From the Vault 2

Illumination at the Rock of Cashel, Co. Tipperary, Ireland

From the Vault

I've been on break from school the last few weeks, and have been using my free time to start a lot of different projects, but not to actually finish them. One of these over-optimistic projects is to dig through all the piles of stuff in my study and try to beat it into some sort of order before the chaos of the new semester begins. I keep coming across old pieces of art- paintings, photos, poems and the like, and am going to post a few while I work on that whole "finished product" thing. Since yet more snow is falling, here is a little memory of summer. I photographed these barnacles at sunset while PK and I were paddling on the coast of Maine.

soaking beans

I took this photo while I was making some chili for friends, and it stands as an example of how there are moments in life that simply cannot be captured. I was washing the beans when I was struck by the colors, the textures, the way the light glinted off the wet, beany surfaces- so of course, I ran for the camera while my friends watched and wondered if I was going to come back and finish making dinner. Sadly, the final product doesn't come close to the live version. So once again, I'm coming to terms with this idea that the product isn't living up to my expectations. So now I have to approach this moment with a positive outlook and say 'hey, this picture kinda stinks, but gosh, those beans sure were pretty.' And then go read the instructions for how to use the macro lens.

What I miss most in winter...

The moments I love the most in gardening happen early in the year, when tiny plants push up through the soil, offering the promise of delicious meals with friends and family. I love to work this early garden - before the bugs come crawling, before mildew and drought ravage the leaves, before weeds and slugs do their worst. This is the garden of hope, and the dirt beneath my fingernails smells sweet.

Photos by SFD

Spirals

Snow Heart Spiral, by Stu Jenks

I was playing around on the web and looking for some inspiration, when I stumbled across these surreal works by Stu Jenks, a musician and photographer working out in Tucson, Arizona. His photos are vivid dreamscapes that practically demand a tribal drum track accompaniment. As someone who is intensely interested in the artistic process of others, I especially like his website, where he often pairs his images with stories behind how they came to be. Check them out at http://www.stujenks.com, and make sure to look for the links to his “Circle Stories.”

Owl's Head, by Stu Jenks

om moment

My yoga class usually opens with a few moments of meditation, where we set the intention for our practice, and end with a group chant of Om. Today, as the group breathed out and voiced that single, resonant syllable, a train blew its horn as it passed through our town. The sound of the horn harmonized with our voices, and ended at the exact moment we finished exhaling.

Beautiful.

a nice little bedtime story

Once upon a time, I lived in a tiny little town on the edge of a river surrounded by lonely abandoned mill buildings. My own apartment should have been abandoned, as the very ceilings were crumbling away, and the back steps were slowly sinking into the ground. For years, the only life on the streets were people stumbling out of their apartments to smoke cigarettes and swear at their neighbors for parking in the wrong spot. Then, things began to change. I started seeing artists hanging out on the corners, paintbrushes in hand, drawing the very buildings that had been only thought about as eyesores the day before. The abandoned mill buildings began to fill up with artist studios. Someone planted flowers along the streets. A lovely little coffee shop opened up just steps from my door. The whole neighborhood began to pulse, to breath a little. I could feel the pavement expand beneath my feet every time I walked outside my door.

And then I moved.

While I love the place where I am living now, and wouldn’t trade being with PK in our little nest for anything, it’s like I fell asleep on the couch just before the really funny thing happened at the party that everyone will be talking about for months. Typical.

There’s no end to this little tale, just the hope that my little old neighborhood is rolling along and building up artistic steam. Maybe I’ll stop by for a cup of coffee sometime soon and see how things are coming along.

wintermoon

Evening-the only sounds the heavy breath of the dog and the swish-swish of skis on days-old snow, the occasional call of a chickadee about to settle in for the night. The edge of a field, studded with gnarled, arthritic fruit trees, picked clean of fruit by winds and wild. A fattening moon, climbing up from behind the treeline, escaping from the twisted cage of branches to shine in the clear night sky, if only for a few hours, before sinking once more, below the trees, below the bay, below the corners of the earth, to sleep again .

Still life with bread

Fresh from the oven...

people are just dying to be on my xmas list

A few years ago, PK and I were hiking along a fairly long and difficult ridge in the White Mountains. It was August, sweltering hot, and we weren't making anywhere near the miles per day that we needed to in order to make it to our next camping spot. We ended up spending the first night of the trip on the worst tent site I have ever slept on. I've been in some nasty areas with my little tent, but never had to sleep crammed between pointed, broken tree stumps before. Anyway, the next day we were hot, tired and fast approaching cranky when we passed through a rather large bog at the base of a steep mountain climb. We were loitering about, neither of us rushing toward what we knew would be a brutal climb, when we noticed the strange little flowers poking out of the weeds along the edges of the boardwalk. On closer examination, we discovered that the entire bog was full of blooming pitcher plants. We could look across the water and see hundreds of these strange little purplish-orange flowers peeking up through the reeds. Neither of us realized they grew in that area, or that they bloomed, and we spent a long time examining them, fascinated by these strange little carnivorous plants

So this year...


The action shot...PK planting the terrarium





We'll see how these bog plants manage in the arctic tundra land that is our apartment...


A little odd, yes, but it sure beats another scented candle, eh?