The Little Lost Boat

Deep in the Turkey Creek Preserve there sits a lone dusty boat. No oars, not motor, it sits there quietly.

Steps on the Sand

Living by the coast has been a lifelong dream of mine. I grew up mostly in the Great Lakes region, Toronto, Chicago, Buffalo… and most recently moved from Michigan. I’ve been fortunate to always have been near a decently large body of water. Beaches were a constant in our hot summers when I was little, and once our family took a trip to California. My brother and I were excited to see what a “real” beach would look like. To our disappointment, the water was frigid, the beaches were scattered with seaweed, the sky was overcast and the air biting with chill.

Upon our arrival home, we went to our favorite beach on Lake Erie in Canada and exclaimed to our parents, “This beach is MUCH better than California!” All that driving, all the time planning the trip, and they could have placated us with a simple drive to Lake Erie.

Now I live in coastal Florida. Watching the waves nestle up to the beach is a luxury I enjoy as often as time allows. The ocean is unique. Every visit reveals a new personality. Sometimes the waters are calm, still and ice-like, while other days the ocean seems frustrated and anxious, throwing curled waves to the shore in a massive tantrum. Part of the thrill for me is approaching the water from over the dunes before I can see anything, listening acutely, imagining what the ocean’s mood is today.

A Glimpse

Last night I carefully selected four unmounted butterflies from my collection, removed them from their papers, and placed them into my makeshift butterfly sauna for the evening. This morning they’re pliable and ready for pinning. This gives you a glimpse into how my collection takes shape.

A friend of mine informed me a few days ago that she found an expired butterfly outside her home in perfect condition. I believe that will be my first official Florida specimen. I’m excited to see it, her description over the phone is reminiscent of one I saw back in February… just a glimmer of orange, green, and blue through the corner of my eye. I squinted to get a better look having never seen one like it before. I couldn’t make it out, was it a common sulfur with unusual coloring or something more exotic? Before I had a chance to grab my book, it was gone and I haven’t seen one since.

We shall see…

Complex Frailty

Butterflies remain a subject of intense interest for me. I have a personal collection of over 200 individual creatures, many of whom I still have not explored. Each time I open the wings and view inside I find myself consistently amazed at how complex and diverse they are. Sometimes a butterfly that appears dull and earthy will reveal the most alluring metallic wings on the opposite side. Other times the shift from inside to outside is so completely different that they could easily be two different insects. All these changes, patterns, and complexities are in hopes of survival - finding a mate, scaring away predators, and blending in with their surroundings.

It remains a constant reminder of just how complex and interwoven the world is, from the tiniest fragment to the tallest mountain. Everything plays a role in the world as we know it today.

Live and Learn

This is my first official post to my new photography blog and so I suppose perhaps it should be representative of my first real experience with it. Looking through the viewfinder you discover an entirely different perspective. Everything is distorted and muddied. The most common views become surreal, fantastic, and extraordinary.

Looking up on my way to the preserve for a little shooting session I noticed a scrubby pine tree that I probably pass a thousand times a month in my car. On foot and with this camera in hand however, it takes on new meaning and new potential.

The photograph I took became “Live and Learn” and implied to me how we all struggle to make it through life. Here in Florida the landscape easily reveals a history of tumultuous storms. Many pines show the wear and tear of lightning strikes, heavy winds, and hurricanes. In fact, almost all the trees lean inward towards the west. We all bend some to our circumstances, and we all take the lessons we’ve learned along the way.