, or our sense of worthiness, it’s a balance between what we think we need and what we’re willing to give up to have it.

So, how do we know we are enough if we don’t know where that balance point is?

Not-flying Saucer

Another Year

Posted by dkrashb on January 15, 2013

Don’t know this one’s name, but I like it–and the dew covered spider web

If New Year’s isn’t enough of a reminder that another year has passed, my birthday comes as a second reminder that time is flying.

I’d like to think that means I’m having fun. And, I suppose I am. But as I find myself crossing over the mid-point between 40 and 50, my breath catches in my throat as I choke back the shock. How exactly did that happen?

A youthful wood ear

Immediately, I start to list the endless list of things I haven’t done that I was sure I would have done long before now. But I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I tell myself, “I am enough.” I think that’s my new mantra.

Shelf-forming fungus against a bed of moss

So, if I am enough and my life is enough, what has my life been about? In a word, I’d have to say if you take my life and add it all up, it comes to a work in progress. And that’s enough.

Fungus or sculpture?

In the interest of celebrating, here are random moments/experiences from my life I am grateful for:

Climbing trees and clinging to the branches while the tree swayed in the wind.
Swinging so high the swing would go above the top bar and then jerk on its way back down.
The warm feeling of sharing a smile.
Watching my nephews grow into amazing young men.
Friends. Especially friends who know me and remind me my flawed and imperfect self is enough.
Every dog I have ever known and especially those I have shared a lifetime in dog years with.
The moments when I managed, in spite of the improbability, to do the exact right thing to connect with someone in way that left us both feeling like we mattered.
Fireflies and the childhood delight of watching them flash their lights against my skin just before floating off, back into the night.
Having parents who supported me when I took chances and helped nurse me back to health when the odds didn’t go my way.
Having followed my teenage dream of working with horses far enough to have no regrets over giving it up.
The day I knew, absolutely knew without a doubt, my husband loved me.
The feeling of being a millionaire when I bought my first piece of real furniture even though it was a damaged floor sample.
Soaring downhill on my bike with no hands, fingers spread wide to catch the wind whistling between them.
The foresight and caring of a friend who got me to the hospital in time to hold my mother’s hand while she died.
Standing on top of Half Dome feeling like I had just conquered the world.
Bad boyfriends without whom I couldn’t have appreciated good ones.
Having a father who could talk me through disassembling a garbage disposal to remove a clog and reassembling it over the phone.
The day I realized women should be allies, not enemies.
Every time my husband plays one of his songs for me.

A wood ear looking like it’s getting ready to take a walk

This is what happens when you live with too many regrets

Flowers and Fungi

Posted by dkrashb on January 14, 2013

These early bloomers captured rain drops

On a nature walk on Saturday, we were surprised to discover spring wild flowers in full bloom tucked amongst the leaf litter on the forest floor. I don’t remember the name of these blooms, but they are often among the earliest to appear in the spring. The thing is, it’s not spring. We haven’t even reached Imbolc yet–it seems horribly risky for a delicate spring flower to appear so early.

The likelihood that it will manage to set seed before the weather turns too cold for survival seems very slim. But it blooms anyway.

A completely different kind of “bloom”

A flower, presumably, doesn’t ask questions about risk and reward. It simply responds to the external events of water, sun, and temperature. It doesn’t check the calendar before the seed begins to sprout. Collectively, perhaps the seeds will have slightly different trigger points and only a few will sprout now. The rest will require more warmth longer before they come to life. And, in this way (I hope), the next generation will come from the seeds whose triggers allowed them to survive long enough to produce more seed.

Wood ears may not quite qualify in our traditional definition of “bloom,” but they sure are interesting

If we think of these flowers as a single entity instead of individual flowers, perhaps the lesson is more applicable to us as individuals. Otherwise it may be tempting to take a lesson along the traditional lines of “only the strong survive” when the reality is that often it is not the strong that survive, it is the timely.

If we think of those early bloomers as the first attempt in the process of trial and error, perhaps the lesson is more applicable to our own lives. After all, being timely requires a lot of luck. If we sit around dormant until the exact right time, we’ve already missed it when we realize it’s come. But if we put up a few sprouts too early, we get to practice and practice some more. And when the right time comes, we’re there, ready and blooming at just the right time.

Layers of mixed fungi make a fascinating display on a rotting log

Fungi work differently. They largely reproduce via spores, which are different from seeds in that there’s no pollination. While I know very little about fungi, reportedly, at least some of them produce spores on their own time clock without regard for environmental conditions. Others require environmental factors that include nutrient levels, carbon dioxide levels, and and light levels (see microbiologybytes.com). Another study I found suggests that atmospheric moisture (which I assume is the same thing as humidity) has the greatest impact on how much fungus grows. This seems a bit like saying the ground will be wet when it rains to me–after all, do we really need a study to tell us that more humidity drives more fungal growth?

This is neither a flower nor a fungus--it's a Lichen

This is neither a flower nor a fungus–it may look like lettuce, but it’s a Lichen

That being beside the point, the continual, misting rain for the past few weeks has created a unique kind of bloom. Although the fungi had faded a bit from their peak, there were still some really beautiful colonies. Beautiful fungi–words I never expected to write together.

Final look at the more colorful fungus we saw

Holding Steady

Posted by dkrashb on January 13, 2013

A shelled and partially chewed hickory nut lies on a bed of moss

I went on a nature walk with the Chattanooga Audubon Society Saturday. I ran late leaving because I was so engrossed in a book. When I realized it was time to go, I grabbed my camera with a 100mm macro lens on it.

I haven’t shot macro in a long time. This is in part because it takes a lot of time. To get good macro shots, a tripod is essential and I spend a lot of the time on the ground, sometimes crawling through things I’d rather not crawl through.

But today, I decided to try shooting macro without the drama. No tripod. No garbage bag to lie on. No loupe to check focus. No reflector to bounce light. No baggage to get in my way. This has become my modus operandi of late–just grab the camera and one lens and see what I can get while I’m out doing something else.

I learned this often beautiful fungus (although past its prime here) is commonly called “Turkey Tail”

Of course, reviewing my photos, I missed my equipment. Standing in awkward positions, hovering over various fungi and tiny plants is not the best way to get sharp images. But was I on a nature walk or was I doing macro photography? I was on a nature walk and I happened to get a few shots I kind of like. I also got a bunch of shots I don’t like at all and a few in between.

A funny fungus that’s supposedly edible. Can’t imagine it’s good. Unfortunately, a little motion blur in this one

A lot of photographers will not share photos they don’t think are really good. No photo is perfect. And at some point, it takes courage to say “this photo is enough” and share it. In fact, it probably requires more courage to share something you think is really good than it does to share something you think is just good enough. After all, if you really believe your work is fantastic and someone knocks it down, it hurts a lot more than if you didn’t think it was that great to begin with.

The entire length of this Box Elder looked like this–a deep carpet of bright green moss

I find myself wondering if I am a coward hiding behind grab shots rather than putting something up that I really believe is beautifully executed. Sometimes, not putting yourself all-in can indicate a lack of courage. If I’m not all-in, you can’t hurt me–at least not all of me.

Here’s something you don’t expect to find in January–wild violets (a spring ephemeral) popping up

On the other hand, to be willing to do things halfway allows time and energy to do more. After all, if I went on the nature walk without my camera, I would still be out shooting and not sitting here pondering the philosophical aspects of deciding to be a “real” photographer vs playing at being one when it’s convenient.

Ultimately, is going halfway an act of cowardice or just setting a limit that allows me to enjoy more? I think the answer lies in how much I want to end up with better images–how passionate I feel about producing an image I’m proud of.

While I’m busy figuring it out, please enjoy what I’ve got.

Tisen has decided he’s OK with my halfway photography (taken with iPhone)

Finding a View

Posted by dkrashb on January 12, 2013

There is a beam of light above the aquarium that didn’t quite come out the way I wanted

Since moving, I have been longing for a view of the riverfront. Since this is achievable, I decided to take a few minutes away from Tisen (who has been a very clingy dog since Twiggy went home) to walk to the end of the hall where there is a common room with a balcony that overlooks the river and downtown.

The lighted tree reflects merrily on the water

I still missed sunset because I worked too late, but it’s possible the sun didn’t actually set today anyway–or, if it did, no one saw it. Our weather has been shockingly like Seattle of late. I fear my ties to Columbus, Ohio have somehow drug the weather down to Chattanooga. The sun rises, but no one can tell if it’s risen or not. The sun sets and no one notices much change in light. We are on about our 4th straight day of such weather. What is it about overcast skies and drizzling rain that becomes so depressing so quickly?

In spite of the dreary weather, the riverfront always looks cheerful

On the plus side, it’s warm. It feels like a late spring day when summer is just around the corner. The birds were singing so loudly this morning, they startled Tisen. They are not the only ones confused–the shrubs are showing signs of recent new growth as if they suddenly burst into a mid-January growth spurt.

But in spite of the cheerful birds and warm mist, I am still hoping for the sun. As a substitute, I did my best to shoot the mist. It turns out it’s harder to get mist to show up in night time photos than I expected.

The Bluecross building bounced light into the fog on top of the hill above 27

Long exposure times seem to make it disappear as it swirls in the wind, moving too much to leave an impression. Short exposures make it too dark, blending in with the river, a pool of blackness except where it reflects light. I finally went for high ISO settings to get more exposure out of shorter shutter speeds.

I like the fog at night. It captures the city lights and reflects them back down in night-time version of the sunset I missed. While the colors and contrast in the sky may not be quite so obvious, I still enjoyed the view.

Fog rose off the river and swirled around the Southern Belle. As I waited, the fog increased. I might have waited longer to see what happened, but a group of German men gathered to play cards and I felt like I might be intruding. That’s the problem with a common area.

At the start of my little shoot, there was a hint of fog around the Southern Belle

By the time I stopped shooting, the fog was getting thicker

Besides, I’d left Tisen at home alone and I knew he was waiting patiently by the door for my return. I’ve started putting a sleeping mat by the door when I leave. Otherwise, he lays on the floor and I’m sure it’s hard on his elbows. He seems to always pick the position he believes is the closest to wherever I am. I am alternately honored and worried–time to take him to doggy daycare.

The fog reflects light creating an interesting effect over route 27

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Monthly Archives: January 2013