Catching the Moon

Posted by dkrashb on February 8, 2013

The moon. What a subject it is. I cannot help but shoot it. Perhaps I take the phrase “shooting the moon” a bit too literally. At least I’m not trying to shoot it with a gun.

I got up this morning and decided to see if the sunrise was interesting. I headed down the hall, back to the common area and onto the balcony.

The wind was not any calmer than it had been two nights ago when I was waiting for the almost-full-moonrise that never showed. The temperature, however, was probably 20 degrees colder.

I’d decided to do a little experiment. Instead of shooting with a wide-angle lens as I usually would, I decided to use my 70-200mm lens to see if I could get something a little different from the tried and true views of the riverfront.

As the sun came up from behind the bluff, I waited to see if the light would get interesting in the sky. I was pretty focused (no pun intended) on the sun rising. Sometimes, I have to stop myself from staring because it gets hard to tell when the light has changed if you watch it too intensely. I guess it’s like living with someone who loses weight really gradually compared to running into someone you haven’t seen in ages who’s dropped 20 pounds since the last time you saw them.

So, when I realized I was staring for too long, I decided it was time to look around and see what the rest of the view looked like. When I turned, there it was. The lost moon, found again, centered in a clearing in the clouds. I swung my camera around on the tripod, zoomed in, and found focus just in time for the clouds to blow back over the *$%^ moon. Argh!

But, with a few adjustments, I kind of liked the shot anyway. It was the only chance I got–the cloud coverage just kept getting thicker until there was just one small, bright spot in the clouds barely bright enough to be noticeable if I didn’t already know where the moon was.

I turned back to the sunrise, but I kept looking over my shoulder just in case the moon decided to change its course and head back to the clearing. The moon made no such decision. Instead, it followed its predictable trajectory. At least, that’s what I assume it did–it’s not as if I could actually watch its progress. For all I know, it jumped out of the sky and will never be seen again.

Just for kicks, I google the moonrise time for tonight. I don’t know if I have it in me to stand on the cold balcony waiting for the late rise of a waning gibbous moon–it’s just not as exciting as a full (or almost full) moon. I’m relieved to discover the moon won’t rise until after my bedtime. Maybe I should start shooting moonset?

No Moon

Posted by dkrashb on February 6, 2013

I really wanted the white house to be the moon, but no matter how many times I shot it, it was still a house

Once again, the moon has disappointed me. I suppose it’s my own fault. I lost track of when the full moon would occur this month. I discovered this when we were walking home from dinner and I looked up and there it was, high in the sky shining brightly the way only a full moon can.

I thought, “No worries, it will still look full tomorrow night.” I googled the moonrise time for the following evening. I put it on my calendar. I got out my camera, put on the 1.4x extender and my 100-400mm lens. In plenty of time to get setup, I walked to the common room and setup my tripod and camera on the balcony. Then, I waited.

Now, I was mentally prepared for the moon to be late. I have enough experience with this now to know I can’t expect the moon to appear over the high ridge in front of me at the same time it crosses the horizon at sea level. What I couldn’t remember was just how late it usually is. I thought about the last time I was parked in the cold wind waiting on the moon. Was it 20 minutes after official moonrise time? Or was it 30? Maybe it was even 45?

Had I been thinking, I might have looked up my last moonrise post to see how late it was. According to that post, it was over 30 minutes late. I can’t think of any reason why it would be more or less late at various times of the year if it’s rising behind the same ridge, shouldn’t it rise with the same lateness?

In any case, since I wasn’t thinking, I stood on that cold balcony in a blustery wind waiting. And while I was waiting, I kept imagining I saw the moon. In particular, the house in the image above reflected light in such a way that every time I scanned the ridge, I thought, “there it is!” I ended up with about 10 pictures of this house during the hour I waited on the moon.

By the time it was an hour past moonrise, I figured it was time to call it quits. I was tired of jogging in place to keep the blood flowing to my toes. My nose was also running–like it was training for a marathon. I took one last look at all the visible sky and saw no sign that the moon was anywhere to be found. Not even a bright spot in the clouds.

I guess this is a case where even the best-laid plans go awry. On the other hand, the best-laid plan might have been to check the weather forecast before the full moon and to decide to shoot a night earlier when the moon was truly full and the sky was clear. But, I would have had to miss dinner with good friends to do that.

As my best friend reminded me, there will be plenty of moonrises in the future.

Leaving the Pod

Posted by dkrashb on February 4, 2013

Waiting for the perfect moment

This was a first for me. Inside the same milkweed pod spilling its guts in yesterday’s post, a single row of seeds remained, waiting for the order to jump.

Just like the silk dangling from the edge of the pod, these quiet soldiers let go of the pod one filament at a time as I watched. Their progress was faster than their siblings hanging below. I watched several threads spring free before my eyes in a matter of minutes. And they really did spring. They recoiled from their attachment point as if they’d been pulling against it trying to get free and were suddenly released when they least expected it. A miniature wrestling match taking place in slow motion.

Having never watched the silk in a milkweed wind itself from its cocoon before, I was disappointed when the show was interrupted by the ring of my cell phone. My husband hard returned home as was making dinner. It was time to pack up my gear and make my way back home.

As I was rushing to try to get one last shot, hoping to get something sharp (the blowing wind was not helpful–my moving subject kept blurring on me), two men walked along the walkway. They looked like they could have been homeless. Or they could have been something entirely different. It’s hard to tell.

They stared at me with an intensity that made me nervous. So, I did what I always do when I’m nervous: I smiled.

They smiled back at me. I admit that their smiles did not exactly put me at ease. Sometimes when someone smiles at you, you feel like you’ve just been smiled at by a shark or an alligator who’s thinking you might make a tasty next meal.

But Tisen looked nonplussed. I can’t say that Tisen has necessarily demonstrated good judgment of character, but I think he would at least be alert if there were any eminent danger.

As the men walked by, one looked at Tisen and then smiled even bigger at me and said, “That’s an awesome dog.” I smiled again and said, “Thanks.” I don’t know who those men were, but at least they had good taste.

I can’t remember having ever been afraid in the park. The park has an entire collection of security cameras. There can’t be a square inch that’s out of range of one of them. I’ve never seen or heard of any crime being committed in the park. Although, I’m not sure I would know about it–I tend to shy away from the news.

I sometimes feel like I’m the dangerous one lurking in the dark when I walk Tisen long past sunset. Not that I’m normally dangerous–just don’t make me mad.

As I put the lens cap back on my lens and collapsed the legs of my tripod, I found myself grateful for this pod of a park that provides a safe haven to shoot milkweed.

Cherokee Removal

Posted by dkrashb on January 27, 2013

Wide view of map of the removal routes of the Cherokee

The Hiwassee Refuge, like many natural areas in the vicinity of Chattanooga, was once part of the Trail of Tears. As such, it includes the Cherokee Removal Memorial Park. This park honor the Cherokee and memorializes those who died during their passage from Blythe’s Ferry or the after-math of living in a much harsher climate.

Looking at the routes from Chattanooga

The memorial includes a map of the routes the Cherokee took to get to Oklahoma where they were given land in the form of a reservation. It’s hard to imagine making one’s way from this part of Tennessee all the way to Oklahoma by foot–especially when there were no direct routes.

The road from the Memorial to the Overlook

I try to imagine what it would be like to have someone tell me that I was no longer to live in my home and if I didn’t relocate to some reservation some 800 miles away (by highway today), I would be removed forcibly by the military. It’s not the kind of thing one associates with being an American.

We like to think we are the land of the free. As a culture, we believe we have the right to the pursuit of happiness. It’s hard to understand that the Cherokee were seen as hostile non-American inhabitants who were preventing progress. Those were different times.

View from the Overlook at Cherokee Removal Memorial Park

In the US today, we allow people to establish their own religions, create their own communities, and even exempt them from US laws that apply to other US citizens (for example, the Amish are exempt from registering for being drafted into the military; many groups are exempt from federal taxation). I guess our willingness to allow these divergent views is based largely on whether these groups are perceived as a threat.

TOS volunteer with a scope on a Bald Eagle Nest

The Cherokee, who supported the British during the American revolution and periodically raided settlers’ establishments after, were perceived as a threat. Yet, we were the foreigners at that time and we wanted what they had. It didn’t really occur to people that perhaps it wasn’t right to take over land and displace the people who were living there.

I guess we came by our desire to conquer new lands honestly. After all, our ancestors were Europeans who had a long history of seeking new land and taking over wherever they went. If I recall my Western Civilizations history correctly, there were centuries of people committing genocide to claim new territories.

Another view from the overlook

Unfortunately, it took a couple of world wars to figure out that when we try to destroy other cultures, it only leads to more pain.

The accessible walkway up to the overlook

Yet, maybe this lesson isn’t over. I think of the contentious issue of illegal immigrants and the challenges people who wish to move to the US now face. It’s as if we have become the Cherokee–we have a lifestyle and we want to maintain it. We perceive newcomers to our land as a potential threat to that lifestyle. I suppose the Cherokee were not the first to claim the land–and we probably won’t be the last.

How to tell when your sensor is covered in dust (taken with Pat’s camera)

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

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Category Archives: Chattanooga