Cloud with rainbow over Gulf of Mexico. Anna Maria Island, FL.
I am a morning person. I love to get up before the world awakes and listen to the quiet.
When we camp, I boil water for coffee on a Coleman stove that pings and hisses, then I sit quietly and watch a leaf fall, and feel the warmth creep over me as the sun rises.
Even better than that, though, is when we vacation on Anna Maria Island on the Gulf coast of Florida. I don’t have to boil water there. I have a coffee pot that does that for me. When we are at the condo, I’m often torn about whether to sleep in or get up early.
But those mornings I do get out of bed early? I bring my mug down to the beach, sit on in the shade of a big pine tree, and sip coffee while I watch clouds grow.
I hated to post a photograph of a cloud yet again, but this photograph, and the memory of the morning I shot it, is my bliss.
I thought I would agonize over what kind of photograph to use for water: should I use the marshes of my Georgia childhood? Or the Gulf waters of our vacation spot on Anna Maria Island? Or maybe the crystal fresh waters of an Appalachian stream, or our trip to Lake Superior when we lived in Minnesota – or maybe the Cascades waterfall that is our children’s favorite hike? I’ve got photographs of those waterfalls from every season – maybe I should go with those.
But despite all the bodies of water I’ve loved in my life, and all the bodies of water I will love when I meet them (geyser pools, Bahamian shores, arctic lakes, glaciers), the image that kept popping into my head when I thought of water was that of giant white cumulus clouds building over the aqua waters of the Gulf of Mexico in summer: the water cycle before my eyes. I can’t get enough of those clouds.
The possiblities are endless for today’s assignment. I had a hard time editing for this one. Photography 101: Water.
I’d love to post a cool street scene of graffiti and show off our urban edge, but the fact is, we are not urban, and we’re certainly not edgy. We live in a quiet Virginia neighborhood where my most frequent interaction with our street is walking our kids to the bus stop in the morning. In winter the wind comes howling down our street off the mountains, and that’s a bummer. But in fall, the sidewalk is littered with crispy leaves and crunchy acorns, and our daughter wears snuggly boots, and the light is perfect and beautiful.
This is my entry for Photography 101: Street. Two days, two photographs – I’m on a roll.
My husband and I courted in the hills of Appalachia. We backpacked in the southern Smokies when I was still a student at the University of Georgia. We took weekend trips to Panthertown Creek in North Carolina, or Chattanooga, Tennessee, and when he and his hiking partner trekked 500 miles from Georgia to Virginia on the Appalachian Trail, I sent him care packages of homemade trail mix, and met him at little towns on the weekends, where we’d stay in B&Bs and eat breakfasts of hot biscuits.
As we got married and grew up, we moved further and further from the green hills and soft forests of our courtship. We moved to the D.C. metro area, where we sat in traffic on the beltway. In four years we never made it to Shenandoah despite a thousand proclamations, “We should head to the mountains this weekend.”
Then we moved to coastal Florida where we sweated it out in the flatlands for eight years. We bought our first house there, and bore our children there. We learned out how to be parents there, and with a seven hour drive just to get out of the state, we lost touch with the mountains, and our younger lives, completely.
When we moved to Minnesota, where we shivered and shoveled through three winters, we had no idea where our lives were taking us, or where we would end up next.
And then.
Then, as my husband’s postdoc drew to an end, and he began applying for faculty positions in Arizona, Mississippi, Missouri, Texas, and Arkansas, he applied, and interviewed, for a position at Virginia Tech in Blacksburg. Back in the Appalachians, in the green hills where we met, in the soft forests where we fell in love. Back in the Appalachians where it’s not too hot and it’s not too cold, where it’s emerald green in the summer, blazing copper in the fall; where the world turns bleak in winter, and bursts into blossom in spring.
Back in the Appalachians where we’re raising our children – where we now live. Back in the Appalachians where we’re home.
This is my kickoff post for Photography 101: Home. My ambition is to post a photo a day as part of the course – I’ve got my fingers crossed that I can do it.
I always think of spring as being the beautiful season, with its bright pink flowers, its new green leaves, and the reawakening to life after the cold hardness of winter. But the deep tones of fall – the mustards, the rubies – remind me that there is as exquisite a beauty in going to sleep as there is in waking up.
This photograph was taken on a rainy October day in our townhouse parking lot. The mundane scene was beautiful to me, and this photo is my entry to the Daily Post’s Dreamy photo challenge.
When I looked out the plane window and saw the mountains of Utah, I saw saw-blade ridges that are wholly unlike the rounded green mounds of the Appalachians I’m used to. I couldn’t wait to get out into them, and after a nearly a week at our hotel, I finally took a gondola ride up the mountain and went for a hike with some of my coworkers.
Utah mountainsAspensAlpine Lake, Park City, Utah
I can’t wait to take our kids to new places to see how different the world can be.
Butterfly Mind 