New Life

We live in a throw-away society. In “the old days” things were made to last a lot longer than today, and if the need did arise, a repair job was often cheaper than buying new. If you have not read the picture book “Something from Nothing” by Phoebe Gilman, I urge you to do so—and don’t forget to pay attention to the story told in the border as well.

Almost a year ago a crate arrived at our house from my sister in Denmark. It contained our Grandmother Andersen’s spinning wheel. Despite its worm-eaten state and worn, missing, or broken parts, it was easy for the mind’s eye to see the work that had been done on this wheel in its glory days. It was very much a production wheel, not just a pretty piece of woodwork adorning a corner of the parlour.

My grandparents were married in 1912 and took over the family farm. Whether the spinning wheel was there when my grandmother moved in, I don’t know. Was it her own wheel that she took with her? I don’t know. But it’s a fair guess the wheel is at least 100 years old. And why in the world would I want that piece of broken equipment?

I am not a spinner, but my eldest daughter is. In fact, in another couple of years she can call herself a Master Spinner after six years of study. Jan knows a thing or two about woodworking, and after extensive research he restored the spinning wheel into a functioning tool again. He left the restored pieces in the natural light colour in contrast to the old dark wood. On Christmas Day, for the first time in decades, a foot on the treadle moved the footman up and down which caused the fly wheel to rotate, Vanessa’s hands fed fibre through the flyer, and yarn wound onto the bobbin. Between the two of them, father and daughter had brought new life to the old spinning wheel, and she rewarded them by humming softly and running rapidly. It was like she had been waiting for this moment just as much as we had. My grandmother’s spirit is in the spinning wheel and I saw her in the content little smile on her great-granddaughter’s face as she was creating yarn. This family heirloom is in good hands…

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

Yesterday we lit the third candle on our advent wreath. That means there’s only one more Sunday before Christmas. I don’t know about you, but the days of December seem to pass with lightning speed, and the Christmas spirit has so far eluded me. Maybe it’s the lack of snow crunching under my winter boots; maybe it’s the lack of seeing my breath in -20C weather; or maybe it’s because I have seen Christmas displays in stores for months, thinking “that’s much too early!” This is also the first year I have not worked in the month of December, longing for the Christmas break… yup, that just might be it!

I have not done much photography since the fall, but I wanted to experiment with taking pictures in low light without flash. In this the dark half of the year there’s plenty of opportunity to do just that outside and inside. I love coming around the corner of our street when it’s dark and being met by the sight of icicle Christmas lights on our house. There’s something very simple yet incredibly beautiful in those drooping lights which I wanted to capture. So I grabbed my camera one night recently—but not my coat!—and took a few shots. I am surprised at how clear they are, really, as I went out long after sundown. The pictures are a bit grainy in the bottom half which is further away from the lights, and I have to figure out if there is a way to avoid that. But for my first try I’m pretty happy I have this memory of our house at Christmas.

If it works outdoors, maybe it will work indoors on the same setting, was my thought, and what better subject to try it on than our advent wreath. Jan made it himself for our second Christmas in Canada, and I love the simplicity of it, too: the spruce wreath held up by four red ribbons, one red ribbon hanging down in the middle with a pine cone at the end. And of course the four candles evenly spaced between the four red ribbons creating shadows on the ceiling and the wall. We turn off all the lights in the house and sit quietly watching the wreath while listening to Danish Christmas carols. Sometimes we sing along. I am at peace for those 15-20 minutes… nothing else matters. I feel I captured the essence of this Danish Christmas tradition we have kept alive through all the years. Christmas just wouldn’t be Christmas without it, or without all the other Danish traditions we hold so dear at this time of the year.

I dare say… could that be a little pang of Christmas spirit I just felt?

Merry Christmas to all of you who read my blog and have encouraged me to keep going. I am blessed to have you in my life.

Canada, Our Home

I’m sure no one who reads this blog needs me to tell them Canada is an awesome country. From coast to coast to coast we have spectacular landscape and scenery, flora and fauna, and each province and territory has its own strengths which together make Canada one of the best places in the world to live. I know Denmark has been named the happiest country on Earth, and I have often been asked why I chose to leave such a place and settle in Canada.

It wasn’t a conscious decision, really. Neither Jan nor I were ever so dissatisfied with our life in Denmark that we decided we’d had enough and wanted to live somewhere else. We were young, adventurous, and in between jobs, so when I saw an ad for a greenhouse foreman in Leamington, ON I jokingly said to Jan “why don’t you apply for that one?” Over the next few months one thing led to another and the joke became a little more serious. We both wanted to see the world, and this was a perfect opportunity to experience this huge northern country we really didn’t know too much about.  Canada had a certain mystique about it in my 23-year-old mind, and the more I learned, the more excited I became that we might actually go there for a year or so before we settled back down in Denmark.

On November 17, 1975 we set foot on Canadian soil for the first time. That was the beginning of the love affair we have with this country. For the past 40 years we have explored many corners from coast to coast to coast, and we marvel at each turn. We gave up our Danish citizenship to become Canadian citizens and we feel proud and privileged to call ourselves Canadian. To us, this is the best country in the world, and we are happiest when we are here. Canada may not be our native land, but it is our home.

Here we are on the night before we boarded the plane for Canada in 1975

And here we are 40 years later, a little heavier and grayer, doing what we love the most--hiking in the mountains

Into the Mist

The other morning I woke up to a mist hanging in the valley, obscuring the view I so love from our kitchen window. The sun had not quite yet risen as I sat down for breakfast, and it was by chance I happened to look up when I did. What met my eyes was spectacular in an eerie way: the rising sun shone through the mist and reflected off the windows of houses on top of the hill. These little specks of light were suspended in the air, not attached to anything, just reminding me there is something on the other side. I ran to get my camera, but of course it was almost too late by the time I reached the deck, camera in hand. Sunrises are like that. I did manage to capture two little dots of light which was better than missing the moment altogether.

There is something mysterious yet soothing about mist and fog. I got soaked hiking through the pea soup in Newfoundland and could only guess how high the Tablelands are.

I was not able to watch for migrating whales in California because the ocean fog didn’t burn off at all that day, but felt so peaceful walking on Crescent Beach through the migrating patches of fog instead. 

I had no idea what was on the other side of the bridge in Coos Bay on the Oregon Coast, but trusted it would lead me to where I was going.

And then there’s ice fog… hoar frost usually goes with that, encapsulating everything in its way. 

I am so lucky to live in a place where I get to see winter's work of art.

Nature's Goldmine

Last weekend I visited Nature's Goldmine. Enough said...

Big Hill Springs Provincial Park

Big Hill Springs Provincial Park

Big Hill Springs Provincial Park

Allan Bill Picnic Area, west of Bragg Creek

From Secondary Highway 762 between Bragg Creek and Millarville

From Secondary Highway 762 between Bragg Creek and Millarville

What a difference a year makes

Earlier this month I celebrated my birthday. Last year it was a very memorable day for the whole city of Calgary as it was also the day the second major snowstorm in three days occurred. 40 cm of heavy wet snow damaged tens of thousands of trees, some of which are still waiting to be pruned or taken down. “Snowtember” will not soon be forgotten by anyone who was caught in the middle of it.

Our neighbour's willow branches draped themselves over our deck railing during Snowtember 2014

This year I refer to my birthday as “Suntember” because it could easily have been mistaken for a summer’s day. No need for a coat, and I wish I had worn shorts or at least capris on the two walks I did—Nose Hill in the morning and Glenbow Ranch Provincial Park in the afternoon. My “birthday twin” was in town and we spent our birthday together doing the two things we both love the most: walking and taking photographs. Our husbands were very patient with us when the one-hour walks became two hours because we got so caught up in taking pictures! It was fun to have a camera buddy, and we challenged each other with composition and manual settings.

Obviously I didn't take this photograph, but I thought it would make you smile to see it nonetheless

Most of the pictures I took that day were not spectacular and ended up in the recycle bin, but I had such an enjoyable day. Thank you, my friend and "birthday twin," for making it so.

This photograph from the top of Nose Hill intrigues me as the mountains in the background look like clouds

I love the late afternoon light through this aspen grove in Glenbow Ranch Provincial Park

Enjoy the Journey

How many of us have driven the QE2 between Calgary and Edmonton and made a quick stop in Red Deer’s Gasoline Alley for a drink, some fast food, or gas? I see you nodding as most of us just want to get going again so we can get to our destination as quickly as possible. The 299 km can be done in three hours, and that’s not even speeding!

In the past few years, however, we have made a point of stopping for an extended period of time in Red Deer on the journey north or south. I find a couple of hours in the car is all I can handle at a time these days which makes Red Deer the perfect place to explore. We bring a picnic lunch, find a park, and enjoy some fresh air before continuing the drive. Heritage Ranch, Waskasoo, and Fort Normandeau are all great parks we have frequented, but on our latest drive to Edmonton we decided to visit Bower Ponds Park for the first time in a long while.

When we first arrived in Alberta in 1976 we settled in the Red Deer area. We decided on it by looking at a map and found Red Deer conveniently located between the two major cities… good enough reason when you’re 20-something! Members of the Red Deer Danish Canadian Club, who soon became friends, were very helpful in the transition to the prairies. We had no idea what a block heater was and why it was important to have one in our car!

The Club was part of the Red Deer Cultural Heritage Society (then called the Red Deer International Folk Festival), and they had just moved the Cronquist House across the Red Deer River to its present location. Quite the feat when you think about it. Bower Ponds Park was developed around the house shortly after, and today it is a beautiful and peaceful oasis within city limits. A handful of people had the vision 40 years ago to create this place for all to escape to without having to drive for hours. I am thankful they did, and although I was not directly involved in the shaping of the park, I feel connected to it through my involvement with the Red Deer Danish Canadian Club long ago. Spending time in the park both on the way north and four days later on the way south made me reminisce about the six years we called the Red Deer area home, the life we lived, and the friends we made. We were so young and adventurous!

We have all been guilty of getting so caught up in our destination that we forget to enjoy the journey, both literally and figuratively. Maybe it has something to do with my age, but now more than ever I enjoy the journey and reach my destination a little later. I know I am happier for it. So the next time you find yourself on the QE2 heading to Edmonton, do yourself a favour: rent a paddle boat and splash around Bower Ponds for half an hour. I bet you’ll have a little smile on your face the last half of your journey.

Changing Perspectives

In 1966 Jens Otto Kragh, the Danish prime minister at the time, said, “I have a stand until I take a new one.” For a politician, that is either a very smart comment or a death knell, depending on the situation. But it is a comment I can relate to in my personal life. Times change, and as a result my perspective changes, too.

I held on to my 35 mm SLR camera for the longest time after digital photography became the norm. When I finally got my first DSLR camera in 2008, I was very adamant about not manipulating my digital photos in any way. The image was what my eye saw, for better or for worse. Gradually I discovered that if I lightened or darkened an image slightly, I could use the photo instead of having to delete it. Or if I cropped out that distracting branch at the side, the landscape photo became balanced. I don’t think I will ever go so far as to remove a drainpipe from a building, change the colour of the siding, and add a flowering bush like the instructor of a class I took once showed us he had done. Granted, the final image was lovely, but that building does not exist anywhere in real life. He had created an image based on a real building, and if that was his intention, then he did a good job. But he could no longer say, “if you walk down this street in Athens you will find this building.”

When photographing moving water, whether a creek, a river, or a waterfall, I always liked to portray the water as I see it. The softness of a long-exposure water image was something I had never tried or even wanted to do until last week on a hike along Cat Creek in K-Country with my family. But retirement has changed my photography perspective slightly from always depicting the real thing to adding an artistic flair in certain images. When we reached a small waterfall at the end of the trail, I thought to myself, “I want to try this long exposure thing for a change.” The result is what you see below. I am really quite happy with that image, and I’m sure it’s not the last time I try long exposure on water.

Lifelong learning is all about stepping out of one's comfort zone and not being afraid to try something new… and times change.

Doing Nothing

Earlier this month Jan and I dog-, cat-, llama-, plant-, and house-sat for good friends of ours. It was an opportunity to spend a week in the country quite literally surrounded by nature on their acreage. Trees abound on the property—the house sits among them and paths are mowed regularly through the grassy undergrowth enabling nature walks. Most of the paths lead down to the Red Deer River which we welcomed on the days the heatwave struck. By the time we reached the river, the dog was already lying down in the water cooling off! The shriek of the resident red-tailed hawk greeted us every time we reached a certain spot, as it has done for years.

So what does one do for a week when there is nothing much to do other than feed the animals and water the plants and go for walks? We sat on the covered deck a lot, first very still and whispering to each other, but we soon realized the wildlife around there felt very safe around humans. As long as we were just going about our business, so were they. When we heard the tap-tap-tap in the tree just off the deck we knew the downy woodpecker had stopped by for insects to feed its young. The hum of wings signalled the arrival of the ruby-throated hummingbird to the red flower feeder hanging from the deck post. Chickadees and pine siskins ate upside down at the cylindrical birdfeeder hanging from a nearby tree branch. Squirrels chased each other and made such a racket sometimes even the dog took notice. A five-point mule deer buck strolled through the trees and down the driveway on the other side of the house one morning.

Sitting on the deck was the perfect opportunity for me to study my camera manual a little more in depth. As I read about settings and styles and effects, I tried them out, some with more success than others. I found out my camera is a very powerful tool and can do a lot of things—I just have to tell it to do them! That last part is something I have to practice over and over until it becomes second nature at some point in time. I remember my mother being impatient with my father when he took “forever” to get all the settings just right on his camera before he took the picture (and in those days everything was manual). More than once I thought of my dad when I was poking around on the display screen of my digital camera, and I sent him a silent “I totally understand!” Sometimes, though, being in the right place at the right time means you don’t have time to fiddle with settings. You just shoot and fix the image later on the computer as a friend of mine did when a grizzly bear crossed the road while she was in her parked car.

When we got home after our week in the country, I had taken 134 pictures sitting on the deck and walking various pathways—and that’s not including all those I deleted off the camera right away! Most of them are not keepers and will be deleted, but a few I’m quite pleased with:

Grainy B&W creative filter setting on the camera
Other creative filters are fish-eye, water painting, soft focus, and a couple more I doubt I'll ever use

Ruby-throated hummingbird
I like the position of the bird and its blurred wings... I can almost hear the hum

The same ruby-throated hummingbird, but shutter speed set very high (1/4000) to capture "a moment in time"
which is the only way to see a hummingbird's wings clearly in flight
The image was a little dark, and I lightened it slightly in Photoshop Elements

The soft morning light on the young mule deer and the blurred background
makes this one of my favourite pictures of the week.

What's your passion?

When you meet a person who is passionate about something, you cannot help but become at least a little bit interested in what it is that sparks that fire in them. When you are surrounded by a few hundred people with the same passion for four days, the energy in the room is undeniable and you get caught up in it. I believe I am passionate about photography, but what I feel is nothing compared to the knitters and spinners, crocheters and felters, weavers and whatever else one can do with fibre, who attend the Olds College Fibre Week the last full week in June.

A big part of Fibre Week is the Merchant Mall for the first four days.  This was the third year we had a booth with Jan’s wooden “quality tools for discerning fibre artists.” And those fibre artists are a mixed lot—young and old, and yes, a couple of men thrown in for good measure among the women. They come from all walks of life, some even take the leap and make a business out of their passion, but the one thing they all have in common is the soothing calmness they get out of their particular fibre art. Feeding batt through your fingers onto a spinning wheel and creating “pretty string” as one person described it, is meditative for most. The stresses of the day seem to be spun out of your mind, the tension leaves your shoulders, and you enter a very relaxed space as your bare feet rhythmically go up and down on the treadles of your spinning wheel.

I have a long way to go with my photography before I can get to such a place… don’t know that I ever will. But in the meantime I’ll continue to look for interesting subjects to photograph, experiment with manual settings, read some articles, and most of all have fun with it.

A Curious Spin lets you create your own batt from fibre in delicious colours

Hiking on a Monday

One of the activities Jan and I have looked forward to when both of us retired is hiking on a weekday. The hiking season is short enough as it is, and to be able to get up in the morning, look out the window, check the weather forecast for the rest of the day, and decide to take off, just like that, seemed to us to be the epitome of being retired.

Last Monday was such a day. Mid-morning we headed off towards Elbow Valley, excited about the day before us. But as we were driving west, this strange feeling suddenly came over me: this is so wrong! It felt very weird to be heading for the hills on a Monday instead of a Saturday or Sunday. Traffic wasn't bumper to bumper, and there was no one in the parking lot when we arrived. The most lovely birdsong filled the quiet as we got out of the car.

With the description of the 7.3 km loop in the Mustang Hills from Gillian Daffern's Kananaskis Country Trail Guide, 4th edition, in my mind--and the book in Jan's backpack--we set off, boots on our feet, poles in our hands, lunch in our backpacks, and sunhat on our heads. My camera was harnessed on my chest as usual, and the wildflower geek that I am, I was on the lookout for what is in bloom now, on this trail. I found many of the common wildflowers I see on many trails, but also some intricate ones like the silky scorpionweed.

Early June is when the calypso orchid usually flowers in these parts, but the ground was fairly dry and they like their feet a bit damp, so I was not sure if there would be any on this trail. But one can always hope. On the first of the three hills--west, centre, and east--the ground cover of the forest changed dramatically to being more mossy, and a feast for the eye soon appeared : a pink carpet of calypso orchids in bloom by the hundreds. Never in my life have I seen so many calypsos in one place, and I marveled at this delicate little spring flower's proliferation. In the heat of summer all living traces of the plant disappear. In the fall, a single leaf is produced, persisting under winter snows until spring blooming [Royal Botanical Gardens, www.osrbg.ca]. Such a short time this beautiful wild orchid graces the forest floor, and I consider myself very lucky to have laid eyes so many in bloom in one spot.

The Mustang Hills Trail is an unofficial trail and as such is not maintained by the province. We fared well on the first half and enjoyed the view of the Elbow River Valley from each of the three hills. Coming down from the east hill is where the trail became a little obscure, less and less defined, deadfall to step across, but we finally made it down to the river, not quite where the book said we'd exit the forest! While we were never in any danger, it might be better to stick to official trails from now on...

Walking on the Beach

There’s something soothing about walking on the beach... the sound of the waves crashing onto shore, the water receding back out… over and over again. I hear nothing else, just the water, the wind, the occasional shriek of a seagull… it calms my soul.

In landlocked Alberta I don’t get to experience this sensation. I have to rely on my Dan Gibson’s Solitudes: The Classics CD to take me to that place. It adds gentle classical music and bird twitter to the waves, and whenever I have a migraine or just need to relax, I reach for the iPod, close my eyes, and drift into that space.

Growing up, the ocean was never far away, and I have fond memories of finding a sheltered spot (“gryde”) in the sand in which to spread my towel and settle down for a while. Now that I have to travel hundreds of kilometers to reach the ocean, I drink it in tenfold to sustain me until next time.

On our recent road trip I got to walk on several beaches, Crescent Beach being one of them. It is a long strip of sand south of Crescent City in Northern California, and at low tide the strip is quite wide. The mist coming off the ocean on this day made the beach walk almost ethereal… me, all alone, at the end of the world.

Most people, at some point or other when they walk on the beach, bend their heads and look for rocks, shells, feathers, and whatever else is washed up by the waves. I am no different, and at the same time I challenge myself to capture a story from the beach in my viewfinder.

The Pacific Ocean is one wild ocean. I have a healthy respect for her and she has rewarded me. We shall meet again.

Redwoods

Hiking in the redwoods… how often have I said these words and wished it was something I had done instead of something I wanted to do sometime.  Well, recently “sometime” arrived and my wish came true.

The first time I stood among the towering coast redwood trees in Northern California I was in awe. So straight and tall, like soldiers side by side, they were, and most so wide across the base I could only reach a fraction of their girth with my arms stretched out. One after the other, on and on they went as the trail wound itself through the forest. How many before me had trod here over the centuries? Millenniums? For coast redwoods can survive for 2000 years, but most live “only” 500 to 700 years. Imagine the stories the forest could tell!

Some trees sacrificed their lives to become log roadbed of the Redwood Highway in the 1800s. Even though they are almost covered by ferns and other vegetation, the logs are still visible under US 101 along Hobbs Wall Trail. And in the forest the stumps of felled redwoods are encircled by new growth redwood trees in what is known as fairy rings. Survival is paramount… the old tree suckered from its roots to give life to new trees. Generations from now those trees will be towering giants themselves.

Despite a wide and intertwined root system, it is shallow, only 10-13 feet deep, which isn’t much for a 300 foot tree. It is not advisable to go for a hike in stormy weather as trees might come crashing down without warning. After one recent storm a tree blocked the trail in Stout Grove, and rangers went out with a two-man crosscut saw to clear the trail. Why a hand tool? Nesting birds nearby would be disturbed by the noise of a chain saw. But the downed tree was so wide the saw got stuck halfway through! The tree stayed across the trail, saw imbedded, and the “Please stay on trail” sign leaning on the trunk. Law-abiding citizen that I am, I crawled over the tree trunk and stayed on the trail!

The Boy Scout Tree Trail hike is the one that stands out in my mind as “the” hike in the redwoods. Listed as one of the longer redwood forest trails at 5.6 miles (9 km) out-and-back, the trail winds up and down through a sea of ferns beneath the gigantic trees. I had to stop often to take in the sight and imprint it in my mind. Although I have some amazing photographs from this hike, pictures just don’t do the experience justice. I felt humbled to be in the presence of these old trees. I felt privileged to be allowed to witness with my own eyes the grandeur that is the coast redwood forest. I am now part of redwood history.

I have struggled for days to find the words to write this post, probably because there are no words to adequately describe the redwoods and the emotions they brought out in me. So I will leave you with a quotation by John Steinbeck that says it much better than anything I could write:

“The redwoods, once seen, leave a mark or create a vision that stays with you always. No one has ever successfully painted or photographed a redwood tree. The feeling they produce is not transferable. From them comes silence and awe. It's not only their unbelievable stature, nor the color which seems to shift and vary under your eyes, no, they are not like any trees we know, they are ambassadors from another time.”

Prairie Crocus (Anemone patens)

The true harbinger of spring for me is the prairie crocus. As a wildflower geek, there’s something exhilarating about discovering the first one of the season. It tells me winter is over… snow from now on is called a spring storm. It tells me I can soon start to look for other wildflowers… everywhere. It tells me hiking season is here… dust off those boots.

I usually start looking for prairie crocuses in early to mid-April when winter’s snow has melted, but since we had such mild temperatures in most of March, I wondered if they had peeked through the dead grass on hillsides around here a little earlier. Last Friday Jan and I walked in Nose Hill with our noses to the ground, but no fuzzy purple flowers were to be found. Sunday I walked along the path behind our house and up through the coulee, not really expecting to spot any, but a little voice inside me kept whispering “maybe.” No. Monday I walked in Confluence Park by Harvest Hills with my eyes peeled on both sides of the path at the top. I had gone down the hill to the path by Nose Creek when I decided “enough of this” and started to look for other things to take pictures off. I found a bush with wrinkled red berries on it, and intertwined in its branches were the tufts of wild clematis seeds from last year. So even though it wasn't what I had hoped to take pictures of, I was happy to take some shots of last year’s faded glory.

As I made my way back towards the parking lot, the path took me by a south-facing slope, and I thought to myself “if they are out, this is where they will be.” And no sooner had I finished that thought when what to my wondering eyes should appear? Four little clumps of purple! I broke into a big smile and said aloud “there you are!” If anyone had seen or heard me they would have thought me a little odd, I’m sure! But to me it was like I had found the treasure on a map marked with X. Save for one other small clump a little further along the path, this was the only place I laid eyes on my prairie crocuses.

This furry little perennial is actually not a crocus, which is in the Lily family; it’s really an anemone, in the Buttercup family. Early settlers called this native anemone the “prairie crocus” because it reminded them of their early crocuses back in Europe [http://plantwatch.naturealberta.ca/choose-your-plants/prairie-crocus/].

I’ll leave you with this lovely quotation:

“The name of ‘gosling’ given the downy buds by prairie children is eminently suitable, but the Indian name is even better. The Indians… had a perfect genius for choosing the most poetic and significant name for things about them. ‘Ears of the Earth’ they called these furry ears which, so soon after the snow drifts melt, the prairie thrusts up to listen for the first faint rustle of summer.”
A. Brown. 1970. Old Man’s garden. Gray’s Publishing Ltd., Sidney, B.C.