photography – Page 2 – sara mcguyer

Window Pane

Notes: One morning this past week I was packing up my car for work… coffee mug, water bottle, backpack, camera bag. I had a meeting to get to. But the windows! I could take a few minutes to get some shots.

Our garage is old, and the windows all have cracks and holes in them. I noticed them before, but with the frost, the window panes became something entirely different.

The frost obscures what’s on the other side, but the hole says, Wait a minute! I’ll give you a peek. The cracks hint, More will soon be revealed.

Snapshot

Over the holiday, my mom pulled a small stack of black and white prints from her purse. The photos were a recent find, having been stowed away in a box at my grandma’s for decades.

This image is my mom at four years old with my uncle John and my grandfather, who has been gone for more than twenty years. I’ve heard of their trips to Colorado, but I’ve never seen them.

In this snapshot they were pulled over at a rest stop. My mom says they never ate at restaurants when they were on the road. There weren’t many out west anyway. They packed lunches, ate from the cooler. Sometimes Granddaddy would fish at the stops when there was water nearby, and mom and John would play until it was time to get back in the car.

I turned over the photo as my mom is telling me all of this.

“Plunka?” I asked.

“I didn’t even know that was on there!” She went on to tell me that they called Granddaddy’s old Plymouth Plunka. I’d have never known this small family history without this photo.

This image came to me at a time I’ve been thinking about my 2015 goals. One I’ve been kicking around is to up my photography game. Today I researched classes, one small step toward capturing better images. I want to understand all of these mysterious settings on my camera, the lighting, the technical stuff. I want to be able to capture moments like this one, the kind to unlock lost worlds, stories, feelings.

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Prompt: “One Small Step. Set your sights on the next year: what’s one step you can take to support a goal you have for 2015? Whether it requires a written plan, a list of supplies or ingredients, or even a flowchart: getting your plan down in words should help spur you into action.”

Comfort and Joy

This year I am particularly struck by how comforted I am by the sameness of holiday traditions. Being one wired for innovation and continual improvement, I’m normally energized by change. But after a year of lots of full-speed-ahead change, the rituals of the season are a welcome rest.

I love that when we go to Louie’s mom’s house, we will be greeted by bungee Jesus. We just know he will be there, all aglow in the front yard. At my mom’s, there will be bubble bread. We will watch the same movies, rehearse lines we’ve said a million times before. I can listen to Jingle Bell Rock and O Holy Night thousands more times and not tire of it.

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox

Prompt: “A Dash Of Thanks. What are you thankful for? Maybe it’s from this year – or maybe it’s something in your past that resonated with you recently. And – we hold people, places, and things in equal regard: a sense of gratefulness can take many forms.”

Tiny Squirrel

I first heard their strange chatter just north of 75th on The Monon Trail. I had no idea what I was hearing – it sounded like a monkey, or something else that wouldn’t logically be perched in a tree in the Midwest. I noticed their loud sounds many times while I was on long runs before I finally spotted one: a tiny squirrel. At first I thought it was just a baby squirrel, but then I realized they were distinct from the typical backyard variety I’ve known since I was a kid.

I mentioned them to several other people, especially runners who I knew would have traveled along the Monon where I’d had all of my sightings. I got the same reaction every time: No way! I’ve never seen one. Are you sure?!

I was starting to doubt it, even though I’d spotted them several times. When I moved to my new house, I was in for a real surprise. Not only do we have lots of these little guys running around our yard, but at least one has made our garage home. It hauled probably 30 lbs of walnuts from the tree in the backyard into an empty cardboard box in our garage. Pretty impressive, actually.

I’ve managed to get some photos, so I can stop feeling like the crazy one. These tiny squirrels really do exist!

This guy managed to get into my bird feeders!

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Prompt: “Ooh! Aah! What surprised you this year? Was it a jump-out-of-your-seat shocking moment? Learning something new that really flipped your wig? A moment in time that left you speechless? A friend or stranger’s actions that really blew your mind? Leave us slack-jawed and standing silent…or at least thoughtfully quiet for a few seconds!”

Whoooo’s there?

Meet the Barred Owl. This was my first sighting. A couple of expert birders and Eagle Creek devotees led Louie and I to this spot. There were no guarantees we’d find one, but they knew the regular haunts of the owls. We ventured off trail, sank through snow half-way up to our shins.

We were given tips to help scout. In the winter, Barred Owls will likely roost in evergreen trees. Their feather markings blend with the tree, so we should look out for a strange lump on a branch – we’d likely notice the shape being off before really “seeing” the owl. Finally, they’d be higher up in the tree, around 20′ up or so.

Louie had his pair of binoculars – he’s had them since he was a kid. I looked through the zoom lens of our camera. I forget who saw the owl first, but someone called us over, pointed up at the sky. Even then, it took a while for my eyes to focus in and find him. Looking at the picture, it seems obvious, but this is with the benefit of zoom. Without the expert birders, I doubt I’d ever have noticed this quiet soul resting up there.

Getting to know birds helped me understand the power of awareness in a new way. Louie and I put up backyard bird feeders in January. With the help of a guide book, we’ve learned the names of a lot of new birds. Some of them, being both common and distinct, make me wonder how in the world I never noticed them before. Now that I know what a Nuthatch looks like, I see them all the time as I walk the Monon Trail. I’m beginning to recognize the calls of some of the birds too. Now that I know these things, I see and hear them everywhere.

I can’t help but wonder what other secrets of the universe my brain is hiding from me. What happenings am I editing out? What other beings share my space, undetected? I know my mind is just trying to parse out what’s important and protect me from being overwhelmed. Birds helped me realize just how much I’m capable of filtering out. They’ve pushed me to see what I don’t see, or at least to try.

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Prompt: “Hi, I’m ______. Nametags and punchbowls aren’t necessary (but we’re okay with that!) – who did you meet this year? Was it awkward? Enlightening? Was your first impression correct? Was it accidental & meant to be, pre-arranged, or somewhere in-between? Whether you found a soulmate, held a new baby, or finally trusted someone to style your hair just so, write about a new person (or people) in your life.”

Winter’s Last Hurrah

Louie and I have long held a debate about winter – I’m pro, he’s con. Or maybe I should say was pro-winter. This year has challenged decades of preference. As another snow fell yesterday, I couldn’t help but hope that this might be winter’s last hurrah.

As I cleared my car for another slushy drive home, I was feeling pretty sour. I needed a few reminders on why I love winter to pull me out of that funk.

Coffee never tastes as wonderful as it does when it’s twenty degrees outside.
Only in winter, can you see something like this:

And then there’s the sound of snow underfoot. I like to think of it like an Eskimo might, making up a sound-word for the snow. Each makes its own distinct noise. Sometimes a snowfall goes squench. Sometimes kroosh.

The drip-drop of icicles melting hold the promise of spring. Soon it’ll all be gone. And while it’s hard to imagine it now, I know by mid-summer, I’ll miss it again.