WELCOME TO MY PHOTO JOURNAL

…of commentary and images of places, things, or events that I’ve photographed. On the right are posts from the past few months; click on one and you’ll be taken to it.  For earlier posts click here to visit my alphabetical index of all posts.  The items listed are hot links which, if clicked on, will take you to that post.  if If you’d like to get an automatic email whenever I add a post, simply click under Email Subscription at the lower left. You can always unsubscribe. 

FRIGID FORSYTHE

Our South Jersey Camera Club field trip energizer bunny, Pat W., had scheduled a sunrise shoot at the Forsythe Wildiife Refuge at Oceanville, NJ.  Turned out that there were four of us crazy enough to turn out of warm beds and drive fifty miles or so to enjoy a 19° F. and windchilled  dawn. 

Once we got out on the refuge road it wasn’t so bad (all photographers lie a little) and we persevered.  As the sun rose the light became warmer.  Not so the photographers.

We finally came across a gaggle of snow geese which had been a primary reason for the trip.

We waited patiently for them to decide about us.  Finally they’d had enough of our company and, breaking into flight, became  (viola) a skein of geese.

One thinks of the refuge as being a bird sanctuary, particularly out on the meadows.  This one and a companion, however, were also enjoying the meadows and they provided comic relief as they bounded from sedge clump to sedge clump, frequently sinking into the muck in between.

There are always the Canada Geese  Their multitude, testiness and droppings are unpleasant but when they break into flight it’s wonderful; their plaintive honking, calling to each other, so moving on a moonlit fall or winter night.  I remember a childhood writing that Sigrid had from somewhere.  It had to do with the geese flying away far overhead, and it ended with the child’s cry: Be Careful!   Years ago I gave Marty Lou a gold pin of a pair of them in flight.  In part it was a rememberance of our years on Chesapeake Bay; in part because geese mate forever.

Don't miss that left turn ahead.

A CHRISTMAS CARIBBEAN CRUISE

Royal Caribbean's Freedom of the Seas

 

As I wasn’t sure that Santa had received my change of address card I decided not to hang around for Christmas.  At the last minute we found the only cruise still available over Christmas and booked a week crusing the western Caribbean.  Accomodating 4500 passengers she could have held my summer town’s winter population and more.

 

The first day was purely a cruising day and I luxuriated at not having to pack/move/unpack.  It was a symbolic end to a few months of stress and fatigue.  I fell into my first nap to the shushh of the ship cutting through the sea, arriving on a gentle, warm breeze through the open balcony door.  There were no schedules or other anxieties looking in either direction.

 

Coming and Going

 

 We quickly determined that we wanted to be where the other 4498 were not as best we could.  The Royal Promenade is an incredible mall that divides the stateroom sides of the ship.  Here one finds a Starbucks, a Ben & Jerry’s, a pizza parlor, a conventional coffee and pastry shop, a cupcake shop, liquor store, and a variety of jewelry, accessory  and clothing shops.  But, at 7:00 AM all was yet quiet as I stole down to retrieve coffee for our on-the-balcony wakeups.

 

The Royal Promenade (before people).

On subsequent days we lounged and read, walked about the decks, enjoyed some shore excursions, saw some of the shows available, the best of which was a dramatic ice show (yes, a decent sized performance ice rink), and navigated our way around most of the crowds.  I took far too many sea shots but it was good practice

The shore excursions were too touristy for our taste.  In every case one ran a gauntlet of shop keepers urging us to see their goods.  We picked a couple of tours that took us away from the dock to get a sense of the local life.  A highlight was the turtle farm on Grand Cayman.

For a change of scenery, a variety of things to see and enjoy aboard ship, excellent service, and more food than could really be enjoyed, it was a good experience.

First Light

 

 I’ve also posted more images from the trip in one of my galleries.  Click here to see them.

 

 

WINTER: IT HAD TO COME!

Just a week ago we were being caressed by Caribbean breezes as we enjoyed our wakeup coffee on the balcony of our stateroom, or our evening wine there as the day departed.  Since my return I’ve certainly enjoyed the few days of temperatures in the high 40′s or low 50′s.  But, one of those patterns that the weather forecasters cheerily tell us are travelling here from Kansas or Wisconsin inevitably arrived.  Now, this morning, here’s the first silent signal: Winter is here!

Just a few days late for Christmas.

Unless you’re a winter resort it’s a good kind of snow, just enough to be pretty and evocative.

OK, who didn't put the chair back?

 

But, too late for this year's Christmas card.

 

A LITTLE FOG BEFORE BREAKFAST

Yes, I’m a fog fanatic.  My clock radio went off and I heard the announcer warn of fog.  I raised the blind and there it was so out I went.

There is a so quiet, enveloping mystery to fog.  A damp bench waits to give rest and a moment of contemplation. 

I was early enough that they hadn’t yet turned off the campus lights.  This one’s at the entrance.

Clouds were nestled in amongst the trees.

MEANDERING AT MEDFORD LEAS

There are about five miles of woodland trails on our 165+ acre campus and I thought I’d better get started.  Saturday was a beautiful day so I tried a one mile section.  I flushed three white tail deer and encountered squishy reminders that there is an adjacent flood plain.

Sharp’s Run borders the south edge of the campus on its way to the southwest branch of Rancocas Creek.  During last week’s rain the Run had risen enough to flood the entrance from Route 70, closing it  for a while.  The bridge above was undoubtedly under water.

For part of the trail I found myself on a steep-sided  embankment well above the flood plain.  Well, says the railroader, this is not a natural formation;  there must have been a railroad through here.  Sure enough, the 5.95 mile Mount Holly, Lumberton, and Medford Railroad served these communities and interchanged at Medford with the Camden and Atlantic (City) Railroad, ca 1870. 

Anyway, the leaves above are one of the few spots of color remaining in the woods as we enter the unsaturated gray-brown, bare branch season. But, returning on a campus paved road there was an attractive colorful planting of winter pansies in front of drying grass plumes. 

The unusual black-stemmed plant is a night-blooming globus electricus.

 

And a campus cluster of red berry provided a bright spot.

HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS AT THE NEW BergiesPlace

I’m in the new town house at Medford Leas and the holiday season is upon us.  So, I’ve placed the candles in the windows and hung the wreath.

Home For The Holidays

But it’s not as peaceful as the picture suggests.  Although we’ve made some progress it’s still chaotic inside.

The preparation and the event were stressful (an inadequate word).  I got through it only with Sigrid’s massive help and Bob’s as well.  My other new best friends are the guys from Hometown Moving in Lumberton.  They were pleasant and professional and amazed me with their cheerfullness through a long day of heavy lifting and carrying during which I felt guilty at every heavy box they handled.  They took on a partial load Tuesday and arrived with two vans and the rain on Wednesday.  By four PM it was no longer their problem; it was ours.

The Hometown Moving Company men and one honorary member.

 The first task was to find the box in which Pearl had been moved and release her.  That done, Barbara had left a Manhattan for me in the frig along with a frozen lasagna.  There was a bed for Pearl and me that night, and breakfast the next morning.  By Saturday morning the IT folks at Medford Leas had me back on the air, relieving my separation anxieties.  Now what had been days of sorting and packing has become days of unpacking and resorting.  Even though the garage floor is already piled with empty boxes there are still boxes in every room, up in the loft, and down in the basement.

Boxes to be emptied and shelves to be filled.

The digital darkroom cometh. Pearl helps.

 

I’ve already enjoyed a coffee outside on the rear deck;  I’m revelling in the light that fills the rooms after the shadows in my tree-sheltered Box Hill; I’m enjoying driving about “in the country”; and I’m genuinely glad to be here.

A FOGGY FAREWELL TO CHARLESTON MOOR

 Thursday morning was revealed gradually in the fog.

We saw this many times over the years.  Our development was created by an Englishman (Laurence Nilsen) and carries such English names as Charleston Riding (Riding: an English country subdivision), Mews Lane, Box Hill, Leith Hill and so on.  So, I used to kid my wife on foggy mornings by saying that we’re out on Yorkshire’s  Charleston Moor and we must beware of the hounds.

But, the fog enhances the last of the color.  That red maple is the prettiest tree here in the fall.  It was the root stock for a graft of a Japanese Maple which died many years ago.  The root stock sent out some shoots and I pruned to one and it became beautiful.  Within two days the leaves left, and in three more days so will I.

ESCAPE THE (LAND) SCAPE

Whooo-ee.  Do we have landscape photographers in our camera club or what?  

We do.  We have mega-megapixels of  grand landscapes … with fog, with great bodies of water, with misty lake surfaces, waves breaking over jettys, old barns, moon trails on the ocean, foraging waterfowl, mist-shrouded mountains, water falls and waterfalls and waterfalls, marshes in their fall colors,  cascades and spillways, spanking spinakers, lakes under dramatic clouds…

And I love ‘em all, including my own. 

But, call it curmudgeonry, I was bent and determined to rebel.  Stop looking at the big postcard picture; in the words of one of our judges last season, find the picture in the picture.  So, I set out to try that the past two Sundays while escaping the killer-packing-boxes at home.

Here’s one result, a non-scape image which I like very much even though it was made in error

This was an artificial Christmas tree that had only its lights on it.  I shot without remembering the camera was still in manual focus.  When I saw this I focused and reshot but preferred this version.  Shooting for fun(k).

Elsewhere I was struck by these little bottles marching off into the distance so I shot them at f/4 to have a reasonable indoor light shutter speed, but that enhanced the effect as their lines receded into fuzziness.  Shooting for fun(k).

 

Today I was at Valley Forge on a crisp, beautiful day.  So easy to shoot the vistas but…

not today!

The National Memorial Arch is a magnificent structure but it’s nice to see it as lines and shadows and sculpture detail.  Shooting for fun(k).

The cannons.  So tempting to shoot over them at whatever they’re aimed at…as I’ve done.  I passed that up in favor of this lineup.  Shooting for fun(k).

Finally, some fall color although not much left around here.  That’s good because I can’t just shoot a hillside of blazing color.  Instead, how about some back-lit leaves with strong and interesting trunk lines.  Shooting for fun(k).

Later, while  enjoying some hot soup at an outdoor picnic table I watched the breeze ruffle the leaves of a nearby tree.  I thought of how we shoot water at a slow shutter speed to portray creamy motion and I wondered how that would look with breeze-tossed leaves.  The answer: pretty and interesting.  Another scene for my placemat collection.  Shooting for fun(k).

And it all made for a pleasant couple of outings.

BOXES AT BOX HILL

It’s going to happen.  Early in the morning, twenty days from today, an oversized van is going to roll into my driveway and remove the accretion of forty-two years.  The house has already changed.  I’m reminded of the occasional newspaper story about the home of a deceased recluse being found filled with boxes with narrow paths between them.  I’m getting there.

Step carefully!

Most drawers and closets have been emptied; the closets now echo with nothing to absorb the sound waves; the curio cabinets are, curiously, empty and dark; there is no art remaining on the walls.  The continent-spanning railroads of the basement are dismantled and their assets have been packaged up for sale next Saturday.  Along with them are the dusty antique Atwater Kent and Radiola wireless sets from the 20′s which were to have been restored.  Not everything on the list gets done.

Just in time for Christmas giving.

The tools from the perf boards above the stained glass and woodwork benches have been packed and the benches will be dismantled and moved.  The empty frames and mats from the framing bench have been packed and the bench will also move.  The files from the office have been packed but the boxes opened a couple of times as I frantically sought some datum.  The computer and its display and printers remain, not to be moved until the movers box me up.  Pearl is apprehensive, wanting to be by every box as it’s packed.  She finds security in her litter box, her food dishes, and her side of the electric blanket at night.  Come to think about it, so do I.

I’ve had moments of feeling overwhelmed as closet after cabinet after room revealed mountains of “stuff” that had to be sorted down to movables.  How could it ever be done?  The cliche answer: one room at a time.  And, it has happened that way.  Still, each zone has its nasty surprises.  Last night, preparing to attack the storage end of the basement I came across three portable file boxes filled with the records of a contentious business situation in the mid 90′s.  Can I dispose of those?  Tough; sort of like a security blanket.

All spaces have revealed the things that were put away for later, but later is now.  Some are sent to the curb — about seven barrels so far — but others are boxed up for ….. later.  I went through a video phase for a few years in the 80′s and I used to ask my late wife, “When are we going to look at these tapes?’  “When we move to Medford Leas.” she would answer.  I’ll be ready.

I did purge the scrapbooks from the 60′s, transferring “important” things to the family memorabilia file.  The photo albums from the late seventies on through into this century will be moved and I’m going to look at all of them when I “move to Medford Leas.”  Inevitably, however, the occasional heart-stirring item pops up:  cards Marty Lou and I exchanged with hand written personal notes added;  home made birthday or Father’s Day cards or sketches of me from my daughters; pictures of us looking impossibly young.  This is all bittersweet but I’m on track.  I had one moment of near-meltdown last week as the enormity of the symbolism surged through me.  But, it passed.  My life outside of the house won’t change, and there’s a whole new world of people and activities to be added.  I even got my first invitation to a neighborhood brunch which they hold every couple of months.

My daughter, Sigrid, has been a great gift basket of physical and moral support.  She has dug in and just plain packed while I would dither over how to optimally load each box.  She has been a catalyst in helping me to decide what goes, what stays for the contents sale, and what goes to the curb.  She and her husband, Bob, moved pounds and pounds of my art (a van full plus my back seat and trunk) to the townhouse last Sunday.  More of that is going to happen now as we want to move the breakables, some of the antiques, and the things that are hard to pack.

My buddy, Barbara, has also pitched in, giving up some days to pack the kitchenwares (she delighted in purging my spice cabinet of contents dating as far back as the 80′s) and plates, and my collections of cloisone, bohemian glass, and pattern glass.  She has also seen to my nourishment and recovery after physically demanding days.

I cancelled a club photo expedition to the Canaan Valley in West Virginia, and a club field trip at the Cedar Run wildlife refuge to focus on sorting and packing.  I have, however, tried to get away for a bit on weekend days.  For one such trip Barbara and I hiked the two mile trail around Amico Island.  It was a beautiful day and the woods and the adjacent Delaware River were lovely.  Here’s the interior pond on the island.

Amico Island Pond

Another trip took me to a favorite spot, Wheaton Village near Millville, NJ.  There was a terrific craft show going on.  Glass pumpkins were evident and I watched them being created in the glass house.  Hmmm, I wonder if I could put a furnace in the new basement???

The process and a result.

OLÉ OCTOBER

Oh, stay on at the shore, they say;  September’s the nicest time.  I’ve said it too but it wasn’t to be.  September was mostly rainy, muggy hot or muggy fog, more foggy days than I remember for an entire season.  Oh, well.  There’s always next year when September will be the nicest time again. 

In  the last week we were attacked a couple of times by fog at dusk, lasting until burnoff the next morning.  I’ve not photographed in fog at night so I had to try it.  Down at the landing it wasn’t quite night-dark, in fact you can see a bit of reddish glow from the setting sun which had been dimmed by the fog.

A foggy twilight at Cotov's Landing.

It was seeing the fog the previous night that sent me out into the streets, particularly as it swirled under the street lights.  I should have tried some video to capture the swirling but I didn’t.  Here’s Long Beach Boulevard; think swirling mists:

Not much traffic this time of year as you can see.  The very few cars that passed the nut in the middle of the street with some tripod thingy were courteous, slowing down, in some cases waiting for me to wave them on.  There was even less traffic on West Avenue:

All in all, a good exercize.

The fog pushed me over the edge.  It’s been quiet since the kids (and most of the summer visitors) pulled out.  Then, my special friend packed her stuff up and left.  Finally, the forecast for the first October weekend was bright but ….. chilly, and not likely to be beach days.

Enough!  I packed up and returned to my hibernaculum.  Not for long, however, as I’m in transit to my townhouse at Medford Leas.  They’re promising November 1st  so I think I’ll be moving in November.  I’m dreading the process of packing/discarding forty-two years worth of “stuff,” actually fifty-four years counting since marriage.  I’m going to have a lot of help and it will all get done.  My next birthday, November 29th, will be at Medford Leas.