Cedar Lake Camp, Mi – Photographs

Michigan woods in autumn

I love photo excursions! When I go home to Ann Arbor, there is usually time set aside for one, or more. The destination is left up to my brother, because he is so stupendously good at it. Last January he took us to Barton Pond, and you have only to look at the pictures to see how perfect a winter photo trip that was. John picks the spots, my husband is always happy to carry my equipment, and they both like to go on these excursions, even though neither is a photographer. How lucky am I?

My husband has always been a cooperative equipment carrier. I remember the morning he acquired his official photographer’s assistant title. As he was leaving to go to work that day, I remembered that I had bought a new camera bag, and I said, “Oh wait, I bought you  a new camera bag. Try it, and see if it’s comfortable.” He stood in the kitchen in his suit and tie while I draped the bag over his shoulder, then mumbled that he was the poor man’s Tensing Norgay. I had no idea what he had just said, in fact, I thought he was suddenly speaking in tongues. I doubt there was a handful of people in the world besides my  husband, with his trivia stuffed brain, who knew that Tensing Norgay was Sir Edmund Hilary’s Sherpa porter on the climb to the top of Mr. Everest. Tensing is now my husband’s nickname and his official title  when he accompanies me on photo trips, schlepping fifty pounds of cameras, lenses, flashes, tripods, Etc. Etc.

Tensing was right there with his camera bag for the perfect October photo trip when John took us to picturesque Chelsea, Michigan, a town of about 5,000 people, home of Jiffy Mix, the Purple Rose Theater, very cool shops, and some great places to eat, like the Common Grille, where we had lunch. Chelsea is also located in the vast Waterloo Recreation Area, next to Cedar Lake, where there is a summer camp run by the State of Michigan, designed to introduce kids to Michigan’s natural world, and to instill in them a love of and respect for the outdoors. The camp was the destination of the day’s photography excursion.

Maples among the White Pines

We parked at the entrance to Cedar Lake Camp and walked about a quarter of a mile, enjoying everything that is wonderful about a Michigan fall: huge trees full of outrageous fall colors mixed with soft green White Pines that cushioned the paths with their fallen needles, a small cottage lined lake, cattails and milkweed gone to seed, and the haunting call of a Loon in the distance.  The camp was closed up, and very quiet, the kind of quiet that children learning to love nature should experience. The sound of traffic and children laughing has its place, but, oh, the miraculous sound of leaves fluttering to the ground, and the breeze rattling the dried branches of Elderberry bushes! There was a sense of anticipation throughout the camp of next season’s fun to come, rather than sadness that last summer was now gone forever.

Path paved with pine needles

Our path was strewn with pretty baubles.

Cabin in the woods 1.

Cabin in the woods 2.

Camp steps

Camp bench

Manhole cover with the year the camp was built.

The path through the camp led to Cedar Lake.

Swim at your own risk.

The canoes are tucked in until next season.

The picnic grounds are closed.

It would be a great time to be in these seats above a roaring campfire, looking out over the lake.

Chicago Tribune Building

Chicago Tribune Tower

In a skyline of stand-out  architecture, the Chicago Tribune building can still command attention after almost a century.

In 1922, the Chicago Daily Tribune published an invitation to compete in an international competition to build the “most beautiful and eye catching building in the world”. The contest was won by Raymond Hood and John Howell for their limestone gothic design complete with buttresses and gargoyles. The award was criticized at the time because it didn’t fit the pared down modern trend of the Chicago School and the International Style.

My daughter, grandson and I walked past the Tribune building during our July trip, on our way to the Lego Store. A six year old heading to the Lego Store is on a single minded mission, so when I became curious about why people were standing along the building staring at the wall, I had to let them go on ahead while I investigated.

I discovered that the people were looking at rocks and sculptures embedded in the base of the Tribune Tower. They were stones from famed sites and structures throughout the United States and foreign countries, ranging from the pyramids and the Alamo to Omaha Beach and Mark Twain’s Injun Joe Cave in Missouri. A piece of the World Trade Center has been added, and I read that they have a moon rock, although that is in a special display, and not embedded in the wall. The rocks were supposed to be gotten legally, but the story is that some were gained by other means. I’m shocked. I took a picture of  a relic from an ancient temple in Honan Province, China, and then hurried to catch up with Elizabeth and William. I made a mental note to find out more about this fascinating building when I got home.

Ancient Temple, Honan Province, China

A search of the internet turned up a blog about chicago architecture, that was coincidentally running a series specifically devoted to the rocks in the Tribune building. I’ve marked this blog in my Google Reader list, and I’ve enjoyed keeping up with the current architectural goings-on of Chicago, as well as seeing the rocks of the Tribune building in their series posts.

We passed the Tribune building on another walk, and I snapped a picture of a charming new interpretation of the Grant Wood painting, American Gothic.

3-D American Gothic

I love Chicago,

“And each time I leave, Chicago is

tuggin’ my sleeve, Chicago is.”

Apple Anyone?

Pygmy Albino Python photographed at Aquatic Critters, Nolensville Rd., Nashville, TN

You’ve guessed it. I’m going to write about snakes, so if you’re still mad about being kicked out of Eden, you could just skip this post.

I have never bourne ill will toward the snake, in spite of the one that wrapped around my leg when I was little. I did step on it, so I’m sure the path he took would have been away from me if I hadn’t been standing on him. I never sought them out, gave them any credit for beautiful markings and colors, or went out of my way to photograph them. With that one exception, they’re ignored me in the same way I have ignored them.

We learn from the significant adults in our lives, so I do give myself credit for not exhibiting the same snake hysteria that I witnessed from my grandmother. I was in her backyard when I stepped on the snake. I don’t know which was worse, the snake on my leg or her screaming and failure to do anything to extract it! Her reaction to the snake was similar to what my cousin and I were accustomed to when she saw one of us bleeding, except that blood didn’t cause screaming. One hand would immediately go to her mouth, her face would turn away from the unbearable sight, and the other hand would extend some piece of material that was always within her reach, a handkerchief, a dishtowel, a cleaning rag, a towel. We were then supposed to use the cloth to hide whatever horrible thing we had brought into her view. Only God knows why she didn’t drop dead on the spot when the bat flew out of the fruit cellar and attached itself to the front of her dress. I wasn’t there for that, but she did live to tell the tale.

One day she encountered a snake by the clothesline. Instead of falling apart, she summoned up enough courage to run to the garage for a hoe, in order, presumably, to chop it to bits.  She felt she needed some protection from the poor creature that was already racing away for its life, so she grabbed a lawn chair to stand on while she wielded her lethal weapon. Since the snake was moving, she had to jump on the chair, whack at the snake, jump down, move the chair, jump back on it, lower the boom again, and so on throughout the back yard.  The number of divits she dislodged was testament to her failure to do any damage to the snake, who finally slithered through the fence and into the pasture beyond, where he could recover from his fright in peace.

When my grandfather came home, he stood and stared uncomprehendingly at the scene of mayhem. It was his habit every night to work in his yard. If nothing major needed doing, he would walk around and remove any stray weeds he spied among the blades of grass. He evidently did not consider clover to be a weed, because the yard was filled with it, and thousands of honeybees which we inevitably stepped on since we went barefooted all summer. Our acquired calluses protected us most of the time, but at least once or twice a summer I was stung. No handkerchief was ever tossed my way to cover a bee sting. A bee sting was inconsequential, as was the swelling that ensued! Why weren’t we equipped with an epi-pen? Didn’t anyone know about anaphylactic shock? The only attention a bee sting ever got was a baking soda poultice and the coveted use of a cane that was stored in the garage. The tiny bee was probably far more dangerous to us than the poor snake!

It is understandable, given the investment of time and care that went into his yard, that he stood perplexed for a long time, unable to figure out what had happened. Finally, he said what he always said when a situation was just beyond him. “Hell’s fire!”, then, ” What happened to my yard, Woman?” He did not generally call my grandmother ‘Woman’, but, in this case, subconsciously, I think he sensed he was dealing with primal forces. Man, Woman, Serpent, Lost Eden.

I did not start my snake tale intending to tell old stories, but it was fun remembering, and since I probably won’t write about snakes again, it was good to include them.  I write lots of posts for my grandchildren, and they will enjoy reading about both snakes and their great great grandparents. Don’t worry, children, most of the time your great great grandmother did not behave like a lunatic.  I loved her with all my heart.

Three years ago I met my now friend Lisa Powers through the Nashville Photography Club. She is the leader of the Nature Section of the Club, a naturalist and herpetologist, and generously shares her love and knowledge of nature, especially the reptile world. Hang out with Lisa and a camera for any length of time and you will suddenly marvel that you have dozens of pictures of snakes in your photographic files! The following three photos were taken at the Nashville Zoo, proving that I no longer ignore snakes.

Eyelash Viper

Eastern Diamondback Rattle Snake

Indigo Snake

All these snakes were safely situated behind glass, so there was no danger that I would step on any. I did learn to appreciate their beauty, and I certainly learned a lot about the camera techniques needed to shoot in such settings.

Now I have a little grandson who loves animals. All animals. Snakes are not excluded. So when I heard that Lisa was going to make a presentation on snakes at Long Hunter State Park, and that she would have snakes with her that anyone who wanted to could touch, I made plans to take Karsten.

Lisa gave us some great information. We only have to worry about stepping on four venomous snakes in Tennessee,  the copperhead, the timber rattlesnake, the western cottonmouth and the western pygmy rattlesnake. Only venomous snakes have fangs. The bite of the nonvenomous kind is hardly worse than a kitten bite. If you are bitten, do not use a tourniquet, cut into the wound, or apply electric shock. It hardly seemed necessary to state the latter, but Lisa said there are people who have heard it is the thing to do. Call ahead and then go to the nearest hospital emergency room, preferably driven by someone else. It is illegal in Tennessee to harm, kill, remove from the wild or possess a native snake without the proper permit. In other words, in Tennessee, do not go after a snake with a hoe and a lawn chair.

Karsten pets a snake. "He's so soft!"

Lisa’s presentation was a success from every standpoint. Karsten loved the snakes, Lisa was happy to have a new snake admirer, and the audience got some great information. Only the man who was bitten by the California King Snake with the misnomer of Tickles might have been a little shaken. That especially impressed Karsten. He told his friend the next day that he petted snakes, a man got bited, and it was scary. I thought I saw an ethereal dish towel float down and land on the man’s arm, but there was no screaming, so it must have been my imagination.

Fangs, but no Fangs.

Sinaloan milk snake

Overhand Knot - Adonis, the albino rat snake

No Way Out - Tickles, the California King Snake

Hand Jiving with Tickles

Marley, the albino sunglow cornsnake

Medusa, a ball or royal python

Recalculating

I have a travel nightmare to report, and we weren’t even in Memphis! That woman in our GPS has a mean streak!

I am no longer on polite speaking terms with her. More accurately, she was not on any kind of speaking terms at all with us on Saturday night, probably because I called her a word that starts with “b” and rhymes with witch.

After sister Mary’s birthday party in Burke, VA, we were going to stay overnight with another sibling in the area, in Rockville, MD. As we all left the party we blithely waved Paul and Laura on ahead, because, even though we had never been to their new house, the catering truck was blocking us in and we could easily find them with our handy, dandy GPS, which we now know stands for Great Punishment System, or God, Please Save us.

I wasn’t happy to be the driver. I can’t see at night and driving the DC area needs a full visioned person. I accepted my fate and programmed the GPS for Paul and Laura’s house in Rockville. Ms. Garmin, for some reason, was AWOL. She wouldn’t speak a word, preferring to sulk in the form of a stupid car with a question mark on it.

Picture this (it will be the only picture to accompany this post, as photography was the farthest thing from my mind, plus you can’t take pictures from inside a black hole);  we are about to venture at night into the unfamiliar maze of DC highways, rapidly moving, lane changing traffic, missing street lights, invisible cone markers in construction zones, torrential rains about to begin, with no map (other than a useless atlas), a GPS system that won’t perform the only use it has in this world, and our human guides beyond any means of communication.

Why isn’t Laura’s cell number in my phone?  Why didn’t we get directions before they pulled away, just in case?  If my husband didn’t think to go back inside the party and get them from his sister, why didn’t I? Why didn’t I remember sometime during the next two hours that my wonderful, new, perfect, little G3 iPhone has a GPS that would have pinpointed our position perfectly, and perhaps allowed us to awaken from the nightmare about to ensue?

In the following conversation, my husband’s contributions will be in italics, Ms. Garmin in bold letters, and my input, appropriately , will be indicated with normal letters. Stage directions are in parentheses.

I can’t see to back out of the driveway. What happened to the rear lights on your car? They’re right where they always were. Do you want me to get out and direct you? I could just start backing slowly and hope I don’t hit any of the many cars parked on this narrow street. That would be a dramatic ending for your sister’s birthday. (Door slams. I can’t see him either. I start backing up slowly, hoping I don’t hit any parked cars, or him! The blind backup is successful.

I drive to the end of the subdivision, pull over to program the GPS, and resume driving slowly, waiting for directions). Why isn’t Ms. Garmin saying anything? How should I know? So, what am I supposed to do? Go out the way we came in. Which way did we come in? Turn here. Where does this go? We’ll find out. (Some time elapses). Do you know where we’re going? (No answer). I’m getting off this highway. No. No. Too late. There’s a Costco. Maybe we can park there all night. Pretend we’re Walmart camping. We aren’t going to park at Costco all night. Well, what do you suggest? We’ll find a gas station and ask directions. What! If you’re willing to ask for directions, it’s hopeless. I’m going to cry. (Phone rings. It’s Paul. We can’t tell him where we are, so he can’t tell us where to go. He tosses a few useless highway numbers at us. Finally, I sign off, telling him we’re heading for a gas station.)

The spattering of rain that had begun on the windshield becomes a torrent). Turn here. Here! Where? I can’t see a turn! I’ll have to go on and try to come back. Why are all these people out driving in the rain? Don’t they have homes to be in? Maybe there’s some kind of game they play in D.C that involves driving the highways and changing lanes at top speeds. (We finally get turned around and enter the Shell Station. It’s jammed. I have to park in the back. The rain is pouring down. Husband goes inside and I try to find out why Ms. Garmin is giving us the silent treatment. I join husband inside and observe that all employees are from India, except for the one he is speaking to who has a lovely Jamaican lilt to his voice. He, nevertheless, is speaking the definitive words that are music to the ears. “Exit the station, turn right, stay left and merge onto 266 East toward Rockville.” Garmin needs to hire this man to replace that mute woman on our machine!

(On the way to the car I hand my husband the keys. I am clearly not up to the job. He starts the car, and she speaks! TURN RIGHT ONTO CLIFF DOCTOR.  TURN RIGHT ONTO CLIFF DOCTOR. (We crack up.) Well, that is certainly confidence inspiring. She has completely lost our trust at this point, and we begin an uneasy, passive/aggressive truce. To spite her we follow the Jamaican directions. Once the wipers cleared the windshield enough to see a sign to Rockville. I naively think, except for dealing with the mass of traffic, slick roads and heavy rain, that we are just about at the end of this mess, when the car makes a quick right off the highway). Why did you turn there? She didn’t say to turn. RECALCULATING. Stop. Go back. RECALCULATING. Oh no, you’re on the access road.  She thinks you’re back on the highway. Now her directions are going to be screwed up. Her directions have been screwed up from the beginning.  I turned because you said we should turn on Montrose Road. There are six exits for Montrose Road. She hadn’t told us which one yet. Turn that thing off. Then what? Try every Montrose exit to see if any is right, and then work our way through every street in Rockville looking for Green Willow? RECALCULATING. I want to find a motel.  We aren’t going to stay in a motel tonight. TURN LEFT ON FARM ROAD. Turn! Here! Oops, missed it. RECALCULATING.

Finally, through many more recalculations, we make it to the right subdivision. There are three roundabouts on the main street. We didn’t know this. All we knew was that that b____ was sending us around the same circle over and over again. We hated calling Paul, but we were so near, yet so far. We gave him the intersection of streets we were on, and then both of us just about went over the edge. It seems we had been recalculated to come in the back way, so everything Paul told us to do was backwards.

We were tantalizingly close, so we both tried to hold on to our sanity long enough to find the house.  Fortunately Paul and Laura had come out to the street to flag us down. We parked, opened the trunk to get our bags, and as I pulled mine out with a sweeping motion, everything inside fell out on the rain soaked driveway. I forgot that I removed something from it at the party, and hadn’t rezipped it. My husband had the nerve to laugh out loud. Maybe he just couldn’t help it. I know I couldn’t. Paul said the bar was still open.

RECALCULATING!

Chigger Rid!

Approaching the walking bridge.

It is an ironclad rule that I do not work in my yard after June 1, due to all known bug species of the Western Hemisphere loving to snack on me! So, why, on August 22, would I walk past a large sign warning of tick and chigger infestation ahead, and into a field of grasses and wildflowers and all species of bugs in the Western Hemisphere?  For photography, of course.

It was deceptive.  Middle Tennessee was experiencing unheard of summer temperatures in the sixties, more like a fall day when bugs are hibernating, or whatever they do at that time of year. And I had on plenty of repellent, the strongest stuff to be had.  If there isn’t a list of precautions, warnings and contra-indications on the label, then it can’t be any good. That’s my experience, anyway.  I was wearing sleeves, but have to admit that my ankles were exposed, and I suppose that is the route the chiggers took to attach themselves to me!

The foolhardy adventure that precipitated my misery was a Nature Hike to Long Hunter State Park with other members of the Nashville Photography Club. We photographed in the restored prairie, where the warning sign is located, and then headed down the road for a two mile hike around Couchville Lake.  Nothing seemed to be biting me at the time, so I felt safe going off the trail and into the grass, but only a very short distance! Maybe I knelt down a time or two in the weeds to take macro shots of  tiny flowers.If you don’t get close enough, after all, you just don’t get the shot.

The itching marathon didn’t begin for about twenty-four hours, so I think my photos might reflect the pleasure I was feeling to be enjoying such a beautiful day in Middle Tennessee with other people who love photography.

Fishing off the dock at the Visitor's Center.

Crossing Couchville Lake.

Yellow Coneflower

Purple flower

Magenta flower

Red Sumac

Native Tennessee Orchid

Besides bug bites, there is something else that is irritating me about my nature walk. I have three wildflower guides, and I cannot find the name of one flower in any of them unless I already know the name of it! All three are scholarly mazes, posing questions that must be answered before the page will ever be reached that contains the nugget of information being sought. Unless I’m sitting by a plant with ticks and chiggers crawling all over me, I cannot answer whether my flower has no apparent leaves or basal leaves only. What I know is that my flower is magenta, composite and blooms in late summer in Middle Tennessee. You can’t even thumb the pages hoping to stumble upon your magenta flower, because the pictures are black and white line drawings! I am on a search for a wildflower guide that works for me. I like to be name specific, and Purple Flower  isn’t making me happy.

I like to photograph grasses and leaves almost as much as the flowers. I cloned away a lot of black dots on these that I bet were various bugs on their way to feasting on me. I’m sure they were thinking, “Wow, dinner is served!”, as I ignored caution and wiggled in close to them.

Leaves of Grass.

The Arch

Leaves with lobed edges

Grass seeds

There were quite a few deer, which must be used to people visiting them in their park, because they showed no signs of alarm. The Skink, on the other hand, didn’t stay in my camera range long enough to focus on him. I’ll look for him again. Maybe he will be less camera shy.

Deer watching us

Skink

Mushrooms were plentiful along the way, although hidden from instant view under leaves and inside rotting logs. At least they don’t dart away into a tree crevice when they realize you’ve zeroed in on them with a camera.

Mushroom

Mushroom

We looked back as we came full circle around the lake, pausing to ponder the big questions: Why did God make Chiggers? How long does a Chigger bite itch? Has anyone ever been driven mad by the combined itching of hundreds of Chigger bites?

Looking back at our hiking route around the lake.

Hometown Tourist

Grand Ole Opry reflected in the Convention Center windows.

I rarely go to Lower Broad. I just don’t have the wardrobe for it. No cowboy boots or hat, no rhinestones, leather fringe, or accessory guitar.

Saturday evening, however, the Titans played their first game, we had an invitation to a tailgate party, and our niece was in town from Atlanta overnight. We thought she might enjoy being a Tourist, and so we braved the crowds and headed for Lower Broad.

We found a parking place without too much difficulty in an underground garage. As we stepped out of the structure onto the street, the first thing we saw were the unmistakable arches of the Ryman Auditorium reflected in the windows of the Convention Center across the street. Susie proved to be a willing model, a rarity in my life, and let me pose her in front of the Ryman doors for the ‘Tourist Shot.’  I immediately emailed it to her mother, and she didn’t even complain about that!

Susie in front of the Ryman

We passed a lot of people hurrying in the direction of the Sommet Center, and soon realized that, vying for the attention of the football crowd in downtown Nashville, was the Professional Bull Riders Association Show.

Heading to the Sommet Center

Sommet Center

A hobby that never crossed my mind!

I was able to take my eyes off the imaginative costuming of the  crowd heading for the PBR show long enough to see that some Clydesdale Horses were part of the event, and were standing in front of the Sommet. They are incredibly beautiful, powerful and graceful, and they have really soft noses.

Clydesdales

The coquette

N-i-i-ce Horsey! How do you like the Nashville receiving line?

We tore ourselves away from the PBR festivities and walked across the street to the tailgate tent and had some barbecue, chatted a bit, then decided to go over the walking bridge to see the river and the stadium now filling with the game crowd. At the foot of the bridge is the beautiful Schermerhorn Symphony Hall. Also at the foot of the bridge is Joe’s Diner. Nashville is a city of mutually respectful subcultures. Joe’s, Mozart, the PBRs and Merle live in mostly perfect harmony, and Nashvillians, by and large, move from one to the other venue without giving much thought to the many dichotomies of their city.

The Schermerhorn Symphony Hall with new Pinnacle behind it.

Take in some Beethoven and then beat it over to Joe's.

The views are great from the Pedestrian Walking Bridge. You can see the city, First and Second Avenues, the River, LP Field, and a hundred other sights at any given moment.

On the bridge, going toward East Nashville. (Photo taken in June when there wasn't a crowd.)

First Avenue where Broadway meets the Cumberland.

A little Cumberland River humor.

The Music City Queen moored by LP Field.

LP Field filling for the Titan/Tampa Bay game.

We didn’t have tickets to the game, so we headed back to our car via Broadway.

Pedestrian Bridge heading back toward the Pinnacle and downtown. (Photo taken in June when there was no crowd.)

Listen to some pickin', or get yourself some Western Wear on Lower Broad.

Lower Broad honkytonks

Life is different on Lower Broad.  Those church spires in the background?  Just another Nashville dichotomy.

I think we should go back more often. It fairly shouts, “Y’all come, hear?”

Those boots in the display window were really beautiful. Red will go with just about everything, don’t you think?

Reality Check

I live a double life.

Most of the time I walk in and out of my house, drive my car, meet my real time friends in person, travel by car or plane to distant places, hold and hug my grandchildren, smell the coffee brewing, and taste the ripe tomato basil salad before me for lunch. It can be chaotic, with a hundred sights and sounds and smells competing at once for attention.

Then there is my virtual life, where I sit before my computer, getting to know new friends through photos and comments they post on-line at Better Photo. I visit their homes from Seattle to Florida, from Italy to Australia, all on my computer screen. I meet their families, watch their children grow, travel with them to the far corners of the earth, celebrate birthdays and weddings and mourn their losses without ever even hearing the sound of their voices. We encourage each other in our photography, lend expertise during times of technical woes, share camera and Photoshop tips, and often provide comfort when life gets rocky. The virtual life is rich, and usually uncomplicated. Communication is quiet, one  to one, about one topic at a time. It doesn’t require scheduling, travel time, calculation of tides or rising before daylight to catch a sunrise.

Reality check!

This week the real life complications of scheduling, logistics, equipment, weather, and time of day merged with my virtual world when my photo friend, Susan, came to town. We were actually going to spend some real time shooting together! I loved every minute! We went to Cheekwood Botanical Garden to shoot, since I had to deliver my grandson to his summer art camp there. Camp time being from nine to twelve meant we were shooting in the worst light of the day. Nashville has had a relatively cool summer, but not on our shooting day! Very hot. Very humid. Very bright, contrasty light. Real life!

We didn’t care about all the reasons it wasn’t a good time to shoot. We just wandered through the various gardens and had a good time together. While we were in the perennial garden, a camera man from Channel 4 approached us and asked to take our pictures for the evening news. There had to be absolutely nothing going on in the world! Later we learned it was Photography Day at Cheekwood. You would never have known by looking around. Susan and I were the only photographers who didn’t know enough to get out of the heat and to wait for better light. Too bad he wasn’t accompanied by a journalist who could have told the story of two virtual friends who had come together to cook in the Middle Tennessee heat, and to take overexposed photos.

Here is a sampling of my photos for the day.  See Susan’s wonderful shots at My Life in Color.

Our first stop was the water garden. It was actually cool here. A little.

These steps took us to the Perennial Garden.

I tried an in-camera blur of Susan photographing the perennials, because the sun was too bright for a conventional shot. This photo also has a Polaroid Transfer filter effect applied to it.

Some of the flowers were shaded and made for some decent macros, like this Black Eyed Susan.

The Rudbeckia, or coneflower, is the Tennessee state flower.

Thankfully, from the standpoint of the heat, there was a steady breeze, but I waited forever for this Dahlia to be still enough to shoot.

The stone maiden stands watch over the reflecting pool behide the mansion.

The water lily pool was full of beautiful flowers.

We passed some fuchsia Coleus as we worked our way back to the car so we could pick up William from camp.

A motion blur shot of a Crepe Myrtle was my last photo before we went into the wonderfully air-conditioned Pineapple Room for lunch.

It was a wonderful day. Let me know when you can come back, Susan.  Maybe we could go to Travelers’ Rest, or Grassmere Farm.  I’ll alert the news media! Until then, you can find me at my computer.

Opportunity Knocks – Centennial Park in Summer

Parthenon

We detoured into Centennial Park for an impromptu photo shoot  on our way home from a lovely birthday lunch at J. Alexander’s on West End, compliments of my friend Elizabeth who was visiting from Memphis. I only had my point and shoot with me, but the profusion of summer blooms, overcast sky and unseasonably cool temperatures in Nashville’s busy urban park begged for some camera action.

Rose in the Memorial Garden for Abused and Neglected Children, with the Parthenon in the background.

Elizabeth with her Flip video camera.

Green Coleus in the Childrens' Garden

Red Coleus in the Childrens' Garden.

Red Hibiscus

Pink and red Hibiscus

Steps to the Sunken Garden.

Fruit panicles of the Golden Rain Tree.

Watauga Lake resident

How different the park looked on this summer day in July from my last visit in April. Redbud, Cherry, Iris and Daffodils had given way to Cannas, Crepe Myrtle and Hibiscus. It’s an everchanging scene, except for the Nashvillians who come in droves and the ducks in Watauga Lake that beg for bread whether it’s January or July. My point and shoot was definitely up for the job, and was suprisingly good on the macro setting. I don’t want to wait three months to go back, but the heat and humidity have returned, and it’s really bright out.

It pays to get on the ship while it’s at the dock.

My Kind of Razzmatazz

Lucky William had a chance to visit Chicago for his sixth birthday.  Lucky me, I had a chance to visit it with him. Our birthdays are close together, so Elizabeth invited both of us to go on a business trip with her.  While she worked, he and I explored Chicago.

If he goes back a hundred times, a thousand times, he will still find something new. We hardly made a dent in the attractions, but my exhaustion level after four days told me we covered a lot of it: Navy Pier ferris wheel and swings, Children’s Museum, Shedd’s Aquarium, Lincoln Park Zoo, Millennium Park fountains and Bean, Field Museum and William’s personal favorite, the Lego Store. We hopped from plane to taxi to water taxi to city bus, and threw in some old fashioned pedestrian action as well. We saw pirates, bears, mummies, sharks, lions, dinosaurs, a tall ship, skyscrapers, a White Cheeked Gibbon that slammed into the glass where William was standing and hissed at him, and made a video starring the trash cans of Chicago!  In spite of the sights and sounds of a new, exciting city, William’s most asked question before we left the hotel was, “May I take my (Nintendo) DS with me?”

Playing Checkers at the Childrens' Museum, and ducking from the camera.

Navy Pier

Pulling away from Navy Pier on the water taxi on our way to Shedd Aquarium.

We arrived at the Shedd Aquarium and looked back at the city and Lakeshore Dr.

Shark in the Water!

The light level in the Aquarium was not a photographer’s friend, and there was no flash allowed, but I had to take a picture of the shark for William to go along with the shark tooth he bought at the Childrens’ Museum Gift Shop. We landlocked Tennesseans long for the sea, and William seems to be no exception. Chicago isn’t well known for sharks, but some strange things have been found in the Great Lakes since the St. Lawrence opened!

William and I both give the Lincoln Park Zoo our highest recommendation.

Lions....

....and Tigers....

....and Bears. Oh, my!

William got a dragon tattoo. Mine was a mythical bird.

William's entire head can fit inside a tiger's jaws!

We rode the carousel.

This is the White Cheeked Gibbon that swung back and forth and suddenly smacked into the glass where William was standing, and hissed at him. The whole crowd jumped back, but William loved it.

At the Field Museum we toured the mummy exhibit.  William wanted to see brains, of course. In the pirate ship exhibit we saw a treasure chest full of silver coins, the only sunken pirate treasure ever found, and were horrified to see and read about a gibbet, used to execute captured pirates. It is a metal cage like a straight jacket into which the pirate was locked and dangled from a pole at low tide, to wait for his death by drowning as the tide came in. I was horrified.  William didn’t seem to take it personally. It was all in a day’s work for a pirate, I guess.

Dinosaur overlooks Chicago.

Hey, there, Matey!

The Lego Store - a top attraction!

Navy Pier Swing

Navy Pier Swing and Ferris Wheel

William and E. go for the thrills.

We had the time, the time of our lives in Chi-CA-go! And so we left the windy city, in much the same way as we entered it, with William playing his Nintendo. I’ve posted the events of our trip so we can revisit and enjoy again, and to let William know what we did in case he was absorbed in Pokemon at the time.

Waiting for the plane home, and playing with the Nintendo.

The Garden as a Photography Studio

Garden beside the Art Institute, Chicago

Impressionistic view of the Art Institute garden

A beautiful garden is constantly changing. Spring flowers fade, summer blooms take their places, and periwinkle turns to crimson. The whole face of a garden can evolve naturally into something else in a week’s time, so I don’t know why I felt the need to alter the beauty I saw in the garden next to the Art Institute with my camera.  The shadows beneath the luminous branches, the varied greens of the leaves, the patterns formed by the branches created an already perfect place.  Still, I could not ignore the urge to move the camera while the shutter was open to create an intentional blur.  I wasn’t sure what would turn out until I looked, but the impressionistic result is an entirely different garden from the one that actually appeared before my eyes.

It often takes many attempts at intentional blur to get something pleasing.  I was trying to keep track of six year old William on our recent trip to Chicago, and he wasn’t about to hang around as I turned the garden into a studio while leisurely trying to achieve my goal, so I was very happy that my one and only shot turned out as it did.