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Finding Solace

Tuesday, December 21st, 2010

“We Americans are great on fillers, as if what we have, what we are, is not enough. We have a cultural tendency toward denial, but, being affluent we strangle ourselves with what we can buy. We only have to look at the houses we built to see how we build against space, the way we drink against pain and loneliness. We fill up space as if it were a pie shell, with things whose opacity further obstructs our ability to see what is already there…”

–Gretel Ehrlich, The Solace of Open Spaces

It wasn’t until I left Wyoming to live in southern California that I read these words by Gretel Ehrlich. Although there are some beautiful open spaces left in southern California, and some communities have progressive open space initiatives, you’re still surrounded by ~5 million people. Still, they provide an escape, if only for a few hours, from everyday life in southern California. However, having returned to central Wyoming for a visit earlier this week, I now realize just how much Ehrlich’s words resonate with me.

Standing on the prairie north of Cheyenne with the cold December wind blowing in my face, I knew I could look for miles across the bunchgrass, knowing I was one of very few people for almost 100 miles. I took a deep breath and smiled. Yes, perhaps we do build against space (are we afraid of what we might find if we explore that space?), but sometimes that space brings a very special kind of solace.

Happy Holidays to you and yours. Thank you for reading and participating on my blog this year; it really does mean a lot to me, and I appreciate it more than you know. I’ve got a few blog posts planned for the rest of this year, but am looking forward to a productive and creative 2011!

A sunset on the eastern Wyoming plains north of Cheyenne

Solace, December 2010

A critic would criticize this image for having nothing interesting in the foreground. But, that’s sort of the point. :)

Posted in locations, Personal, Wyoming | 8 Responses »
Tags: inspiration, landscape photography, sense of place, sunset photo, wyoming

Artemisia

Saturday, November 20th, 2010

They say that our sense of smell is mostly closely associated with our memory. How many times have you walked by a diner and thought back to a dinner you had many years ago? Perhaps you’ve been in a busy museum or at a concert and a whiff of someone’s perfume or cologne brings you back to an old (or current) lover. Indeed, we have a constant rush emotions and memories when certain scents pervade our senses.

Of all the smells associated with the outdoors, none is more ubiquitous to me than that of Sagebrush (Artemisia tridentata). I remember a 12-year-old me walking with my dad on deer and elk hunts on the plateaus of northwestern New Mexico, my jeans completely infused with dust and that heavy, musky odor of Sagebrush. The opposite is also true, sitting here in my office, I can close my eyes, and breathing deeply, I can almost smell that familiar odor again.

The same is true all over the West. Everywhere you go, you can find Sagebrush, and it has a long history here. Its tough fibers were used to make sandals for Native Americans, and tea made from its leaves was used to treat infections. Despite its usefulness, the oils are toxic to humans, creating toxic compounds in our liver. While I can’t speak much to its toxicity, I do know that although I have such strong memory associated with the plant, I also have strong allergies to it as well.

The scent of Sagebrush always brings me solace; when I walk amongst its knotted, twisted branches, I breathe deeply, close my eyes, sneeze, and say to myself, “I’m home.”

Sagebrush (Artemisia tridentata) branch and autumn oak leaves

Sagebrush and oak leaves, October 2010

What scents bring you comfort? Do they help to define your sense of place in the world? I’d love to hear about it in the comments.

Posted in Personal | 4 Responses »
Tags: inspiration, intimate landscape, landscape photography, sense of place

Range of Light

Monday, September 20th, 2010

I’ll be the first person to admit that I don’t really fit in living in southern California. Although I do commute to my day job, I avoid the commuter culture. I don’t send text messages unless absolutely necessary. My idea of high-end clothing can’t be purchased at Nordstrom’s or Bloomingdale’s, and I had no idea who Justin Bieber is until my friend’s 9-year-old daughter introduced me (I still wouldn’t know him if he showed up at my front door). So, I don’t really fit in here.

Part of that is my fault too: I’ve avoided fitting in. Perhaps I’ve been afraid I’d actually start to like it here if I let myself. So it was when I was introduced to the Sierra Nevada mountains.

Within one week of moving to southern California, I was in a car with my new boss driving up the Owens Valley to the White Mountains. There’s no doubt the Sierra is an impressive range, but was cautious to give it too much credit.

“How cliché,” I thought, “everyone likes the Sierra.”

“What could be so special about this place?”

Eight years have passed. In that time, I’ve stood in awe at the base of giant sequoias and granite monoliths. Some of the most amazing geology in the west has been right under my feet. In 2010 alone, I’ve walked more than 100 miles in the Sierra backcountry, most recently my wife and I took our 2 1/2 year old son on his first backpacking trip to the North Fork of Big Pine Creek (aka the Palisades, or Palisade Lakes).

Sunset from Second Lake, John Muir Wilderness, California

Sunset, Second Lake, John Muir Wilderness, September 2010

We arrived at our campsite, high above one of the glacially-fed lakes about 5pm and set up our tent, and I went to filter water. One of the most fantastic things about this time of year is that there are no mosquitoes. I really can’t tell you how happy that makes me. I got back to camp in time to see the day’s last vestiges of sunlight kissing the tops of the peaks to the north of us.

The following morning, I walked up to another one of the small chain of lakes in this area to photograph sunrise. I’ve written before that I’m convinced there are no clouds in the Sierra. My “curse” continued on this trip, with completely cloudless skies. Alas.

Sunrise on Temple Crag, John Muir Wilderness, California

First Light on Temple Crag, September 2010

After shooting sunrise, I walked back to camp, and enjoyed a morning reading of “One Zany Zoo” and some oatmeal. After breakfast, we were very sad to pack up and walk back to the car. Its at that moment, looking up at Temple Crag and the Palisade Crest that it hit me. This is the place where my son is learning to love the outdoors. This is more than just a pretty mountain range. As part of a generation who will be more likely to save trees by sending emails rather than going outdoors to climb them, his groundwork for a sense of place is being laid down right here.

With that in mind, its easy to see why John Muir was so moved by this Range of Light.

"Babysitting", September 2010

Posted in california, inspiration, Personal, sierra nevada | 13 Responses »
Tags: california, inspiration, landscape photography, sense of place, sierra nevada

Topophilia

Friday, November 6th, 2009

Hi, my name’s Greg and I’m a topophile.

That statement almost makes me sound like I need to check into rehab or begin a 12-step program. As it turns out, its a good thing to be a topophile. What the heck is a topophile? Anyone who has a strong sense of place or identity is a topophile. Although I have never lived there, I have always felt a strong sense of place in southern Utah. Having grown up in a home where I was taught to enjoy the outdoors, I do not feel out of place when I am outside anywhere, but I feel especially at ease when I visit southern Utah–its almost as if I’m going home.

When I was 6, my parents moved from Denver to the northwestern New Mexico (the Four Corners area). I remember a lot of day trips and overnight trips to the La Plata and San Juan mountains, as well as places like Chaco Canyon and the Bisti Badlands. However, it wasn’t until I was in Boy Scouts (age 12?) that I visited Moab, Utah for the first time. We went on a mountain biking trip on some local trails, and on the way home stopped at the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park. To say I was blown away was an understatement. After that first trip, I couldn’t wait to get back.

My dad, friends, and I had many more trips to Canyonlands over the next several years. I was not drawn only to the topography and landscape, but also to the archaeological richness of the area. In some areas, every rock outcropping held a new treasure to see, and to force me to imagine what the ancient peoples thought of this land. We backpacked in the Dark Canyon Wilderness area, as well as several trips to the canyons of Cedar Mesa, a place I cannot wait to get back to. Since then, I’ve had the opportunity to explore many of the technical canyons in Zion National Park as well as in the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

For me, its not so much that southern Utah offers so much in the way of natural beauty, but rather that I feel connected with the land in a way that words cannot really describe. I’m honored to be able to visit and photograph this place often, and I hope that when my son gets older, my wife and I can instill a sense of place in him (wherever it may be) that my dad helped to instill in me.

Over the next weeks/months I’ll be featuring some of my own photos from southern Utah, as well as other photographers’ work who I really admire.

Today’s photo is of Castleton Tower, near Moab, Utah…where it all started for me.

Castleton Tower, Castle Valley, UT, December 2008