The weather is holding nicely. The snow is good. There might be more snow yet! The Sugaring down season is soon upon us! I have been documenting the trials, travails, of making maple sugar for years but soon will add video. For anyone interested in how to and other such thing I will soon post a link to some valley activities that we all have been a part of sometime before and soon to be again! I enhanced this image to reflect the temple which can only be felt in a sugar bush…………….
Early sunlight and smoke
It’s amazing all the reading one can do about photography. A myriad of books, magazines, web sites and opinions! I have been buying just about everything I could get my hands on in the last few years and tilled in the garden of knowledge. I’ will try to render it down to the two most important facts summed up through a vast array of words. It’s a matter of light and place. I was putting a roof on a shed up at the lake in the morning and dragged my tripod and camera up on the shed as the sun slowly broke through the mist. It was a small shed so it was work carefully so not to push me , my camera or my tools off the roof! That resulted in this first image.
This next image was in the Valley of Fire outside of Las Vegas. Instead of shooting dice I was shooting rocks in the high sun. Had to make it work for me!
This last on was taken just past the village of Glasgow Station on the back road. For those who love sunflowers! I went into a farmer’s field and captured the image on an afternoon. As Ansel Adams once said, ” to take a good photograph it’s all a matter of where you stand.” So get out and shoot. If you are not there it slips away. Now only if I took my own advice!
When I was a child we were asked to remember this poem in the Braeside separate school.
Along the line of smoky hills
The crimson forest stands,
And all the day the blue-jay calls
Throughout the autumn lands.
Now by the brook the maple leans
With all his glory spread,
And all the sumachs on the hills
Have turned their green to red.
Now by great marshes wrapt in mist,
Or past some river’s mouth,
Throughout the long, still autumn day
Wild birds are flying south
Remember this poem? It taught me that words can stay with you for a long time and unto themselves endure for centuries. This poem was written by William Wilfred Campbell in 1881 and has been passed around from one generation to another. Certain words reach out through the years and become part of who you are. I have taught this to my son and daughter and hope they pass it on. I have tried to create a photo to do this poem justice. Year after year trying to fit image to word. I like this one.
The photo’s below are of the place my father is buried in Ireland. I find graveyards places of peace but Irish Graveyards are a wild wild thing. The stone of my family line goes back a long way. Amazing that so much of my history is contained on this one stone in County Cork…………..
The Bourke Stone
I have always had a love of sunsets. I have a few under my belt but winter seems to pull the best colour from the sky. It leaves you feeling the breath of God it seems. This photo I set out and wandered randomly until the colour started rising. I left the van in 20 below weather to shoot this tree and walked around till I found an angle I could live with. Here are the two images I like best.
Thanksgiving of 2011 I went to the lake and after decided to visit high falls in Algonquin park. I left the lake late and arrived at high falls later and started the trek to the falls with about 50 lbs of gear on my back. I did not realize how long the trail in was and lingered to catch the sunset. I overextended my self and started back with the dissolving sun. It was then I realized I was in trouble. On the way back as the darkness closed in every step of the trail seemed alien to me and although I have good bush sense I began to second guess myself. The trail seemed too narrow and I started hearing things I could not see. I would find a fork that I couldn’t remember and wonder if I was turning the right way. With dogged determination I stayed with what I believed was right and when the moon was high in the sky I made it back to the parking lot. I cannot tell you how relived I was to realize I had been following instinct and it overruled my fears. The forest is a powerful thing that demands respect. And on certain moon filled nights it can bring you to someplace you have never been before. The colour of the lake in it’s autumn glory this year was the best I have ever seen up there. Above is the lake in autumn composed of three photos merged into one. The one below is of the fateful trip that night into Algonquin.
This is my first post in the new year. It’s also my 50th on my musings page. I wanted to revisit the concept of art and what it means to people. The genesis to this post was in an article in a local paper that put forth the proposal that there should be no public funding for art. I belong to a volunteer group that uses city facilities and we supply artwork for the walls. We pay for it ourselves and hang it for public consumption. Our taxes supplement some art work but not all of it. Our taxes supplement many things. Not everyone will agree with what goes into the common pot. This I know. But the question remains, Should we publicly fund art? I offer this up. My mother is in a rough state right now. She is being evaluated for her condition. It is looking rather grim. We visit her in the care facility she is residing in till we understand the breadth of her future. This facility is for people with age related conditions. I am a photographer/musician that hears and sees the world around me. There is a great many broken people in this hospital and it’s heartbreaking to see the great struggle to right to damages that have ravaged their bodies. But one thing that surrounds me in this edifice is the art that adorns the walls and the little stereos that abound in each room. Understand that money no longer matters to these people, by this time someone else will be finding a place for it. The only treasures these broken souls have is what they see and what they hear. Stripped of just about everything and art takes it’s rightful place in the world. As I tried to hold an old man up that was trying to walk down the hall the strains of Someday Soon written by Ian and Sylvia as sung by Judy Collins came out of the room he was committed to. It was a poignant moment for me to help the fellow as he stopped to shake his head in time to the rhythm of the music. What I’m trying to say would be that for all the money spent on public art it is important to imagine to whom it will bring some solace. One day soon it might be all you have left too. We are Bound by the Beauty!
Below the Lake I frequent in all it’s autumn splendor!