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For some people, I imagine Christmas is a season to linger over. Keeping decorations up well into January must be like a cup of really good coffee at the end of a delicious meal. You never want this perfect time to end. I can understand this feeling. But not about Christmas. Too much of a good thing is just too much. Happy to give in to the feeling that things need to be put right, with order restored, I take my decorations down right away. For years, I’ve taken some good-natured ribbing about this behavior and even felt a bit ashamed. As though I had, in some way, diminished the meaning of the season by rushing it along. Nowadays, I stand firmly proud of myself for simply being myself. There is no wrong way or certain length of time to celebrate.

Christmas just a little longer

Nature’s Wreath

 

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I love being immersed in nature, being outside, especially in the forest. I did not grow up hiking, this being an activity introduced to me by my husband. He has a deep love for and interest in trees and animals, weather and water, skies and the history of things. This knowledge he shares readily with me and I try to listen and learn. But my way of knowing things is different than his. I experience the forest through my senses, feeling my way. I carry my camera but I’m not sure what I’m looking for. All of the pictures are explorations in how to see things differently. The forest in winter looks like a season of sticks and vines. It is beautiful, but how can I capture this overgrown woodland with its dappled light and tangled arrangement? Back at home, I look at the images, not sure what to make of my efforts. When I am in doubt in this way, I do research. I go to the work of one of my favorite photographers, a mentor I have never met in person, Janelle Lynch. I study her project, Fern Valley (2020-2021), a photographic meditation that “ … follows an abiding belief in the strength of the human spirit to persevere and the transcendent power of nature.” From Janelle’s work, I see the possibility in my own photographs, a way to map the contour of the forest. Describing the beauty that was there all along.

Fog Rolls In

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Stepping from the shower of our tiny bathroom, I open the window to let steam escape. Fog has rolled in. It’s winter but the temperature outside is unseasonably warm, and I lean out the window, surveying our backyard. As far as I can see there are woods. On days when I am feeling close to nature, I call the yard a forest. On days when I am feeling creative, I call it a garden. Every fall we push the leaves from the front yard into the woods and marvel at how they decay and make the soil rich. We watch as branches bend and sway and occasionally a tree will topple as though its time has come and gone. I hesitate. Is this view really worth running downstairs to get the camera? Especially as I am still soaking wet, wrapped in a towel. I remind myself to let go of judgment. It’s not a gamble that the effort will be worthwhile because the reward is always in the seeing. I’ve already won.