Power Point

Posted by dkrashb on May 29, 2013

Pausing just long enough for a quick pose is enough to make Tisen yawn

Here’s a tip about Point Park on Lookout Mountain: there’s a parking lot with free parking behind the shrubs across the street from the park entrance. It took us two trips up there before we figured out that really was free parking. Even on Memorial Day weekend, there was still an empty space. Most people are so busy figuring out where they can park at the meters on the same side of the street as the park that they fail to notice the entrance to the free parking on the left (us included). We’ve been up there at times when the pay parking spaces were completely full while there was only one car in the free parking lot.

A second tip is that if you are local and go there often, a park pass is only $20 and it allows you take up to 5 guests with you each time you go. I trip with 6 adults is $18, so it doesn’t take long to pay for itself.

Perhaps the view is best enjoyed without a yawning holstein?

A third tip is that if you’d rather not pay to get into Point Park, you could hike there from Cravens House and come in the back way. You might have to go back the same way, but the round trip can be as short as 2 miles depending on which trail you take.

I needed a tripod to get this straight, but I managed to get a shot with the sun behind me at least

The final tip is that if you like to take photos, go early. This is a tip I have yet to take. We scheduled a trip up to Point Park to get there shortly before sunset our first time out to the point. When we arrived, more and more park rangers kept arriving and running past us. Then, an ambulance arrived and they took a stretcher down the main path out to the point. They returned with a man on the gurney who had apparently been climbing on some rocks along the trail until he slipped, fell, and broke at least 1 rib, they thought.

In honor of Memorial Day, we stopped to read the stories of the battles on the memorial

I don’t know if it was because the rangers were on high alert that evening or if they’re always so insistent on emptying the park right at sunset, but they came down to the overlook we were at where I was shooting away as the sun sunk towards the horizon and told us to go home before the sunset was below the horizon. Since some of the best sunset shots come after the sun has set, this was a bit disappointing. I was counting on being able to shoot until dusk. But the park closes “at sunset,” which I guess can be left to a ranger’s discretion.

Tisen is rather irreverent when it comes to appreciating battlefields

However, the park opens at 6AM. So, there’s plenty of time to get there and get setup for sunrise shots, although I guess the sun will be rising before 6:30AM soon.

While I work on mustering the courage to get up that early, I try to ignore the harsh shadows in my mid-day shots, wishing I had better timing.

Tisen and Pat seem to be having a sidebar–I think they were plotting against me

Renaissance

Posted by dkrashb on May 18, 2013

Looking down the sidewalk that runs along the long side of The Ramp

Renaissance Park is appropriately named. The riverfront on this side of the river was lined with large manufacturing facilities. I am having trouble remembering what exactly was where Renaissance is–I guess I need to stop and read the signs in the park again.

Whatever was on the 20+ acres that now make up the park, it left a mess.

Looking up at some of the brightest blooms backlit by the sun

Rather than haul the mess off and dump it somewhere where it could be someone else’s mess, the people who designed the park (which is apparently this firm, who has posted some cool aerial photos) created a way to “store” the waste that supposedly prevents toxic waste from reaching the Tennessee River. According to the signs in the park (which, yes, it’s been a long time since I’ve read), the mounds we regularly refer to as “the Sledding hill” and “the Ramp,” were created as part of the program to encapsulate and stabilize the industrial waste.

I always find myself particularly tickled when I think about the kids sledding down a hill that’s simultaneously protecting them from the pollutants it houses inside. I just hope we don’t learn sometime down the road that it’s having ill-effects on anyone. I have to imagine the ill-effects are less than if the pollutants were continuing to leach into the Tennessee River.

A mixture of bright flowers and native grasses rises up to a deep blue sky

In any case, the thought of an industrial dumping ground being turned into park that’s not only lovely, but also effective at removing pollutants from the water that flows through the property is pretty inspiring. It truly is a renaissance.

The hill we call “the Ramp” is particularly clever innovation. It’s landscaped as a cleanly angled plain running up the front, planted in grass and kept mowed short. It’s one of those things that you see for the first time and wonder what on earth it’s for. Then, you walk by when there’s an exercise class out on it and you realize someone really did have vision.

The ridge the runs up the spine of backside of The Ramp

The popularity of outdoor fitness classes in the park is amazing. There is not one thing that appears to have been purpose-built for fitness classes, yet the giant steps down to the wetland, the Sledding Hill, the Ramp, and even the concrete bases of park benches all provide great equipment for the most ambitious exercisers.

But it’s the other side of the Ramp that caught my focus on this day. Or, the other 3 sides. The Ramp is only a ramp on one end. The rest of the hill is long and rounded and covered in native flowers and grasses. Many of the plants produce bird seed, making the hill a favorite for many seed eaters like Goldfinches and House Finches. It’s also a favorite for a large collection of voles who like to torment dogs passing by.

Right now, the Ramp’s backside has burst into blooms. Looking up its slopes at the flowers backlit by the evening sun makes me think every spring is its own renaissance.

The Ramp makes for an awesome display of wildflowers

Up

Posted by dkrashb on May 17, 2013

Orange flowers viewed from below

It’s funny how looking up at something can change the way it looks. The paths of Renaissance park have many elevations. Some of them run parallel to one another in what is an accidental switch-back. The effect is that, in one direction, you look up a small slope that leads to a flat area where plantings line the sidewalk above–you’re looking up at the same flowers you look down on when on the other walkway.

Even the volcano (as some call it) or the sledding hill (as I usually call it) is elevated so that the lower sides of the slopes seem more prominent and obvious.

This effect reminds me of what happens when I think I’ve cleaned the house (yes, that is something I’ve done on occasion). I walk around looking at every surface glowing and I, in turn, glow with pride. Then, inevitably, I trip on something and end up on the floor where I am suddenly looking up at the same surfaces. They just never look clean from the other direction. The vertical surfaces I thought were spotless suddenly reveal just how dirty they are when I find myself looking up from the floor.

Evening primrose climbing up a slope

Fortunately, not too many of our guests lay on the floor.

This is not to imply that looking up the slopes revealed dirt. Rather, it just called my attention to some things I hadn’t really taken in completely before. The collection of primrose at the base of the tree basking in the sunlight seemed to be standing at attention from this angle. The bright orange flowers among the grass appeared from no where–I can’t recall having seen them before. Even the sledding hill with its abandoned cardboard sleds seemed somehow more appealing than usual–and far taller.

Inspired by the new view, I decided to get bold and attempt to shoot a sculpture I have yet to capture an image of that I like enough to share. Every time I shoot it, I think it looks really cool when I’m standing there and then deleted the image when I got home.

The sledding hill shot from below

I noticed the evening sun was creeping towards the horizon behind the sculpture. I thought I would try to get a sot of the sun sitting on top of it. This might have been a good time to use HDR with a tripod. However, I winged it.

Sometimes an image that really sucks makes for a lot of fun when playing with the possible ways to adjust it in Aperture. The curves feature is especially fun. It can turn an image into something completely different. This was my favorite image of the various takes and edits. I’m not thinking I’ll be hanging it on the wall, but I like how the completely blown out sun turned gray when I used the recovery tool, with its rays shooting over the top of the sculpture. But then again, I’m easily amused.

A sculpture I have yet to capture a decent image of, but had fun playing with this

Bridges and Blades

Posted by dkrashb on May 14, 2013

Market St Bridge with grass foreground in Renaissance Park

The weather seems to be as confused as ever, but at least we had fabulous weather today–the kind of weather that reminded me of a late September day in Columbus. The kind of day where, after months of heat and humidity, you take a deep breath and think, “Ahh.” Interestingly, it just isn’t quite as refreshing when everyone is waiting for spring and it’s acting more like fall.

A pair of budding something shooting above the juvenile grasses

At least the flowers had finally reached the same point they were at by the end of March last year. I figured it was a good time to get out with the camera. Since I was walking Tisen, I opted to just take my favorite walking-around-lens, the 24-70mm. It’s a nice range for shooting both landscape and getting pretty tight when close to the subject. It does not, however, do well at macro. That I will have to save for another day.

Closer to out-of-the-camera than the earlier image. I really like the tree on the right

It gets a little old shooting landscape in the same 100 yards or so along the riverfront. While I’m sure there are an infinite number of angles to take, at some point, I just get bored.

Glowing blades of gras

I decided to try for some new angle on the Market St bridge. It was about then that I discovered a bunch of grass that had been allowed to grow to it’s maximum height and was in the middle of going to seed. I thought maybe it would make an interesting foreground for the bridge. It wasn’t quite as interesting as I hoped, but making some extreme adjustments in Aperture helped at a little pop, at least.

I had a hard time choosing between the grass images–I might like this one best

Tisen had other subjects in mind. He quickly pulled me across the walkway towards some fresh green grasses that, for a long time, I thought was bamboo. I’ve been told by someone who is much better with plants than I am that they aren’t bamboo at all but are a native grass in Tennessee. I will take their word for it.

More of the Market St Bridge

On this particular day, the sun was hitting them at a really interesting angle that made them turn into glowing blades of green. They were being backlit by an early evening sun. I couldn’t help but take about 100 images of these glowing blades. While I did crank up the volume slightly in Aperture on the contrast between the background and the blades of grass, they really looked pretty much like this in person.

One last look at the grass

Tisen was not, it turned out, impressed by the blades of grass for their aesthetic appeal. He sees them as a superior communication medium. He can mark along the clumps of grass and get both height an breadth that cannot be achieved with tree trunks or other grasses. A little secret–I couldn’t get Tisen to hold still so I could get a shot of him carrying Jack. So, I snuck a shot when he stopped to mark and just cut the back end out of the frame. I guess it’s still pretty obvious what he’s doing.

Can you tell why Tisen is holding still in the this photo?

Marching to the Beat

Posted by dkrashb on May 8, 2013

Tisen kept my fellow volunteer busy while I got a shot of the booth, McClellan Island in the background, and some rapidly forming clouds overhead

Sitting on the Walnut Street Bridge and watching tourists walk by is always fun. What was surprising to me on Sunday was how many people were not tourists. The local community showed up in pretty substantial numbers for an unadvertised, unprecedented parade on the Walnut Street Bridge.

As representatives of the Chattanooga Audubon Society, my fellow volunteer and I stopped a couple dozen people and managed to gather a dozen or so emails to add to the organizations contact list. Of the people we stopped, only 2 of them were from out of town.

The 8-year old drum major led the band down the bridge

I can’t claim this to be a representative sampling of the population on the Walnut Street Bridge that day, but it seems that 90% of the people on the bridge were locals. When you think about it, it makes sense. The Howard High School band was performing. With them, the brought all of the family and friends that support them. The Chattanooga Ballet company was marching, the brought some more. And so the list goes on. I guess that’s what makes a parade a community event–it brings out the locals in masses to support the ones they love who are marching in the parade. And, of course, the locals who just want to have something fun to do or who support the cause behind a parade.

The cheerleaders kept pace with the band

Whatever brought people to the Walnut Street Bridge that day, the Howard High School Band was determined to entertain them. After the dancers (see yesterday’s post), their 8-year old drum major led the instrumental section as they stepped in time to a raucous beat–it was enough to get the wood planking on the bridge vibrating.

Following the band came the cheerleaders. They weren’t quite as wound up as the dancers in front of the band had been–no dances or active cheering as they went past our end of the bridge.

Most parades have fire trucks. Since they won’t fit on the Walnut Street Bridge, the firefighters walked instead

I was impressed by the ballet company’s choice of attire for the parade. I can’t say I’ve ever seen a ballerina elevated over another dancer’s head while wearing rubber rain boots before. I’m not sure if they made it the entire half mile across the bridge like that, but it made for an exciting presence in the parade.

Ballet Chattanooga displays it’s fun taste in footwear

The Dogood organization closed the parade. This group promotes responsible dog ownership and a dog-friendly community. They are responsible for getting the bridge open to canines, who were prohibited from crossing the bridge until a few years ago. Tisen was happy to see them–grateful for the many times he’s gotten to accompany me on the bridge because of their work. Although, I do think he was jealous of the other dogs’ Cinco de Mayo costumes.

The do-good dogs won best costume

At the end of the parade, the band gathered on the steps leading up to the glass bridge over to the Bluffview Art District. They performed a couple of songs and then marched across the glass bridge. This seemed dangerous, but they all made it safe and sound.

The last of the band makes its way across the glass bridge

Cove Lake

Posted by dkrashb on May 6, 2013

A nostalgic version of a fisherman sitting by the lake

For anyone who has gone boating on a lake, one of the more popular boating activities is referred to as “coving.” While coving sounds like something romantic two doves might do, coving can be among the most dangerous of activities that boaters undertake. It largely consists of bobbing around in the water with adult beverages and hoping that no one runs over you with their outboard motor when they decide to leave after bobbing around drinking large quantities of said adult beverages.

I knew of one person who lost a leg when one of those inebriated boat drivers failed to avoid running him over in spite of dozens of people screaming at him to stop. I was not there, but the story has soured the concept of coving for me.

A collection of clouds formed over the mountains in the distance in an otherwise clear blue sky

On the flip side, coves are also coveted by water skiers, especially early in the day for their calm water that can look like glass when there’s no traffic on the lake. Where there are water skiers and power boats, coves can be both exciting and dangerous.

Where there are no power boat, coves become a quiet area coveted for fishing. Cove Lake State Park appears to have no power boats, only row boats (although I didn’t see any boats on the water on my way home last week).

What is perhaps the most odd circumstance of Cove Lake is that in spite of the quiet, secluded solitude its name implies, it’s cradled in the nook of two major highways, one of which is I-75. When I got off the highway to check it out, I saw a lake from the freeway, but I assumed that was not Cove Lake. I was wrong. You can watch cars zooming by on an overpass from some parts of the park.

The row boats was patiently for someone to take them for a spin

Curiously, the proximity to the freeway doesn’t make the park any less peaceful. If there was noise from the freeway, I didn’t hear it. From the number of fisherman gathering in the parking lots, preparing for their evening fishing, I’d guess it has a healthy fish population.

Tisen and I didn’t stay long enough to see anyone catch a fish, but it seemed like the guys in the parking lot had the kind of equipment only serious fisherman own and made a regular habit out of fishing at this little lake.

As we made our way back to the car, a Canada Goose couple started honking their alarm to their young, who immediately started hustling toward the safety of water. I have read that geese who have never seen a canine will still respond with alarm to a canine-shaped animal, suggesting innate fears can be passed from one generation to the next. I don’t know if these geese had seen a dog before, but Tisen barely had time to decide whether he was interested in the geese or not and turn his gaze their way before they were all in the water. I’ve never seen goslings move faster!

One final shot of the lake as it continues its course around the bend and out of sight

Berea College

Posted by dkrashb on May 5, 2013

I believe this is a dorm–Hipstamatic tintype style

Berea and Berea College are an interesting place. I say “an” because it’s not clear to me that they’re separable. The founder of Berea College was also the founder of the town. It seems they grew up together.

Having done no research on the place besides having seen signs for Berea and stopped in their visitor’s center once when we needed to make a quick pit stop on the way home, I had only a few second-hand pieces of knowledge about the place to work from.

I was fascinated by this giant tree in front of the dorm

First, I knew there was an artisan community in the town. Second, I knew the college has a work-study program where the students are required to have a job and they get a portion of their tuition covered in exchange. Finally, I knew of a girl in my nephew’s class in Indianapolis who was attending Berea and studying opera singing–they apparently have a good music program and are affordable even for out-of-state students.

A more modern spin on the same dorm and tree

When Tisen and I took a short walk in Berea, we managed to see a couple of buildings on the Berea College campus. The buildings look much like buildings found on any college campus started in the late 1800’s. What surprised me was when we were across from the Boone Tavern, there was a sand sculpture on the lawn of a building I would guess was a dorm. The sand sculpture said two things that gave me pause.

Sand sculpture in lawn of the dorm

First, “interracial” appeared as one of the values of the college. I was rather shocked that in 2013, a liberal arts college felt the need to declare “interracial” as an important value to the college–are there any colleges that aren’t interracial in the US?

The second was, “Christian.” I had never heard that Berea was a Christian school. These two words caused me to do a little reading about Berea College online. As it turns out, while Berea identifies itself as Christian, it also believes that you don’t have to identify yourself as a Christian to further Christian ideals. As long as you accept the college’s mission, which includes doing work and doing it well, providing service to others, and promoting the notion that we’re all of “the same blood” whether we’re black, white, female, or male, you’re welcome to attend or work at the college. So, while the college is Christian, the students and faculty may or may not be.

I love the big old trees on older campuses

The fact that the college was conceived before the civil war explains why being interracial warrants comment in its mission. It was among the first interracial schools in Kentucky, but was stopped from being interracial for about 45 years when Kentucky law prohibited it. Berea College assisted with the creation of another school near Louisville to serve black students during that time and then re-integrated the school when the law was changed again in 1950. They have good reason to consider integration an important value of the school, even if it is 2013.

I thought “Sustrainable” was a clever name for a group training others on sustainability until I realized it was a mistake in this hand-created sign

Boone Tavern

Posted by dkrashb on May 4, 2013

Boone Tavern Histamaticized with Tintype effects

Sometimes, a five-year age difference can make a big difference. Most of the time, my husband and I remember a lot of the same things from childhood, ranging from the kinds of candy we found at the drug store to popular clothing styles. Although, things he remembers from high school, I remember from elementary school.

Every once in a while, we find a TV show that was a big part of Pat’s youth was one I’d never heard of. Daniel Boone was one of those shows. While Pat watched every episode both in its debut and in re-run, I vaguely knew there was a show called Daniel Boone, but I had never actually seen it until I got hooked on retro TV a couple years ago.

I don’t think Daniel Boone ever waited for gaps in car traffic to snap a picture of his namesake tavern

Watching Fess Parker battle bad guys on the American frontier felt nostalgic to me even though the show wasn’t part of my childhood. My brother and I used to play cowboys and indians as children and Daniel Boone with his coonskin cap was a pretty constant hero figuring into our games.

This may have been fueled, in part, because of family lore. Daniel Boone apparently came through the region my family settled in a few generations ago. I remember having a newspaper article in my photo album (curtesy of my mother) that described the experience of my “aunt” Polly (I think she was really my great, great, great aunt Polly and long gone by the time I arrived on the scene) with whom Daniel Boone stayed for some period of time. I can’t look up the details anymore, but in my memory, Daniel Boone lived with her family for several months when she was a girl.

The long-side of Boone Tavern surprised me with its size

For many years, I believed I was related to Daniel Boone. Who knows? Maybe I am.

Whatever my relations, whenever I passed the exit sign on interstate 75 that says, “Historic Boone Tavern,” I always want to stop. On this trip home from Columbus, I decided it was time. I was surprised to realize Boone Tavern is in Berea, Kentucky. This is the approximate halfway point between Columbus and Chattanooga and another place I’ve always wanted to stop. So, taking the opportunity to feed two hawks with one rat (as my friends at Save Our American Raptors would say), Tisen and I took another breather from the drive home in this small town.

The sign definitely takes me back to childhood

Boone Tavern is an operating hotel today. Apparently it is not kept in its original state–a sign proudly declared it’s air-conditioned. Tisen and I didn’t try to go in together and it was too hot to leave Tisen in the car, so we made a lap around downtown Berea, checking out Boone Tavern from two sides instead of sipping a cold adult beverage at the bar.

Tisen making the most of the Kentucky grass

Tisen was unimpressed by the view of the tavern. However, he did seem to take a special liking to the grass in the small park across the street from the tavern.

Big Bone Lick

Posted by dkrashb on May 3, 2013

The sign at the entrance to the park

What’s in a name? That which we call a park by any other name would smell as fresh. So why not call it something that makes people think, “Hmm. I really must go see what that is some time.” I think that’s what the creators of Big Bone Lick State Park in Kentucky thought when they chose the name of the park.
Never mind that the area was a “lick” (as in “salt lick”) in ancient (and even more recent) times that attracted animals large and small with its mineral deposits. Never mind that native americans talked about the “big bones” left behind by the giant animals that were trapped in the bog. I’m pretty sure that someone in marketing decided naming the park “Big Bone Lick” would attract more tourists.

The one short stretch of shade on our way to find the bison

They were right.

After all, how many times have I driven by signs advertising parks I can’t remember the names of? But “Big Bone Lick” has been the subject of several conversations–visitors often comment about it when they arrive at our place after having made the journey from the North.

Tisen casting a dark shadow that he tried to figure out how to stand under

Since I’d decided to take a day off work to drive home from Columbus with Tisen at a leisurely pace, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to find out what Big Bone Lick was all about. As is typical of Tisen and my walks, we hit the park at the peak of the afternoon sun. But on this day, I was surprised just how hot it was as we made our way up the trail in the harsh light. Tisen couldn’t stop panting–I’m sure he was wishing his fur coat had a zipper so he could take it off.

If bison could pant, I think this guy would be panting

But the park had something I wanted to see–Bison. I guess it’s appropriate and historically accurate that the park should have bison. I just wish they could roam free throughout the park rather than being fenced in. For a moment, I flashed back to Montana’s approach to “fence them out” vs “fence them in,” but then I remembered the dead horses we saw on the road outside of Glacier National Park and decided I didn’t want to see any run over bison.

Even the bison were shedding

We followed the signs that said, “Bison.” When we got to the “Bison Viewing Area,” there were no bison. Just empty pastures with nothing like bison in sight. I think someone was confused about what “bison viewing area” meant.

When I first spotted the bison, I thought I was seeing round bales of hay or something

I felt betrayed by the park signs. I looked at my poor, hot dog standing in a shadow panting like it was 100 degrees out and decided we’d better head back rather than keep looking. However, there was another path that headed back towards the car. I thought it would be shorter and, since it bordered a bunch of paddocks, perhaps we would see bison by going that way. Both turned out to be true. Although Tisen was less patience than usual waiting for me to take pictures, we left the park happy.

Breaking a Lens

Posted by dkrashb on April 12, 2013

Twiggy decided on a dip in the river before the storm started

This evening, I slipped out with Tisen in a hurry to get him out and back in before it started to rain. A storm was promising to break lose at any moment–the smell of rain hanging in the air as if the deluge was over instead of yet to begin. Whether it was the tickle of electricity forming far away in the clouds or the accumulating energy evidenced by the swirling winds, Tisen and I both had extra spring in our steps.

We didn’t make it very far before we ran into some neighbors–everyone was out with their dogs. Tisen made a couple of new friends and caught up with several old ones. Then, Twiggy and her daddy arrived on the scene. Tisen was beside himself.

I let Tisen follow Twiggy, his favorite trail leader. We meandered along and followed the dogs. Distracted by Twiggy’s feminine wiles, Tisen was suddenly oblivious to the impending storm.

Tisen looking worried after the first clap of thunder

When a loud clap of thunder sounded, he became momentarily airborne and immediately started looking for shelter. I had trouble keeping him out from under Twiggy’s daddy’s feet as underneath our friend seemed to be the best shelter Tisen could find.

We made our way back, but not in time to avoid a good soaking. I was prepared with my rain jacket, but it rained so hard, my pants were dripping and my sandals were soaked by the time we made it back to the building. Tisen was soaked through.

But I was smiling–it was our first summer storm.

The image that caused me to play with the positioning of my lens

When Pat came home, we sat on the balcony for a bit, watching the clouds and the rain, listening to the sound of gallons of water falling from the sky in a giant curtain of water hitting the pavement below. I had the sudden urge to take a fisheye photo of the sky and the rain and the distant ridge.

The fisheye lens for the iPhone attaches purely by magnetism. I made the mistake of fumbling while trying to get the lens centered around the phone lens. The lens popped loose and we watched in slow motion, our mouths opening, sound forming, and a long, “Ohhhhhh . . .” coming out of mine as the tiny lens tumbled to the floor of the balcony, landing at my feet, and rolled. It rolled for what seemed like 10 minutes while I stood frozen in place, still forming the word “Ohhh” and watched it roll right off the edge of the balcony and fall, and fall some more.

The bent rim of the lens after its fall

Still in slow motion, I leaned over the balcony and watched for another 10 minutes as the lens fell 7 stories to the patio below, and suddenly, the one piece became at least 2. I sighed and reminded myself it was a $20 lens, not a $2000 lens, but really, I haven’t gotten $20 worth of fun out of it yet.

I was able to retrieve the pieces and it may even be repairable–we’ll see.

The pieces of my broken lens

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Combining living on the road with a mainstream lifestyle

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