When I am not traveling, I have very humble goals for Ocean photos: I want to pay tribute to the early morning meal that gets me going in the right direction, and in the summer I want to recognize flowers that bloom in the garden, and on days that I see my granddaughter, I want to pick out something in her that made an impression on me that day.
A funny thing happens when several worlds collide (for instance, Snowdrop is at the farmette and does many fascinating things, while flowers bloom, birds sing and maybe all this is taking place during breakfast) -- I can't stop myself from taking another photo and another and one more, until I have maybe 22 and believe me, it may have been four times that if I hadn't restrained myself.
In other words, one thing inspires the next and this interplay is so heavenly, that it spurs me to keep the camera out. (Too, sometimes there'll be so many radiant blooms, or Snowdrop will be a whirlwind of cleverness and delight -- that, too, has me reaching for my camera again and again, despite my humble goals.)
I can't say I ever have flat days when I just do not want to take photos. But there are days when I just want to stay with the basics.
Today is such a day.
It's a gorgeous Friday. Really gorgeous. The daffodils are now running full speed ahead.
And of course, our breakfast is in the sun room.
And then I have the week's dinners to plan and groceries to buy and I put my camera down and I know this is all there will be for you, because in the afternoon, I'll be working in the garden and in the evening, tiredness will seep in.
I have now spent too many weeks preparing land for new plants and yet this is the perpetual challenge in creating gardens. Today, Ed and I try to eradicate a weed that somehow crept in behind our backs and is now threatening to take over the raspberries if not the world (it's the terribly invasive garlic mustard and if you have it in your yard -- do yourself the favor of pulling it out and destroying it now, or else...).
It's not really hard work -- it's a dig and a pull for each of the hundreds of clumps, but it's boring work and in the meantime, the wood chip pile is smoldering (it's so hot in there!), and the beds have holes that need to be covered (thanks, cheepers -- I know you live to scratch, but if you could work around the budding new growth, I'd be deeply appreciative), and the dozens of chomped off tulips have to be buried (I know it's you, groundhog, you fiend, you!)
I add tiny photographic details here. Of Ed examining tenderly the tomato sprouts.
A little sunburned! Damn!
And one of the cheepers, rushing.
Girls, I expect you to get along. That's directed mainly to, you, Scotch. You have to lay off of Henny. Got it? No? Remember, my kick is stronger than your fearsome chase.
In the evening, in a burst of enthusiastic and visionary hope, I cleaned the porch: I stripped all cloth (from the table, the swing back chairs) for laundering, I picked up the debris of winter and I scrubbed off a layer of blown in dirt. Should there be a beautiful hour tomorrow, I'll sit back on the porch and write from there.
A funny thing happens when several worlds collide (for instance, Snowdrop is at the farmette and does many fascinating things, while flowers bloom, birds sing and maybe all this is taking place during breakfast) -- I can't stop myself from taking another photo and another and one more, until I have maybe 22 and believe me, it may have been four times that if I hadn't restrained myself.
In other words, one thing inspires the next and this interplay is so heavenly, that it spurs me to keep the camera out. (Too, sometimes there'll be so many radiant blooms, or Snowdrop will be a whirlwind of cleverness and delight -- that, too, has me reaching for my camera again and again, despite my humble goals.)
I can't say I ever have flat days when I just do not want to take photos. But there are days when I just want to stay with the basics.
Today is such a day.
It's a gorgeous Friday. Really gorgeous. The daffodils are now running full speed ahead.
And of course, our breakfast is in the sun room.
And then I have the week's dinners to plan and groceries to buy and I put my camera down and I know this is all there will be for you, because in the afternoon, I'll be working in the garden and in the evening, tiredness will seep in.
I have now spent too many weeks preparing land for new plants and yet this is the perpetual challenge in creating gardens. Today, Ed and I try to eradicate a weed that somehow crept in behind our backs and is now threatening to take over the raspberries if not the world (it's the terribly invasive garlic mustard and if you have it in your yard -- do yourself the favor of pulling it out and destroying it now, or else...).
It's not really hard work -- it's a dig and a pull for each of the hundreds of clumps, but it's boring work and in the meantime, the wood chip pile is smoldering (it's so hot in there!), and the beds have holes that need to be covered (thanks, cheepers -- I know you live to scratch, but if you could work around the budding new growth, I'd be deeply appreciative), and the dozens of chomped off tulips have to be buried (I know it's you, groundhog, you fiend, you!)
I add tiny photographic details here. Of Ed examining tenderly the tomato sprouts.
A little sunburned! Damn!
And one of the cheepers, rushing.
Girls, I expect you to get along. That's directed mainly to, you, Scotch. You have to lay off of Henny. Got it? No? Remember, my kick is stronger than your fearsome chase.
In the evening, in a burst of enthusiastic and visionary hope, I cleaned the porch: I stripped all cloth (from the table, the swing back chairs) for laundering, I picked up the debris of winter and I scrubbed off a layer of blown in dirt. Should there be a beautiful hour tomorrow, I'll sit back on the porch and write from there.
