We started our day watching the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean. We were in Cocoa Beach on the east coast of Florida, and we took one last walk on the beach before driving across the state. We ended our day on the west coast of Florida, where we watched the sun set over the Gulf of Mexico.
My husband and I talked this morning about how we’re numb from the routine of life, day in and day out, every day the same since the pandemic began: same meals, same surroundings, same walk around the neighborhood.
Today we decided to break routine and go for a hike at the Cascades, a waterfall nearby that we’ve hiked to in every season: late spring when the rhododendrons bloom and the meltwater rushes in torrents down stream, summer when the canopy is dense and green, and no sunlight hits the forest floor, fall when yellow and orange and brown leaves fall, and winter when rock faces twinkle with icicles and the falls freeze over.
What we realized today, though, is that we’ve never been in early spring, before the leaves come in and shade the trail. This time of year, sunlight can reach the forest floor, and wildflowers bloom everywhere. I’ve never seen so many flowers on this hike. I was delighted for all the pretty things to photograph with my new camera and lens. I shot all of these with a Fuji X-T30 camera and the XF 35mm f1.4 lens.
In the before times, I would swim laps at 5:30 am while my daughter was at swim practice. I’d get my exercise and shower in before the work day began. Then, like the rest of the world, the aquatic center closed its doors.
When swim practice tiptoed back into our lives, practice times changed to afternoons and evenings, and the aquatic center had limited capacity. I no longer swam while our daughter swam. Instead, I walked on a nearby nature trail in the evenings while the swim team swam at the pool. Then the time changed, and it was dark during practice. I no longer walked while our daughter swam.
My scenes became the inside of our house, the views out of our windows, the views out of the car windows in our small town, and the yards, trees, and hills in a two mile radius of our house where I’d walk or run on nice days. I took up drawing. I sat in different chairs at the table. I obsessed about the garden and killed more grass.
Now, the time has changed again, and days extend to 7:30pm. I can walk on the Huckleberry trail while our daughter is at practice. Now, I have another place to observe the plants, watch the sky, and look for signs of spring. There’s not a lot of color out there yet, but it will come.
My mom, blogger at Wandering Dawgs, is hosting a Lens-Artist photo challenge this week. This is my entry for her prompt, A Change of Scenery. Thanks for a fun prompt, Mom!
I bought a used Fujifilm X-T30 a couple of weeks ago. It will take some time for me to learn a new setup after 15 years with my previous camera. A friend advised me to put it in full manual mode to get used to the settings, light meter, and the shape and weight of the camera in my hand. I did that, and I’m starting to get a feel for it. I’m still not there with exposure and white balance, but I’ll keep practicing.
I carry my little camera with me more frequently when I go places now, way more than with my previous camera, and I go out of my way to be able to photograph stuff. Like the first flowering trees I saw on my route to and from the aquatic center where our daughter has swim practice. In a landscape of nothing by gray twiggy branches, I saw something — a large shrub or a small tree — with yellow on it. I couldn’t see what this blooming tree was from the road, so today I pulled into a parking lot and trudged over spongy wet ground to get a closer look: witch hazel.
I adore my new Fuji. Now I just need days with sunshine for decent light. Either that or I need to learn how to best use the light of overcast days. I’d rather have sunshine, though. I’m still working with the 15-45mm kit lens that came with the camera, which I love for wide shots, and which works well for closeups, like the bee butt below, but I want a wider aperture. I’m saving for the lens I really want (a 35mm f 1.4), and I’m hopeful I’ll have it for spring’s full arrival.
In addition to my new camera, I’m also excited to try a new (to me) open source photo editing software, Darktable. Thanks to Donncha for that tip in our photography channel at work, to Paolo for talking to me about his Fuji, and to Brie for helping me through my first days of a camera I had no familiarity with. I’m lucky to work with a lot of talented photographers.
Another Saturday, another winter storm. “Storm” is a bit of an overstatement, really. Especially compared to the snow others are getting right now. We’ve just got freezing rain, sleet, and ice. No wind, no snow. Definitely no thunder snow.
It’s super gross outside. But at least the ice is pretty. I took my 15 year old digital camera out to take pictures of the ice, then spent the rest of the day agonizing over whether to push the button to Buy Now on a camera.
I looked at the photos from my old camera and then Bought Now. I should have the new-to-me camera next week. Then I just need to save another six months for the lens I want. I’m hopeful I’ll be able to find one used by the time the caterpillars and butterflies start showing up.
Until then, here’s some ice.
I built a fire last night, like I did last Saturday night, in anticipation of an overnight winter storm. Two weekends in a row, we’ve woken on Sunday morning to a white world. This weekend is even thicker snow than last. It is fluffy and sticks to everything, and as I photographed this morning, it fell in great clumps from the trees. Rain will come later and wash most of it away, so I tried to catch it before that happened.
Butterfly Mind 