Month: February 2017

Downy Woodpecker

The weather this week has been uncharacteristically warm for February. The air temperature has ranged between 8°C and 22°C. Normally we would expect cold, windy and wet weather. It feels more like late Spring than late Winter.

I was ill all last week, since last Sunday. Usually, I am not sick this time of year. I have a relatively strong immune system. I also usually get a flu shot. This year I didn’t take the time to get it done. I think my system was overwhelmed by exposure to sick people. My wife's best friend had returned from India and debarked the plane with the flu, and my wife had gone over to bring her some food. The next day my wife was sick, and two days later, when her symptoms worsened, I took her to urgent care. I think everyone in the waiting room was ill.

I've stood at the window all this week looking out at the incredible weather. I was upset that I could not enjoy it. I wanted to get out into Sourland Mountain for a hike in the woods. I wanted to feel the sunlight on my face. I wanted to hear the sounds of nature. I had listened to the whir and whoosh of the central heating and cooling system all week. I'm not too fond of that sound.

Yesterday I opened the sliding door, grabbed my camera, and sat outside on the steps at the back of our home. I sat there enjoying the almost quiet. In the distance, I could hear the leaf blowers. Short gusts of wind caressed the tops of the trees. The aches and pains in my back were uncomfortable. I lay back and watched the higher-up winds push the clouds through the sky.

The bird appeared and hopped from branch to branch above the bird feeder. I sat up and followed its travel for a bit. Then I remembered I had the camera. I fired off a few bursts of the shutter. The bird hopped to another branch. Then another. Each time, I captured a burst of images. It seemed to be confirming that I was not a threat. I grabbed a few more shots, and then I stopped. I watched the bird eat. Having had its fill, the bird then flew off.

[exif id="24879"]

I have no what type of bird this is. Do you?

UPDATE: According to my Instagram contacts, this is a downy woodpecker.

Nostalgia

The Tuesday Photo Challenge is a weekly theme-based challenge for photographers of all kinds to share both new and old photography. #fpj-photo-challenge

This week's challenge was challenging for me. I was looking up the definition of nostalgia.

a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.

I was born and raised in the former British West Indies. The culture, food, buildings and beaches are not duplicated in anything that can be found in New Jersey. Or anywhere else on the East Coast. Or the United States. I spent my youth living in St. Vincent, Bequia, St. Lucia, Barbados, and Antigua.

The family home and the turquoise waters of the Caribbean Sea are thousands of miles away. I spent my early years living upstairs in the old Barclays Bank in Princeton Margaret beach in Bequia. The entrance to the building was about 200 meters from the beach. This is where I spent a lot of time with my brothers and friends. We played beach cricket with tennis balls and bats improvised from the dead branches of coconut trees. Sometimes we played intense games of marbles "for keeps". I don't remember the rules of marble games, but I know the games were hotly contested. Sometimes we just ran up and down the beach as fast as possible. I was always the fastest.

Me

Sometimes my Mom would take us to visit our grandparents at their home on Monkey Hill. I loved helping my grandmother gather eggs from the chickens. Less enjoyable was moving the goats from one pasture to another. Goats can be difficult. If I was lucky, Mama1 would take me with her to pick sapodilla and sugar apples and we would climb all the way to the very top of Monkey Hill. There was always a good breeze, and I could see everything down to the coast below.

Grandmother, Me, Mom | Thursday 6 August 1998

Those were good times.

I have no access to any of that, and in the thirty-two years I have lived in the United States, I can’t think of anything I have experienced in the USA that evokes those memories. The Jersey Shore beach water is brown. The ocean air does not smell the same. The food is American. It doesn’t feel the same.

I don't have old photos to share. My parents either didn't own a camera at that time, or my mom has them in some precious album of her own. My mom lives in Florida, but right now is on holiday in St. Vincent.

I drove over to a shop in Hopewell, Twine, looking for inspiration. Twine sells various items; wooden boxes, old painted stools, flashcards, pencils, scrabble tiles, labels, books, etc. My daughter came with me. The only thing that seemed nostalgically familiar was the stack of marbles. I bought a handful.

Next door was an antique store, Tomato Factory. I saw a few things — vintage oil lanterns — that reminded me of my early life in the British West Indies, but ultimately there was nothing that I could take home. Photography in the store was not allowed.

This marbles photo does not include boys in khaki pants, beach sand or sunsets.

I was saddened while I was writing this. All this thinking about my past had made me acutely nostalgic. I realise how much I have lost.

The Tuesday Photo Challenge is a weekly theme-based challenge for photographers to share both new and old photography. This week's theme is nostalgia.

  1. All the grandchildren called her “mama”. ?

Language and Communication, Cameras, Street Photography, and Envy

The desire to affirm that women are equal has made some scholars reluctant to show they are different, because differences can be used to justify unequal treatment and opportunity. Much as I understand and am in sympathy with those who wish there were no differences between women and men—only reparable social injustice—my research, others’ research, and my own and others’ experience tell me it simply isn’t so. There are gender differences in ways of speaking, and we need to identify and understand them. Without such understanding, we are doomed to blame others or ourselves—or the relationship)—for the otherwise mystifying and damaging effects of our contrasting conversational styles.

Excerpt from a book I am currently reading in iBooks Store. The book, “You Just Don't Understand.”, is by Deborah Tannen.

Remember that the camera itself is only half of what makes a camera good. How dedicated you are, how hard you work, and how many good and great pictures you get out of it are the other half. How much you use it is just as important as whatever it is.What makes a camera good

As humans we are naturally wired to focus on important things and filter out all the rest. Although such an approach has served us well over the ages, in creative seeing it’s a major obstacle. In addition, our education system and our daily routine push us to see and react in a certain way. Have you noticed when walking around the city how your brain filters out the noise and visuals? We usually stroll around town without challenging what we see or how we see it. In order to find “something interesting in an ordinary place,” you need to break your seeing patterns and go for something new, uncomfortable and different.A personal rant about street photography

Avoid letting yourself fall into the all-too-common kinds of comparative thinking that breed envy, self-doubt and other kinds of unproductive energy. Nip that shiz in the bud if you do feel yourself going down that road. Snuff it out before it take take root and steal your energy – and instead, use the power of comparative thinking to your advantage– turn it into positive energy and critical thinking about craft– that will fuel your progression as a creative professional. Compare your work to that of the best, and do it with unflinching honesty. Rinse and repeat.Chase Jarvis