I love stone steps, especially when they climb through the woods to a waterfall. Along with lighthouse stairs, the curving stairs on the hike to the Cascades near Blacksburg, Virginia, are among my favorite stairways.
Stone stairway on hike to Cascades waterfall in Giles County, VirginiaThey are made with stone from the mountain. They are mossy and organic. They look like they belong.
These stone steps are man-made, in harmony with nature. Instead of making humankind feel other, pitting our species against the rest of the natural world, the stairs make me feel included. They make me feel like we belong.
For the month of April, I resolved to publish a blog post each day. This is the final Aprildaily post of 2016, and is in response to the Daily Post one-word prompt, Stairway.
I drove to Durham, North Carolina yesterday to meet up with co-workers who are here for their team meetup. As soon as I arrived, I picked up a text message that the group was leaving in 15 minutes to go to the Duke gardens — did I want to join?
I dropped my bag in my room, grabbed my camera, and met them in the lobby to ride over together.
The gardens were stunning.
Narcissus flower (daffodil)AzaleasGarden pathHydrangeasPhloxIn the quiet shadeHidden ginger flowers
I didn’t get much work done yesterday, but I sure enjoyed these flowers, and the time I got to spend with my colleagues.
With organisms like Ophrys apifera, the bee orchid that mimics the shape and scent of bees, or the technicolored peacock mantis shrimp and its creative violence,
or even the humble cactus, which has developed a way to save water in the desert and sharp spines to defend itself, I shouldn’t be surprised by the wonders that nature produces.
But I constantly am.
Prickly pear cactus? Phoenix, AZ
Super spiny cactus, Phoenix, AZ
Phoenix landscape: Saguaro cactus with mountain and sky
Close up of barrel cactus
Close up of barrel cactus
Saguaro cactus and blue sky
When I played in the garden this weekend, the leftover tulips from the prior owners of our house, the ones that popped up just because it’s spring and that’s what they do when the right seasonal cues come along, enchanted me every time I looked up from my work and saw them.
The not-fake world delights me.
Lavendar tulips in the garden.
For the month of April, I will publish a 10-minute free write each day. Minimal editing. No story. Just thoughts spilling onto the page. This one is from the Daily Post one-word prompt, Fake. Trying to get back into the writing habit.
I looked up to the crow’s nest where lookouts would have perched. Lines dropped down to the ship’s deck, cutting the sky into triangles. I snapped photographs of all that geometry, those hard lines, that negative space, and daydreamed about sailing.
As I photographed, each frame made me realize the expanses of my ignorance. I know no terminology. I do not know the names of the sails, the posts the ropes are draped on, the masts, the hardware. If I were to sail, I would not be able to communicate anything about the boat other than bow, stern, port, and starboard (and even port and starboard I confuse).
I want to learn. I want to name. Naming is a form of knowing. Language is a form of intimacy. Blocks, cleats, sails, positions. When captioning the images for my Rope post, I had to look up words. The iron post the Stad Amsterdam was tied to? A bollard. The loop used to moor it? I don’t know.
What’s the coil of rope called? Is it a rope or a line? And the wooden posts with the ropes — they’re not cleats, they’re not bitts. What are they? I don’t know, but I guarantee they have names. On board a ship in the open ocean, clarity in communication would be vital. I’ll bet every part of the ship has its own name so that orders can be communicated swiftly in precise, unquestionable language.
Aboard the USS ConstellationSo a project: learn the names of the things I wondered about as I snapped photos on deck.
For the month of April, I will publish a 10-minute free write each day, initiated by a prompt from my prompt box. Minimal editing. No story. Just thoughts spilling onto the page. Trying to get back into the writing habit.
Saturday in Baltimore: the sun shone bright, the sky gleamed blue, and I carried my real camera to the Inner Harbor where the historic wooden USS Constellation and the USS Torsk submarine are moored as museum ships.
Ropes belayed to cleats in the bow of the USS Constellation
Rope pulls me with its usefulness: twisted for strength and elasticity, fibrous for friction to hold itself tight. Tough enough to haul ships and sails, malleable enough to bend, wrap, curl.
Coil of bleached rope on the deck of the USS Torsk submarine
I was captivated by ropes as thick as my wrist, strands twisted into tidy cables, coils bleaching in the sun on the decks of ships, cordage so strong it can secure a ship that displaces 1400 tons of water.
Rope around an iron bollard: the Stad Amsterdam in port in Baltimore
You can see the weight of the ropes as they drape over posts on deck. They are hefty. Heavy. Organic and strong.
Heavy ropes. Lots of them.
All those beautiful ropes made me want to spend more time on boats. I miss them.
Cord: Several yarns hard-twisted together.
Cordage: All twisted rope of whatever material or size.
Line: A common name for various cordage, without specific meaning, as fishline, clew line, heaving line, spring line, tow line, clothesline, mooring line.
Rope: Anything in cordage over one inch in circumference.
For the month of April, I will publish a 10-minute free write each day, initiated by a prompt from my prompt box. Minimal editing. No story. Just thoughts spilling onto the page. Trying to get back into the writing habit.
We travelled to my home town of Tybee Island after Christmas, and there’s something about smelling the salt air and being near the ocean there that makes me feel unburdened. Weightless. The sky was overcast the whole time we were there, which makes the images feel heavy. I, however, still felt light. Here are some of my photographs from our trip for this week’s Daily PostWeight(less) photo challenge.
Silhouette of kids at the beach at sunset.Afternoon low tide at Tybee beach, December 2015.Sea foam on a winter day.Tidal creek at the end of my parents’ dock.Sunrise on a morning run.
Butterfly Mind 