I love curves. They’re far more interesting than straight lines. Nature abhors a square, after all. Think about it. A path through the woods or canyon is so much more intriguing when you can’t see what is coming around the next bend. It’s tantalizing. The anticipation and curiosity build, drawing you irresistibly onwards, like iron to a magnet.
Don’t you wonder what’s around the next bend?
There’s something feminine about curves. They exemplify cooperation, going with the flow instead of forging straight ahead. They teach us that compromise is not losing, that sharing space and allowing for a little give and take can help everything thrive and grow.
Curves are strong. There’s strength in flexibility. That’s another lesson they teach us, how to bend and not to break.
Arches National Park
Cultivate your curves – they may be dangerous but they won’t be avoided.
Often life throws us curves. If we’re not ready for them, they can be dangerous. We can’t see what’s coming for us around the next bend and we approach it way too quickly. The curves of life can send us spinning out of control, sometimes sending us crashing and burning.
But if we’ve learned those lessons, about flexibility and cooperation, about going with the flow and being open about what we might find around the next bend, the curves life throws us can be opportunities, chances for us to grow. Embrace your curves! Bend, don’t break.
It’s a good year to miss winter in Alaska. The snow started early, on the last day of summer. I wasn’t lucky enough to miss that storm. It complicated my travel plans. It took me a couple of extra days to close everything up on the homestead and get out of town.
Then the snow took a brief hiatus, making way for the extreme cold. It was 40 below for weeks at a time in McCarthy, even dipping down to -60. The coldest I had ever seen was 53 below. Glad I missed the cold spell.
Pacific Coast sunset
See what I mean about a good winter to miss? It was just getting started.
It’s been snowing back home. And snowing, and snowing….. more snow than anyone can remember ever falling in McCarthy. Buildings are buried. And it’s still February. March is usually the snowiest month. Yikes!
Sunset in Pacific Grove
Which makes me super grateful for where I am spending the winter, further south on the Pacific Coast. I have really been enjoying those Pacific Coast sunsets.
I spent January at a housesit in Anacortes, Washington. The weather was generally dark, drab and dreary, with snow, rain or fog practically every day. My SAD syndrome kicked in, but I kept reminding myself about what the weather was like back home and felt pretty thankful to be someplace safe and warm where I could avoid driving on those occasions when the streets were icy.
Sunset at Rosario Beach near Anacortes, Washington
The day before I left, I did have one nice sunset.
Then my luck changed. I had clear weather for 3 days in Olympic National Park! What a rare and wonderful occurrence! The skies continued to stay mostly clear as I traveled down the coast to my February housesit, in Pacific Grove, California.
Rialto Beach, Olympic National park
Mostly clear, except every night as I passed through Oregon there was a thin band of fog on the western horizon in otherwise cloudless skies, effectively extinguishing any hints of color from the setting sun. I’ve included a photo from an Oregon sunset I took on another trip, so you can see the potential and understand my disappointment when things looked so hopeful each evening but didn’t pan out.
Bandon Beach, Oregon
Skies have been clear almost every night here in California. There has only been one day with any precipitation at all. It was just a sprinkle, but I was able to capture some fabulous God rays between storms. Check out the feature shot and you’ll see what I mean.
I feel a little like Goldilocks and the three bears. Although I am grateful for all these beautiful sunsets, we could use some rain. Although there’s too much snow in McCarthy, the drought in the West is severe. According to dendrochronology, the science of interpreting past climate through tree rings, in some places it’s the worst drought in over 1500 years. So I pray for rain, and hope that if it comes, it also brings big waves, god rays and rainbows.
I tried to keep it down to 12, but I couldn’t. Here is a baker’s dozen of my favorite photos of 2021.
It was really hard to cut it down to just a baker’s dozen. Reviewing the images I’ve captured over the last year, I realized that what I had were favorite photographic moments, not individual photos.
Purple Mountain’s Majesty, a favorite photographic moment.
You know, when you’re really in the zone, actively practicing the Art of Seeing? You might take a whole series of shots and not be able to choose one in the series as the best. That’s how I felt about a lot of these images.
I tried to disqualify images I’d already published in this blog (mostly!) So if you read my last few blog posts, you’ll find a few more favorites I wish I could include.
Knik Glacier
Despite all the darkness and cold, there are some things about winter in Alaska that are really special and that I miss when I’m not there, kind of a reward for those who tough it out. One is the aurora, of course. Another is the special pink sunset/twilight glow in the sky on certain cold, clear nights. Although I got lots of great alpenglow, I didn’t see as many pink light evenings as I have in past winters. But I did get it one evening when I photographed the Knik Glacier.
Bad Hair Day
I went to Homer to see a few birds this spring. The migration was a bit disappointing, but I did get some wonderful eagle shots!
Wild Calla Lilies
This is my favorite flower shot for 2021. I didn’t shoot nearly as many flowers as in years past, since I stayed in Alaska and didn’t follow the bloom. But I saw two brand new flowers I’d never noticed before in a few ponds along the McCarthy Road, White Water Lilies and Wild Calla.
Sunrise on the Bosque
It was October. It was not yet prime time for birds at Bosque del Apache. Due to the drought, the ponds on the edge of the refuge that are usually the go-to spots for bird photographers trying to catch the spectacle of the Bosque were dry. I wasn’t expecting much. I only had one day to spare. But the Bosque is a magical place and doesn’t disappoint. Having fewer sources of water concentrated the birds that were there. I was surprised to realize that three of my favorite photos for the entire year were taken on that day.
Even though I published the sunrise photo in a prior post, I had to include it since it was probably my second-most favorite photo for the year. Also, I processed it a little differently this time and think it does a better job of capturing the feel of sunrise on the Bosque.
Every leaf on this tree is a bird.
As I slowly drove by, I realized that all those “dead leaves” on that tree were birds. Then they took off and I was swept up by a cloud of birds. The Bosque is bird heaven!
Sunset on the beach at San Simeon
This might be my favorite photo of 2021. Except it’s one of those photographic moments, one of a series… I like the vertical images I captured of this scene a lot, too! Both this image and the feature image were taken on the beach at San Simeon in California. The island the cormorants are roosting on is part of the California Coastal National Monument. It is usually just offshore except during a very low tide, like this one.
Magical Manzanitas
I absolutely fell in love with the manzanitas and madrones of southern Oregon in November and December. I can’t choose my very favorite madrone/manzanita photo. I have about 20 favorites. But they were my favorite thing to photograph all year. So here’s one I haven’t published.
Manzanita Bark
I couldn’t choose a favorite detail shot of that forest, either. I have about a dozen favorites of bark, lichens, mushrooms… But this is definitely one of those favorites.
What is it?
This is definitely my favorite abstract of the year, though. Can you guess what it is?
Wishing you all a great 2022!
This final shot conveys my thoughts and hopes for 2022, that the light burns through the fog of the last couple of crazy years and brings us all many happy blessings. Welcome 2022!
I’m in love with the madrone and manzanita trees. I’ve never spent time with these trees before, but now that I have, I just can’t get enough of them! Both so beautiful, and similar in so many ways. Sister trees.
Literally, sister trees. Similar in so many ways that many people cannot tell the difference. But the differences are there for those who look a little closer. One golden, one auburn.
Sister trees – one blonde, one a redhead. Can you tell the difference?
You know those greek myths about trees transforming into nymphs and other, generally feminine, supernatural creatures? Well, growing up in Colorado I never could really envision the nymph thing. Our trees grew straight and tall. An aspen does not look like a dryad. But here…
I can see people in these trees. Not faces so much, though there are a few. But bodies. Feminine bodies.
Not many faces in this forest, but I did see this one. Kind of Halloweeney.
My friend Michelle says that these trees are sexy. And they are. Graceful and curvaceous, they twist and weave, each tree unique, each dancing its own dance. Their sculpted branches, like fingers, beckon you closer, closer, inviting you to touch their smooth, perfect skin.
Sexy trees.
In tones of gold and burgundy, their bark is beautiful. Smooth, burnished, just begging to be stroked. Petite, wine-colored manzanitas are completely smooth from top to bottom. Patches and streaks of gray give character, indicating a life long lived.
Manzanita bark just begs to be touched.
The taller madrones have bits of rougher bark tapering into the smooth, peeling and shredding like rags clinging to their golden skin.
Madrone bark is a little rougher.
Foliose and fruticose lichens decorate the scars of discarded branches along their trunks. Epiphytic lichens drape the limbs of all the residents of these groves, even the oaks, accenting their elegant forms.
Lots of lichens decorate these trees, especially the manzanitas
The leaves are simple, almost an afterthought. Thick, waxy, evergreen leaves cluster at the tips of the branches, revealing long, flowing lines. But leaves are not all you’ll find at the tips of these branches.
Both madrone and manzanita trees fruit. Manzanita means “little apple” in Spanish. Another name for the madrone is the strawberry tree, though their berries do not resemble or taste like strawberries at all! They do not fruit every year. But I got lucky. This year was a big one for the madrones. They are covered with massive amounts of small, reddish-orange berries.
It’s a big year for madrone berries in the Applegate Valley.
The birds made a big impression on me when I first arrived here on the farm. A brilliant cacophony greeted me every morning. And I saw unbelievably huge flocks of robins. On some mornings, hundreds of robins filled the fields surrounding the house. It seemed to me that every robin in Alaska came down to Williams to spend the winter! I hear it’s not like that every year. They’re here for the madrone berries. Other birds, too, for instance, mourning doves, are attracted by the bumper crop of berries this year.
Madrone means “indulgent mother” in Spanish, and the madrone provides. Not only birds feast on the madrone crop. Raccoons, deer, bears, and even people eat madrone berries. Although they are kind of mealy and not sweet, indigenous peoples would eat them and make cider from the berries.
Madrone forest
Madrone trees provide in other ways, too. They’re susceptible to funguses and plant diseases that cause heart rot, so cavities form easily. These cavities provide homes for many creatures.
Madrone and manzanita trees were both valued by indigenous peoples for a number of medicinal uses. For instance, one of the things I dislike about this habitat is the prevalence of poison oak. A tisane of manzanita bark can be used to soothe the rash caused by poison oak!
Manzanita bark can be used to combat poison oak.
The foggy climate of the Pacific Northwest helps to create an air of enchantment in the madrone-manzanita woodlands. It truly is a magical place to take a walk.
If you would like to take a walk in these woodlands yourself and you are in Oregon’s Applegate Valley, here are a few suggestions. In the Williams area, my favorite walk is at Pacifica. This is where my friend Michelle McAfee first introduced me to these beauties. In the Grants Pass area, Cathedral Hills is a favorite. There are lots of trails here with incredible trees. You might start with the Skyline Trail. In Jacksonville, head on up to the Jacksonville Forest Park and check out the Halls of Manzanita Trail.
All sorts of interesting details on these trees. Each one is unique.
These are just a few of the places where you’ll find these incredible trees. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do!
It got to -40 in McCarthy last week, and almost 20 below in Palmer. It’s been C-O-L-D in Alaska.
Thankfully, I’m not there. I decided to make like a bird and migrate. I’ve spent enough winters in cold places. For me, Warmth = Bliss. I’m following my bliss this winter.
TrustedHousesitters has been quite helpful to me when it comes to following my bliss. They hook up people looking for a petsitter with folks like me. I can check out what life is like in other beautiful places for a week or a month, and the homeowners can rest easy knowing that their home and pets will be well taken care of during their absence. It’s a wonderful trade, a real win-win situation.
Magdalena
I spent the end of October taking care of a sweet dog and kitty in Magdalena, New Mexico. Magdalena is the kind of town that brings those old Western movies to life. Established in 1885, it was a cowtown and railhead, the end of the line for cattle drives from as far away as Arizona.
The cattle drives are over, but Magdalena is proud of its rich history and happy to share it with visitors. This sleepy little town is chock full of art galleries and coffee shops. It’s a fun place to spend a Saturday afternoon, strolling along the sidewalks and checking out all the wonderful creations on display.
Not much left of Kelly
I love ghost towns. One way I follow my bliss is by exploring these glimpses of the past whenever I get the chance. Magdalena is surrounded by ghost towns and near-ghost towns. That old Western movie vibe you feel here? The ghost towns are a big part of that. You get a taste of the Old West as you walk their dusty streets.
Just a few miles from Magdalena is Kelly. It was once a thriving mining community, with a population of over 3,000 people. All that’s left now are foundations, a few walls, and a headframe at the mine. There is only one building left standing in town, the Catholic church.
…except the church
Another ghost town near Magdalena is Riley. Originally known as Santa Rita, the town changed its name to get a post office, since there was already another Santa Rita in the Territory. Riley was a farming community and died during the Dust Bowl in the 1930s when its water table dropped precipitously. The church is still standing here, too. New Mexico is like that.
Lack of water is what killed Riley.
Water is key in the New Mexico desert. I spent most of my time in Magdalena sitting on the porch enjoying the birdlife attracted by a tiny pool on the property.
While in New Mexico, I pursued another passion, following my bliss by birdwatching at Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge. Due to the ongoing drought, things were a little different at the Bosque this fall. The shallow ponds that are usually the big draw for photographers who want those images of thousands of Snow Geese and Sandhill Cranes were dry. The Refuge was only flooding those fields that were planted with food for the birds. But there were still many incredible opportunities to observe and photograph dozens of different species. Sunrise at the Bosque is a magical, holy experience and I am thankful that I was able to visit this year.
A whirlwind of sparrows
I’m on another housesit now, a farm in southern Oregon. There’s a lot of birdlife here, too. I found it rather serendipitous that I am here for Thanksgiving, and a flock of 23 wild turkeys has been hanging out on the property off and on all week. Guess they know I have no intention of shooting them for Turkey Day!
Down on the Farm
Watching them though, I can totally understand why the Founding Fathers did not take Ben Franklin’s advice and make this bird our national symbol. Turkeys are really homely birds. Bald heads covered with red bumps, wrinkly and scrawny necks, not necessarily a good look for a national symbol!
This is NOT a sexy bird.
However, I’m enjoying the peace and serenity of country living this Thanksgiving. I’m thankful to be warm and counting my blessings. It’s a good life. That’s my advice for this Thanksgiving weekend – Count your blessings. And remember to follow your bliss – whenever you can and wherever it leads you!
April is not a very colorful month in Alaska. It’s Breakup, that weird season in between winter and spring, and frankly, breakup is messy and not so attractive. Morning ice skating rinks give way to afternoon mud bogs and slush piles . Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy. Postholing through the unevenly melting snowpack is tiring and tedious. The predominant colors are brown, gray, white, and dead grass yellow. The only pastel is the sky on the occasional sunny day when it’s not raining, sleeting or snowing.
April in Alaska is not very colorful.
Even so, we’re all celebrating. The thermometer actually rises above freezing and soon, soon, soon the snow will be gone and summer will be here. Already the days are long and the twilight lingers.
I miss color.
But I miss color. I miss my wildflowers. Although I’ve spent a lot of winters in Alaska in the past, for over a dozen years I’ve been snowbirding it, heading south to the desert or the West Coast for the winter. It’s a lifestyle I love.
My favorite Sierra campground along the Merced River.
Last year at this time I was in lockdown in Las Vegas, one of the most surreal experiences of my life. The colors of April, found in the wastelands on the outskirts of town, were my salvation during this insane interlude.
Wildflowers from the Vegas Wastelands
Most years, though, I spend the month of March immersed in the wildflowers of the California desert. Then as the flowers move up in elevation in April, I follow along, chasing the bloom.
April Flowers in Death Valley
April is also the month that the cactus are in bloom.
April is when the cactus bloom.
By the middle of the month, heat and wind begin to take their toll on the flowers, and on me. It’s time to go North, time to go home, following the flowers.
Heat and wind are hard on the flowers.
My new favorite place to begin this journey is Carrizo Plain National Monument. The flowers grow thicker here than anywhere else I’ve ever been. It’s something to ponder, that the entire Central Valley once looked like this.
Camping in Carrizo
From there I move on, hopscotching my way along the Sierra’s western foothills, following the path of the Gold Rush on the trail of Highway 49, with a drive through the Yosemite valley along the way.
Wildflowers from the Sierra Foothills
I’ll head west to the redwoods in Mendocino County and enjoy that other color of April, green, for a day or two on my way to Oregon.
Deep in the redwood forest
I might visit friends in southern Oregon in the Grant’s Pass area, an April wildflower delight indeed.
Southern Oregon Wildflowers
From there, time and flowers are both getting scarce. I’ve still got a few days to enjoy the coast on my way to Canada. It’s breakup in Canada, too, though, so I bomb through and reach Alaska right at the end of April – just in time for the first Pasque flowers of the season.
Pasque Flower
Thank you, Amy for this week’s Lens-Artist’s Photo Challenge – the Colors of April. You’ve made me really miss my spring flowers!
