I thought that I would go simple today and share this link with everyone. The “Beast from the East” has brought a snowstorm to Rome and photographers have had a field day. There are some wonderful gems here.
It is such a rare event that I cannot find a decent quote to memorialize the event. Snow is magic and Rome is magic.
“Rome was a poem pressed into service as a city.”
Anatole Broyard
Figure 1 – Water, air, and ice on the pond, Assabet River National Wildlife Refuge, Maynard, MA, February 24, 2018. (c) DE Wolf 2018.
There seems to be an infinite variety of form for snow and ice. This derives principally from the complex “phase behavior” of water. That is a long story, but basically the point is that if you apply pressure to ice, it does not stay solid, rather it becomes a liquid and if you’re not careful you slip and fall. Dry ice, frozen carbon dioxide, does not do this. It stays solid and you cannot ice-skate on dry ice. The second factor is the one of history. The natural world has a tendency to change and not remain static. Hence, the ice you see and photograph is like a recording of all that it has been, a serial reflecting the vagaries and changes of weather.
In the context I came upon this ice, mixed with air and water, on a shallow part of the pond on Saturday afternoon. In nature structure arises out of chaos and reflects and copies the funadament structure of the building block molecules.
“Ice contains no future , just the past, sealed away. As if they’re alive, everything in the world is sealed up inside, clear and distinct. Ice can preserve all kinds of things that way- cleanly, clearly. That’s the essence of ice, the role it plays.”
Haruki Murakami, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman
Canon T2i with EF70-200mm f/4L USM lens at 75 mm, ISO 1600, Aperture Priority AE Mode, 1/400th sec at f/11 with +1/3 exposure compensation.
Figure 1 – Winter pastels on the pond, Assabet River National Wildlife Refuge, Maynard, MA, February 24, 2018. (c) DE Wolf 2018
It has been an unusually warm February here in the Northeast. We say that knowing full-well that it is no longer a random February thaw, but rather the effect of global warming. And this sends a chill through our hearts.
Just the same, I felt on this fifty-six F degree February day that it was high time to renew myself as Ayesha in the Pillar of Fire. So I heeded John Muir’s words and headed off into woods once more.
There was no snow and barely any ice, just mud. The skies were very overcast; so in essence, I surrendered myself to the glorious gloom and photographically to a very flat light.
Water, air, and Earth, they are the three essential elements of the woods. And in winter the color is there. It is just subdued and beautifully pastel. I found that when I went to photograph the perfect symmetry of denuded branches piercing the pond, the curves of the shrubs perfectly mirrored by their reflections in the water. I was surprised by the color in the frame and looked back at the original to see if it was real. It was. Winter had just tricked me into believing that the world was monochrome. It never is.
As I walked further along, I was saddened to find a crushed turtle. I was depressed to think that this was the work of some sadistic person, who didn’t possess respect for nature. But then I realized that in all likelihood the turtle had when captured by some raptor bird and dropped to the Earth below to crack it open. This seemed, perhaps, a more acceptable scenario. For animals the woods are ultimately unforgiving.
“There is no such things as magic, though there is such a thing as knowledge of the hidden ways of Nature.”
H. Rider Haggard, She
Canon T2i with EF70-200mm f/4L USM lens at 200mm, ISO 1600, Aperture Priority AE Mode, 1/160th sec, at f/9.0 with -2/3 exposure compensation.
Figure 1 – Animal Faces #10 – Zadie. (c) DE Wolf 2018.
Apologies to my readers for being off the radar screen for a while. This past weekend my friend, “Zadie,” graciously posed for her portrait for my Animal Faces Series, and the result is shown in Figure 1. Some have said that this is a portrait of “my grand puppy.” To this I must reply that “I ain’t no grandfather to no dog.” Still Zadie is the sweetest thing. A statement my cat insists on protesting.
As is most often the case, I have used my IPhone 6.0 to capture her eyes and the soul within. The Iphone is ever so wonderful for this kind of intimate closeup.
Figure 1 – Wild turkey tracks in the freshly-fallen snow, Jan. 30, 2018, Wilmington, MA. IPhone 6 photograph. (c) DE Wolf 2018.
It is winter and yet we torture ourselves with daily walks. It is as if to harden ourselves and is reminiscent of “The Siege of Leningrad,” “The Retreat of Napoleon’s Army of the Republic,” and “Scott’s March to the South Pole.” Hmm, none of those worked out so well in the end.
I was delighted this morning during my morning walk to come across these wild turkey, Meleagris gallopavo, tracks in the newly fallen snow – accentuated here by the pavement below. When I was in graduate school in upstate New York the turkey was a rare bird, and the joke was that the hunting season was so short so as to protect “the stupid birds.” I do not call birds stupid anymore and respect enormously the evolutionary endurance of these “dinosaurs.” In Massachusetts they disappeared 160 years ago and the state brought them back. So now they are everywhere.
You may have heard that Benjamin Franklin wanted the wild turkey to be the national bird. Apparently this is not true. In a letter to his daughter Franklin objected to the Bald Eagle and commented that the bird on seal looked more like a wild turkey than an Eagle.
“For my own part I wish the Bald Eagle had not been chosen the Representative of our Country. He is a Bird of bad moral Character. He does not get his Living honestly. You may have seen him perched on some dead Tree near the River, where, too lazy to fish for himself, he watches the Labour of the Fishing Hawk; and when that diligent Bird has at length taken a Fish, and is bearing it to his Nest for the Support of his Mate and young Ones, the Bald Eagle pursues him and takes it from him.
With all this injustice, he is never in good case but like those among men who live by sharping & robbing he is generally poor and often very lousy. Besides he is a rank coward: The little King Bird not bigger than a Sparrow attacks him boldly and drives him out of the district. He is therefore by no means a proper emblem for the brave and honest Cincinnati of America who have driven all the King birds from our country…
“I am on this account not displeased that the Figure is not known as a Bald Eagle, but looks more like a Turkey. For the Truth the Turkey is in Comparison a much more respectable Bird, and withal a true original Native of America… He is besides, though a little vain & silly, a Bird of Courage, and would not hesitate to attack a Grenadier of the British Guards who should presume to invade his Farm Yard with a red Coat on.”
Much more turkey lore relates to its consumption on American Thanksgiving, and there is decent evidence that the wild form was served at the First Thanksgiving. But it did not become the modern stable of Thanksgiving until way into the 19th century. Although and significantly another Revolutionary Luminary, Alexander Hamilton did say, or is reported to have said that:
“No citizen of the U.S. shall refrain from turkey on Thanksgiving Day.”
Figure 1 – Blue Jay, Jan 13, 2018, Sudbury, MA. (c) DE Wolf 2018
Figure 1 is a Eastern Blue Jay, Cyanocitta cristata, laughing at me this week in the snow. The native American blue jay spirit was in many ways akin to the Norse God Loki. He was the joker, always making trouble, always the trickster.
There is a Chinook Legend called Blue Jay Takes a Wife., in which Blue Jay is told to choose a wife among the dead and then spends time trying to resurrect her. When he finally succeeds the father of his bride demands that he cut off his beautiful hair as a gift for his new in-laws. Blue Jay refuses. Instead he turns back into a bird and flies back to the land of the dead and his bride drops dead. It is a story of failed resurrection – unlike the Legend of the Buffalo Dance. The Trickster’s magic is not strong enough.
In the summer Massachusetts is a bit of a playground. The old legends are muffled out by modernity. But in winter the old stories are carried by harsh winds. The birds, magical and real, struggle as they have for thousands of year. The spirits of the first peoples echo everywhere for anyone who cares to listen.
Canon T2i with EF100-400mm f/4.5-5.6L IS USM lens at 310 mm, ISO 800, Aperture Priority AE Mode 1/200th sec at f/7.1 with +2/3 exposure compensation.
Figure 1 – Savannah sparrow, Jan. 17, 2018, Sudbury, MA. (c) DE Wolf 2018.
Something happy and sweet today. We have had the second snowstorm of the year and the snow fell steadily. This always brings out the birds to my feeder and I took the image of Figure 1 of a bird that I have been trying to photograph for a while. It is the Savannah Sparrow, Passerculus sandwichensis, with the tell-tale yellow spot on its head.
I have read that Savannah Sparrows are rare at feeders. So I guess that this one or the others that I have seen over the years have not read the same books or web pages.
Cannorn T2i with EF100-400mm f/4.5-5.6L IS USM lens at 250 mm. ISO 800, Aperture Priority AE Mode, 1/400th sec. at f/7.1, with +2/3 exposure compensation.
Figure 1 – Cindy c. 1975 at Saranac Lake, NY. (c) DE Wolf 2018.
After a very long struggle my wife, Cynthia Ann Coppess, unexpectedly passed last Saturday night. I will always love and miss her. Here is my favorite photograph of her taken in Saranac Lake, NY around 1975.
Cynthia Ann Coppess, 69, of Sudbury and formerly of Hudson, passed Sunday, January 7, 2018.
She was born on February 17, 1948 in Springfield, Ohio, the daughter of Donel Blair and Virginia (Benesh) Lauver Collins. She attended Springfield North High School and graduated with a BA from Wright State University in Psychology. She was Research Coordinator for the late Prof. Harrison Trice at the Cornell University ILR School, where she researched the effectiveness of alcohol treatment programs. She subsequently worked as a researcher for ACTION and as a Support Manager at Dun and Bradstreet Software.
She was married for 39 years to her beloved husband, David E. Wolf, whom she met and fell in love with watching the sunsets on Cornell’s Libe Slope. She was the devoted mother of Andrew Wolf, of Brooklyn, NY, and in recent years cherished time spent with his significant other Megan Thorsfeldt. She is deeply missed by her beloved cat, Cloé.
Cynthia grew up working with her mother for the Girl Scouts, and one of her fondest memories was teaching swimming in the snow at Eagle Island on Saranac Lake, NY. Cynthia loved art, classical music, and cooking. She was active in the Concord Academy Parents’ Association. Cindy was a loving spirit who believed in a gentler and kinder world always looking to help others. She loved and was loved by her many friends.
A memorial service will be held in the spring and will be announced.
In lieu of flowers please donate to either the Pine Street Inn or Beyond Benign.
For additional information, tributes, and guestbook, please visit: Wadsworth-Chiappini.com
Figure 1 – Seeing into the mist that is the New Year, Sudbury, MA. (c) DE Wolf 2018.
Well celestial mechanics being what it is, we seem to have reached the New Year once more. So it is both time to reflect and to look forward. First, I would like to thank all of my readers and friends for a wonderful year. Friends always are our greatest blessing. So Happy New Year one and all.
I have been saving Figure 1 as representative of the New Year. There is a window, where the future is out of focus as if shrouded in a fog – “the veil past which [we] cannot see.” And based upon the lens of the present we seek to see and understand the path forward. Even that is out of focus; the colors dispersed in aberration. But importantly there is a path forward.
It is pretty clear that 2018 will be dangerous year, both in America and in the world. For American democracy it will be the most challenging and and momentous year since 1968. Indeed, for the millennialls it will likely prove to be their defining year.
Some people as so iconic and memetic that we have come to call them by a single name – hence, Newton, Einstein, and Lincoln. Let me the cathartically quote Hume and say: