Re-Dune

Paul Klenck September 3, 2020

Much in photography, as in so much else, depends on luck as well as planning. We returned to Indiana Dunes National Park this week for a walk on the beach now that we knew it opened at 8 o’clock. We left early to walk on the Tolleston Dunes trail again. All the red leaves I thought might be early signs of fall were likely just stressed plants from the dry weather. They had all faded to a dull orange or brown, and the ferns turning yellow had mostly dried to brown. Last week had stumbled upon a short display of vibrant red, which was now gone. Yet those ferns provided some lovely color in the wooded dunes.

August had less than an inch of rain, but the night before had finally brought a little, and a light fog was in the woods. There was still cloud cover from the rain. As the clouds began to clear, some light came into the woods.

Then the sun warmed the wet plants and ground, and it began to get a bit steamy.

Then more luck, fortune, or accident came to the photography again. The sunlight was backlighting the water drops on grasses alongside the trail. I made a few images, which is a bit challenging when shooting into the sunlight, but realized the problem focusing was because water had fallen on the lens. But the accidental results were worth it.

The chain of accident and fortune continued. I hadn’t taken a lens wipe with me, and now it was covered with water. Then I realized it wasn’t the lens that was wet, but the polarizer filter over the lens, so I just took it off and continued shooting. Then I was having trouble focusing again, and looked at my steamed up lens. The glass under the filter had been cooler, and now was fogging in the warm, moist air. And the images showed.

Time to get to the car, dry off, and head to the beach.

I have no idea if Chance had ever been to a beach. He’s not terribly interested in water, so I didn’t know if the lake would appeal to him. But the lake looked inviting.

Well, he loved the beach, and then jumped in the waves, and buried his nose in the sand. And sat down to view his domain.

National Parks can hold some magic. We’ll just leaf it at that.

Doomed? Do dunes. Done

Paul Klenck August 28, 2020

Tuesday was the 104th anniversary of the National Park Service. Chance and I got an early start for a beach walk at Indiana Dunes National Park—only an hour drive away! The website said West Beach was open after earlier Covid-19 closures, and dogs (Bark Rangers) were welcome. However, the gates were locked when we got there. A look on Google Maps showed a trail nearby called Tolleston Dunes, so off to an inland dunes hike. What a wonderful detour. The trail starts in an oak savanna.

The trail was giving clues that some early autumn colors would await us as leaves of sassafras were turning a brilliant red.

Tolleston Dunes is a couple miles inland from the current Lake Michigan shore. 10,000 years ago, the Lake was 25 feet higher, and this was the shoreline. The high ridged dunes are now covered in vegetation and offer a bit of climbing in the usual flat area, and even some overlook views to the black oak savanna and the marsh area next to it.

Further away from the lake are a third and fourth wave of ancient dunes. Caught between these dunes lines are marsh areas. Indiana Dunes is the seventh most biodiverse national park site. Not only are there these closely packed geologic changes, the park sits on the western edge of the eastern hardwood forests and the eastern edge of the Great Plains, and is on the great flyway for the birds migrating north and south along the Lake Michigan shore.

The marsh grasses are huge. Fortunately, Chance was available to provide a sense of scale.

Prairie flowers and grasses were being to show their autumn character.

Chance seemed to say, “make sure to see these yellow ferns.”

We were delighted to stumble across this wonderful trail and be surprised by unexpected summer and fall color and diversity, and have a great walk to celebrate the park system anniversary. When we got back home, I checked the park website again to see if there was more information about the West Beach access. Sure enough, I had failed to see before that beach didn’t open until 8 a.m. Chance and I will need to take another trip to try the beach, but for now he asked, “do I look best surrounded by white, yellow, or red?” He also says, “You can follow my adventures on Instagram at Bark.Ranger.Chance. “

Revisiting a magic day

Paul Klenck August 21, 2020

While searching for some bird images, I found a file from a visit to Florida in June 2008. By June, winter visitors have migrated north, and usually birding opportunities slow. But on this day, a treasure trove awaited. For sunrise, I went to a location that sometimes is good, depending on the water level. In several visits since, I’ve never seen as many birds and conditions have never been as good. I never could recapture the magic of that morning. Before the sun rose, Great Egrets were fishing in the soft light.

Sandhill Cranes were also patrolling the shallow water. These cranes mates for life, and this is likely a pair with their older colt who doesn’t yet have the adult coloring.

As the sun got up, the fishing activity increased.

The rising sun started lighting up the birds, and the still air left nice reflections in the water. I can remember where I stood as I watched this sight, and I can remember the first time I saw one of these prehistoric-looking Wood Storks while riding my bike as a boy. They remain a marvelous sight.

As the sun got higher, reflected colors in the water intensified. I can also remember the first time I saw Roseate Spoonbills while in high school camping in the Everglades when the sky turned pink with them as they flew to their roosting islands near sunset.

I needed to leave these birds and drive a bit to get closer to watch the scheduled landing of another bird that morning. Shuttle Discovery was returning from helping assemble the International Space Station. Discovery was commanded by Capt. Mark Kelly who is now running for the U.S. Senate in Arizona, and whose brother Scott set the record for life on the ISS.

That evening I returned to see if there was any magic left at the place I started the day. Sure enough, this Limpkin advised that there were still delights to see. My first time seeing a Limpkin was at this location, and who knew, perhaps this was the same one who had been my first sight.

The state bird of Florida offered some of its superb songs to the magic of the day.

A Spoonbill was still fishing.

On my morning shoot, I spotted a little puffball baby next to a Black-necked Stilt. I sat down to enjoy, and try to get some images. Another photographer came from the other direction, and was getting too close, and you could see mom was getting nervous. I usually avoid confronting others if they’re interfering with my shots, but bothering wildlife is another matter. It’s challenging enough for birds to feed and protect their young, so I shouted over to the fellow that he was disturbing the birds. He shouted back that he knew what he was doing. So I started taking pictures of him, and he soon enough left. In the evening, I went back to see if the Stilts were where they had been that morning, and sure enough the day ended peacefully watching the pair.

Into the Woods

Paul Klenck August 14, 2020

Yesterday, we got a text inviting us for a evening walk at Mayslake Forest Preserve. A place I posted about last week. Sounded like a great idea.

The evening light helped show off some of the grasses.

Chance enjoyed the opportunity to get out, but fortunately couldn’t see over the tall grass to the fellow who kept an eye on us.

The oaks kept guard over the lovely evening. What a great invitation.

I Go Down to the Shore, poems from Mary Oliver

Paul Klenck August 7, 2020

I am missing Scotland. I might be there about now. Visiting the islands, mountains, castles, and getting ready to help move my daughter home. But that won’t be happening. I was there in March when we were advised to come home. Why leave the remote remote western isles, and the fresh sea breeze?

In October, I paired some poems of Mary Oliver with images of Scotland. So how about some coastal images with her poems? The colors above and in the one below— blue gray green lavender. And Oliver’s poem Tides:

Every day the sea

blue gray green lavender
pulls away leaving the harbor’s
dark-cobbled undercoat

slick and rutted and worm-riddled, the gulls
walk there among old whalebones, the white
spines of fish blink from the strandy stew
as the hours tick over; and then

far out the faint, sheer
line turns, rustling over the slack,
the outer bars, over the green-furred flats, over
the clam beds, slippery logs,

barnacle-studded stones, dragging
the shining sheets forward, deepening,
pushing, wreathing together
wave and seaweed, their piled curvatures

spilling over themselves, lapping
blue gray green lavender, never
resting, not ever but fashioning shore,
continent, everything.

And here you may find me
on almost any morning
walking along the shore so
light-footed so casual.

From, A Thousand Mornings, 2012

I Go Down To The Shore

I go down to the shore in the morning
and depending on the hour the waves
are rolling in or moving out,
and I say, oh, I am miserable,
what shall—
what should I do? And the sea says
in its lovely voice:
Excuse me, I have work to do.

― from, A Thousand Mornings

From the poem, The Sun

Have you ever seen

anything

in your life

more wonderful

than the way the sun,

every evening,

relaxed and easy,

floats toward the horizon

and into the clouds or the hills,

or the rumpled sea,

and is gone—

. . . .

Mary Oliver, New and Selected Poems: Volume One, 1992

Carn Liath is an Iron Age broth on the shore of the North Sea. It was excavated in the 19th century and later determined to have been inhabited since the Bronze Age. What might our ruins say in thousands of years?

Of the Empire

We will known as a culture that feared death

and adored power, that tried to vanquish insecurity

for the few and cared little for the penury of the

many. We will be known as a culture that taught

and rewarded the amassing of things, that spoke

little if at all about the quality of life for

people (other people), for dogs, for rivers. All

the world, in our eyes, they will say, was a

commodity. And they will say that this structure

was held together politically, which it was, and

they will say also that our politics was no more

than an apparatus to accommodate the feelings of

the heart, and that the heart, in those days,

was small, and hard, and full of meanness.

From, Red Bird, 2008

On the Beach

On the beach, at dawn:

four small stones

clearly hugging each other.

How many kinds of love

might there be in the world,

and many formations might they make

and who am I ever

to imagine I could know

such a marvelous business?

When the sun broke

it poured willingly its light

over the stones

that did not move, not at all,

just as, to its always generous term,

it shed its light on me,

my own body that loves,

equally, to hug another body.

Mary Oliver, from Swan, 2010

Red Painted Faces

Paul Klenck July 31, 2020

Some of our national parks have unfortunate, uninspiring names. Bryce Canyon National Park is named after a 19th century pioneer who settled in the area. Also, it’s not a canyon, but an amphitheater cut into the edge of a plateau. The park is on the highest level of the Grand Staircase in south central Utah at over 9,000 feet. Native southern Paiute’s named the area Angka-ku-wass-a-wits, or red painted faces. You can easily envision ancestors fixed into stone here.

Compared to the incredible diversity of many national parks, Bryce is a bit of a single note. However, that one note that is played superbly. The view starts on the 5.5 mile Rim Trail that extends along the top of the amphitheater.

The clear sky and thin atmosphere helps see long distance. It’s said you can see 200 miles, but here’s a bit closer view down into the lower plateau.

The red sandstone lit in the high altitude sun smacks you in the face, so letting some of the texture in the snow and sand helps appreciate the forms here. Hiking down off the rim provides one of the best loop hikes you can take on the Navajo and Queens Garden trails.

The sandstone walls reflect their color back to other walls and down to the snow creating an otherworldly glow.

The smaller trees in some of the pictures are junipers, and can be hundreds of years old. If you like that, grab a juniper berry flavored gin, and provide a toast to long life. The junipers don’t hold a candle to the Bristlecone pines in the park that can live thousands of years. The 250 million year old sandstone and ancient trees offer a long-term perspective.

From Far Away

Paul Klenck July 23, 2020

Don’t know about you, but I’ve been enjoying photos of comet NEOWISE. After several cloudy, rainy days, the afternoon began to clear. I texted Dan and asked if he was up to seeking out the comet. Where could we go for a quick drive that might have dark skies and an interesting foreground for photos. Dan went out scouting, and he found a nearby forest preserve that looked promising. On the night of 51st anniversary of Apollo 11 landing, we set a time to meet to get our cameras up before dark. We enjoyed the sunset, tried to keep out of the way of bike riders, swatted mosquitoes and enjoyed watching the prairie grasses light up with fireflies.

The Stellerium website indicated the comet would be to the northwest and quite a bit higher in the sky than we expected, so there was little need to look for a foreground element for our images. We just hoped the clouds would not increase or blow over the view. The stars and planets began coming out behind us in the east, and Jupiter was the first to shine followed soon by Saturn. It also happened that this night was Saturn’s opposition, meaning it is opposite the sun from Earth and the brightest is will be for over a year. And Jupiter reached opposition just six nights before, so both were big and bright. The long lenses let us see some of Jupiter’s moons and the odd shape of Saturn’s rings. Hubble just took a wee bit better image of Saturn! You’ll get a nice view of both planets in the eastern sky early in the night. (If anyone wants to try shooting the comet or planets, I’ll add some of the shooting specs. If you’re ever interested in details about other images, just shoot me an email.)

Jupiter & Galilean Moons - Canon 5Dmarkiv, Canon 300mm, ISO 640, f/2.8, 0.3 sec

Saturn & moons - Canon 5Dmarkiv, Sigma 150-600mm @ 600mm, ISO 3200, f/6.3, 0.5 sec

Finally, the Big Dipper began to appear in the west. According to the sky map, if we followed the curve of the handle, the comet should be about halfway toward the horizon. There were some clouds in that area. Could we find it? There it was, just above the clouds!

Comet NEOWISE - Canon 5Dmarkiv, Canon 300mm, ISO 800, f/2.8, 3.2 sec

Its formal name is comet C/2020 F3 (NEOWISE) It’s named for the tool used to discover it, NASA’s space telescope the Near Earth Object Wide-field Infrared Survey Explorer (NEOWISE). Just discovered on March 27, 2020, the comet is about 3 miles across and traveling 40 MPS (miles per second). But the tail? Hundreds of thousands of miles long! It’s very challenging to see with the naked eye—just a fuzzy dot. But as the sky got darker, the view through the telephoto lens popped.

Comet NEOWISE - Canon 5Dmarkiv, Canon 300mm, ISO 1000, f/2.8, 2.5 sec

Dan had a great discovery. Looking at the Stellerium site, he said it appeared the International Space Station would be passing near the comet’s tail at 9:53 p.m. We waited, enjoying the fireflies, but not the mosquitoes, and plotted how we’d hope to try to shoot the ISS fly-by. There it came. Would it get close to the tail?

Comet NEOWISE & International Space Station - Canon 5Dmarkiv, Canon 300mm, ISO 1000, f/2.8, 2.5 sec

The astronauts on the ISS took a video of the comet coming over the earth horizon. It’s a pretty cool perspective! As for us, we packed up our equipment and headed back to our cars. And the night light show wasn’t over. Our path went by a line of spruce trees. And they were lit like a row of Christmas trees. Firefly lights flashing up the entire length of the trees. Simply amazing. A night to remember.

Daily walks

Paul Klenck July 17, 2020

One of our new habits under the restrictions is a daily morning walk. Many days it’s along the nearby prairie remnant. I posted some images of the Blackbirds a couple months ago. Now the prairie grasses are tall and the yellow, purple and red flowers are in abundance. I don’t bring the camera on these walks, but need to take a visit there with my camera to capture some of the summer flavor. However, I’ve brought the camera on a couple other nearby walks. Not in the prairie but under the oak savannah are bottlebrush grass and their wonderful shape.

Also providing wonderful shapes looking like huge ferns are sumac.

Among the many yellow flowers now blooming are the gray headed coneflowers.

And while there’s plenty of birds flying through the grasses and flowers, a battle might be going on overheaded.

A highlight of the midsummer prairie is the purple coneflower.

As the flower fades, the seeds are ready for the finches.

Hope your weekend cookouts are as enjoyable to you as these first coneflower seeds are for this goldfinch.

The day in Black & White

Paul Klenck July 10, 2020

Several of my last posts have been of one amazing day in Badlands National Park, especially an incredible afternoon and evening when storm clouds came in and wildlife showed. A big part of the magical experience was sharing it with a great photographer and man, my son Dan. Much of the fun in capturing the scenes was when the color popped in the saturated land. However, stripping away the color provides another experience, so here are some black and white views from that day starting with two sunrise images when the sky was clear.

The rainy weather left some water in small creek and provided a nice reflection and addition to the scene.

Resting at the campsite in the afternoon we watched the clouds come in over the classic Badland features near the Ben Reifel Visitor center and campground. The afternoon was looking promising, so a shot before hitting the road to explore.

One of our first surprise stops was to watch the ewes and lambs cavorting on ridges.

The Yellow Mounds area is the most colorful part of the park, but sometimes it shows off in monochrome as well.

We’ll end this just outside the Park looking back to the rain approaching the Badlands Wall.

Will there be color?

Paul Klenck July 3, 2020

The last couple posts were off our last evening in Badlands National Park. After two days of clear skies, a storm moved in and created dramatic skies. Two evenings before, we got to the park in time to get our tent up, quickly cook dinner, and head out for the last light. We were happy for the clear skies since we hoped to do some astro photography after dark. After the sun set, the horizon had some nice, soft color to contrast with the jagged Badlands sandstone.

The next evening, we scouted a place in hopes for good sunset light. Not much color in the sky, but the features caught a bit of the last light. The clear sky promised more starlight to follow.

We were able to get more Milky Way images that night, and hoped the forecast of clouds the next day would be accurate. As you saw in a post below, a storm blew in with dramatic skies. Then the question was: would the clouds make for a gray sunset or would color break through. After spending some time with the owl, we headed for a promising viewpoint to the west. A cold wind had us holding down our tripods. As the sun got below the storm clouds, the promise began to be fulfilled!

As it edged below the horizon, the sun’s filtered light began glowing the bottom of the clouds.

The palette began opening up.

To the southwest, it was still raining and drops glowed.

The northwest clouds caught a bit of red.

The red highlights concentrated.

And the Earth’s shadow descended down following the sun.

The evening continues -- Short ears

Paul Klenck June 26, 2020

On Tuesday, I posted on this blog page by mistake (you can read the next post, if you haven’t already). Coming to a fork in the road, we chose the route north directly back into Badlands National Park. Just before we got into the park (you can see the fence and cattle crossing grate of the park boundary in the image below), some free-range cattle were on the road. Also, in the image you can see the middle layer in the Badlands wall called the Yellow Mounds. About 34 million years ago, this ancient sea bed rose into what is now called the Black Hills. River erosion deposited the soil which is now this colorful mustard tinted soil, which was once again later covered by an inland sea.

South entrance to Badlands National Park

Prairie dogs are found throughout the area. While looking for some places to photograph those critters, we twice saw raptors hawking the prairie. They were too far away to photograph. Norther Harrier, hawk, owl? We couldn’t tell, but did find some baby prairie dogs—same things the raptors were likely looking for.

As we slowed for the cattle, we noticed another raptor circling the fields and getting closer. Time to get out of the car and get the long lenses.

It would mostly fly low over the field for a few feet off the grass to about 50 feet up.

Owls are silent hunters. It is eerie (earie?) when one flies close to you with feathers designed to be completely silent. Their heads are big to hold their large eyes for low light vision and facial disks to capture the sound of their prey who won’t have a clue the silent killer approaches.

This fellow is a Short-eared Owl, and someone to add to my life list. The little ear tufts are usually tucked in and not seen unless the owl is agitated. It hunts, lives and nests in grasslands like this on five continents, and is also called the marsh, grass, or prairie owl, though the English call them “Shorties.” The scientific name, Asio flammeus, is appropriately translated as fiery horned owl. Our entertainer did climb high in the sky and posed in the fiery clouds for a bit.

We wanted to get up into the Badlands to find an overlook for sunset, so we watched a few more passes of the hunter before moving on into the Park.

Watching the clouds

Paul Klenck June 23, 2020

Our first two days in the Badlands were nearly cloudless skies. This was perfect for one of our objectives — night sky imagery. However, daytime photography is much more colorful and dramatic with clouds. Our last afternoon greeted us with a wonderful storm coming from the west. (We learned when we got to our campsite after dark, that someone rescued our tent from blowing across the prairie!) Driving south of the park, we pulled over to get some shots of the approaching clouds.

We chose this spot to pull over because of this magnificent cottonwood tree. In the distance is the Badlands wall.

Back on the road, we soon came to an intersection. Do we continue northeast or turn straight north directly back to the park? Who knows what we might’ve encountered going straight, but surprises and wonders greeted us on the north route. The first was this car in a pasture. We walked out to it, let the skunk wander off and then started making pictures as the storm built.

A peak inside?

Then looking north toward the Park as the clouds got overhead. To the west in the first image you can see a few trees that caught my eye and are in the image following.

As the western horizon started opening up a bit, we hoped for a colorful sunset, so we headed back north toward the Park. We got rewarded with a fiery sunset, but first we’d find an owl searching the prairie. The sunset and owl images to come sometime in the future. For now, the promising glow of the sun behind the rain clouds as we headed back into the Park.

Columbia

Paul Klenck June 19, 2020

Starved Rock State Park has reopened, so it’s time for a trip to see some waterfalls. This got me thinking of a spectacular place for falls that I’ve just had two very quick visits to and want to revisit some day. The Columbia River Gorge east of Portland is a wonder. Here are some images from nine years ago.

This, if I recall correctly, is one of the first falls closest to Portland, and a very easy hike off the road along the river.

The showstopper which you’ve likely seen lots of images of is Multnomah Falls which drops over 600 feet in two magnificent cascades.

The rain and mist soaked environment makes for saturated colors and rich flowers.

Short hikes into the gorge abound, and we enjoyed the views along the steep cliff sides.

We were accompanied by lots of small falls along the path.

Oh, Sheep

Paul Klenck June 12, 2020

An estimated two million bighorn sheep roamed the western United States until European and American settlement, farming and hunting reduced the population to about 20,000. They were extirpated from southern South Dakota. Some were reintroduced to nearby Custer State Park in the the 1920s, and in 1964 twenty-two were brought to Badlands National Park from Pikes Peak, Colorado.

Disease from nearby domestic sheep as well as inbreeding led to an unstable population, and disputes between federal and state wildlife management agencies prevented import of new population until 2004. Then additional sheep were brought from New Mexico to diversify the population.

We found this bachelor group of rams in nice afternoon light, and they did some wonderful posing for us. Canon corporation contributed to the study and reintroduction of sheep in Badlands, so perhaps they were showing off for the Canon glass we waved at them.

The ewes, lambs and other young stay in separate groups. The next day, we rounded a bend and found some drama silhouetted on the cliffs above.

At first we didn’t see the numerous young lambs cavorting on the rocks they were perfectly camouflaged in.

Soon we spotted over a dozen lambs running up and down the cliff-side, jumping over each other, and playfully butting heads.

With no natural predators in the Park, it’s not surprising that most lamb deaths occur when they fall. So checking in with mom once in a while is a good idea.

These little fellows made it hard to move on and see other parts of the Park. In my first three visits to the Park, I never saw any sheep. My last visit ten years ago, I just saw a couple straggly looking ewes along the road. These are some of the estimated 250 sheep in the Park, and about 80,000 now in the U.S.

Opening the Door to Degrees of Light

Paul Klenck June 4, 2020

Magic can return. When I last visited Badlands National Park in 2009, I experienced a sunrise on a wonderfully named trail: The Door. The long stretch of the badland pinnacles are called the Wall, and this trail goes through an opening in the Wall called the Door. Once through the Door, in daylight you can see the badlands extend far to the east and south, and the Wall stands high to your west. Dan and I went through the Door after the new moon set and before first light to view and photograph the stars. The sky was clear and the Milky Way reached above us. The starlight was intense enough to see where to walk, but you couldn’t see any distant features near the ground. Astronomical twilight was just beginning. Astronomical twilight begins (or ends) when the sun is 18 degrees below the horizon and its light just begins to show.

As the sun gets between 12▫ and 6▫, nautical twilight arrives. Stars begin to disappear and land features start to show details.

Dan found a level spot near the Wall to capture the last of the stars.

Mourning Doves begin to coo and Meadowlarks sing as nearly all stars disappear and color begins to appear in the sky. Well into civil twilight, the next image is five minutes before sunrise, and soft light is reaching further down into the badland features.

In the image above, you can see clouds near the horizon behind the peak on the left. The next image is taken three minutes later and the clouds are catching the light and color of the sun still just below the horizon.

On clear days such as this, the best color of the day would be gone once the sun gets up. Time to act quickly and look for good compositions in the eroded features and clouds.

Looking to the northeast, the sky glows orange. About time to get to camp, have something to eat and take a nap.

A tasting menu

Paul Klenck May 29, 2020

Time to do some photography! Dan and I made a quick photo excursion to Badlands National Park in South Dakota. We picked a place we could get to in a (long) day’s drive, and packed food and camping equipment to isolate ourselves. We left Monday morning and got back last night with a lot of photography in between. No time yet to do any significant processing of images, so here’s a few images from Wednesday and a teaser of some things to come. There were quite a few birds, and some to add to my life list and share in the future. This little Killdeer was running around in the grass by our campsite. Pretty easy shooting to sit by the tent and snap a few images.

We had clear skies the first two days, which was perfect for one of our goals of some night sky photography, but made for uninteresting light for photography most of the daytime. We hiked or napped during the day. This was from our longest hike up to a view from Saddle Pass looking south to the Lakota reservation and prairie and farmland which was quite green from all the May rain.

In addition to birds, several mammals posed for us. The most dramatic were the Bighorn Sheep rams. Later, we found the ewes and lambs, and it was hard to stop taking images of the playful lambs. Here’s a more sedate ram whose horns have seen some aging.

Most of the badland features have a limited color palette from gray to dusky red, but some of the oldest rock is a colorful yellow. The Yellow Mounds area has the best display of this feature, and the clear blue sky was a nice contrast.

Tuesday ended waiting for the Milky Way to show. The sun had set over an hour earlier, but there was still some faint color in the west. The crescent moon joined Castor and Pollux from the constellation Gemini. Since Dan and I are both Geminis, it was some favorable light to shoot under. Hope you enjoyed this tasting menu of scenes from South Dakota.

Birds & The Bees

Paul Klenck May 22, 2020

Went for a walk yesterday to try out a new camera I rented, and came home with a few images—and one tick. Red-winged Blackbirds are very territorial. This fellow buzzed me as I walked by, and so it was pretty easy to then look about and find his nest with his lady sitting on it. I walked away a bit, but he still flew about and had a lot to say to me.

Another familiar fellow posed nearby.

As I distanced myself from the Blackbird nest, I heard some rustling on the ground. This little fellow was busy getting insects in the dirt, but he was also very cooperative in posing for some pictures on a branch.

I needed to search for this one’s identification when I got home. I think I’ve got it right, but if anyone suspects something else, I’ve got an image of its back I can share as well.

I walked over to a landscaped park where there were quite a few bumble bees flying among the flowers. While I got some with the bee by the bleeding hearts, I liked this one without the pollinator better.

I managed to get a bee by a Purple Allium.

As I write this, I’m watching a pair of Robins on a nest they built outside our front door. One of the eggs hatched yesterday, and worms are being delivered. Waiting to see if more little heads will be popping up soon.

Spiderwebs on my face

Paul Klenck May 15, 2020

Last week I shared some words from Erna Nixon along with images from her park. In that housecleaning, I also found a draft of my college application essay, which I wrote about her hammock. So here’s some writing from seventeen-year-old me. First, an image I found in my dad’s slides of the day the hammock was dedicated in her name. The sign was still veiled. Mrs. Nixon is the second person on the left edge in conversation with a group. I think you can guess who I am. The second image is of the sign that still welcomes you to the trails.

“As I was reviewing topics for this essay, I got an urge to go over to one of my favorite places to clear my mind for a little while. This place is a small, unspoiled morsel of Florida that goes under the title of the ‘Erna Nixon Hammock.’ Wandering down the narrow, camouflaged trails and thinking about an essay led to two things. First, spiderwebs adhering themselves to my face and clothes. And second, an idea for the composition, my friend for the past ten or twelve years, the hammock.

“To discuss the hammock one must first consider Mrs. Nixon. My family met her through a mutual friend in Chicago. Since then she has become a good friend and teacher of mine. She is an eighty-year-old, very intelligent, very small, very wonderful lady who has spent a good portion of the last seventeen years under the trees of the hammock. If ever I have an unidentifiable plant or creature, I go over to her house with a description of it. We generally come up with a name for it, and then spend the next hour or two talking about anything that comes to our minds.”

“A hammock is an island of vegetation that is a bit different from the vegetation which surrounds it. The Nixon Hammock consists mainly of oaks and other trees and shade-loving flora. . . .”

“ . . . The hammock openly extends itself to anyone who wishes to share in its peaceful life. Often when I am home and being occupied with some work that becomes more and more burdening, I get on my bike and ride over to the hammock. Then I pick a trail that will take me to the portion of the dark interior I want to go to. I spend about a half-hour studying some ferns or mosses or sitting on an old oak. When I come out I am a little more relaxed and ready to go back to the work I had left.”

“Some days I may have a good feeling within and a free hour. This often takes me to the hammock. I just wander around in the outdoor cathedral, meditating and sometimes talking to birds and squirrels and waiting for a reply. . .”

Huh, I thought talking to plants and animals was a newer thing. I’d forgotten I’ve been doing that for quite a while.

"Seek out the Wilderness Places"

Paul Klenck May 8, 2020

Our town has an annual spring cleaning day when it will pick up all the trash you put curbside. That led us to Coronavirus-basement-scouring-and-purging. In that project, I came across some boxes of old letters. Among the treasures were a couple notes from my dear mentor Erna Nixon. I also found my college essay which I wrote about her and her efforts to preserve wilderness in her community. The essay did its work. I was accepted, and I always remember Erna this time of year when I see the first crocus emerge. Before I left for school, she told me the woods on Northwestern campus are filled with purple and white crocus. Sure enough, each spring outside the two buildings I had most of my classes, a carpet of purple and white flowers would display.

She had been a biology teacher in Chicago before retiring to Florida with her husband. She found an area in her village called a hammock, which is slightly elevated ground containing trees and other plants different than the surrounding pine and palmetto scrub-land in central and south Florida. She convinced the village to set aside the land, and she blazed a figure eight trail through the hammock, and would lead walks through this jewel. I was there when the village dedicated the area and named it “Erna Nixon Hammock.” It would be a sanctuary for me, and I’d sometimes encounter her on my walks there or go to her house and chat about discoveries I made there.

She realized the hammock and other unusual features extended outside the village boundaries, and so were unprotected and at risk for development. She convinced the county to protect an extended area, and it would eventually be named “Erna Nixon Park.” But the future park ecosystem was still under threat if a developer’s planned mall would be built too close.

I would visit Mrs. Nixon whenever I’d return to Florida, and it must’ve been after one such visit that she wrote to me in early 1982, and of her efforts even at 90 to fight for the wilderness.

Thank you for helping me to celebrate my 90th Christmas! (I was less than two months old on my first.) I’m sure I was far more helpless then than now.

Both the old hammock and the newish park are thriving. Your folks may have mentioned the terrific efforts which have been made to get the Ohio developer to change his mind as to the location. It is a long, complicated story and I’ll not bore you with the details.

One feature in the Park not found in the Hammock is a shallow wetland area. The hammock has a dense canopy of trees, but the wetland area is open with lots of grasses and ferns, and water-loving Red Maple grows.

I apparently missed her on a visit in late 1983, but got a note in return:

You will be in my mind whether or not we write, meet or otherwise.

I keep amazingly busy and in excellent health. In less than a month I will have reached my 92nd. I just can’t comprehend it. So I brag about my age and Enjoy it. Life has given me so many experiences—all kinds!

This coming Sunday (Oct 8) I will be privileged to be one of many speakers & special attractions at the Erna Nixon Park. The Junior League of South Brevard, Inc., is sponsoring the event. I am so glad that I can continue in such activities. This affair is advertised as “An Afternoon with Nature” . . . from 12 to 5 p.m. Since I am not going out on long Tours, I think I’ll give an Imaginary one and call it: “Take a walk with me.”

I would imagine she described a walk through the figure eight trail she made through the Hammock or along the 3,000 foot boardwalk that circles through the Park. After leaving the wetland area, the boardwalk rises (a few feet!) into the hardwood hammock. A lovely moss covered Live Oak stands sentry.

I remember sitting in her living room one day when I’d likely biked to the hammock and then paid her a visit as she went through one of her books to identify a plant or insect I discovered, and she said something such as, “I must learn at least one new thing every day.” As a young boy, I couldn’t imagine someone in her 80s would still be learning things. As I began my last year of law school, she wrote:

While I write, a big Bull Frog keeps distracting me but I like it. I hope you will seek out the Wilderness Places when you are busy with your Career. You will need the release and relaxation.

. . . .

When I see you again, I want to tell you about the amazing appearance of a seldom seen flower which has appeared in a ditch nearby — (called Nama or Hydrolea).

Your life of Learning is really just beginning — and who knows what may be ahead in the way of schooling! Congratulations on what you have accomplished. I will always be interested.

Most Sincerely,

Erna Nixon

Shakespeare and Solace

Paul Klenck April 30, 2020

Folger Shakespeare Library produces a terrific podcast. As with many other productions, they are addressing COVID-19, and this week’s was a bit different with several interviews with writers, actors, directors, and others about where they seek solace in Shakespeare’s writing. Here are some images from his island and text inspired by the episode. Hope it provides a bit of solace for you.

A few weeks ago, I shared an image inspired by Ariel in The Tempest. The other native on the island in that play is Caliban. In this scene, an invisible Ariel is making noises to scare two drunken shipwrecked sailors. The ugly, coarse Caliban, then speaks some beautiful poetry about his home island.

In reaction to that reading, the former Folger Library Director, Gail Kern Paster said:

I think too that one of the things that makes this passage so hopeful and beautiful at this moment is that it's really hard not to experience the world as toxic. The moment we walk out our doors, we feel as if we're in a toxic place. What this passage reminds us of is how beautiful our world is. And even in a time like our time, in a moment of plague, we cannot—we should not forget that we live in a very, very beautiful world.

Current Director, Michael Witmore offered:

Okay, I'm going to give you a couple more short ones. One of my favorites, this is from Troilus and Cressida. "One touch of nature makes the whole world kin." We're all human. Every one of us, but we share a common nature and this is what draws us together. I do feel like it speaks to my desire to feel like I'm in the boat with everybody else.

And then this is my favorite one I think, "Truth makes all things plain." “Truth makes all things plain,” does what it says. It's simple. It's direct, and so are the facts. And in this particular moment, we really do need facts. It's the thing we long for in addition to connection. So that's my favorite five word phrase for the thing we're experiencing now.

The highlight of the podcast for me was listening to Derek Jacobi reading this overwhelmingly sad poem, that in true Elizabethan sonnet form twists in the last couplet to a ray of joy and love. So think of dear friends.