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!

Sounds of Life

Last Sunday in church the message centered around having children in our midst and returning to a child-like faith. I couldn't help but think of the family photo session I'd had the day before.   As a photographer, taking photos of children is one of my favorite things to do because they are so genuine, honest and real.   Many times, however, I'm exhausted by the end of the session and after my gear is all tucked back into my car and I am driving away, I can't help but wonder if I've captured any photos worth using.

When I scrolled through last Saturday's photos, this one instantly became one of my favorites.  I love the pure joy on that little boy's face.  Oh to have that much fun just because!

I have noticed that, especially in my street photography, I tend to capture the simplicity and uninhibited wonder of children.  Sometimes they are almost unnoticeable but sometimes they are miniature whirlwinds of activity and noise - my minister called this the "sound of life," and I think that description sums it up perfectly. I'll choose the sounds of life every time.

Memories in the woods

There is something about going for a walk in an Indiana forest that takes me back more years than I would like to admit.  The musty-sweet smell, the call of bluejays in the trees, the breeze causing leaves to dip and float from their lofty heights down to the sandy floor, the peacefulness of being out in the woods - sensations that trigger memories of a ten-year old girl, fresh off of the city streets of Chicago for a Girl Scout camping weekend in what we surely thought was a wilderness adventure.   Twice each year, we had the chance to build campfires, tell scary stories, blaze trails through the forest, get lost and then get found again.  It was where I learned folks songs around a fire, how to get toasted marshmallows off a whittled stick so they could be squished between layers of graham crackers and chocolate bars, how to extract our boots from spring mud and how to use stones and sticks to mark a new trail for others to follow.   That young girl would have been pleased to know that this grown-up version lives close enough to walk these forests as often as she can . . . . and remember.