Never fade

It's hard to put to words the experience I had wandering the woods of my campus' retreat last year, even as a writer. If the music sang to your veins as it does mine, Doppler's Hungarian Pastorale Fantaisie played while experiencing Calvino's best scenes of magic realism (internal contestation prevents me from naming a story or specific scene) would come very, very close.

Come to really think on it, I know the story. From Marcovaldo, when he explores the city hidden under snow, a paradise of white purity and beauty unmatched even by the simple delight of its unique adventure.


I stepped from Bjorklunden's warm lodge fully expecting to turn back within ten, perhaps fifteeen minutes. The snow rose past my knees even nearby the shoveled lodge paths. Camera in hand, I decided I didn't care. I simply wanted space, peace, a meeting with nature long overdue judgeing by the soreness of my soul. The path through the initial woods proved easy enough to manage--the snow-shoeing group must have traveled them earlier that morning, I could see their tracks, follow what had become packed down and thus wouldn't collapse under my every step.

Out of the old wood, where the path bends to meet the "cliffs" of the lakeshore, I thought of turning around. Clearly all the others had. The snow before me was completely undisturbed, and not just on the path itself. Snow clung to every branch as though newly fallen, dusted the trunks like flour dusts the edges of our lefse boards.

Bright autumn-orange leaves--still on the trees--were crusted with ice and snow, perfectly still. Like charms. I felt as though time had stopped, that by stepping from the old wood I had instead stepped into an inner realm, something boundless and untouched by any other than the huldre. I was captivated in an instant, my shutter clicking as fast as my eyes could move, could focus on the details of the leaves there, or twig-branches that strung themselves along the blanketed ground like the cords of tree lights, the delicate blue berries peeking up shyly from the snow. They were things that couldn't be seen unless looked for, the precious bits of the world that get trampled by worth-seeking souls. They were treasures, not unlike the mushroom curiously sprouting between the cracks of the sidewalk in Marcovaldo's city, unnoticed but somehow intact, beyond the force of gravity that placed every footfall of the crowded pedestrians.


I continued on through the new woods--the alf woods as I fondly refer to them now--for well over two hours. At one point the snow reached my hips and I had to wade through it or bound over the tops of the drifts. At another I clasped my dslr to my side and ran, letting everything go, faster than I ever have in my life, freer than I ever will be in my life. Wolf pranced and I let her howl.

I returned to the lodge only when I felt it was time to go, when I had seen all the secrets the alf woods wanted to share, when I knew I could feel no higher, no lighter.

And if we're not alone

He just wanted a drink

Taken this last weekend while I was at home. I checked out the hasselblad from the sudio (looooove that camera) but decided I'd just use my digital as a light meter. So, this was one of two shots that I "took." I didn't even set up the shot, really. Just held it up and clicked the shutter. To my delight, this was the result. I trimmed a little off the side, but other than that this is completely untouched. Sometimes luck does come my way, eh?

Anyway. The weekend was crazy weather-wise. One minute it would be partly cloudy and the next it would be raining. Consequently the outdoor arena (where this was taken) was flooded; and since Toler was inside nearly all weekend simply because the paddocks were so muddy, I didn't have a choice but to put him in the outdoor arena. There were puddles everywhere, and I figured Toler would look at them and do his best to avoid him--as he usually does. He's not necessarily afraid of them like other horses, he just doesn't want to bother with getting wet. But, if I ask him to walk through a puddle he figures he'd better propperly get wet and tries to make the biggest splashes he can. It's pretty funny.

Back to my point, though--I let him loose so I can get out my camera and make sure the film is loaded and the shutter is cocked. I turn around to find Toler standing in a puddle drinking. Sandy, mucky water. I yell out his name, tell him "no," but he doesn't so much as flick an ear at me he's so content with himself. So I walk over, my hands full with two cameras, and give him a few jabs on the rump with my elbow. Nothing but slurps. I had to practically drag him up by the halter to get him to stop drinking much less move away from the puddle. I talk to him a lot, so while I'm walking with him I ask him what he thought he was doing, and he clearly didn't know what the problem was. Sandy, mucky water? While there's fresh, clean water in his stall (that he just left) waiting for him? Clearly I am the foolish one.

(He's such a dork; he tried to go back to the puddle every chance he got. I had to hold onto his lead rope the whole time I was taking photos in the arena. I eventually gave up and let him eat grass outside the arena while I took photos. I love him anyway.)

Tiny Bubbles and Small Moments

Last Friday night as I was coming out of the darkroom at 3 in the morning--I had been working on the last project--I noticed that the fountain in front of the art building was bubbling up from soap. It's a fairly frequent (at least once a year) prank/phenomenon that a group of students puts detergent or soap mix of some form into the fountain late at night so it bubbles over and the bubbles get blown across campus into the morning--which is a pretty magical event in itself, especially when its so early that the dew hasn't even dried from the grass and the birds are singing rather confused versions of their typical morning medleys. Of these events, I had never seen the fountain before it bubbles over--I must have gotten there within thirty minutes of them adding the mix. So, I just had to whip out my digital camera (which I just happened to have on me) and take pictures!


It would have been perfect if I'd had my tripod on me, as the lighting was (typically) awful and I needed to use a long exposure. I managed to deal with the hand shaking problem fairly well, though, obviously most of them are slightly burred, but at least it's not too bad. I would have gone back into the darkroom to borrow a tripod, but all the doors were locked from the outside and I really didn't want to call security to let me in. I'll admit that I was a little paranoid about security finding me on their evening checks and thinking that I had put the soap mix in the fountain. (I don't know if someone could actually get in trouble for it.) So, I took as many photos as I could and absorbed as much of the moment as I could without lingering too long...


The whole thing was still pretty magical, though. I felt like a character out of one of Calvino's Difficult Loves stories, or maybe from Marcovaldo. I had a little chunk of happenstance, a little chunk of time and space all to myself. It's these little moments that make everything a little brighter. I have quite a few more photos of this, so maybe I'll post more. We'll see.