Day 12
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Day 11 (This was not an assignment.)
Ah, the Rain Refreshing
It’s been hot here in the Northwest. It was a pleasure to receive rain and have the temperatures cool down a bit. I hope everyone experiences such refreshing.
Day 10
Photographing the Mysterious
Attempting to capture mystery within a photo is fun. Please leave a comment and let me know how close I am.
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Day Nine: Warmth & the Quality of Light
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Day 8: Let’s get small
I do remember Steve Martins comedy routine. What about you? But we’re on the subject of nature here, so take hold of my hand as we shrink down to peer into the “other” world.
To view more photos from this assignment click here.
Day 7
The Little People of the Olympics are called the Nanapush.
Root systems are massive in the valleys of the Olympic Mountains.
Day 6
Connection
When I am able to share with someone a place in time . . . an experience, that is a connection.
I live in an area visited by people from around the world, the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State.
Day 5
Alone amid the alpine watching, waiting, quiet in the mist.
Day 4
Bliss
The assignment was: What is your idea of bliss? Is it an image of your family, laughing at the dinner table? A state of total relaxation, while lying on the beach? Your latest painting, drying on the canvas?
Bliss: complete happiness, great joy, paradise, or heaven.
Publish an image that represents bliss to you.
Day 3
Assignment Day Three: Water & Orientation
We have different relationships to and stories about water: how it has saved or defeated us. How it reminds us of family vacations, outdoor adventures, or the hot summers of our childhood. How it might symbolize a place we’ve left behind, or a location we dream to go.
How will you interpret this theme? How can you tell a story with water?
Legend of Storm King
The above photo features one of the most beautiful spots in the world, Lake Crescent and the mysterious Olympic Mountains. Legends and supported tales abound about this place, all believable.
This is near the first place on the shores of Lake Crescent where I camped out at when my family first moved to Washington State. I must have just turned eleven. It was summer. We traveled from Tacoma north, across the Narrows bridge and the, eventually, drove west, through the thick, pink, cotton candy sunset fog across the floating bridge of Hood’s Canal to the Olympic Peninsula and further westward.
We arrived at the camp grounds of Lake Crescent after dark and had to set the tent up in the glare of the car’s headlights. I recall walking to the waters edge with my dad, staring at the black water full of the reflections of twinkling stars and upwards across the water at the towering silhouettes of inky, jagged mountains against a dark, purple heaven glittering with diamonds.I thought it would be hard to sleep but before I knew I’d succumbed, dad woke me up. Fresh air will do that to you.
It was a misty morning. A warm morning. Dad rented a small motor boat and he and I set out upon the water at a slow speed, he controlling the motor while I sat up front in the triangle, the bow. Dad would guide the boat out a bit and then cut the motor because there was so much to see beneath the clean, clear, deep water. It was spooky to be able to see things so clearly lying upon the bottom of the lake.
The mist rose, dissipating, exposing steep, heavily wooded mountainsides.
There were areas where underwater drop offs happened so sheer and quick that the shock of not seeing the bottom was enough to stop my heart.
I later learned there was a reason for that.
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Photo Assignment: Day Two: Street & Establishing Shots
Yes, this is the road I live on.
I had some fun with photoshop on this picture I took of one of our neighbors training a new horse. It was just so story-bookie I had too do it. The man is well-known locally as Clallam County’s resident horse whisperer.
One day, during our first winter here, when there was snow upon the ground, we awoke to the sound of bells and rushed outside and through the woods to the road to see what was the clatter. Jingling along the road were four huge Percheron horses pulling our neighbor in a sleigh . . . I couldn’t help it, the words to a jingle sprang from my mind and out of my mouth . . . “When you say Bud . . .”
Home Equals Adventure: Day 1
This is for the first assignment in the Photo 101 course here on WordPress. Photo 101 Assignment: Home is elusive. When we think about this word, we might picture different physical locations. And while home is often found on a map, it can also be less tangible: a loved one, a state of mind. . . . What does home look like or mean to you? Share an image in a new post.
I have no idea what I’ll learn about photography but look forward to the unknown.
June 1988
Clouds and heavy mist hung over the northern Olympic Peninsula, moistening air and plants. Still my boyfriend and I searched for some place, any place to live.
December 1987
Our landlord broke up with his girlfriend and needed his house back. It wasn’t a house; really, it was an older mobile home that, when we’d first seen it, had the top of a fir tree embedded inside its front room from the last fierce windstorm. But the landlord promised we could move in by December tenth and the little home I rented in the small town of Sequim had a severe propane leak and no insulation so we ‘d needed somewhere safe and immediate before the storms of winter became any worse. It did not escape out attention that about twenty more such trees surrounded the mobile home. In spite of the obvious dangers, we loved the location. Who wouldn’t want to live way up on top of a mountain valley at the end of a long and winding mountain road? The views were spectacular. We not only survived the winds of winter there, we fell in love with that property. It was with a heavy heart we had to find a new place to live six months later.
June 1988
We’d given up on living in the high country, not that we wanted to, but because we couldn’t find anywhere to rent with elevation. Down in the Sequim-Dungeness Valley we weren’t having any luck either. It would be tough living in the valley and only looking up at the mountains instead of living up there, but we were having some real tough luck.
Out of desperation, we explored the backroads surrounding Sequim, looking for homes that the owners might not have listed in the paper. Roads around here have strange names, like Jimmy Come Lately and TookaLook, and Kitchen Dick, which often happens to get transposed with the road we were now driving along: Chicken Coop. (I don’t know why it is but it is a blunder I’ve heard every Sequimite newcomer make at least once.)
Scribbles to Compositions 