Random Photo Notes, Vol. 15

Broken Open, 5/5/24

At the end of April 2024 we lost our beloved Clemenzo, our dog of 16 years. He was such a great companion, loyal to the bone, always sweet and stoic. It hurt deeply to say goodbye. After mourning for a couple of weeks we mustered the energy to take a much-needed trip to a small cabin on a mountain creek a couple of hours away. It was relaxing, fun and bittersweet. The creek, and all of its wildlife, was a serene companion to our grief for two full days and evenings.

When I think back to Meno’s life, one trait I remember most was what a resilient, dutiful, and even reverent (to the extent that a dog can display reverence) dog he always was. When something bad happened, like when he had surgery or lost a toenail, he calmly allowed his Momma take care of him without complaining. In fact, he hardly ever complained or cried about anything, ever. He simply persevered and loved unconditionally, crying only out of joy when we came home from work. We miss him dearly.

With time, and if we so allow, the grief that follows significant loss can become one of life's great teachers. The title of this image comes from the sharp feelings of brokenness and pain that strike hard at first, but can eventually soften and open a hardened heart so that it can emit renewed vitality and strength.

Adaptation, 2/11/24

Patterns of lichen crisscross damp sandstone formations tucked discretely into one of my favorite places to visit. I’ve scrambled up boulders to explore this phenomenon in the past, but this was my first visit during rainy weather. Moving about was sketchy, but the rain caused the colors of the sandstone to appear more vibrant than I could remember.

These colonies of lichen interest me because of how they have followed lines of least resistance to reconnect with themselves, creating fun textures and unexpected shapes. It’s fascinating how lichen adapts, and how it contributes to the long term health of countless other species it seems to have little to do with.

Over time, acid secreted from the lichen will break down the stone it resides upon, and the minerals will gradually trickle down to the forest floor. The resulting rich soil will nourish generations of plants, and by extension animals, for generations.

Everything is connected.

In The Living Mountain, Nan Shepherd writes “... the mountain is one and indivisible, and rock, soil, water and air are no more integral to it than what grows from the soil and breathes the air. All are aspects of one entity, the living mountain. The disintegrating rock, the nurturing rain, the quickening sun, the seed, the root, the bird – all are one.”

One of most valuable truths nature teaches is that we are all connected to each other and to our planet. There is no separation aside from that formed by the imaginary boundaries we are taught and the physical walls we manufacture to separate and contain ourselves. Society in the modern technical age finds itself more isolated than ever despite humans’ fundamentally social nature.

This cluster of worn boulders sits at the edge of a cliff I enjoy hiking along. On this cold day I was drawn to the blue softness of the scene, as much a reflection of the diffused light as it was a testament to my feelings of malaise. However in this moment, and ones like it, I believe it was my sense of connection with the whole of nature, and even to humankind (despite my solitary process) that stopped me to photograph.