Tectonic forces do their work. Ploughing their inescapable hell slowly and without discrimination. They grind—hard. Such is their subtlety as to be motionless to the eye though with a power as immutable as gravity. It goes to work on you at all times. The all seeing eye. Without cease or respite it weighs heavy its jagged white-hot indiscriminate hand, wearing body and mind down to dust. It pulverizes all identity and form until it spits you out as something unrecognizable, something—else. Were you crushed and cast out or transformed and made whole in the friction?
Up at Night — 14mm | f/2.8 | ISO 1600 | EXP 10 sec
COVID-19 has taken many things. Lives, livelihoods, lifestyles, and liberties all curtailed as we continue to confront an ongoing public health crisis. It’s been tough and there are few to argue otherwise. A lower tier robbery thieved by COVID is spontaneous fun. The need to social distance to keep group exposure minimized has taken away spontaneous fun. You know, the plans that didn’t exist until you get a text message from a friend like, yo, get here now because we’re all doing [insert cool fun thing here]. And boom, unexpected excitement dropped into your life; the best kind of fun. This tale has in no way told the COVID story. Homebound monotony has long held sway.
This changed for me on Thursday. Ben Wurst dropped a small group text to Jonathan Carr and me saying we should go out tonight for astrophotography. Initially I thought this was a nice sentiment, something fun in theory, but I did not expect it to shake out. I was pleasantly surprised to return from my run to see Jon was in and the game was on. Thursday night in the pines it would be.
Around 10:00 p.m. Thursday we all met up roadside on 539 south in Warren Grove to hike in about a quarter mile to the top of the world. The top of the world is a hyperbolic name given to a small hill outcrop on an otherwise flat bowl of pygmy pines. The pygmies are a unique set of stunted pines found in the southern part of the New Jersey Pinelands. Kept small by wildfire, these bonsai-esque pines stand low—most well under six feet tall. A small sea of mini trees standing sentry for centuries. It’s a cool sight, and this was my first trek out there since January 2016. It had been a while.
From here we tried our best at making astrophotography on a clear, moonless night. The visibility was excellent, and shooting stars dashed the night sky on regular intervals. Honestly, I didn’t even care about the photographs I was making, I was just happy to be out having unexpected fun with friends.
Seated at The Union Market stuck on what to write. I’ve got nothing. An intersection? A four way stop with no signs. The anarchy of an unkempt mind. It’s an odd sort of drift. The shimmering grains of control left to sift right through arthritic fingers. More sand down the hourglass of time. An amortized loss no prospector’s pan can withhold. The Ring, man. It will vanish.
Still this is the big mystery, ain’t it? The exalted drama we each one of us play out with this spot of time we’ve got. Each of us observers in our own unplanned play running on as one big dress rehearsal to life. Except there are no second chances—only better doings. The sand grains, man. They’re ours—though only for a moment—borrowed. Walk upon them where you can. Dance, sing. Bury your feet and run your fingers through past, present, and future. As it comes. As it goes. Ours for a while. Build the brightest castle you can; however you can and while you can. Because the sand belongs to time. It hears its master’s call.
In My Own Time — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Improved is my mood. It pleases me to write this. A combination of self imposed interventions coupled with some good old fashion luck reinforced the levies to keep the deluge of depression at bay. First to thank my friends and family—my people—for hanging in there and supporting me. The treasured and unbreakable bonds forged in love and tempered in the flames of hardship keep me strong. Iron does sharpen iron, and lost I would be without them. I love you.
Reestablishing mindfulness and meditation practices, daily and with intent, served to ground me. Tethering me back to my breath—the single most fundamental essence of life. This is creating a setting of ease and space to cope. I use an app called Headspace to guide this practice, and I recommend trying out anything to help guide you and keep you on track. There’s no right or wrong way to mediate. No beginning or end to meditation. There is only what you take with you. There is only practice.
Disabling my social media accounts for about three weeks proved an enormous boon. While I am back on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram, it is only the latter that has its app on my iPhone. Were I able to share photos from my laptop, I’d have no app at all. I strongly recommend a break to anyone considering it. It’s refreshing and wholesome to lose the anxious connection to the impersonal toxicity of the online world. Now that I am back, I have better boundaries, and going sans app reinforces said boundaries.
Audiobooks came to the rescue, too. Starting in an unexpected way. Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman! followed up with What Do You Care What Other People Think? surprised me in their countless life lessons weaved into the narrative subtext. This theme of course being ancillary in their intention to let the world into the mind of one of the 20th century’s most gifted physicists. Richard Feynman was far more than a Noble laureate, though. In fact, there was little typical about him. With intention cultivated himself as a curious, skeptical, and inquisitive observer of life parsed through a scientific lens with no space in his brain for fakers. This proved refreshing. I piggybacked this with Jay Shetty’s Think Like A Monk. An instructive tool for bringing purpose, calm, balance, ease, stillness, and peace into our lives. I don’t typically go in for self help books, but this was a joyous journey, and one which offers numerous tangible strategies to help you find your way.
Therapy remains the key piece constant through all this. A safe place to connect with a professional who brings objectivity and experience to your situation. It provides a place to reflect, open up, share, and discover. As self-awareness grows, strategies take shape to help recognize triggers, execute mitigation tactics against them, thereby minimizing the frequency, intensity, and duration of future episodes. If you have been considering therapy but feel shame or weakness, I do encourage you to take the step. You have the strength. Reaching out for help is hard, but it is always a huge leap worth taking. Complicated and difficult is our world. Our hearts and minds more so. Connecting with people to better understand ourselves, our purpose, and our meaning in this life is a great place to start and essential to wellness.
Thanks for reading, and thank you for your support in this.
A Window to Winter — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | 7 Bracketed Exposures
Somehow I made it through the entirety of 2018 without making a single photo trip to Stafford Forge. I know it was a down year for photo output, but sheesh. At least I am checking it off my list early in 2019, am I right? With fresh mid-January snowfall it was the perfect destination to capture the final light of day.
The pines were magical. Cotton ball snow resting easy atop pine boughs as far as the eye could see. Fresh powder and a last gasp of golden pink light set a dramatic stage. More than the photography it was invigorating to stand outside in crisp, bracing air; taking in the unmistakable air of fresh fallen snow. There’s nothing quite like it. A true tonic for the soul.
I was out shooting and catching up with Jonathan Carr—who turned 39 today, happy birthday, man—and we couldn’t help note how similar the whole tableau was to March 2015. A similar snow fell across the region and the skies broke right in time for a power play golden hour into sunset. I made three great shots that day, and you can seem them here, here, and here. That kind of setup never gets old, and I will take more of that, please.
Remind Up Rewind — 35mm | f/5.6 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/500
Holy smokes Greg posted a photograph? In 2018? 2018, the year of slack, rages on, but here at least is a small reminder to myself and the world, I do, in fact, make photographs. From time to time.
I had the luxury to visit Wells Mills County Park and my wonderful Rose reminded me of a lesson no photographer should ever forget: look up. Look up and keeping looking up. Don’t settle for compositions that set literally in front of your face. Bend your neck back once in a while. It’s good for the spine and good for the mind.
Rose looked up and observed the sublime beauty of trees driving skyward. Coming together toward an invisible vanishing point somewhere in the great beyond. A dome of tranquility beneath which keen observers may take note while those oblivious can walk under in shelter. The world is full of many wonders whether we actually see them or note.
The Forest and the Trees — 14mm | f/8 | ISO 100 | EXP 1/50
On June 16, 2018, I had the opportunity to photograph Baker’s Acres Campground in Little Egg Harbor, NJ. A wooded, family forward establishment, Baker’s Acres offers a picturesque retreat for any and all campers. Nestled off Garden State Parkway exit 58, Baker’s Acres is a secluded getaway so good at maintaining a low profile I had never happened across it in my 25 years living down here. But don’t let its low key nature fool you, Baker’s is happening with plenty to do and fun for the whole family.
I don’t exactly know how to photograph a place to make it look nice, but I spent about 90 minutes walking the premises, photographing its amenities. (They even have a dog park!) All the while passing tons of happy and friendly campers who did not seem to mind the guy milling about with the camera one bit. That was a relief.
Ensconced in the Pinelands on all sides, at the far edge adjacent to said dog park sets a stand of beautiful pines beset by ferns. Transfixed my mind immediately drifted to the forest moon of Endor. I know those were sequoias but still that is where my brain went. I took it all in for five minutes are so and made my way back to exploring the friendly confines of Baker’s Acres.
Full disclosure: this is an unpaid and unsolicited plug for Baker’s Acres Campground. It’s personal commentary on an impressive little place to hang your hat.
It’s a quarter to eight on March 2, 2017, and I am whiling away the hours until Nintendo unleashes its latest bundle of joy upon the world. As midnight strikes across timezones the world over the Nintendo Switch, and, more importantly, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild will begin its quest into consumer homes and into the hands of joyous gamers. Hyrule needs saving, yo—again. My pre-orders are set to arrive sometime tomorrow and I—AM—PUMPED. I’m a lifelong Nintendo fan(boy) and Zelda is franchise number one in my little corner of the universe. I haven’t been this excited about a Zelda release since sixteen year-old me got his covetous mitts on Ocarina of Time’s golden cartridge. Those were simpler times. Before the dark times. Before the Empire—whoa, wrong beloved franchise. To further muddy the waters of fantasy confusion I am listening to the complete Lord of the Rings soundtrack as we type. Hyrules, long ago distant galaxies mentioned only in blue font trailing off to an ellipsis with one period too many, and middle earths are colliding. And what the hell, I’m wrapping up A Dance with Dragons now, too.
Anyway, throwback Thursday-ing it to a couple weeks ago when controlled burns were popping up all over Ocean County, I had another photograph that I wanted to share. A different kind of photograph featuring a different kind of composition from my usual. Many photographers readily avail themselves of trees to quite literally frame their composition, yet it hasn’t been a technique I’ve tried. Sure, I can remember being a kiddo doing pencil drawings and I would most always have half a tree posted up on either the far left or right edge of the paper. For whatever reason this hasn’t translated into my photography. I made this shot handheld as I was bouncing around Stafford Forge trying to settle upon a final, tripod worthy composition. Yet I find a lot to like in this image. The color and oh that orange glow, the grasses marking the foreground, the blown out sunset to the left, and yes, even the tree framing things up along the right and top of the photograph. But enough about me, what do you think? Oh, and seriously, check out these Zelda reviews.
Controlled burning—or prescribed burning, whichever your flavor—has marked the skies of southern Ocean County with plumes of smoke the past few days. Capitalizing on warmth and wind local officials have taken to their annual task of culling New Jersey’s Pinelands of restrictive low-level growth. Fire is the lifeblood of a healthy forest ecosystem, and controlled burning is a responsible method of human stewardship that keeps our beloved pine forest habitat active and healthy. Not only does it aid in the replenishment and overall health of the pines, it also helps mitigate the risk and potential impact of a large out of control fire. It has an added photographic benefit by way of subject matter and color.
Without wanting to get too close to the action, and without wanting to put myself in the way of hard working fire professionals, I made for Stafford Forge a little before sunset to capture the action from a reasonable distance. It was worth the effort. The sky and smoke was cast in a reddish-pink glow fused with a healthy dose of yellow. Scanning for composition I found a small tree to anchor my image. The real attention, however, goes to the prominent smoke plume pushing its smoke southeastward toward the sea.
