Distant Bugles

Posted by dkrashb on January 25, 2013

Flying in front of reflected trees

When we went to the Sandhill Crane Festival, we noticed some things about the cranes. First, they are noisy. They seem to spend a lot of time flying around, forming groups, calling to each other and circling.

It’s kind of like watching marching band practice when the band hasn’t been training together very long. They seem uncertain about how to line up, who’s in the lead, or where they’re going.

They bugle their unique call endlessly. It can be heard for miles.

Synchronized flapping

Their call is somewhat reminiscent of the sound my brother used to make when he’d sneaked up on me and was trying to terrify me. My husband thinks it sounds more like a loud turkey, but he never heard my brother.

A “heard” (yes, it’s a pun) of cranes grazed in the grasses across the refuge from us. The one bad thing about the Hiwassee Refuge and the Sandhill Crane Festival is that the birds are mostly very far away. I know this is best, especially when there’s a crowd. After all, the idea of a refuge is to give wildlife a place to be wildlife without being harassed or stressed by the presence of humans. But, it does make it difficult to get good photos. If it weren’t for the circling cranes who seemed to want to check us out, I wouldn’t have gotten much detail at all (see previous posts to see these photos).

You can probably tell we were far away from the group of cranes on the ground from this photo:

The “heard”

But it might not be obvious just how far away that really is–I shot it at 400mm. In fact, almost all of my shots (except those with a long line of cranes flying) posted over the last several days were shot at 400mm. Mind you, the Sandhill Crane is the largest bird found in Tennessee. They are up to 4’ tall and have a wingspan of up to 90” (that’s 7.5’). These are big birds. And I was shooting with as long a lens as I can afford. The only answer is to get closer.

Of course, not during the festival. There are two ways to get closer to the birds. They both involve getting on the water. One is to go kayaking–Outdoor Chattanooga offers an annual kayaking tour in the refuge in December. We did that last year. It was pretty tough to get good pictures from the kayak. Plus, we weren’t allowed in the area with the densest population of cranes. Thankfully for the birds (but not my photos), the wildlife folks take protecting these birds seriously.

The other way is to take a Blue Moon cruise through the refuge. This might be the best option for photographic opportunities. We’ll have to see if we can work that into our schedule. Worst case, there are soon going to be a couple of unreleasable cranes at the Chattanooga Nature Center. I ought to be able to get a close-up.

Tree tops reflected in water below group of cranes

Choosing Lessons

Posted by dkrashb on January 24, 2013

Reflected cranes at Hiwasee Refuge

What does it look like to be a whole-hearted person (to borrow Brene Brown’s term)? Do whole-hearted people rage against the unfairness of life from time to time? Do they experience inexplicable irritation or anger?

Brene talks a lot about practice. Not about being perfect, but about embracing imperfection and learning to correct mistakes where you can and trying again. I kind of feel that’s what my life has been like. Trying to take a lesson from a situation and then going out there and trying again.

This circling pair just kept going around and around

The part I struggle with is repeating the same lesson over and over without seeming to grasp it.

I recently told a good friend a story about choosing the lesson we take.

I was keeping emails. Neatly filed in organized folders with the thought I might need to produce one someday. On the rare occasions I needed an old email, I had it. No matter if it was from 3 years ago. I had it. Never mind it might take me an hour to find it–I had it! And that felt like a triumph somehow.

I wonder what compels a Sandhill Crane to fly in endless circles?

Then, my mail file got too big and started having problems. I had to clean out a bunch of old emails. As soon as I did, someone needed something from 2 years earlier. I no longer had the email.

I turned to my office mate (who was and is also one of my best friends) and said, “It just figures. A day after I finally get rid of an old email, someone needs it. No wonder I never want to get rid of email!”

She either didn’t hear exactly what I said or chose to ignore it. Her response was, “Yeah, all this time keeping track of all that junk and when you don’t have it, it turns out not to be a big deal.”

Perhaps they’re practicing getting their wing flaps in sync?

She was right. It really wasn’t a big deal, I just thought it was. This is a great example of choosing the lesson. Without thinking about it, the lesson I was going to take was “I can never, ever, ever get rid of another email because I never know when I’ll need it.”

My friend reframed the experience to the exact opposite. Had she not said that, I never would have realized I could choose which lesson I took from the experience.

I can’t say I’ve gotten over email hoarding, but when I do purge, I do it without guilt or fear now. Although, I still probably keep more than I should.

Reflections melting away in the ripples

Perhaps what I need is to have a committee of friends help me figure out what the possible lessons are I can take from the more challenging events in life that shake me to my core. Perhaps where I fall short is not in failing to learn “the” lesson but on thinking there’s only one possible lesson to learn and missing the one that works for me.

Life Lesson Selection. How’s that for a committee name?

Lost in the reflections from the trees

Balancing Act

Posted by dkrashb on January 23, 2013

“Keep going, come on! Pick up the pace! We’re going to catch them!”

I’ve been thinking about the feeling that there are things I have to do. I find myself wondering if there is a way to bring the joy I feel when I do the things I want to do to the things I think I have to do.

After all, do I really have to do anything?

“Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go! We’re getting there!”

Yes, I have to eat. Yes, I have to drink (at least water). And, yes, I have to sleep. I enjoy all of those things none-the-less. For example, I can eat just to fill my belly, grabbing whatever happens to be convenient and edible (which I still enjoy, truth be told) or I can make a really delicious and nutritious meal that makes me feel cared for and grateful.

Similarly, I can drag myself off to bed far too late and flop myself between the sheets feeling like I wasted another day. Or, I can be aware of when I’m getting sleeping, decide I need to rest and enjoy sliding into bed, allowing myself to sink into the mattress with a feeling of bliss.

“We’re going the wrong way! We’re never going to catch them now!”

Is it what we do that counts or how we do it?

Having a job means getting things done whether we want to do them or not. Is it possible to learn to really enjoy what we do day-to-day? I enjoy feeling like I can take complex problems and break them down to tasks that can be achieved. I enjoy feeling like I came up with an idea that will work. I enjoy feeling like I can bring my own unique contribution to the table. Is that enough?

Realistically, it’s hard to enjoy every single thing that we do from the moment we get out of bed to the moment we retire. I mean, can I really learn to take joy in taking out the trash? How does the concept of “I am enough” apply when it comes to the mundane aspects of life?

“They’re too far away. Let’s head back to the lake.”

I don’t think the implication is that we should set limits that say “I’m not going to take out the trash because it’s not a task I enjoy.” After all, I do not enjoy having trash laying around my home. I do enjoy having a house clean and orderly enough to look like it’s inhabited by humans.

Perhaps this is really another balance point. Spending enough time on housework to feel comfortable in the space without doing things for the sake of what I think other people would think if they stopped by. Is that enough?

“This looks familiar. How many times have we flown over this lake?

And how do I take the concept of enough to work? It is impossible for me to ever do enough to feel like I’ve done everything I could do–there aren’t enough hours in the day. I guess enough means finding the balance between feeling like I’ve made progress and allowing myself the time I need to do other things that are important to me.

Is “enough” just a new word for “balance”?

Off in the distance

For the Joy of It

Posted by dkrashb on January 22, 2013

“Should we land?” “Maybe.” “I need to know–I’ve got my landing gear down!” “Well, I don’t know . . .”

I recently read “Daring Greatly,” which has led to the concept of “enough” reappearing in my life for yet another lesson since I haven’t internalized it.

It’s a hard concept. It means acknowledging that we are flawed, incomplete, wrong, and sometimes downright ornery, and it’s enough. It’s about knowing our limits, ending perfectionism, and focusing on the completeness of “enough” rather than on what we aren’t, what we haven’t gotten done, and what we don’t have.

“Naw–not yet. Let’s fly another circle.”

I’m not so good at enough. People who know me well say things about me like, “she doesn’t do anything at less than 110%.” I get obsessed. I go all-in. Then I get frustrated by my imperfection and usually move on.

I’m pretty good at balancing enough when it comes to time management skills. It can be measured and monitored and limited in ways I understand well.

“Are you serious? Now you decide!”

Where I have more trouble with the concept of “enough” is figuring out when I’m doing something for the joy of it vs the desire to please. I find that when I do things out of the desire to please, it ends up pleasing no one, least of all me. Who wants to be around someone who is feeling resentful and put upon because they’re fulfilling an obligation they don’t feel up to fulfilling?

On the flip side, when I do something for the joy of doing it, the only pain I experience is cramping in my smile muscles. There are certain things that just make me feel joyful. Sharing something I love with someone else who’s interested is a biggie. It’s the same experience as giving someone a really great gift–it just feels like I have the ability to make a difference when I can give someone else something they want–especially if they never knew they wanted it.

“Let’s join that group!”

This begs the question: what is the difference between joyfully sharing something I love and getting joy from people enjoying it vs trying to please others?

Perhaps the difference is how vested I am in the others enjoying it? Maybe there is only a hair-breadth’s difference between sharing my joy in something without needing someone else to approve vs feeling more or less lovable based on whether others approve or not?

After all, when someone is just sharing what they love without the expectation of reciprocation, it’s hard not to catch their joy.

If I do something purely out of joy, I can allow the space for someone not to be as excited as I am. In allowing that space, it almost guarantees they will at least appreciate my joy if not experience their own.

If I do something because I think it will please someone, I need them to be pleased. That need creates a sense of expectation that can cause push back or resistance–why should they be obligated? It reduces the chances of pleasure all the way around.

I’m not sure I really understand this, but I think I’m making progress.

“We’re never going to catch them now–More altitude!”

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

nomadicmainstream

Combining living on the road with a mainstream lifestyle

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