Standing on the fringes of a millionaire’s mansion, we looked out over the city. Mount Hood stood across from us on the horizon, acting as a counterpoint for the rising September moon.
I admit it. I live in one of the more picturesque parts of the country.
So when a chance to do a photography workshop in the neighborhood popped up, it seemed like a no lose scenario. In addition to enjoying some of my favorite spots once again, it gave me a chance to share them with folks who by definition are big fans of beautiful landscapes. We gave ’em a taste of the region on the first day with a trip to Mount Hood, stopping at Timberline Lodge, and Trillium Lake.
Where did we go for day two of the workshop?
What do you do when on a “vacation” dedicated explicitly to photography?
It was a chilly February night, and the crowds had only begun to show up. The Portland Winter Light Festival was the draw and with a messy snowstorm in the forecast, this night was prime to be popular.
Carefully, I chose my steps. The herd of deer was out in an open field, as was I. Too sudden a movement and they’d spook, and I was trying to get as close as I could to take my shot.
Two or three more steps and another pause, a bit parallel, a bit closer. I’m taking care not to stare, to pretend I’m just doing my own disinterested thing. There were 14 in the herd. It would only take one to interpret my nonchalant amble as the stalking that it was and set the alarm. 40 yards away now.
There comes a time in every person’s life that a certain discussion needs to be had, either as the presenter of certain life-affirming facts, or as the recipient. While I suspect most of you gentle readers would consider yourselves well versed in these facts, perhaps today I can shed a new light upon them.
Yes, today we’re going to talk about the birds and the bees.
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Ah, the joys of listening to a piledriver.
And how is that relevant to the serenity and contemplation one might find in a Chinese Garden? Read on.
The rainfall grew, starting softly to moisten the dried dirt and clay, then growing to create rivulets of water, streaming down the hills. But it was not a simple muddy brown runoff; yellows over there, maroons there, ochers, reds, oranges, greys, shades of brown from light tan to dark brown ran and collected. It was as if a giant Jackson Pollock had one too many drinks, and in his drunken stumble kicked over all the cans of paint in his studio.
Most folks in the United States have heard of the Land of Lincoln, state motto of Illinois, where famed President Abe Lincoln had his roots. But did you know there was a Sea of Lincoln?
I know how he felt. When you get a nice day in January in the Pacific Northwest, it’s not a time to be sitting on the couch. It’s come on already, let’s go!