October 2017 – I dream of sumac and milkweed (and other wild things)

new old things and it’s getting dark

October 31, 2017 sumacandmilkweedLeave a comment

I’ve been driving my new (but not new new) car for about a week and a half and it’s just so great. I’m attached. We’ve bonded. We’re pals. I haven’t come up with a suitable name yet, though.

The car was a necessity. But I also bought the Bronica SQ-A I’ve been testing, which was definitely not a necessity.

So, I am committing to no more cameras for the rest of this year and for all of 2018. I pledge this. I mean it. I really mean it. To clarify, I mean I won’t buy any cameras for this period of time. Well, unless something happens, like if a critical camera breaks. Then I’d replace it. But that would be the only reason.

I really hope I stick to this. Maybe I will need reminders.

It’s also getting dark. And cold. Last weekend was supposed to be another collaboration with my friend Margi, who was going to meet me at the cottage and we were going to take more photos exploring movement in nature, but the weather didn’t cooperate and I had a shortage of ideas for indoor locations, so I cancelled. I went to the cottage on my own but Saturday was a bust, weather-wise. I wanted to give the Bronica a fair chance and I finally sorted out an issue with one of the film backs, so I ran a roll of film through on Saturday in a bit of rain.

LDC_20171031_19290003 — cornfield, Bronica SQ-A, Lomo 100 ISO

LDC_20171031_19290004 — cornfield, Bronica SQ-A, Lomo 100 ISO

LDC_20171031_19290005 — cornfield, Bronica SQ-A, Lomo 100 ISO

LDC_20171031_19290002 — corn and dried stalk, Bronica SQ-A, Lomo 100 ISO

LDC_20171031_19300005 — Little Sable Point, Bronica SQ-A, Lomo 100 ISO

LDC_20171031_19300006 — Little Sable Point, Bronica SQ-A, Lomo 100 ISO

Sunday started gray and cold but the sky was dramatic and it wasn’t too windy and the blue even poked through the clouds every now and then, so I ran a second roll through the Bronica and finished up the roll I started in California on the Minolta.

Napa vineyard, Kodak ColorPlus, Minolta SRT 102

redwoods, Kodak ColorPlus, Minolta SRT 102

LDC_20171031_19310004 — DANGER, Bronica SQ-A, Lomo 100 ISO

LDC_20171031_19310003 — the farmhouse, Bronica SQ-A, Lomo 100 ISO

LDC_20171031_19310001 — a little fall color, Bronica SQ-A, Lomo 100 ISO

I’m forever inspired and amazed by these ghosts of old trees. The wind and sand buries and unburies them, topples and rights them, year after year. The landscape changes so dramatically. I love documenting this.

LDC_20171031_19320005 — driftwood on dune, Bronica SQ-A, Lomo 100 ISO

LDC_20171031_19320003 — driftwood on dune, Bronica SQ-A, Lomo 100 ISO

LDC_20171031_19130025 — growth, Minolta SRT 102, Kodak ColorPlus 200 ISO

LDC_20171031_19130024 — driftwood, Minolta SRT 102, Kodak ColorPlus 200 ISO

LDC_20171031_19130020 — toppled, Minolta SRT 102, Kodak ColorPlus 200 ISO

LDC_20171031_19130037 — trunk, Minolta SRT 102, Kodak ColorPlus 200 ISO

LDC_20171031_19130035 — relics, Minolta SRT 102, Kodak ColorPlus 200 ISO

Anyway. I’m excited to explore more with this camera and happy to be driving my new car, and not so happy about the impending shorter days and cold. But that’s life.

farewell, silver cannonball

October 19, 2017 sumacandmilkweed4 Comments

I spent the week getting distracted from work by the process of finding myself a new car. Decision-making is a stress-inducing thing for me. Me in a toothpaste or detergent aisle? Panic. I do better with fewer choices, mainly. Fewer colors. Fewer models. Fewer formulas. When I do decide on something, I second guess until the cows come home. And then I ask their opinion (the cows’ opinions, figuratively) and second guess some more. And change my mind. And change it back again.

I think I drive everyone around me nuts with this. Which one is best? Am I going to regret my decision? What if something better comes along? Seriously, it’s never-ending.

The van, aptly named the silver cannonball, came to me as a hand-me-down from my brother who bought it in 2005 because he had to drive around with pounds and pounds of fabric samples, and for salespeople and families you kinda can’t beat a van. She was in great shape, four years old and well cared for when I drove her halfway across the country to bring her home. She carted me and the kids and bikes and extra people all over town and all over the state; made trips to Myrtle Beach and to Chicago and, when my son graduated from high school I let him and his friends drive her to Yellowstone. She was reliable and roomy and didn’t need much. Until she sort of hit her twilight years.

Maybe I could have taken better care of her, kept her a little cleaner, been better about the routine maintenance. She wasn’t neglected, but, you know, there was life and all that. She moved kids out. And then it was pretty much just me, alone, in this big old van. Electrical failures, broken locks, a broken mirror, little things going, big things starting to slip, nearly 200,000 miles. She’s done, tired. I’m done with her. Ready to move on.

I decided that a few months ago. I was clear about it. But then, the panic. What to choose in her stead. And, oh god, a car payment?!? Car payments are commitment. And, money. The panic froze me and I decided I’d wait for a while. And then I drove across the state and something went wrong; she had trouble accelerating and there was a shimmy that went on for miles. It might have been the roadway that caused the shimmy, but it was definitely happening. And I realized I didn’t want to be stranded on the side of the road, in the freezing cold, with no snow boots or gloves because I never listen to Jim when he tells me to keep those things in my car, and no cell service because I’m on a backroad in the wilderness looking for something interesting to photograph.

I didn’t want to freeze to death on a remote backroad in the silver cannonball.

(Okay, that’s unlikely and I’m exaggerating. I digress.)

But last week all the little broken things just really got to me, so I started looking and working on the process of deciding. I drove three cars this week and picked one, but went back and forth (in my head, with the dealer, it’s too much, am I getting ripped off, would they offer me a better price if I was a guy, etc. etc. ad nauseam) and talked the whole situation to death with anyone around me who would listen. All the moving parts, all the balls in the air, all the distractions, came to a halt today and tomorrow I’ll hand over the silver cannonball and drive my new wheels home. A young(ish) 2013, low(ish) miles, a stick shift, compact SUV. Just what I want. A new driving chapter.

So it’s my last night with the silver cannonball. I took her to the grocery store, an average evening thing to do, and in walking around making choices about bread and veggie burgers and yogurt I suddenly got a little sniffly over her. More than a little sniffly. Not sobbing in the frozen food aisle but inexplicably and surprisingly moody, sad, and for real a little wet in the eyes and snotty in the nose.

Hell. I can’t explain myself. My brother and I sobbed over cars when we were little: a turquoise Corvair, the brown Pontiac station wagon. Maybe some others, but those two particularly. Maybe I’m more sentimental about cars than I want to admit.

I loved the silver cannonball, I hated her, I respected her, I tolerated her, and now I’m replacing her. I’ll miss her a little bit. She took good care of me of me and mine.

more Mendocino, this time on film

October 14, 2017October 14, 2017 sumacandmilkweedLeave a comment

LDC_20171015_99980001 — somewhere in the sky

I imagine we’re not meant to live as if on vacation every day. But, what if we were? Could we stand that much sunshine? Could we stand the gorgeousness? So much of it? Would it hurt too much to live like that, or make us too soft, or too happy?

LDC_20171015_99980029 — my friend Kelly, contemplating the view

I don’t know. I tell people that here in Michigan the winters make our summers so much sweeter. Not that I mind the winters. Because maybe we have to do penance with the dark days, or the miserably cold days, to really appreciate the warm and sunny days. But I wonder if maybe we’ve got to see and taste and touch beauty every single day. Maybe it makes us better. I’m willing to bet it does.

LDC_20171015_99980018 — our cabin in the woods

LDC_20171015_99980016 — prayer flags and path

In any case, I took film to the lab today and they had it developed and uploaded before I even got home. Just when I’ve become more patient with the whole process, they go and make it instant! I shot one and a half rolls of Kodak ColorPlus film on my trusty Minolta SRT 102 in California two weeks ago, and this is the one. The half roll isn’t finished yet and that is what is making me feel so unsettled and thinking about just how much beauty we are entitled to in our everyday life. Perhaps it’s all in the way we frame things. Beauty is everywhere, after all.

I think some days we just don’t feel like looking at it. But it kind of smacks you across the face in California.

And here’s another thing. The fires are still burning. We left Sunday morning, and the fires broke out in wine country that night and they are continuing today. It sounds trite to say my heart breaks for California. But oh how it does. Such beauty, such loss.

Mendocino, highway 1, and three beds

October 9, 2017October 12, 2017 sumacandmilkweed2 Comments

I am always so grateful for a few days off of work and a complete change of scenery. Even more grateful to spend that time with the person who knows me best, outside of my family. My best friend Kelly and I went to Tuscany together the year we both turned 40. At that time we made big plans for our 50 trip, thinking our lives would be so knitted up that a big trip would be easy. But life doesn’t ever seem to work that way and so in August we booked a short October trip to California with a drive up highway 1, Mendocino, Napa Valley wineries, and Airbnb. It didn’t disappoint, and we’ll just have to hope our lives let us put together something a bit longer for the next one. We also decided that decade trips are too far apart. Where’s the guarantee that we’ll be around in a decade? Every five years from here on out.

Of course I brought cameras, but I didn’t take as many photos as I expected, which is totally okay because sometimes you have to document and sometimes you have to experience, and I did more experiencing than documenting.

We spent our first night in a bed in a house with a treacherous driveway in Mill Valley and then started the drive north to Mendocino on Wednesday morning, taking our time for stops along the way.

Is it terrible that I can’t remember now where we were half the time? Talking and laughing and driving and navigating… all those things took precedence over taking notes about where we were or what I was photographing. Rocks, ocean, coastline, view from atop a cliff. There is no shortage of this along California’s western edge. I’d never seen California’s coastline until this trip and I think it’s safe to say that 1,000 times wouldn’t be enough. It’s breathtaking.

Every time we came around a corner and I would gasp at the view, Kelly would say “hang on, it gets better.” I loved the fog and these rocks somewhere on the coast as we got closer to Mendocino.

LDC_20171004_IMG_8031 — our cabin in the woods, Mendocino

The first night in our cabin, we drank a bottle of wine Kelly bought and saved from our trip to Tuscany a decade ago (it aged beautifully), which we paired with local cheese we bought on the way.

We went to a lovely little yoga studio in Mendocino one morning and then spent the rest of that day outside, first at the Point Cabrillo light station and then further north to a park where we hoped to see sea lions (we could hear them in the distance, but we never saw any).

I think these pink flowers are amaryllis belladonna. They were everywhere, and so pretty!

I liked this view from the light station in black and white.

I think this was just north of Mendocino… we pulled over as the fog was going back out and I saw these foggy rays through the trees.

We drove up to the Avenue of the Giants on Friday, taking in the sights at various turnouts along the way.

I don’t get carsick (thankfully), but I can see how some people can probably never, ever drive or be a passenger on that route. Twists and turns. Hairpin turns on sharp inclines and steep descents. Narrow or no shoulders. Mostly no guardrails. Literally, a sneeze could send you plummeting over the edge. Maybe I’m being dramatic, but I was both awestruck and completely terrified. Fortunately Kelly is a confident driver and she did all the harrowing stuff while I got to mainly drive the inland, far less harrowing, routes. Yay for that.

Saturday morning we left our sweet little cottage in the forest and drove inland to Napa Valley, where we stopped at one vineyard, ate lunch at another, and then ultimately landed at a third for an absolutely magical tour and tasting. This was where I experienced rather than photographed, and I could kick myself a bit for that because the light and the grounds and our tour guide and the wine was just all kinds of magical.

After dinner in wine country we made our way back to Mill Valley for our last night in bed in a third stranger’s house. We had just enough time Sunday morning to make a few stops to view the Golden Gate Bridge in a bit of haze and too bright sun before getting to the airport. And that’s it. Too few details, I know, but experiences and laughter. So much laughter. That’ll do. Until our next trip, anyway.