Bare Trees

I know it is April in Northwest Indiana and we are all anxious to see buds forming on the trees and green in our landscape again.  However I love photographing the shapes of trees, proudly standing and reaching long after their leafy garments have fallen to the ground.

Trees have a mysterious beauty and grace that can only be seen once they have shed their green robes.   Yes, they are beautiful when they are full of spring blooms, majestic in summer's green mantle and breathtaking in autumn's fiery display.  But beneath all those trappings, each tree hides a personality that can be witnessed only when the sap flows down to the roots and winter's winds scatter the leaves.

Boughs and branches curve this way and that, always reaching like bony fingertips up and out and over.  No two trees are the same, no shape duplicated.  To me they are fascinating!

They stand in stark contrast against the sky - silhouettes that remind me of the Asian art I tried to emulate as a young girl.  Dropping a large dot or two of India ink on slick white rice paper and blowing air through a straw to make the ink travel across the page uncontrolled,  I was able to create dark, meandering lines that looked like branches and vines.  My artwork was a pale comparison to the artistry of the real tree trunks and branches I love to capture in my photographs.

Springtime Celebration

Last Friday I was talking with a person who moved to this area from upstate New York.  The conversation naturally led to the beauty of that part of country - something with which I can agree wholeheartedly, having visited the Finger Lakes region last August.  Then she looked at me, shrugged her shoulders and said, "now I live here (meaning northwest Indiana) where we don't have anything pretty like that."  That's where we began to disagree.

The next day we drove down to Newton County to visit our grandchildren.  I love daffodils for many reasons and my daughter told me about this farm nearby where they plant hundreds and hundreds of them simply for the joy of it and they love to share it with visitors.   It was such a beautiful spring day and finding this farm was part of my plan for the afternoon.  My daughter decided to load the two kids into the car and join us.  Armed with some directions from my son-in-law and my camera gear, we crossed Highway 41 and wound our way along country roads south and west past a lovely brick church, flat fields waiting to be planted, white farmhouses and large oak trees silhouetted against a bright blue sky.   The paved road gave way to gravel and the gravel road gave way to a single lane of double tire paths bordered on each side and separated in the middle by well-kept grass.   This lane made a turn to the right and became the approach to a beautiful secluded farm tucked away in the middle of the Indiana landscape.   There were daffodils everywhere - surrounding the pond, carpeting the grass around the windmill, scattered amongst the trees that bordered the sweet little farmhouse.  It was lovely!

We spent about an hour there lazily wandering around the pond.  The family that owns this land takes the time each fall to plant more and more daffodils so that in the spring, they not only get to enjoy this springtime celebration, but welcome friends and neighbors to visit and enjoy it too.  Several others came and went while we were there, enjoying the day and the sight.   Quite often I had to stop and take it all in, trying to capture with my camera just how special this place is.  And I remembered my conversation from the night before.  Our part of Indiana does not boast of the same beauty and sights as other parts of the country - it doesn't have to.   Indiana's landscape and people have a beauty uniquely their own. It's a joy to find little surprises like this farm and I know you've got a lot more to show off, Indiana.  I'll be looking for it.

That Lake!

I was having a pretty stressful Monday yesterday so I went to the lake.  I certainly wasn't dressed for a stroll on the beach in my ankle boot wedges and office attire, but fortunately the sand was still packed pretty hard from having been frozen throughout the winter.  I'm sure I looked out of place as I stepped as carefully as a person could in high-heeled shoes on a sandy beach, but I needed this.  And the lake did not disappoint.   It never does.

I could have stood there for hours watching those waves start somewhere close to the horizon line, rise up, crest into whitewater and crash into Lake Michigan's famous ice boulders before washing over the edges of remaining shelf ice onto the beach.  The sound was amazing; watching all that power come roaring into the shoreline was fascinating.  Crazy as it sounds, it was calming to stand at a distance safe enough from the danger of shelf ice unpredictability but close enough to see the ice boulders roll and bob in the aftermath of each wave.  

In contrast to the continuous attack of the waves against the shoreline, stood the serene simplicity of the landscape. While the waves were gaining their momentum farther out, my attention turned to the shapes of monolithic shelf ice along the shore, the stark line of the horizon against the watercolor sky and the patterns of sand on a thawing beach.  

I did finally remember that I had a limited time schedule and checked my watch, not altogether sure how long I had been wandering up and down that section of beach.

I always have a hard time pulling myself away; convincing myself that I've seen enough; taken enough photos; experienced the best of what I came looking for.   Just before I stepped back onto the pavement that led to the parking lot, I turned back around for a final glance.   That lake . . . wild and powerful and dangerous one minute; calm and peaceful and elegant the next.

A February Snowstorm

I've lived in Northwest Indiana for most of my life and one sure thing everyone learns about living here is that the weather is always going to change. Especially in February!

Last weekend, we enjoyed the most beautiful sixty degree Saturday.  The sky was blue, the birds were singing and the hiking trails were calling my name. Today, a mere five days later, we awoke to a world completely transformed into a scene from a holiday Christmas card.   Twelve inches of heavy wet snow (my snow shovel-wielding husband swears it's more) started falling last night and didn't stop until this morning, causing every bush and small tree in our yard to bend in graceful arcs and travel to be perilous.

After we heaved a deep sigh and finished clearing off not only our driveway but the neighbors, as well, it was hard to ignore just how beautiful the world had become overnight.  The birds had managed to find access to their seed in the feeders, and were amicably sharing their grub with a local squirrel.  My scarecrow bird house was smiling out from under the hat Mother Nature redesigned for him. There were patterns everywhere and everything had become simpler, cleaner, quieter.

I banished our lab mix, Cooper, to the house, much to his
displeasure, because I wanted to experience the peaceful
landscape untouched.  I have to admit I wasn't really
dressed that well for carefully trudging through wet
snow up to my knees.  Cold and wet were soon forgotten,
however, once I began to explore all the fascinating
creations the snow had made in my backyard.  There were graceful arcs and soft pillows; bushes taking a bow to stately maple trees whose bark was all speckled with bits of snow.   There were stick branches reaching to the sky with snow shaped by the wind winding around them like ribbon candy.  The sun tried to make an appearance for a few moments but its hazy glow gave way to clouds again in short order.

Finally, hearing a jingling behind me, I turned to find
Cooper poised at the edge of a snowbank.   He had waited long enough for his own way of enjoying this February gift.  A quick call of his name was all it took to have him bounding through the drifts, around the garden, in and out of the beautiful formations.  Of course, he could do this for hours, and so could I.

Eckart America Annual Awards Banquet

As a photographer, it is always a privilege to share in the celebrations of life and capture photographs that will provide memories for years to come. This was my third year to provide photography for the Eckart America annual awards banquet.   Held each year at the Innsbrook Country Club, the event is always a warm, pleasant evening set aside to celebrate milestones and recognize successful achievement.
Many in the room have worked together for a long time and it is evident how they care about each other as they exchange hugs, visit over cocktails and catch up on each others lives with spouses and significant others.    The evening moved quickly through cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, dinner, awards presentations, music for dancing, some fun in a makeshift casino and even a round of happy birthday sung to one of the managers.   You are always a class act, Eckart America.   Thank you for allowing me to be a part of it.

Trail 9

It seems that every time I hike a new trail at the Dunes, I dub it my new favorite trail.  I had heard about Trail 9 for a while and yesterday we finally had a chance to hike it for ourselves.

The trail began by winding its way through the tranquility of a spacious forest.  It just felt so good to be outdoors, breathing fresh air and surrounded by the quiet of tall, bare trees like sentinels standing at attention while we strode by.

For a January day in Northwest Indiana, you couldn't have asked for better.  As the trail emerged onto the crest of a tall sand dune, we were met with sunny, bright blue skies stretching over that beautiful calm lake. Ice bergs dotted the blue water for as far as our eyes could see and shelf ice lined the edges where a summertime beach was hidden.  The wind was minimal, lazily tossing about the grasses and any dried oak leaves that were left behind.

The view from the top of a Lake Michigan sand dune always takes my breath away.

A Resolution of sorts . . .

I don't make New Year's resolutions.  I think that any day of the year is a good day to do something new, break a habit or set a goal should I be physically, mentally or spiritually ready.

For the last few years we have started out the new year with a New Year's hike and this year I was able to squeeze one in. Although it took place the day after New Year's Day, I still think it counts.

It was about three in the afternoon when my daughter and I headed to Coffee Creek Watershed Preserve and we knew that the winter sun wasn't going to be with us for very long. The temperature was a little colder than we had planned, but the area was quiet and peaceful, the waning light was beautiful and my daughter and I could catch up on each other's lives.   We finished up the hike watching a herd of deer lazily graze in the twilight.

Looking ahead, our 2016 calendar is already marked with camping weekends and hiking excursions, planning to explore more of the trails in Indiana and our neighboring states this year.  So it's time to strengthen those legs and knees, get that backpack ready and lace up those boots because ready or not, 2016 - here we come!

The County Fair -

July in Indiana means hot, steamy days, acres of tall corn tasseling out, fields strewn with freshly baled hay, cloudless blue skies and county fairs.   Although I have never raised or shown animals at the fair - the 4-H days of my past were full of sewing projects, freezing and canning of fruits and vegetables, and home interior projects - I have wonderful memories watching my daughter, nieces, nephews and friends prepare and compete with horses, dogs, swine and steer for that Grand Champion prize.  These young people spend countless hours learning about, feeding, and working with their animals.   It is wonderful to watch the bond of friendship, admiration and respect that grows between them.

During my visit to the Porter County Fair last week, we stopped in at the livestock auction on Thursday night in the Steer Barn, and I was fortunate to capture this photo of a young lady waiting patiently towards the back of the arena.   Every once in a while the steer would throw back its head and call out a loud, low moo to show its disapproval at having to stand and wait, and each time the young girl would talk to the animal, coo, rub its back and even plant a kiss on the top of its head for reassurance.

It goes without saying that at the end of the night, with all the steers auctioned off, this young lady probably never saw this steer again.  There's a lesson there, too, somewhere that these young people learn. Next spring they will start all over with a new calf, piglet, rabbit, goat, or other show animal and they will meet back here in July at the county fair.

Breathe, stop, listen

There is something wonderful about having driven the same road over and over many times, and suddenly one day you come around the bend and you are surprised by the late afternoon sky, the newly baled hay, the freshly mown field,   Breathe deep, stop, listen.

Fourth of July Hiking

Between the cool, rainy weather patterns and our overfilled schedules this summer, there has been little time for hiking.  Because the Fourth of July holiday fell on a Saturday boasting a warm, sunny forecast, we decided to pull out our hiking gear and head to Cowles Bog for our maiden hike through this lush, sandy, landscape.  Our yellow labrador mix, Cooper, was ready for adventure, and literally dragged his owners at the end of his leash to the trailhead around 7:30 am, backpacks stocked with water bottles, cliff bars, fruit and dog treats. Except for a group of energetic runners that disappeared down the trail ahead of us, we had the peaceful solitude of the trail to ourselves. Our workweek-worn senses were met with the welcome call of a bluejay in the canopy, the rustle of chipmunks in the brush and the sun-dappled trail before us.

We consider the Cowles Bog trail, a five-mile loop through thick forest, marshy bogs, sandy dunes and a solitary Lake Michigan beach, one of the Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore's finest hikes.   The trail required just the right amount of physical exertion to get our blood pumping, climbing higher and spilling out suddenly at the top of a sand dune to a wide view of the lake below us.

 We settled down on the quiet lakeshore for a snack of cliff bars and cherries for us and treats for Cooper.   Morning mist was still hanging low over the water farther out.  A single boat was anchored off the shore, the owners of whom probably had enjoyed the smoldering remains of a nearby campfire.

We finished our hike and completed the loop well before mid-day.  On the day set aside to celebrate our nation's birthday, the hike was a fitting way to celebrate its natural habitat and beauty.

Women Build

When I was a little girl I once said that when I grew up, I was going to be a carpenter like my father.   My dad had apprenticed as a cabinet maker in Switzerland in the 1950's.  After he married my mother, they moved to Chicago to begin a new life together, and since there weren't many opportunities for cabinet makers, he became a carpenter - a profession he continued for the rest of his life.

My sisters and I grew up around the sound of hammers and circular saws.  We knew the difference between slotted flat and phillips screwdrivers. We played with wooden folding rulers.  Chunky, flat carpenters pencils were normal in our house. We knew what a plumb line was and our father's old chicken house-turned-carpenter's shop was a treasure trove of sawdust piles, saw horses, stacks of discarded wood pieces and drill bits of every size.

When Habitat for Humanity was looking for  photographers to spend some time taking photos of their recent home building project, I jumped at the chance for several reasons.
This was a unique project because it was called a "women's build" where much of the work was completed by women. Having been the oldest of three girls to grow up as carpenter's daughters, I knew that this work could most certainly be done by capable women and I was thrilled to be able to capture their progress.   It had been a long time since I'd been around a building site and it felt good to wander in and out of the skeletal wood framing, picking my way around two-by-fours, ladders and tool boxes on the unfinished floor.   I was fortunate to meet the young woman whose home they were building.  Although she didn't have carpentry skills to offer, she was there to lend a hand, carry tools, deliver fresh cut wood sections where they were needed and sweep up as she watched her future home rise up around her.  

I drive by the site every now and then to check on the progress and I look forward to one day soon seeing a finished home. And I still love the smell of sawdust.

Fog and Sound

The sound of the lake was amazing that afternoon when the fog hung over the lake like a shroud.   Maybe it was heightened because the lake was hidden behind a curtain.  The continuous swish in and out as the waves met the sand on the beach could be heard loud and clear and strong while I was still climbing down the dunes to the shoreline.  Long before I could see the waves, I could hear them. There was no other sound; no wind or calling gull; just wave after wave after wave washing in with simple white caps, reminding me that although the lake couldn't be seen, its power was still there.

Walking pink

Two weeks ago my daughters, my granddaughter

and I walked in the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer walk in Indianapolis on a team to honor and support a young woman very dear to our hearts.  My husband dropped me off on the campus of IUPUI at seven o'clock on a chilly but sunny April morning.  With camera in hand, I walked a block to Military Park where the event was being held, arriving just in time for the start of the Pink Parade.  Since I was so much earlier than the others I was meeting, I wandered over to watch.  

The Pink Parade is a march of survivors, beginning with the newest one year or less, and going all the way up to 50 and 60 year survivors.  Our dear friend began her battle seven months ago so I knew she would be one of the first in the parade.  It was difficult to keep my camera focused through the tears that welled up when I spotted Renae walking in that parade of survivors.   Accompanied by her husband, she looked strong, confident and beautiful and at that moment, my heart broke and swelled with pride all at the same time.  There are no words to describe the battle these women face every day, the strength they exhibit and the examples they set before us.  I am looking forward to seeing Renae in that parade again for many years to come, and marches like this will help make it possible.

Downtown LaPorte photowalk

"I'll take it," I said to the woman in the downtown LaPorte antique store.  She had just taken a vintage pearl necklace out of the showcase for me.   The price was right and it was a unique piece.  So I stepped up to the counter, set down my camera on the glass top and began to reach for my purse.  As soon as she spotted my camera, she struck up a conversation about it, and I knew from having previously been in the store that she was a kindred photographer spirit.  It was evident to her keen eye that it was a gorgeous Indiana Saturday morning, I was armed with my camera and I was headed out for a photo walk. My husband was downstairs sorting through an entire basement of vinyl and knowing he was probably going to be there a while, I turned for the stairs to let him know I was heading out.  My new photographer kindred spirit friend, however, shooed me out the front door with assurances that when my husband emerged from the bowels of the antique store, precious vinyl treasures in hand, she would let him know where I was.

Indiana towns have a character all their own and LaPorte is no exception.  If all those wonderful old facades and brick walls could talk, what stories they would tell.  I strolled up one street and down another, around blocks and through alleyways, gazing into dusty storefront windows and admiring the sturdy small-town Indiana architecture.  I wandered and explored and photographed for several hours that day. My phone buzzed with the text that simply said, "Where are you?" while I was a block down the street and I took a few last photos as I made my way back to the antique store where my photo walk had begun.  It had been a fantastic morning.

The Magenta Barn

Traveling to other parts of this country always makes my eye so much more aware of the images to be found right here at home.  Driving down a random county road, intent simply on getting from one place to the other, I was pleasantly surprised by this wonderful barn, covered in the most fantastic coat of magenta paint and set back from the road on a gorgeous summer afternoon.

March at the lake

This lake . . . . it never ceases to leave me in awe of its wonder, its power, its beauty.  Every season, every day has its own images.   

Convergence

Convergence - A Photography Exhibit
Indiana Welcome Center
Hammond, Indiana
August 5 - September 30 2011

Nowhere is the convergence of life and art so vividly portrayed and experienced than on the stage, and our South Shore area is blessed with so many thriving, talented theaters. Our local theaters, in towns like Porter, Valparaiso and Michigan City, boast the richness of diversity, laughter, tears, song and drama.

The two photos chosen for this exhibit represent two 2010/2011 productions from Chicago Street Theater in Valparaiso. To shoot theater productions allows my love of capturing moments photographically to converge with the theatrical art itself.