Note to Self

Whatever you do, do not, under any circumstances whatsoever, go for a walk under such a cloudy sky because -- even though every weather site promises clouds only without rain -- "if it can happen, it will." Good thing the digital camera holster had a rain cover (which I couldn't quite figure out how to use) and a generous person downtown gave me two plastic grocery bags.

Sometimes I feel just about as out of it as this bumper alongside the trail.

What Haunts Me

I
A wide excision for melanoma more than thirty years ago has revisited me in an unexpected way: significant leg and ankle swelling. Brought on my bad sprain the first Saturday in September, this spectacular inflammation has been, literally and figuratively, a pain. 

After an x-ray, I waited for the doctor and counted the holes in a ceiling light.

Such a result, he said, is normal for melanoma patients like me, though most suffer this effect soon after the surgery. The inflammation of deep tissues may last, and last, and last. I left enlightened, and disappointed.

II
Finding the "right" camera has been a years-long pursuit. But I may have made the next important step yesterday. After seeing the doctor and searching Nashville for expensive compression knee-highs (not covered by insurance, naturally), I dropped by Dury's to make a Christmas list of camera accessories. Much to my surprise, four-thirds camera and lens I ordered had arrived. 

But.

Until I recover my energy and return from a quick overnight trip, it shall remain in the bag.

Off-Label Usefulness

Like some prescription drugs,

a lens hood can serve unintended purposes.

Bench Warmer

And on the third day

of the camera rental, more rain fell.

At least the Chekhovian sisters (wrong number, right mood) commiserated with me briefly.

We all long for something other.

Limitations

1.
I really want to see one of those Amber-winged Spreadwings! I surprised myself by saying this aloud, despite my being alone.

I stepped across the spongy pond shore, still wet and muddy after morning rain.

And then I saw him: flying up from the water, large and baby blue, then hanging from one of the grasses. As soon as I slid my camera across my chest, he flitted up into the tree branches and then beyond, out of sight.

2.
After searching for another, I climbed out of the pond, walked down the old farm road, and re-entered on the opposite shore. I immediately saw another male spreadwing, but once again as I approached, he flew away.

Taunting me, he hung from grass in the water, just beyond the reach of my camera.

3.
The camera is limited by distance.

4.
I am limited in making a sneak-attack by the necessity of movement.

5.
The Amber-winged Spreadwing is limited by the length of his adulthood, during which he is driven to reproduce.

Day 8 of 40: Another Day That Changed My Life

From my first 64-color box, I pulled each crayon, smelled it, stroked the slickery tip, read the names -- thistle, orchid, periwinkle, cornflower, Prussian blue, Indian red, melon, bittersweet, mahogany -- a garden of color I still cultivate with my camera.

Day 2 of 40: Another Day That Changed My Life

Three hours among Odonates of thirteen species, humans of one (Sewanee-Soon-to-Be-Alums), and one discovery: I cannot hand-hold a 200mm telephoto. Notes to self: put tripod in car; don't sweat missed opportunities; enjoy trying. Till tomorrow.

Another Day of Messes

Even lying flat out across the path, head uphill and feet down toward the lake, I could not for the life of me get the shot I wanted.

But thanks to Peter Elbow's excellent advice (This is awful, but I like it), about which I've written previously, I love the shots anyway.

Imagine me squinting. (You might want to do the same!)

Robley and the Excellent, Enjoyable, Oh-so-good, Very Fine Day

A trip to Dury's in Nashville to

1. Inquire about developing and printing an old roll of film

2. Ask why two Canon G12 sensors failed and seek redress

3. Buy a lens cap

4. Look at macro lenses

5. Check out alternate compact cameras should the G12 be beyond salvation

6. Enjoy watching Chris ogle the Fuji four-thirds cameras

7. Eat a pretty bad lunch with a pretty good young friend.

All in all, it was way better than Alexander's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

Missed Opportunities

Two years ago, I could not, no matter what I did, take a decent photo of a Lancet Clubtail on a multiflora rose blossom. Early morning, shade, pale flower -- I could pretend these were the problems. But. The problem was me. I didn't really know how to use the camera.

I still think of it as the one that got away.

Well, here's another. A luna moth on the edge of the woods by the path where humans and dogs walk (two and one walked right by me and exhibited no curiosity whatsoever about why I was stretched on the wet leaves). The moth was going nowhere, and neither was I. So I tried every setting I could figure out on the fly on the new-old camera. And missed shot after shot after shot. Pathetic. No one's fault, but my own.

I will always know this was the other one that got away.

Time to start reading the dadgum manunal.

Generosity

1.
I walked three strides from the parking lot gate toward the dam. Suddenly, the air shimmered with newly emerged Lancet Clubtails. Another few feet, and more flew toward the treeline and protection. Despite rain and clouds and more rain on the way, despite a temperature in the 60s, these hardy Odonates had decided, en masse apparently, to make their debut.

Such is the generosity of nature.

2.
A friend wondered if I might like to try out her Nikon DSLR. She said, "I don't really need it any longer. I use my iPhone for everything and you take the pictures of my new knitting patterns anyway. Come over if you'd like to try it out."

I went over, but thought I couldn't use the camera. "How do you adjust the viewfinder?" I asked. "I can't focus on anything."

"I don't think you can. I never tried."

"Ah, then it probably won't work for me."

But she convinced me to try it out, and so I did.

I shot the cats successfully.

I leaned into the irises.

I shot at least one clubtail fairly well, though not in complete focus.

I struggled to capture a Violet Dancer, the first I've seen this year, but with a true macro lens, I'm sure I could do it.

Most importantly, I learned in five minutes how to adjust the diopter.

She called again after I sent a couple of snaps in an email. "I've found all the lenses. Come on over!"

"I'll bring my checkbook," I said.

Such is the generosity of friends.

A Fortnight's Gratitude

Dear A,

I am remiss.

I should have thanked you before now for the loan of a camera.

But spring caught me unprepared, and the Nikon and I still struggle to make more than a passing acquaintance.

I have learned this: each camera has lessons to teach, and each person is not well suited to each lesson.

Nevertheless, I have stalked the slow spring unfolding now in flying things and ripening color.

May these thank you in my stead, for these are why I am grateful.




Fondly,
Robley

Beware!

Dear Parents of Young Children,

When you visit Lake Cheston to swim, picnic, or stroll, please take all precautionary measures. Should you see a woman in a red jacket, more than likely sprawled on the ground, balanced precariously on rocks or roots near water's edge, aiming a camera or two at something so tiny you can't see it, beware!

These days, because her camera is dying, she is using a borrowed camera, with which she is surprisingly clumsy. When she fails to get the shot she intends, like the one below of a Springtime Darner (the only mature one she has ever seen alit), she is likely to curse loudly and colorfully in language you may not wish your children to hear.

If you see said woman, it is recommended that you cut a wide path around her and hurry.

Thank you,
The Management

Steep Learning Curve

Learning to use a friend's old Nikon Coolpix makes my head hurt.

The Blue Corporals and Common Baskettails didn't mind, however.

Heck, they didn't even mind the snow and sub-freezing temps.

They have way more gumption than I.

R.I.P. Canon G12.

The Weight of a Small Thing

It's a small thing I do every day -- walk and look with my camera.  It's a small thing to write a blog post that would go unread were it not for a former student who religiously reads each post.  (Yes, you know who you are, W.)  It's a small thing to snap photos, throw most away, tinker with a few others, and upload one each day to a gallery. 

But there's nothing small about the effects. I see the world as if new every day.  I feel more fully myself in those moments when I walk and snap. I am more grateful than I have ever been for the small things -- legs that walk, eyes that see, ears that hear.  I have learned to love Sewanee for its smallness and the beings that live in it. 

I wear a kind of light weight now, like the bee burying its head in a zinnia: for a moment, it is mine -- all of it -- and then I fly away.