Photography

Find Joy

/ still a dreamer / 16 Comments

I love this set of Christmas mugs that I’ve had for what seems like forever. They’re made in Germany with a beautiful glaze, and each is different. To tell the truth, the one with the Christmas tree has always been my favorite, but this year, I find myself wanting to use this one the most.

Maybe it’s the way the last two years have gone; maybe it’s just because I’m in the midst of a major life change; or maybe because I believe that the more joy I feel, the more the world feels. Our world can sure use some more, don’t you think?

Of course, that there’s good coffee in that mug is a joy in and of itself, but on a broader scale, I’m taking a few moments to center myself and feel the joy that I know is mine every moment if I just find and embrace it. So now, I’m sending some joy to you, whoever reads this. Pass it on.

The Gifts We’re Given

/ still a dreamer / 20 Comments

As I sat in the corner of the couch next to the front window, journaling as I do each morning, Jazzy curled up next to me, I looked outside. It was breathtaking. The sun had barely risen and there was a low fog clinging to the ground.

If I were the kind of person to run outside at that hour in my bathrobe, I would have been everywhere, taking pictures of the neighborhood in that ethereal atmosphere. But I am not. I waited until I had showered, made coffee, fed Jazzy, and then I ran out. The sun was just clearing the mist, and casting shadows across a large pine and the leaves along the road’s edge.

At the end of the block, the mist was thinning on the river. This is a view of the Delaware that I never tire of, though I love it most in fall and winter. The white tree – perhaps a sycamore – always just pops in the landscape, like someone took a brush and painted it there.

I walked past this tree that seems aflame. The color is so all-consuming that I honestly can’t remember what it was before, if it was ever green. Even as I write this, I’m smiling, because some of my gardener and blogging friends probably know exactly what all these trees are. Me? I’m by and large a humble fan.

Before I came to this side of the state, I didn’t know what rural delivery was. Sure, you saw mailboxes like those above in movies, but my mail had never been delivered like that. It came in the mailboxes on our houses or in apartment vestibules, and we dropped our mail off in the big, blue mailbox on the corner, or at the post office. Here, I can put outgoing mail in my mailbox, pull up the little red flag, and the postal driver takes it away. I found this convenience magical.

My neighbor texted a photo to me on Halloween, showing me how an ancient tree that had been slowly dropping lower and lower over the nearby street had finally given up and broken. Local traffic could not pass, and this would undoubtedly be a problem for trick-or-treaters. Soon after, I heard the sound of chain saws. This morning I had the first moment to look at the tree, one I’d known and passed by for fifteen years. It was a sad sight, yet I couldn’t help but notice the bright yellow sprout, now visible behind the remains of the aged tree, as if carrying on the torch of the brilliance of life.

I am always awed by the beauty of this river, whether edged with crisping rust leaves, swollen and grey after a storm, or reflecting a bright blue sky on a sunny day. I am so grateful for the richness around me, even that which can be found on a short walk. The simplicity of our natural world is such a balm to all the worries and negativity of the world that might assault us if we’re not careful.

There is so much to be thankful for … in this brief moment of time in which a holiday reminds us to consider our many gifts, but also in every day. We only need to remember and look around us.

Change

/ still a dreamer / 13 Comments

Sometimes change is imposed from without, and outside our control. Our best bet can be to adapt our thoughts and feelings and make the most of it. Sometimes change is completely self-motivated and filled with all the fear and exhilaration that a major shift can bring. And oftentimes, it’s a combination of both.

Change can happen in a moment or evolve over time. Such has been the case in my life where I have recently decided to end a decades-long relationship with a client, who, in all reality, was more like an extended family in many ways. Numerous endeavors of my own have been waiting in the wings to grow and flower, but have always taken a back seat to the immediate demands of fundraising, design, writing, getting to press, and so on. Not to complain. Doing all this on behalf of animals has been an incredibly rich part of my life.

But then things change. New people, new thoughts. Out with the old, in with the new. And change doesn’t always seem the best, especially if we feel differently as to how it deals with a cause that has been near and dear to our hearts. And especially when all these other ideas and wishes and dreams of one’s own have been clamoring for expression, or at least, more of it.

And so change challenges us, heals us, pushes us to take the steps to grow. In my case, to write, to draw, to help new people to grow and change, too. It can all seem to be happening at once, but in the end, we are bright and new, even if a little shaky on our newfound legs.

It seems that the daily advice on my Wayne Dyer desk calendar has been speaking to me. On November 5th, he said, “Go beyond the ideas of succeeding and failing — these are the judgments. Stay in the process and allow the universe to handle the details.” I couldn’t have been given better advice.

The Walk After Hurricane Ida

/ still a dreamer / 17 Comments

Hurricane Ida, Sept. 1, 2021, had devastating effects on many parts of this country, my state of New Jersey, my county, and my little town. From the flash flooding of our local creek and the 10″ of water that fell in 3-4 hours on already soaked land, our little downtown was under water up to a man’s waist.

I am deeply grateful that my house did not take on water, and after a few falters, the power stayed on. Friday, I wanted to take a walk and see what the Delaware looked like and how some small part of my little town had fared.

The day was bright and sunny, and everything looked as if there had never been a devastating storm barely over a day ago. Gardens were overflowing with perennials of every kind and looking lovely. Our area isn’t real big on formal landscaping, just filled with life. I felt relieved.

Through the trees, you could glimpse the river, a sunlit brown and green, rushing downstream.

Flowers and plants were in full bloom, edging quietly towards fall.

There was such a profusion of life; I could hardly imagine the destruction that I’d seen on the news of so many areas not that far from where I live.

A cover of stormy grey clouds provided a momentary canopy over the Delaware River. The water had reached 8′ above flood stage just the morning before, and even though receding, it had enveloped tree trunks all along its banks. And still, as always, it was stunning.

A shallow shoreline of stones where the tree roots were always visible, gone.

An abundance of sweet-smelling honeysuckle climbing over everything. With the brilliant blue sky behind, it seemed some sort of miracle.

Snowball hydrangea changing into their late summer green phase still evidenced some fresh white blooms, in denial of the coming fall, and the crisp, dry temperatures.

When these cataclysmic events happen, we can easily get overwhelmed with the news, with the images of destruction, knowing in our hearts how much people are suffering in the face of life-changing events … in some cases, the loss of loved ones. I didn’t go into town, not knowing what I might find. And what could I do? So I remained in gratitude for the safety with which I and most of my town had been graced. And tried to find the balance in beauty.

Hoping this finds you all safe and well.

Little Bright Spots

/ still a dreamer / 10 Comments

This past June was the hottest on record in the United States. July saw the issuance of multiple tornado warnings in my state, one specifically for my town and the surrounding areas. Never in my life here in Jersey, have I ever had to seriously sequester myself and animals in either the basement or lowest interior space in the house (my chosen option), in response to serious tornado warnings. And they did hit, too, just, fortunately for me, not here.

But let’s look on the bright side, because there always is one.

One of two dwarf red maples on the property, this one is more a deep bronze than a shade of red. Unless, of course, you’re a little newbie sprout. This close-up doesn’t tell you how tiny the new leaves are in comparison to the whole, which is huge. But it might tell you why it brings a smile every time I look at it.

One morning, I looked out my kitchen window and saw something indiscernible in between two of the ornamental grasses out back. It looked like a face. Oh …. it WAS a face. The face of a very young (and adorable) deer holding very still but just about ready to chow down on a hosta. I went down the porch stairs to gently shoo her away. Maybe only 4-5 months old, she easily cleared the nearly 4′ garden gate. As I returned, I saw she had been on my porch, and had eaten the front half of the impatiens above and a few other potted plants. It’s discouraging, but that little wide-eyed face holding soooo still, trying to be invisible …

For some reason, this pretty pair was spared, and is now starting to bloom.

There are snowball hydrangeas all over this property. They bloom snow white, and are now in their green phase, to turn a stunning rust as the summer wears on, and it becomes cooler.

Hello, little fella. This very young praying mantis greeted me one morning on a kitchen window screen. Soon after, he disappeared. But he hadn’t gone very far, I later discovered. It was turning out to be a very hot afternoon, but I managed to find myself a little time to sit on the back porch and read while there was still some shade nearest the house. And there he was. Not far from me on the decking, in the very hot, bright sun.

I thought to make his way a little easier by moving him into the shade. I offered him a large hydrangea leaf to climb on, as I didn’t want to handle and frighten him. He very calmly walked right over the leaf, and into the shadow of the railing. “Thanks, ma’am, but I’ve got this,” I imagined he said as he found his own shade. And then over the next half hour or so, he slowly made his way across the length of the porch and disappeared.

All I could think of was that that must be what `biological imperative’ means. He knew where he was going and what he had to do, because at the other end of the porch is where I often see adult green praying mantises, like the one next to Pumpkin in a photo from a few years ago.

I know for myself, and most everyone I know, that the last year and change has had a lingering impact in one way or another. And yet, we find, there are still always bright spots. Hope you keep finding yours.