Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

Eight, maybe nine years ago, I was frustrated with my sons. Both were deep into gaming, spending hour after hour on their computers. I didn't understand how they could sit like that, hours at a time, staring at a screen, their fingers moving quickly on the keys to operate the character they'd created within the game. I would call them to lunch or dinner and hear, "It'll be a bit. I'm in the middle of a game!" I didn't understand why they couldn't just pause it and come eat the meal I had spent time making. I would ask them to complete a chore I'd asked them to do two days before. Again, it would be, "I can't. I'm in the middle of something here!" I would get angry. One day, I'd reached that moment a lot of parents reach: I thought I had failed. In being supportive of their love for gaming, in allowing them to buy games labeled "Mature" when they weren't able to buy the games themselves I'd enabled a behavior ...

The smell of marigolds isn't completely pleasant. It's not completely offensive either. It's somewhere in between. It's a smell all its own. Hours after my hands have moved their long stems, cupped the blooms in wonder, I have to pause what I'm doing -- making the bed, vacuuming the house, hanging up clothes that had been unceremoniously dropped on the bedroom floor -- when the faint whiff of marigold drifts up to remind me of my time with them. Marigolds are just lovely. Whenever I see a marigold or smell a marigold, I'm taken back to my childhood. To a movie that for some reason became a part of who I am. I was only eight when the movie came out, but I remember having a very strong reaction to it, and every summer when I plant marigolds, I think of that movie: The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man in the Moon Marigolds. I try to watch it at least once a year, and since the marigolds I planted this summer are blooming, I thought the time is perfect to watch the movie...

After five dog photography shoots, I'm beginning to understand the direction I'm wanting to go.  The dog with its human. I enjoy shooting just the dog, and some dogs are more interesting than other dogs, but the connection between the dog and its human has that something I really want to capture. I don't believe this connection can come from posing the subjects. It happens in between the posing, so I'm constantly pressing the shutter button in hopes of capturing "the moment." I've not been successful with a couple of the shoots, but I have managed to get one or two "moments" that speak to me. And as I write this, this thought occurred to me: Should it matter if any given photo speaks to me? If the photos are really for the owners, shouldn't I shoot with the intention of getting images that speak to them? Is is possible to accomplish both?   I find it interesting, too, which photos the owners prefer. Their choice is often different than my cho...

I had dinner with friends last evening. In their screened-in patio overlooking a wooded backyard leading to a creek. The air cooled significantly as the sky darkened, and at one moment we all enjoyed watching an owl that had taken perch on a tree limb near the creek. While a movie played, we chatted and ate ice pops. I'm pretty sure mine was grapefruit. At least that's what I'm going with.  Not long after the movie ended, I made my way home, which wasn't far. Just a couple of blocks. Cicada, cricket, and frog song drifted on the cool air, and when I looked up, I saw a clear sky full of stars. We've not had a clear night in some time. I stopped in the middle of the street to take in the scene. When I finally arrived home I decided to try and get some night sky photos, something I've never done before. I had no idea what I was doing. I spent twenty minutes or so on the front porch, swaying in my hammock swing as I read an article about astrophotography. What lens ...

I picked up my first camera when I was around nine years old. I started photographing old barns and houses. Silos. Even as a kid, I loved the stories surrounding these structures that were in disrepair, falling down, abandoned. At the time I didn't know how to bring out the best in what I was seeing. Just somehow, I knew there was something there. Fast forward to college. I decided to minor in photography, and it was through these classes that I was able to bring out the best in what I saw through the viewfinder. The photo that truly showed me I have "a good eye" happened during a class trip to Chicago, to the Art Institute. After our tour, we gathered on the sidewalk in front of the Institute. To one side there is a park-like area with seating, trees, and flowers. It was springtime, so the trees were just leafing out. I turned to watch the people and noticed two men sitting on separate benches underneath the trees. One man, a white man, was looking straight ahead. The ot...

Rain this morning. I can hear it as I awaken. Still early. Maybe around 5:30 am. I roll over, feel Teddie curled up near my knees, and go back to sleep. A crack of thunder wakes me a bit later. Still raining. Harder. I turn towards the windows, the lace curtains gently swaying with the breeze. I never tire of the wonder that I get to wake up here, in this little house. Murphy and Teddie stand at the foot of the bed, watching as I finally give in and leave the warmth of the sheets, the comfort of the pillows. I walk them to the kitchen door and push the screen open. Teddie takes a step forward then stops. The gutter spews water where it shouldn't, a waterfall through a crack in the elbow, down onto the back steps. Teddie retreats into the kitchen. Murphy follows his lead. Both dogs look at me with the expression akin to "Nope. Not goin' out there," then make their way to the living room rug and lie down. I worry Teddie might pee on the floor since he didn't go outs...

Seven months have passed since I last posted. I've been vacillating about continuing the blog, mostly leaning the direction of no. But the last few weeks . . . something has been stirring, reawakening. It's still a bit groggy and might take some time to come fully awake. That's okay. Like with many areas of my life these days, I'm going to let it take all the time it needs. Some changes will be made, starting with the title. I started this blog when I was 45 years old. I'm now 59. My children are young adults and doing well. I live in a little green with yellow accents Craftsman style house in a village in the middle of corn and soybean fields. Two Australian shepherds keep me company. I spend my days thinking about the end of my teaching career and the beginning of my retirement.  Which is why the title Standing at the Trailhead of Winter seems fitting for the blog.