Getting my Hands Dirty

 I had a burial in the woods today... a time of letting go of a set of small things that were such a part of me, so meaningful, that by doing so it was as if I was placing a piece of myself into the soil. This form of expression, now quietly at rest and starting on it's journey in the process of being captured in the ground is where it now belongs, for I know they were never something that was mine in the beginning, nor something now to keep or hold on to...but only meant as a vehicle of expression to be shared and loved beyond my own heart and hands. 

Creativity, , certainly mine, whether it be expressed in photography, or woodworking, or words, or with love, has worth really only when it gets its roots from the heart and is given away for another's benefit. Every fascinating image, every hand hewn project, every thoughtfully engaging encouragement or honest "I love you" has the same origin... and if it is sincere and true, is born from within deep in the soul. When it is done... mute, rejected, there is no longer any purpose for it and it needs to be disposed of. I guess not many people would take the steps that I would to do so... to get their hands dirty... but it is a fitting and symbolic way for me to place it aside. When we as humans each find the end of our biological line, in one form or another, we return to dust... scripture promises us that. Simple objects of wood, words on paper, many things... even our very hearts are no different and will meet the same end ultimately whether they are burned, or melted away, or as in this case, placed into the ground.

When a form of creativity is shut down, refused and returned, it is no less real of a loss as a piece of your heart itself, something to hold, something... that is gone and deserves only to be put 'back into the earth' from which it came. I did just that today. It was hard and sad and very painful to think that I had reached this place, come to such a task, but it was something that needed to be done and my soul could not do otherwise.  I kept a small part of one to keep with me, to fashion it into something else that I can occasionally wear, a reminder of that part of me... a part that has been purposefully set aside, a part which made me complete in so many ways. Perhaps someday, it will have the opportunity to live again, have a place in my world, but it is unlikely.

As time and the earth and environment takes it toll on these things, so too will it take it's toll on the parts of me I left there. It will be unavoidable... it already has. Perhaps someday, long into the future, someone will find them, be puzzled and maybe find inspiration in their own creative way, maybe not, but either way they will return to the earth...the soil...from which they came. Quietly mute.

Above, a stylized portrait and below a straight shot of my favorite shovel, if one is allowed to play favorites with such a simple instrument.

Peace... Man.

A phrase that was popular when I was a kid and used in a variety of ways, such as 'be cool' to ' let's end this war', etc... , but it was something I remember hearing allot.

Today I saw a fleeting smile...it was bright and beautiful and turned my way and it turned my heart into thoughts as it has done so many times. Thoughts of times of peace and contentment and joy. I sat just where I was and began to reflect on this past weekend, for after nearly two years without, our family was once again united in our 'shore' home for a time of fellowship... fun. Having been built in the 1940's, for me it has always naturally been a spot of refuge, respite and calm from the world. Upon arriving there and taking a traditional walk to the edge of the dock to survey the bay, that particular spot is always a home to memories for me.... of learning to swim just yards away, to powering a boat across the bay to watch and count how many 4th of July displays explode like carnations in the sky before me each year. Times of fun playing games late at night with family or friends while warm breezes float in the window, of building massive sandcastles on the beach complete with fluted towers, of harvesting delicious meals from the crabs caught off the dock, or of reading a good book in the early morning light on the deck of the boat... these are all very special and a deep parts of the things that make up 'me'.

In the fall of 2012, Hurricane Sandy made landfall on the ocean just miles from our home, bringing with it  wall of water that settled inside our walls and upturned the life that we had there. Friends helped move out the old and after two years of renovation, it is back to a place of welcome again, smiles and joy....peace. Boat rides, crabbing, fishing, swimming and just plain relaxing were all on the menu for the heart along with the good food prepared for the body. It was nice to be at my traditional summer 'home'... nice to be with extended family and the warm and loving bond I share with my brother's family, father, nieces and nephew along with my own and all of their new friends.

I like it there... allot....as you can see, and I only hope to have many, many more times there, times to rejuvenate the soul and help me reflect upon the past and future alike. Times to enjoy other's company and grow together in peace and in joy.

Today's images are just a few that I took on this mini holiday of our activities and some other 'small things' I observed. I hope that wherever you are, you might have the feeling I found, if but for a short time... found in a fleeting smile.

 

Power of Freedom

Freedom is something that has as many definitions as people who might proclaim it. For the prisoner, like friends I have know who have been a prisoner of one sort or another, freedom might be the ability to just walk unencumbered from shackles or confined space, to someone else like me, it might be represented within the feelings found on open water and the wind in my sails or in the seat of my motorcycle, to a small child, it might simply mean permission to enjoy an ice cream cone. It seems the amount of freedom we need, is related to the amount we already have.

The world, statistically, by any measure is in our current age, more free, more peaceful and 'safer' than in any other time in history. With a 24/7 media culture streaming into our consciousness, sometimes our 'gut' seems to indicated otherwise, but per capita, we are living in a unique place in the history of mankind in which freedom, security as nations and as individuals is as great as it has ever been as is our ability to travel to most parts of the world and safely enjoy fellowship with  people of cultures vastly different from our own. Even in my younger globe trotting years, this freedom was already in place for me and it is greater now still for so many more.

Even so, for some people, freedom is still elusive and there are many who still yearn for it. Amazingly, yet others, squander it away without any thought. It is that while one would use their freedom to only gain control and restrict others, others would give it up in submission to be held in love. But if freedom is granted in power, it is also in weakness. I heard a quote the other day that struck me... "The strong man who already knows power, upon gaining more, learns to abuse it, but the weak man who newly gains power has the perspective of compassion to use it wisely." Never having been the physical 'strong man' among my peers, I would hope I would use the freedom I find in it for peace.

In looking at freedom today as I celebrate this particular Memorial day here in the U.S., to me it represents more than just my personal freedom. Although this week has been a small but significant shift for me in losing my restrictive neck collar, graduating towards normalcy again...freedom is still more. It is not even solely about cherishing the ability to live where and how I chose, but is more about our freedom and sense of peace that we enjoy as a nation. This  did not come 'free' in any sense, but was drawn from the courage and sacrifice and risk our founding citizens took on to forge us as one and was paid for in the many wars, external and inside our borders that allows us that peace today. It was sealed again and again with the real blood of those who found their death in another land, in a way I am sure they did not envision, perhaps alone, or among new friends enjoined into the defense of our peace, but the cost was very high. This freedom costs the few everything... given for the many. There surely is no greater sacrifice to give than one's life for another's freedom.

The flag photos shown here were shot today at our family home on the New Jersey Coastline, a place I found freedom as a youth and after a two year storm damaged absence, did again today. It was a gift from my own Grandfathers service in WWII. As a verteran myself, I will say am proud to fly our nations flag, still choke up when singing the National Anthem and am humbly grateful to those who have gone before to allow me to do just that.

The Breath of God

Sailing...something I have done and enjoyed my entire life having access to a sailboat of one kind or another since I was small, is, or was an activity that I used to find much joy. Since hurricane Sandy took a huge bite out of my family's home on the N.J. coast a couple of years ago taking our boat with it, I have not been on a boat at all. The longest stretch in my life as not one summer has gone by since I was two weeks old since I had not done so. It has been a deep void that I have missed dearly along with the peace it used to bring to my heart. When the sails are raised, filling them and the motor is turned off, leaving nothing but the wind to draw you, it is a very special feeling indeed...one of peace and quite...a contentment of sorts with the waves as you fine tune the sails...those that have sailed know what I mean.

For a time now, like our boat, life has been very difficult for me and those found around me. In part because of who I am and have become... me... which tremendously grieves me, but also because in the midst of it all, I have sadly sought to find refuge in the solitude, remembering past pains and how it helped mpve past them at he time. Now culminating with my recent surgery and the limited mobility and opportunities to get out and participate in the larger world, in this state I have become extremely lonely. As I rested alone at home, I yearned for steps at my door, a phone call or text, a hello with a smile, but it was... quiet. Activities I enjoyed and cherished were gone, people I love to be around...my dearest friends... became strangers and more and more I realized how little value somehow I was to them anymore. Those who said they care for or even love me, left me in need. Containing such deep sorrow and regret for words expressed... and not, and the pain caused to others and myself, became too much to bear and my heart was sinking. My world was slowly shutting down and with no ears around me to listen, was leaving this person full of expression to share, quietly empty like a pen gone dry, or our crippled boat... laid on land after being battered by that terrible storm.

Last night I took a bold step, a step against some promises I made to myself and tentatively stepped out into life once again... a life in  place that I once held so dear and that was everything to me, one of joy found in little smiles, warm words and the peace of honest conversation. It was so hard to do. I found friends so familiar... now distant, faces once friendly in smile... strangers again, children who would have rushed to hug me with all of their being... keeping distance, only looking. There was some light fellowship, but still in this awful brace, mostly, I wasn't sure if I found fear or compassion, pity or no concern at all... and I felt immensely alone still, like an unwelcome intruder into a person I once was and world in which I used to really feel so alive. It is a terrible indictment on my soul and who I am to pensively confront. Reflecting now on this experience, I am forced to think about as to what is real for me now and what the future holds, whether I will ever find myself truly loved, or silently alone once again and the meanings of it...for I cannot live in the later... not really. 

As summer approaches and repairs are completed, hopefully in the next few weeks we will have our boat once again, a Pearson 36.5 back in the the wet and under sail. I hope with it that perhaps I will find myself behind her wheel being guided through the water seemingly by the very Breath of God, but I really don't know yet, what this summer will bring for me and that fine vessel.

Likewise, I don't know what life will be moving forward either with any certainly...whether it will be a life that I have hope for...long for really... one of deep beauty and joy in community, spontaneous fun, creativity, smiles, emotional connection, the fulfillment of true relationships and honest love... or unendurable sequestered solitude again within myself. I honestly wonder what is even possible anymore, or even knowing what could be and I am hoping that the same winds that might once again guide our boat across the bay... this same breath of God...might somehow find me where I am and also drive my life into, the very peace of His arms.

This image I shot on a fun, sunny day many years ago while out on a historic Chesapeake Bay Skipjack for a magazine article about this relic of a craft in the Oyster industry. It was shot using a 35mm Polaroid slide film that was new and trendy at the time. For this post, I cleaned up any scan imperfections only, leaving the distinctive look of a on site processed image, complete with light spots and all.

Short Steps

Today was a day I forced myself to get out the door and shoot'. As it is the forth anniversary of my Mother's death, today I wanted a reason to purposefully see life around me, to find the small beauty hidden in plain view and to open my heart to peace and joy. As I likely will be remembering her alone, I wanted to make today personally special. 

But with such a goal...inspiration is a tricky thing. In thinking back, sometimes it has been put upon me as a professional to create something interesting...inspired...to meet a deadline or publication when it might not have naturally come to me and other times it has been as I have literally sat up and saw the world in a new way (the image from Autumn Branches-Sept. 5, 2009 was one of these, for I was reading a book in bed at that moment and saw the tree out my window a fresh way after looking past it for 20 years). Still other times, it is the circumstances or opportunity that has opened my vision in a certain way (such as The Least of These - Nov 17, 2009 or Tribal Experience - Sept. 21, 2009), yet it is always a hard task when I 'try' and make it happen.

With my current physical limitations to not being able to travel beyond my own two feet, I set out with some short steps to find as many wild grown flowers that have sprouted up around me as possible within a short walking distance....my own neighborhood. In it, I thought to photograph them and then bring home a tiny bouquet for our dinner table. I was pleasantly surprised to see as many as I did, but my heart was just not behind the lens, even after I found this really cool mushroom, enjoying life hanging on a tree. The images are what they are and you can be the judge. A couple I like, particularly the top one of my dogwood...some not... but for me, it was a forced experience, which is never a good thing. When I arrived home, these images are all I had, as I inadvertently forgotten the flowers at our post box while collecting the mail, where they  became faded and were tossed.

Even though this is probably my largest post to date, image wise, (it was a head count of flowers, remember?) these images, which certainly are not my finest, are the result of trying to make something special and meaningful out of 'thin air'. Often times in life, when we find ourselves empty, we try to somehow 'recapture' past experiences...bring them to life, or try and force new ones as something to grab hold of... as if we are chasing shadows, but unless it comes deep from within the heart in a natural flow, it is useless. In trying to remember my Mom and the inspiration she had on me and this day trying myself to 'recreate' the many times, others have inspired me similarly, I am so very sad to say, I didn't.

Inspiration, how ever it arrives, passed me by today, as it has with increasing frequency more and more these days, so I guess my biggest lesson today, is to just try and find some sort of rest on the memories of times when it was here, if that is possible. Within that, today I just want to remember her... reflect and cherish thoughts of the kindness, warmth and love that she wore like a beautiful scarf around her neck...as a quiet refuge in her smile.

Below, a favorite poem... a gift from another... that I now like to remember her by.

 

 

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on the snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.

Mary Frye 1932

The quiet mind.

"They say I'm a Dreamer, but I'm not the only one" John Lennon.

You can count me in for sure.
Recently, with more time to rest and sometimes a spot to find that elusive sleep, I have been having a lot of dreams. Very intense, startling and long dreams. I guess like anyone, I have some times like this and other times where the morning finds me and I remember nothing but the previous night's pillow, but in this period, I am dreaming.

Thinking back, there are a few dreams I had as a child that have made a home in my consciousness still and once in a great while visit with me inside my head, both good ones... like where I, with great effort to mentally 'un-weight' myself can I somehow amazingly float above the ground, and others... that are less inviting, but now my dreams seem to be of current events, people I know, or unfulfilled wishes... just dreams.

Last night I dreamed of a picnic. Perhaps because it is the beginning of May...spring...my favorite season that my thinking is outdoor minded, that this has invaded my nighttime mind. This was not just an ordinary picnic, but one that was grand and intimate all at once, a quiet tent set into high grass, dogwood flowers adorning a low table, warm sunshine and sparkling cider, grilled lobster and hazelnut crepes. Fun, music....an escape from this world for a small bit. A time of laughs and rest and smiles and warmth. It was an unusually vivid dream in it's details and I, upon waking this morning, so wished to still be there... in that dream for in it there was no pain today, or brace that frames me for this season, but only rest and happiness.

In thinking about it now, we all need 'escape' times like these in our lives and this dream reminded me to look out for them to share and enjoy... to find those times of  peace, joy and happiness with others. Some dreams are to be forgotten, like those scary ones of my youth and yet others... like my time of floating above the earth... yearn to be fulfilled, but I think the mind that comes alive within our rest will always be ready to provide us with both.

The image above is of a favorite spot out in my field's 'high grasses'. I was driven to make it today because of this dream, along with the purposefully 'dreamlike' image detail of my dogwood. The grass, shot with the camera on the ground, far below my current constrained field of vision, resulted when I just guessed the focus and subject framing and took a chance. I'm glad I did. The branches.. my eye through the lens, was me trying to see my old friend in a new way... a fresh vision of this pretty tree along my drive, just before it will fully bloom.

I hope seeing these might inspire your vision today as well, whether it be through a lens, or in a memory, or with your eyes closed...asleep, but either way, I hope shared with me, because you never know what life will bring. Below, a self portrait of my personal, private painful prison that currently envelops me:

Legacy Left in Soil

 

A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in.” Greek- unknown

Planting trees.... As I originally did not purchase a property full of them, but instead a field, I have probably planted well over 100 trees since I have lived here. A blank slate in which to create a space with my own shape. But inexperienced and confronted with rocks and poor soil and weather and other factors, allot of them... most of them... have not survived and thrived as I might have expected them to. In this beginning, I had grand landscape ideals with purposeful views and looking at classic designs and reading about such, set out to plant the largest roots of my garden first with just that in mind. For interest and children's play, I have a bamboo grove and small birch 'forest', a six tree orchard with grapes and a few field specimens. Many did not grow as expected, but some have grown quickly and still others have since grown over the past twenty years into nice images of graceful form in my small landscape.

The image of one who's branches are shown above, is from one of three Weeping Willows I planted near our pond a few years ago. I remember at the time my son immediately wanted to know when he could "'swing on its branches" and "drop into the pond" like a Tarzan of some sort. I told him it would be many years, likely long after I was gone, before that could be done. At that moment, I wished it as different, I wished I could somehow speed up the whole process and see his enjoyment of my efforts today with my own eyes, but I couldn't. Time and rain and sunshine and all the things that were needed for this tree to grow to that kind of size all lay many years ahead, I told him, that by planting this now, I was giving a gift to someone else...perhaps him and his children if he resided here but if not, someone else... but the joy for us today could truly be found in the gift.

I had harvested these trees from cuttings taken from a neighbor's dying tree a year or two before and lovingly rooted and planted them to continue this life. One of them since perished, but I once again have rooted more to replace it and hopefully will get them into the ground soon as I am able. This image today, I shot yesterday and as I am not yet able to see properly through the lens, sought to try something different and capture the sense of motion that was before me. I intentionally over exposed it to blur the lines and forms. 

I love these Willows and their home in my yard. Over time, perhaps they will provide me with a measure of shade and I already enjoy it's swaying leaves blowing in the winds that travel from the North out my front window. They anchor the edge of the pond and give back some privacy, but the real joy in them now is the thought that someday... some young boy or girl... will do exactly as Hayden suggested and the legacy started that day with  a shovel will all be complete. I can only hope. In planting, or sharing ones to others to plant, it is a wonderful hope as Lucy Larcom has said:. 
"He who plants a tree... Plants a hope."

The following images I took around the yard today. The first is a Paper Birch detail, which I really like for the graphic nature of it. The second a White Clump Birch which reminds me of rough skin wound for some reason. The third again Paper Birch, in which I like the creaminess of the textures here and the forth of course, a White Birch whom seems to be set up  to fence, something I have always wanted to try. 

"If a man walks in the woods for love of them half of each day, he is in danger of being regarded as a loafer. But if he spends his days as a speculator, shearing off those woods and making the earth bald before her time, he is deemed an industrious and enterprising citizen." ~ Henry David Thoreau

"The tree which moves some to tears of joy, is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way." ~ William Blake