A few weeks ago I signed up for a fly fishing workshop that was jointly sponsored by the National Park Service, the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources, and the Federation of Fly Fishers. The event was targeted for beginners and was held at a nearby state park. Lasting about five hours it included information about the history of fishing, information about nymphs and flies, a casting demonstration, and a chance to tie your own fly. Then after lunch we were all loaned fly fishing rods and were able to get individualized help with our casting. This whole experience was new to me. Like many people, fly fishing seemed to me to be a great way to get out and enjoy the outdoors and I thought it might be another way to explore and enjoy my home state of Minnesota. So yesterday I purchased a fly fishing outfit (a rod and reel combination) and decided to try my luck today. This morning we headed out early with our canoe to a local lake. During all of my practice-casting at the workshop I had been standing up on dry land, and now today I was seated in the front of a canoe and trying to remember everything I’d been taught a few weeks ago. My first cast was a little weak, but I told myself I was just a beginner and I was using a new rod and reel for the first time. My second cast looked much better, but even more surprising was that I caught a fish! Of course at the workshop we hadn’t been given any instruction in how to reel a fish in or how to land it. And this fish was bending my new rod and trying to swim under the canoe. With some great assistance and coaching, I was able to bring in my first large-mouth bass — a whopping two-pounder. OK, maybe not whopping, but this fish did it’s job of “hooking” me on fly fishing. Although we didn’t have much luck the rest of the morning, I could always think of that second cast and landing a bass. Later this afternoon I was reading a fishing article in the newspaper. The writer referred to a saying that I would agree with: “The hours spent fishing are not deducted from your lifetime.” I had just spent a blue-sky summer morning on a Minnesota lake with my canoeing and fishing partner, and had even had some fishing success.
Minnesota
The time of peonies
A couple of weeks ago I wrote about memories and the ability of something or someone to bring an avalanche of thoughts and feelings to the forefront of one’s mind. In the past week and a half our yard has been filled with the sweet scent of peonies in full bloom. The blooms has been so large and heavy that they have weighted down the long stems of the plants, causing some of them to droop all the way to the lawn. Unfortunately their blooms and aromas are short-lived, and yet maybe that’s one of the reasons they are so appreciated when they are in their full bloom. My parents have always had peonies in their yard and I’ve been lucky to bring a couple of their plants here to Minnesota to add to our yard. Needless to say, my memories of peonies include my mom and dad, as well as their parents whose gardens and yards also were filled with peonies. It’s a delight and an honor for me to be able to continue this tradition.
Why flower photography?
I’ve been trying to understand why I am drawn to photographing flowers when there are so many other things that one could use as a photographic subject. Flowers are generally available, although in Minnesota they are not in their “own” environment during our snowy winter months, but can be found in the humidity and warmth of a conservatory or a floral shop. Yet just because a particular flower is blooming does not mean that a beautiful photograph can be made of it. The best conclusion I have come to is that I am drawn to color — the bright colors, the subtle colors, the hues and shades, and the combinations of multiples colors together. This photo is of a plant that many people would not even consider growing for its beauty — catmint. It can become big and it can become floppy. And yet in its own way it is a beautiful combination of shades of lavender and purple. Today I found this stand of catmint near some salmon-colored poppies. The two seemed to be subtly and beautifully complimenting each other in the soft and wonderful way that only nature can provide.
The power of memory
I was out photographing early this morning at a nearby garden. It was still and peaceful with the sun slowing dawning an a clear day with the promise of summer. As I wandered through the garden my eyes were stopping on different flowers and shrubs. But when I turned around and glimpsed a rhododendron in bloom I stopped in my tracks. In Minnesota we do not have many rhododendrons that can survive our cold winter climate. So when I saw this beautiful white rhodie I was quickly taken back to the time I lived in the Pacific Northwest. There, with the temperate marine air rhododendrons grow to be the size of trees, their blooms the size of large bowls. All this was going through my mind as I photographed this lovely white rhododendron that was blooming its heart out, but was only three feet tall. I realized how easily we associate things and how powerful our memory can be. In our home garden we have three peony plants with buds that will be bursting into bloom in the next week. One of these plants was purchased in Minnesota, the other two I brought from my parents’ home in Kansas. It is a wonderful memory I have of growing up and having the peonies blooming on the side of the house. How lucky I am to be able to surround myself with items that bring back delightful memories, or to happen upon something as simple as a small rhododendron that holds fond remembrances.
On Big Rice Lake
Due to my recent broken arm and tendon surgery I was not ready to participate in the traditional fishing opener here in Minnesota. I was close but not completely operational a few weeks ago. But thanks to my physical therapy (and a late spring) it was time to test my hand and my fishing skills. We headed north yesterday to a beautiful lake in Cass County, Big Rice Lake. The weather was iffy – possible showers, possible storms, possible sun (in other words, nobody could really predict what it would be). We loaded up the canoe with layers of jackets and rain coats, sunscreen, rods, reels, and good humor. What we were greeted with could not have been expected — a wonderfully calm day with hardly a ripple across the surface of the lake. We were enveloped by a beautiful sky which seemed even more immense as it was reflected in the still lake surface. The clouds danced on the water as we drifted along. A few hours later we’d seen red-winged blackbirds protecting their nests, heard the call of loons from various corners of the lake, gotten a little bit sunburned, and caught our limit of northerns. And after we’d packed up our gear and fish, loaded the canoe back onto the car, and left the boat landing the rain began to come down.
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