Volunteering

Posted by dkrashb on October 6, 2013

Right now, a group of us at the Chattanooga Audubon Society are planning a Halloween haunt called “Acres of Darkness.” For 4 nights, a ¼ mile trail will be haunted with all kinds of terrors to raise money for the organization.

Last year I did some shooting at the event, but I wasn’t involved in planning it. This year, the planning committee asked me if I would help after we completed the Birdathon event in April. How could I resist?

I love Halloween. You can try out an alter-ego, eat endless amounts of candy, and experience whatever level of terror you’re comfortable with. It’s just fun.

Saturday morning, I went out to setup one of the stations on the haunted trail. I realized several things about myself. First, although I have worked on things from setting up campsites to roofing to changing the oil in my car to repairing garbage disposals, I have never done them alone.

When we decided to each take a station and be responsible for setting it up, I experienced sudden panic. I realized these are the kinds of jobs where, if pointed in the right direction, I can be helpful, but I’m not adept at deciding what needs to be done.

It was a strange sensation. Most things I do, I am perfectly able and willing to decide how to go about doing them. I am not shy about telling other people what to do, either. Yet, when faced with the simple problem of how to hang some tarps and other props, I found myself at a loss.

Fortunately for me, a far more experienced person was there when I arrived who was willing to help me. I walked out to the site ahead of him, having been told that everything we needed was already at the site. There was one, long, yellow nylon rope, two large tarps, and a length of misting hose.

This is when I (re)discovered a second thing about myself: I really only know how to tie one knot. That’s the knot I use to tie my shoes. I learned it from a book of knots my nephew got when he was about 10. It prevents your shoelaces from untying, but you can still pull out the knot with one pull. It’s a great knot for shoes; not so great for tarp hanging.

In spite of my years in the Camp Fire Girls, even a basic square knot comes out a tangled mess. This made me feel especially grateful for the Eagle Scout and long-time Scout Master who was helping me. I would still be there trying to tie up that tarp if he hadn’t been there.

While I was there, I did a little shooting of a River Rescue volunteer crew picking up trash in the creek that runs through Audubon Acres. I got to wade through the creek, see a Belted Kingfisher, and hear a Red-shouldered Hawk. Great start to a Saturday morning!

Cycle of Seasons

Posted by dkrashb on September 29, 2013

Rock Creek Gorge

Pat disguised as Tisen

Tisen and Pat hanging out and looking camouflaged in the dappled light

Me and my shadow

Really dappled light

My proud boy crossing a wooden bridge

The trail looks more like a rock-climbing adventure

Sunlight forming a path through the trees

Pat and Tisen resting in speckled light

View over dead tree stumps

Gren moss thriving on a rock at an overlook

Still green in spite of the lateness of the season

Cliff Hanger

Prairie like space makes for great views

On Friday morning, the alarm woke me at 5:15AM, reminding me that on Friday, I start my day with yoga class at 6:30AM. By 6:00AM, I was out in the park walking the dog, staring up, open-mouthed at a preternatural sky. Surprisingly dark and yet brilliantly lit with a crescent moon hovering in the middle of a brilliant cluster of stars.

With the dawn coming noticeably later each morning, I find myself having a harder and harder time getting into first gear each morning. I wonder if our ancestors noticed the difference. Did they just get up with the sun and go to bed with the sun and not really notice if the days were longer or shorter? One thing’s for sure–they didn’t wake up to the mamba as recreated by the iPhone.

As the days shorten, my desire to get out of bed shrinks proportionally. Am I pulled by the forces of thousands of years before me when people didn’t set alarm clocks? Or am I just over-worked and under-rested and more resentful of my alarm because the dark sky reminds me that I’ve spent far too few hours in bed?

As Tisen and I make our way around the star-lit park, leaves rustle above our heads and below our feet. The young sycamores planted in the park have already given up on photosynthesis. Their leaves have dried and shrunk into brown cocoons hanging precariously from branches or littering the sidewalk below. The leaves on the sidewalk will be meticulously blown away by the park maintenance crew by the time we take our afternoon walk. The effort of an entire growing season whisked away, leaving the trees nothing to show for their pain and preventing the nutrients locked in the web of leaves from returning to the soil. A cycle broken.

Fall has always been my favorite season. As cool winds become prevalent, humidity drops, and blindingly blue skies become common, I find it hard to resist crunching through leaves and looking for birds, many exposed for the first time since spring on bare branches offering little camouflage.

But on Friday morning, as I turned my face skyward and bathed in the feeble light from the stars, moon, and street lamps, melancholy swept over me. It was a brief, passing moment. The moment of realization that things are coming to an end, although I couldn’t name what those things were.

By Friday afternoon, when I stepped out with Tisen in overpowering sunshine with a crisp wind reminding me that 80 degrees doesn’t always feel warm, I felt hopeful again. Heat and humidity are coming to an end. The summer breeding season for the birds is coming to an end. And this opens the door for new possibilities. I felt myself welcoming the change in the weather. The change in the birds. The change in me. A cycle working.

Chasing the Moon

Posted by dkrashb on September 22, 2013

The blurry image that started my quest

Daytime moon

Moon over sunset

Crescent moon

Fatter crescent

Shot in August when I was in desperate need of a tripod

Moon rising behind trees

The first sign of a moonrise

Peeking moon

Ridge rise

Full moon behind clouds

Haze prevented the moon from being visible until higher

Moon reflected on the Tennessee River

Moon at sunset

Moon through bare trees

Moon Bloom

Moon appears through the trees

Moon glowing through blowing clouds

Moon at twilight

Moon, Venus, and Mars

Moon over sculpture

Moon basket

Moon, Venus, and Mars

Sliver of Moon

Trees whipped by wind

Full moon over bridge and water

A parking lot moon

Moon once again obscured by haze until too high

Moon over bridge at sunset

Supermoon rising behind clouds

Another cloudy moonrise

Cloudy and early

Soft focus on dark moon set

Harvest moonrise–just a minute too late

Blustery night with a bright moon

iPhone panoramic of moon at sunset

I find myself on a vengeful quest to conquer my own personal Moby Dick. In my case, it is not a whale, but the moon. While my motives are more innocent and less violent than Ahab’s, a desire to vindicate myself drives me to follow the moon with a modern version of intensity that involves many goggle searches.

I think back to the day, now more than two years ago, when this quest began. I had the idea of getting a shot of the full moon rising behind the Walnut Street bridge.

I had purchased my 100-400mm lens a few months earlier–far enough ahead to have learned my inexpensive tripod wouldn’t support the weight of the lens. I took my monopod with me, hoping it would offer enough stability to get a good shot. As I stood on the bridge in the dark watching the moon rise perfectly behind the bridge with people walking by in front of it, I was buffeted about by the wind. My monopod was useless–my images were completely blurred.

Yet, I went home elated that this idea would work. I sent my blurry photos to a photographer friend who said, prophetically, “You wasted some good moonlight.” Naive in the nature of the moon, I thought, “well, there’s always next month.”

Over a period of weeks, I researched tripods and finally made an investment in one I expect to last the rest of my life. Finally ready, I headed out the next full moon only to discover there was too much cloud cover for the moon to be visible. The next month I learned that the moon was no longer rising behind the Walnut Street Bridge. It would be another 8 months before I would have another opportunity.

In the meantime, I practiced shooting the moonrise. In those months I learned just how fickle the moon can be. The obstacles are many: obscured visibility, daylight moonrises, my schedule, the speed of the moonrise, the unpredictability of the appearance of the moon, and focusing in the dark, to name a few.

At long last, the moon began rising behind the bridge again. The first two months, haze prevented it from being visible until it was far above the people on the bridge. On the one evening I had my chance, I arrived too late and missed the moment. Next month, it will no longer be behind the bridge.

I will bide my time. I will persist. The moment will never return exactly as it was that night. That is one thing I know with certainty–each moment is uniquely its own. But chasing the moon has its own merit. There is something to be said for tenacity. While there is a time and place to let go and move on, having a goal that requires planning, making time, learning, and adjusting seems like an important lesson in life.

Many Views

Posted by dkrashb on September 15, 2013

Pacific view

Overlook not far from the Pacific

Ocean waves on a sandy beach

Close up of Lighthouse

Pacific

Rocky shoreline of the Pacific

Another lighthouse over the Pacific Ocean

Light house in WA overlooking the Pacific Ocean

Columbia River

Astoria Tower

Overlooking the Columbia River from the Astoria Tower park

A common expression in corporate conversations is “taking a 30,000 foot view” or some such derivation that might also be expressed as “looking at the forest instead of the trees.” Often, the follow up comments include something along the lines of, “but the devil is always in the details.”

When you look at a map, you can lay out a course that takes you in the most direct line to where you want to go. But when you get on the road, street signs are missing or roads are closed and sometimes you find yourself well off-course in spite of your plan. Even with technology, sometimes the GPS thinks a private road is a public one and advises me to drive through locked gates. As it turns out, the most direct route is often not the easiest.

On my recent trip to Portland, we went on a little venture to the Washington coast and Astoria, Oregon. We stopped at overlooks, visited lighthouses, and went up to the Astoria Tower. Each of these vantage points provides a different view. The ocean forms waves that slide smoothly up onto the beach while they batter and splash against craggy coastline cliffs only a hundred yards away. From our thousand foot view (give or take), neither looks particularly harrowing or dangerous, but because we’ve been up close to both situations, we can readily guess which one would be the best place to, say, try to land a boat.

I am reminded of a presenter who once talked about the tendency to rely on historical information when deciding what to do next. He said, “you can’t drive while you’re looking in your rearview mirror.” I’d like to think we all check our mirrors every once in a while. Without metaphorically checking our rearview mirror, we might think we could land safely amongst the rocks. And without a map, we might not know if we went 100 yards further, we could land smoothly in the sand.

As we stood on the grounds of the Astoria Tower, I imagined Lewis and Clark for a second time that day. I imagined being the creator of the map for previously uncharted lands. I imagined explorers standing and staring at the river below as it makes its final turn before colliding with the Pacific Ocean. I wondered if they were able to predict how long it would take to get from where they stood to the river shore. I wondered how many surprises they encountered once underway.

I suppose life has not changed much if you look at it from 100,000 feet. In spite of the myriad of gadgets that make navigation easier, we still must each create our own map for our lives. The endless number of choices we now face can overwhelm even the most intrepid explorer. When you come down to the 100 foot level or so, the main difference between then and now is probably that we do far more exploring from a seated position.

Dismal Nitch

Posted by dkrashb on September 8, 2013

A patient cormorant drying its wings

I would think the mountains in the background were fake if I hadn’t see this myself

The sea and sky seem to disappear into one another

Looking back at Astoria from Dismal Nitch

View of the bridge from Dismal Nitch

The sea and sky nearly blend

Coming down the bridge from Astoria to Dismal Nitch

We were told it was well worth the wait–they were right

Unlike Lewis and Clark and other early explorers, we didn’t have much trouble finding a meal in Astoria

This week has been another vacation week (I got a bit behind on using my vacation days this year). This time, I left Pat and Tisen at home and travelled out to visit family in Portland, Oregon. Portland is one of my favorite parts of the US–this is a trip I look forward to every year.

While visiting the Oregon coast, we stopped at Dismal Nitch across from Astoria, Oregon. Dismal Nitch is an easy rest stop to access these days–a long, long bridge from Astoria to Washington makes it a really interesting drive with fantastic views.

But, when it was named by the Lewis and Clark expedition, it was no picnic. Traveling by boat, the craggy harbor became a dangerous place for the explorers and their team. They were stuck out in the rain for 6 days, waiting for the weather to clear so they could safely navigate the rocks and other hazards that have made this area among the most dangerous waters in the country.

I pause as we stand along the fence at the rest area, looking out at the Cormorants, Seagulls, and Pelicans. The face of a seal suddenly pops through the surface of the water. I stand there wishing I had my 100-400mm lens.

And then, it occurs to me, I feel mired. I think about Lewis and Clark sitting in that same spot, cold, wet, and probably hungry. I think about them bobbing about on rough seas and waiting out the stormy weather. I wonder if they felt it was hopeless. I wonder how long they were prepared to wait before making their move. I wonder if they saw seals and pelicans and thought of them as signs of hope. All of this flashes through my mind as I realize the difference between me and people like Lewis and Clark is that they took the safest course for the duration of a storm and then moved on. I seem to confuse safety with long-term direction.

I took some photos of the dismal nitch. The clouds gray and swirling above relatively still water created a nearly monochromatic scene. I stared out over the waters, hiding the dangers of shoals and debris that had sunk more than its share of ships. It looked so peaceful. Tranquil. A cormorant stood on the stump of what might once have been a pier, spreading its wings and flapping them. He couldn’t wait for them to dry so he might fly again.

Perhaps we are all like the cormorant. We dive in, get wet, and then have to hang out and dry out before we can jump back in. Perhaps some of us have to hang out longer than others before we’re willing to take the next plunge. I metaphorically flap my wings and wonder just what kind of drying time to expect. By my count, they’ve been drying for at least 8 years. I find myself wondering if the Cormorant ever forget how to swim.

Will Should

Posted by dkrashb on September 1, 2013

Mushrooms along the Benton Falls Trail

Benton Falls

Surface skimmers undisturbed by moving water

My boys at Benton Falls

Tisen kissing daddy

Tisen making daddy laugh

Family photo at Benton Falls

View from an overlook in the Chilhowee Recreation Area in Cherokee National Forest

Look who’s in my seat

Tisen doesn’t want to give up shotgun

View from an overlook in the Chilhowee Recreation Area in Cherokee National Forest

Watching the sunset from the sledding hill

It’s amazing how quickly small things get in the way of achieving a relatively simple goal. My goal has been to make time for the things that make me happy first thing in the morning. Riding, rowing, yoga. Seems simple enough.

But then there’s the rush of deadlines that keeps me up late or the early-morning or late-night conference calls with colleagues in far-off time zones. Suddenly, what I need more than a ride is sleep. The alarm gets set for 7AM instead of 5AM.

I remember reading once (or twice) that it takes a month to establish a new habit. I think about the times I have succeeded in creating habits.

There is a mindset that snaps into place. It’s a mindset that says, “you will do this, no matter what.” It’s the mindset that drags my weary rear-end out of bed long before dawn even if I’ve only had a few hours of sleep. Making myself get up forces me to go to bed earlier. Making the priority to get out of bed is painful for a week or two until I find I can no longer keep my eyes open after 10PM. But where is the switch that turns, “I should” into “I will”?

I learned a long time ago that the conditional tense is a misleading and manipulative beast that carries with it guilt and shame as poor motivators. “Should?” my inner self retorts, “You can’t tell me what to do!”

Will changes everything. The power of grammar is contained in this simple word. To have the will. To will. Both a noun and a verb, will combusts into action. To say “I will” creates promise and commitment. To will is to embrace, to drive. I do not take the word lightly.

Should, however, reeks of meek compliance. Agreement to a statement that belongs to someone else. “Yes, I should get up at 5AM.” The word “should” implies “but I won’t” at the end of the sentence. That single, irritating word contains the admission of not living up to someone’s standard. Of agreeing that whatever the task at hand might be, it is worthwhile and good, but not within your reach. It represents an admission that you are not making good on something you should be doing.

I listen for “shoulds” when I’m talking to others. In my career, I have learned that “should” means, “yes, that’s a good idea, but I’m not doing it.” In volunteer organizations, I learned to shudder at the words, “someone should,” although at least it is a more straightforward admission.

Sometimes when will has left me, I have to step back and reassess. Is there a point in time coming up that will allow me to shift to will? Is there a project that will be finished? A commitment completed? Some other break in time that can get me to will? I still haven’t found the switch, but I will.

Paying Myself First

Posted by dkrashb on August 25, 2013

Full moonrise 8-20

Disappearing Moon 8-20

Reappearing moon 8-20

Moon behind clouds 8-20

Disappearing once more 8-20

A skink at Cloudland Canyon

The Canyon

Tree-covered canyon

Tree clinging to rock

Clouds over Cloudland Canyon

Driftwood nowhere near a sea

Mighty mushroom

The old forge at sunset 8-24

Abandoned pipefitting plant 8-24

When I was 9 years old, I started mowing lawns to earn money. My mother used to tell me to “pay myself first.” It was actually a rule back then, not just advice. Half of my net earnings had to go into my bank account.

This philosophy works great for financial freedom. It helped me pay for two degrees without any student loans. This week, I decided to try applying the same philosophy to other areas of life to see if it works just as well.

Taking the attitude of “pay myself first,” I decided things that make me feel balanced, relaxed, and more at ease with the world work like a savings account–they give me energy and a calm state of mind to draw on when things get tough. Since things get tough every day, I decided I needed to return to my old habit of getting “me time” in first thing every day–paying myself before I give any of my time or energy to anything else.

My first rule was not to check email until after I’d spent time doing what I wanted to do in the morning. I got up dark and early most mornings at 5AM to have a few hours to myself before I needed to plug in and get online for work.

I rode my bike, went to the gym, or did yoga each morning. I also made myself a healthy breakfast. All of this made me feel cared for, relaxed, and far more ready to tackle work.

I also set some new limits for myself at work. I decided I needed to limit the number of hours I would spend on work each week in order to make sure I wasn’t sacrificing on sleep. To get 8 hours of sleep, have my time in the morning, and some time in the evening to write my other blog (snapgreatphotos.com), I had to limit my day job to no more than 10 hours a day.

This turned out to be the hardest rule to follow–especially coming back from a week off and knowing that I’m taking another vacation shortly. I repeated the mantra, “I am enough,” over and over. Anything I could delegate or let others handle I let go of. I had to let go of the intense pressure I put on myself to be helpful at all costs. I had to take a breath and ask myself if it was really important to jump in or if doing so would take time and energy away from more important things and/or deny someone else an opportunity to step up.

I can’t say I executed perfectly. I was up later than I wanted to be on more than one night trying to get one more thing done. But I keep telling myself that if I can pay myself first, I will be better at everything else I do and that will make the investment worth it to everyone.

Time Out

Posted by dkrashb on August 18, 2013

My happy, happy trail dog

Evening hike at Cloudland Canyon

Cloudland Canyon

Savage Falls

Savage Falls hike

Upper Savage Falls

Point Park

Trail to Sunset Rock from Point Park

Moss on the way to Sunset Rock

Theo

Cody

Gilbert

Ocoee Whitewater Center

Bridge over Ocoee Whitewater Center

Lizard on old Copper Road Trial near Ocoee

This is my last day of a one-week vacation. Instead of going somewhere, a friend came down for a week of hiking in the area. I managed to disconnect from my day job completely.

The reality is that work is going on without me. I may have a few messes to fix when I get back, but those messes probably would have happened whether I was there or not. And if I weren’t there, someone else would figure out how to clean them up.

I choose to take from this the lesson that if there is time for me to take a week away, there is time for me to take a breath during the day. There is time for me to stop at a reasonable hour and pick up again the next day. There is time for me to take care of myself regardless of what messes come up.

I re-learned the truth of how important unplugged time is to me. Going out into the wilderness where there were no sounds besides the wind blowing through the trees, water tumbling over rocks, and occasional conversation with my friend brought with it a sense of connectedness with the world around me that hours in front of a computer cannot achieve.

The computer, whether for work or just for fun, takes me away from the here and now. Choosing footholds along a rocky trail puts me intensely in the present moment in a way that’s hard to achieve typing on a keyboard or reading an email.

I also re-learned the power of physical exertion. The sense of aliveness and appreciation for every bone, muscle, blood cell in my body intensifies as the trail becomes more challenging. The ability to move myself rhythmically up a steep rocky climb turns into a sense of power and wonder. The body is a marvelous thing to inhabit when it’s working well.

And, I re-learned the joy of pushing limits just a little. Hiking with a friend who hasn’t hiked much helped keep me from over-doing. It kept the soreness to a minimum and allowed me to enjoy what I was capable of without suffering what might otherwise have been the pain of over-exertion. Happy medium is called “happy” for a really good reason.

Taking time away also gave me the time and energy to consider alternative possibilities. The freed energy led to imagination and my imagination went wild. At the end of a week of time “off”, I find myself full of hope. Hope that I can make time for what is most important to me. Hope that anything truly is possible. Hope that life can be joyful on a daily basis. Hope that I can return to my “normal” life and make it a little less normal and a little more peaceful. Hope that if I can do that, the world as a whole can be more peaceful, too.

It was a good vacation.

Two Years of Blogging

Posted by dkrashb on August 11, 2013

04 Combination of 3 photos plus tonemapping

The unidentified warm-up act had audience members up on stage singing

It’s not a biker hang out–this is just typical in Europe where gas is so expensive

The lovely “beach” in Nice

It must be odd to be face-to-face with yourself

Mom and baby just chillin’

Daytime moon

This little ballerina reminded me of an impressionist painting I have a vague memory of.

Cayce hops to my glove in exchange for a piece of beef

Guitar bodies in the rough

Tisen Hanging on Daddy

01 A distinctive peak of the Longhorn roof

A little more of Cravens House with a more visible Pat and Tisen

Gina looking fierce in front of unwanted graffiti

My brother and sister-in-law posing being the wheel of a canon at Point Park

The dancers may have been the highlight of the parade

Theo and Dale rub noses before Theo manages to back up and land safely on the glove

Hipstamatic Version

Cautiously feeding Cayce

My husband with his aunt and uncle (this was a test shot when I was setting up my camera for my husband)

In a recent family portrait, Tisen seemed to seek Tiger out

Tisen freezes for me for just a moment

My favorite view from the easily accessible overlooks at Cloudland Canyon

Sharing Point Park with family last summer

I started the quest to develop a habit of writing 2 years ago. I chose to try blogging because I thought it would create a sense of commitment by publicly stating I was going to post every day. It did. This is my 731st consecutive daily post. I’ve written about 435,000 words–about 1740 pages–and posted 4921 images in the midst of life changes, long work days, illness, injuries, business travel, personal commitments, and the general chaos of life.

There’s something to be said for that. I didn’t prove I’m a great writer, but I did prove I am a prolific one. 🙂 I once read Stephen King’s autobiographical book called “On Writing.” (Great read if you have any interest in writers or writing.) As I recall, he writes 8 pages a day, every day. Of course, he probably writes 8 good pages a day as opposed to random dribble. But that’s not the point.

The point is that something as large as a book is in reach if you can take it on one small piece at a time. If you can find the one step that you can take today and take the next step the next day and the next and the next, you will find you can walk across a continent. It may not be the fastest way, but it’s a heck of a lot faster than never taking any steps at all.

This is not a revelation. I’m sure we all intuitively know this is true. But the physical body of work that I have accumulated over the past two years makes the message seems far more tangible to me than it ever has before. I did this. I created a habit and realized just how much I can do by setting aside a sustainable amount of time to do one small thing.

The bottom line is that there is no such thing as “I don’t have time.” We have time, but we spend it elsewhere. Without making conscious choices and commitments to how we will spend one of life’s most limited resources, the time gets spent anyway–just not necessarily on the things we would like to spend it on.

However, choices do have to be made. Will I sleep or will I write my blog while I’m half awake? Will I go to the gym, or will I sleep in an extra hour because I stayed up writing my blog? Now that I have a second blog, snapgreatphotos.com, I am finding that I need to make room for the time that new commitment takes.

I’m not quite ready to give up this blog–I love that it keeps me motivated to both write and shoot on a regular basis. But, I need to downsize my time commitment. For that reason, I am going to a once-a-week post schedule as of today.

My new goal will be to improve the quality of my posts while keeping to a once a week schedule. See you next Sunday!

Orientation

Posted by dkrashb on August 10, 2013

We are conducting an interesting experiment. It started unintentionally with the sudden demise of our usual elevator. The elevator is not dead, but it needed a day or two off. Tisen, it turns out, is a man of routine.

We turn left out of the door. He gets on the elevator, he gets off the elevator. We turn left leaving the elevator to go outside. On the return, we turn right off the elevator and our door is on the right.

Our condo is situated between two elevators. It’s not really a big deal for us to have to walk a new direction. But it sure was a big deal to Tisen. He wanted to turn left when we needed to turn right. He wanted to turn right when we needed to go left. Then, when we returned home, he did the opposite.

The funniest part was when he walked up to the door across the hall from us and acted like it was only a matter of time before we opened the door–it’s like the whole world had flipped in his head.

This reminds me of an experiment I once read about where people were asked to wear glasses that inverted what they saw. After 2 weeks, their brains were re-flipping the images so that what they thought they saw was right-side-up. Then, when they stopped wearing the glasses, they started seeing everything upside down again. It took a couple of weeks for them to begin seeing the world right-side-up.

We will see how long it takes for Tisen’s internal map to right itself once the elevator is fixed.

In the meantime, I posted some more of the macro shots of the flowers I took following a rainstorm the other night. Everything was so dewy. All I needed was a ray of sunshine to make the reflections in the raindrops really pop.

nomadicmainstream

Combining living on the road with a mainstream lifestyle

Category Archives: Photography