Archives for category: nature

My Moto Z Play takes decent video, so I’ve been experimenting. Honestly, though, I got a Nikon Long Zoom late last year that’s even better and I don’t remember which one I took this with. I got out of my car last spring and noticed the soothing ripples water dripping off the edge of the roof was making in a puddle. The dripping sound, the birds singing, along with the green grass and little wildflower made it a charming micro scene. Fortunately, this particular nine seconds didn’t manage to capture a dog’s frantic and intrusive barking. I’m working on holding the camera perfectly steady, but I think this is a pretty good job for a newbie. 

‚ÄčThese were taken on Friday a few miles from where I grew up. It was dusk, when the sky is still clear blue and the shadows lay interesting patterns across the fields. Mere minutes later true twilight falls, and the world is not quite dark, yet not still light. Then the sky often turns so deep a purple it’s almost black. Crickets chirp, frogs croak in dying ponds, and small animals rustle leaves in low lying brush. 

This is my favorite view from this area. Right below the sun, a few miles away sits the farm where I grew up. I can stand there and look away toward the place that is the home of my heart. It’s a fascinating kind of landscape. Just beyond the back fencerow, if you enlarge the image you can see a small bright green spot. On close examination, it becomes a crop covered steep hill. The general area is like that all over. Very flat land, rubbing shoulders with surprisingly steep hills. Far from being mountains, these hills still add texture and beauty to what might otherwise be bland flatlands.

Sweeping curves of shorn wheatfields hug the lay of the land like a low flying helicopter navigates the nap of the earth. Though more beautiful when fully ripe and waving in a breeze, sometimes scattered with purple blooming vetch just as green turns to gold, the stubble left behind by harvest boasts its own rustic charm.

The light of the lowering sun diffuses among the leaves of wooded areas to render the scene into a paintinglike image.

While that same light throws geometric patterns across the rolling field.

The entire vista looks as if it’s viewed from the porch of a rustic home in the country. It would be easy to imagine I’ve been visiting relatives to enjoy this beautiful, peaceful, and quiet place that invites thought and memory. That’s actually very true, though not in the way I’ve described. While there is no porch, this is a place to be near my family. These photographs are of the views from the edge of the cemetery where my parents are buried. Grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins are all gathered there, where when the wind blows just right particles of rich soil from the farm we all loved fly across the creek and fields and bird-sheltering trees to bring a little bit of home to the place that now shelters them all.

‚ÄčLate last year I got a new phone and wanted to test out the camera. My old one was 8mp and not up to the use I was trying to put it through. It was fine for Travel Tuesday tweets, but for these posts and uploads to Fine Art America, I needed better resolution. So, suddenly armed with 16mp, I drove up to an area a couple of hours away that boasts a lake, a couple of rivers, and a historic Civil War battlefield. 

Here are some of the results:

This is Paris Landing State Park. The vista of the distant shoreline reminds me very much of the Chesapeake Bay. There are even some diehard sea gulls that seem content to call such a landlocked body of water home.

Its title indicates an interesting history. It was a steamboat landing for exchange of goods and exports a couple of centuries ago. In the middle of the 20th century, Kentucky Lake was formed by damming the Tennessee River. The result is that the actual site of the steamboat landing is now underwater, but it takes little imagination to conjure up the sound of the ship’s whistle and the bustling workday loading of cargo.

The park marina houses an interesting mix of vessels, with the extremely blue sky reflecting onto receptive water, along with colorful leaves that lingered into December.

Not far to the Northeast lies Fort Donelson National Battlefield. Driving around to the different battle sites not only immerses one into Civil War history, but also provides beautiful views of clifflike ridges, battlements, and the scenic river. And to enhance the scenery, some of that out of its time fall foliage.

The River Batteries saw fierce fighting in 1862. It’s easy to stand looking down on the canons overlooking the Cumberland and imagine the sights, sounds, and smells such a battle would generate.

A picnic area on a small bluff above the Cumberland takes dining all fresco to the extreme, with the tables practically hanging over the considerable drop. I’d like to think erosion has had a hand in the, er, edginess of the table situation, but maybe some people enjoy eating so close to the river below that if you drop your sandwich from on high you could probably hear the splash.

Though it’s a bit unsettling, I’m glad the fall colors lingered a couple of months beyond their usual season. They made the hills and valleys and riverbanks breathtaking at times, and put my phone camera to the test in a way that made me happy I had those extra megapixels.

Funerals and flowers are on my mind again. My mom’s sister-in-law Aunt Maxine died last week. They were the last of their generation in the family, and she was my last person to call Aunt or Uncle.     

Seeing her surrounded by beautiful floral arrangements reminded me of a story my mom told me about a time long ago, when most people were so poor that the things we take for granted were beyond reach. Though people desperately wanted to honor their loved ones with flowers, sometimes it was simply impossible. Or so it seemed.
My mom was a little girl, going about her day, most likely following her mother around the house as she did her daily chores, helping when she could. When a knock came at the door, my grandmother opened it to find two very sad black neighbor ladies.

After exchanging greetings the ladies explained that a little child in their family had died. They were distraught, because they couldn’t afford to buy flowers for the funeral and couldn’t bear to bury such a beloved family member without flowers at all. 

They had come to Miss Georgie, known for her yard full of beautiful flower beds, to ask for a few of her flowers. My grandmother was also known for her kindness and compassion, and with good reason. She said of course they could have flowers. Then she thought for a bit. She smiled and told them to leave for a while and then come back. She would have some flowers ready for them.
Most people would have gone out to select a bouquet for the child’s funeral. Others would have picked her most beautiful blooms and tied them with a saved scrap of ribbon. Miss Georgie was neither. Her category was extraordinary people.

She went into the veritable garden she lived in and picked the most beautiful of her roses and lillies. She gathered ferns and any other complimenting small flowers she thought would help make the collection as beautiful as possible. When she came inside, she did find ribbon, but she went far above and beyond what had been asked of her.
My mom watched, fascinated, as her mother collected cardboard, newspapers, and sewing supplies. She sat down to cut a wreath shape out of the cardboard, then again from layers of newspaper. Somehow, she knew how to fashion a funeral arrangement, by sewing the flowers and ferns to the newspaper sheets thickened by layering, then sewing that to the cardboard, complete with the requisite ribbon bow. My mom told me that by the time it was finished the handmade funeral wreath was as beautiful as anything made by professional florists. 

The grieving ladies came back expecting a handful of simple flowers they could lay on a little child’s grave. What they were presented with was a gorgeous handmade funeral wreath that looked as if it had been professionally made. They were thrilled and so very grateful. My grandmother had been very moved by their plight and was so happy to be able to make a terrible time just a little better. And that day, watching her work so lovingly to help a family in need, made my mom love her mother just a little bit more.

Last summer when I was ordering flowers for my mom’s casket, I got started talking to the florist about this story. He thought it was wonderful and told me that was actually the way they made funeral wreaths so long ago. I don’t know how my grandmother learned to do it, and so well. What I do know is that I’m very proud to be Miss Georgie’s granddaughter.

This may be a common sight to those who have frequent ice storms, but I’d never seen anything like it before and was enchanted. As I walked from the car toward the post office, I was preoccupied with the hope I could get packages mailed in time for Christmas. Then I glanced down and saw what looked like wet footprints on the sidewalk. It took a couple of seconds for my brain to register the fact that the footprints were actually leaf prints.

I have no clue how these images were formed. Just that it has something to do with fallen leaves and the ice storm/wintry mix that hit overnight this past weekend. 

They remind me of fossils left behind in rocks by time. Some, like the one above, look posed. A sort of flat, delicately detailed still life set in place by nature. It almost looks like a semi-abstract watercolor.

Others are more bold. 

Statement pieces. Single subject studies.

This one’s images are placed like a delicate pattern for fabric. Like a batik, laid out and fashioned by artistic icy fingers.

Does anyone know how a combination of freezing rain and fallen leaves can etch such amazing and beautiful images on a sidewalk? I’d love to know. It was quite a treat to discover such an example of nature’s art in the aftermath of a winter storm.