As with most of the country, this past week has brought a potpourri of weather. We had warm enough temperatures one day to prompt rain (and a lot of it — the most we’ve had in one day since last July). But the temperature dropped that night, the rain turned to sleet and the puddles turned to ice. At some time it turned over to snow, coating the ice-covered trees and streets. In the morning I ventured to the golf course at Como Park. The precipitation had once again changed over to a stinging sleet that was only sharpened by the brisk winds. It was ironically peaceful being the only person out at that time of the morning. The ice and snow had freshened and renewed our wintry landscape once again, dashing any hopes that spring was imminent. But the beauty and the simplicity of the scenery was abundant. Even this fence that was once upright and surrounding the green took on its own sense of rhythm, pattern, and repetition coated in snow. I wandered and photographed for a while until I could hear the wind starting to break off the ice-coated branches of the trees, and erring on the side of caution it seemed the appropriate time to head home.
Photography
Late winter reflections
Our winter has been unusual by normal Minnesota standards. The snow drought has continued with warmer temperatures, but just when we thought spring was being ushered in on southerly winds we got a snowfall of three inches. Now that’s not a huge snowfall, but this year it amounts to one of our larger ones. Since the air temperatures are much warmer, any snow that does come is likely to melt rather quickly. And so it was with this snow. As I was driving home the other night I entered our alley and was greeted by this scene. I don’t normally think of alleys are being prime photographic opportunities, but I was caught off guard this day. The power poles created a wonderful repetition in the standing water, and the reflection of the colors of the sky created a meandering curve down the length of the alley.
Button jar
There was a time when I sewed, as did many other women. And even now I will occasionally pick up a needle and thread and do some mending, but it’s not something I’ve done much of lately.
When I was a child my mother and both my grandmothers sewed. I was very fortunate to spend time with those women and learn from them. Their mastery of the craft and their skill made their sewing an art. Each one of those women had a jar or a tin or a box that was filled with extra buttons – the ones that were saved from old shirts that were worn out, the buttons that were extras from the new shirts and/or dresses that were made, and the buttons that were purchased for future projects that just hadn’t been completed yet. It was like a treasure chest of lovely gems — different colors, shapes, and sizes. What a wonderfully tactile experience to run my fingers through the buttons, sifting from one layer to the next, experiencing the varied shapes and materials. And what a treat to enjoy the colors and finishes. Occasionally a button would trigger a memory of a certain dress or blouse that had been sewn and worn and loved.
I’ve just returned from a quick visit with my family in the Kansas City area and I’ve brought home with me a large quilt that I made in 1990 that is showing some wear and tear. I’m now looking forward to the opportunity to pull out my needles and thread and make the repairs to this quilt using the skills and artistry that were lovingly passed on to me so many years ago.
Morning magnolia
Our winter landscape is brown this year because of our snow drought. And from a photographer’s viewpoint (at least this photographer), brown is not the most photogenic of landscape colors, especially in winter. But my attention was caught this morning when I looked out our front window. A few years back we planted a small magnolia by the window. Because it’s early February there’s nothing special about this magnolia — it’s way too early for it to bloom, and it’s only sticks and tips of branches right now. But I saw it much differently this morning when I looked out the window. The sun was backlighting the magnolia and the branches seemed to be dancing in the light — they were thin and random and their tips were haloed with the sunlight. Even the reflection of the side window frames seemed to add an ethereal quality to the setting before me. The entire scene and dance was playing out for me right outside my window — it only asked that I be aware and notice it. A little bit of extra attention to those things we see and take for granted everyday can sometimes reward us with exceptional sights, moments, and in this case photographs.
Hoarfrost in the morning
This past week we’ve had mild temperatures at night coupled with unusually high dew points resulting in a few mornings of fog — the kind that hangs around all day, never burns off, and makes the day gray and gloomy. It’s not a very usual occurrence here in Minnesota, so it’s always noticeable when it’s foggy for a day or two. That was the case until Friday night when the temperature dropped down to 24 degrees and the air was still thick with moisture. Even before daylight on Saturday it was evident that Mother Nature was gracing everything with hoarfrost. The moisture that was clinging to trees, plants, and even fences had frozen in the air. It was a wonderfully beautiful sight — our brown grass was dusted in sparkling white, and all the trees and branches were lined in frost. Even more unusual was that it remained this way until midday. The sun tried to break through the low clouds, and when the wind picked up ever so slightly there was a cascade of ice crystals that would fall down from the trees overhead. I hiked through a local park and the landscape looked like it was photographed with infrared film. I loved the way the frost outlined the individual links in this chain-link fence and the leaf that was captured within its squares.
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