Israel, Part 1: Epiphany in Tel Aviv

"Life begins at the end of your comfort zone." -- Neale Donald Walsch

About a year ago I was lucky enough to be able to tag along with Tom on a business trip to Israel. I have to admit it is not somewhere I had ever thought about visiting, but I never pass up an opportunity to travel. We were with a lovely, international group of people with whom we had travelled before. While Tom and his cohorts were tending to business affairs, my friends and I were able to explore different areas of Tel Aviv. What a fantastic city! Beautiful, safe, cosmopolitan; truly a wonderful place.

I of course had my trusty camera along, and decided I would do something I've never done before: ask strangers if I could take their picture. This was a huge stretch for me, as I was normally a quiet, reserved person. But something extraordinary happened on that day in Tel Aviv: I connected with people like I never had, striking up conversations, laughing, learning, and sharing something very special.

It began in the neighborhood of Neve Tzedek, when my friend Vivian encouraged me to approach a man sitting at a street corner.

Amnon Nissim, the king of matkot

 Not only did he gladly let me take his picture, but he invited us up to his apartment. His name was Amnon Nissim, and he was very proud of his status of the king of matkot (beach paddleball) for 50 years. His apartment was full of memorabilia: paddles, photographs, newspaper articles. He was a lovely man and it was really special to get a glimpse into this life.

 







Further down the street, we peeked into the doorway of a shop and met two very friendly printers. Since our husbands are both in the printing business, Vivian and I were able to make a connection, and they happily let me take some pictures.

The happy printer

Next we travelled on to Old Jaffa to have lunch and visit the market. As our driver parked the car and we were walking down an alleyway, I looked up and was greeted by some construction workers in a bucket truck. They toasted us as I took their picture.

Cheers!

We had a fantastic Mediterranean meal at a rooftop restaurant. The waiters were great fun; I think I have a friend for life!

After lunch we spent some time in the market. The history and culture were fascinating, and the people so interesting. Emboldened by my successes, I continued to ask people if I could take their pictures. I did get some rejections and rude replies, but by and large people were very willing to be engaged. It was such a wonderful way to be able to strike up a conversation and make a connection.

The rug merchant

This proud and distinguished rug merchant kindly let me photograph him. I just wish I could have a way to give these people a copy of the pictures I took.

Friends

I just loved these two men. They were very friendly and called me over, then said, "Do you like Obama?" Talk about a loaded question! I had no idea how to answer that one in the context of where I was, so I said, "Do you?" It turned out they did, very much (as long as he supports Israel). Then they let me take their picture.

Israeli Soldiers

We met a group of Israeli soldiers relaxing at a cafe. I think some of them weren't too sure if they should be photographed, but they obliged.

At the end of that fantastic day I was in love with the people of Israel, and almost floating on air at how well I had been able to make connections and feel at ease meeting strangers in a strange land, all because the camera around my neck gave me the courage to say hello.

The Sugar Shack

“A sap-run is the sweet good-bye of winter. It is the fruit of the equal marriage of the sun and frost.” -- John Burroughs, Signs and Seasons, 1886

At almost 60 degrees, last Saturday brought a much-needed respite from our frigid February temperatures. I decided to take advantage of the day and visit Clough Valley Maple Syrup, about half a mile down the road from my neighborhood.  I love that, although I live in a suburb, I can easily feel like I am in the country.

I showed up with my camera and started talking to the family who makes the syrup. I find that if you show up with a camera, a smile, and an upbeat attitude, most people are more than willing to talk to you and let you take pictures. The Motz family is one of the oldest families in our area, and has been making maple syrup for many years. I'm not a huge fan of maple syrup, but this is absolutely wonderful.

The Sugar Shack on Clough Pike, with several generations of the Motz family and their dogs enjoying the warm February day.

They tap the maple trees on the hillsides across the creek, using over five miles of tubing to tap over 500 trees.

Bart Motz skims foam from the evaporator pans.  Bart also drives an ice cream truck and raises chickens. In addition, he is responsible for the infamous raccoon-eating snowman  http://boingboing.net/2014/01/30/frosty-eats-raccoon-the-story.html

Whenever you see steam coming out of the roof vents, you know they are cooking syrup, and are welcome to stop by. Maple syrup production generally runs from February through early March. However, with the extreme cold this winter, the sap hasn't been running like usual.

A few members of the family were happy to pose for a picture.

I loved the look of this sheaf of tobacco hanging in the doorway, in front of an old potbelly stove.

The finished product sits on shelves in front of the window. It is also sold in several local businesses and can be purchased online.  For more information, contact http://www.cloughvalley.com 

Iowa in Winter

"Come and see, come dance with me,
To the beautiful Iowa Waltz" -- Greg Brown

I was getting itchy to visit my 91-year-old father, as I hadn't seen him since last summer. Since September my life has revolved around breast cancer diagnosis, surgery, and chemotherapy. But I was feeling good in February, so I took off on a solo road trip to Iowa. What a special time with my dad! The weather, however, was epic, even for the Midwest. Snow, blow, and cold! But one day while he was napping I did one of my favorite things: driving around country roads taking photos of whatever catches my eye.

Iowa has a quiet and subtle beauty in any season. Even though I haven't lived there for many years, I still feel connected to the land, and love getting out to appreciate it.

This farm is on Utica Ridge Road, near my dad's retirement village. I love the mosaic brick work on the silo. You don't see many like it.

When I was done taking the photo of the mosaic silo, I turned around and saw another nice barn/silo combination in the farm yard across the road where I had parked. I liked the textures in this scene, with the bare tree leaning over the old barn.

This gravel road was much steeper than it appears here. It was such a euphoric feeling to be all alone in the middle of nowhere on this glorious winter day!

This old barbed wire fence just called out to be photographed. It was so cold and windy on the top of this hill, but I loved the fence and weeds, with the farm fields beyond.

I came across this vista as I rounded the curve of a gravel road. This part of Iowa is hillier than people realize, and I loved this farm nestled down under the hill.

I like the swirls that the drifting snow created in the foreground of this old barn scene.

I have to admit I have no idea what this farm implement is for, but it struck me as sculpture-like; flowers or a peacock.

I badly wanted to get up close to this farm, so I stopped by and bought two dozen eggs and some jam, then asked the farmer if I could take some pictures. He said sure, just watch out for the Great Pyrenees dogs. As seen above and below, the biggest one was the same size and shape as the sheep he guarded!

This wooly guardian did his job and kept his eye on me.

I loved these three sheep. They seemed such good friends, and I think they were talking about me...

I have dogs and they live inside with me, so it is interesting to see dogs doing what they were actually bred to do. They didn't seem to mind that it was three degrees out. But my fingers did!

My last stop before returning to the warmth of my dad's apartment was to photograph this lone set of tracks across the farm field. I love all the different shades of blue and purple that snow can have.

It felt so good to get out, and although my fingers and camera were quite chilled, I had reconnected with the country I grew up in.

Word for the New Year: "Akasha"

"What has it got in its pocketses?" -- Gollum

I don't make New Year's resolutions, but I do try to set some intentions. When I was at yoga on New Year's Eve morning, the instructor invited us to pick from a pile of Buddha cards. My card had the word "space" or "akasha." This didn't resonate with me at all and, slightly disappointed, I put it in my pocket and thought no more about it.

Reading through my correspondence this morning, I was reminded that several artist friends choose a word as a talisman of sorts and reflect on it throughout the year. I decided to use the word "space." It isn't what I would have chosen, but it was in my pocket, asking to be explored.

My first thought is that having cancer has focused a lot of attention on me from family, friends, doctors, which I truly do appreciate. But I think when my treatment is over I will need some SPACE to find and redefine myself (preferably by going somewhere warm).

My second thought is that I need to carve out more space for meaningful pursuits, and that means less virtual and more real. Less Facebook and more hands-on activities. Something tangible to show at the end of the day.

Finally, I googled "akasha" and liked my card more and more. The meaning varies by philosophy: in Hinduism, Akasha means the basis and essence of all things in the material world; the first material element created from the astral world. In Sanskrit the word means "space," the very first element in creation. Many modern Pagans believe that the Akasha, Spirit, is the Fifth Element, the spiritual force that Earth, Air, Fire, and Water descend from. The combination of these four elements make up Akasha, which exists in every living creature; without Akasha, there is no spirit, no soul, no magic.

This gives me plenty to reflect on as the year begins its new cycle. Physical, mental, spiritual space in which to heal, grow, create. It is going to be a good year. Akasha.

Stepping Off the Curb of My Comfort Zone

Less "right," more "joy." -- Jim Miotke

One challenge I'm giving myself with photography is to step outside my comfort zone. For me, that is street photography. It scares me a bit, but I am also drawn to it as a way to feel more connected with the people and places I visit. It is outside my comfort zone for two reasons. First, and most obvious, is the probability of having to interact with people when taking their picture. Being a pretty non-confrontational person, this is a challenge for me. It has helped me perfect my preferred technique of photographing people from behind. I'm trying to move away from this. It doesn't help that my kids have dubbed me "Creepy Stalker Mom." Second, is having to give up a degree of control over my subject. When you're taking a picture of an inanimate object or scene, you can spend time working on composition, lighting, etc. until you have a pretty good idea of what you want. Try that with street photography, and by the time you are ready the moment has passed or your subject is in the next block. 

I recently took an online photo course with Jim Miotke through BetterPhoto.com. Something he said about perfectionism really made an impression on me. He said that in creative endeavors perfectionism is actually the lowest standard, not the highest, because it is fear-based. By having to have everything perfect, you are actually letting your fear stop you from starting. As Jim says, "The quality of photography fun is proportionate to your ability to handle uncertainty."

Very motivating to be sure, but since the weather here still stinks, I went digging back through some old pictures looking for inspiration, and was amazed to find that I have been doing a bit of street photography all along. So until I can actually get out and do more, here is some of what I found:

A merchant giving samples at an open-air market in Placa de Pi, Barcelona

 Street performer, Barcelona

 Man blowing bubbles in the square opposite the Sagrada Familia, Barcelona

 Coolest. Dreds. Ever. Previa del Mar, Spain

Ironic sign (hopefully) Dominica

 The road through Mahaut, Dominica

Santa-Con, downtown Cincinnati

Tiger Dreams #1 and #2, Cincinnati Zoo

Drummers, Newport on the Levee, Kentucky, across from Cincinnati

 Although not technically a street scene, I couldn't resist taking this picture of an Amish family on the Continental Divide in Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado.

O.k., so there are a few "photographing from behind" pictures in here. Something to work on!

Kentucky Backroads

"If you don't know where you're going, any road will take you there" -- George Harrison

Over the years that I've lived in Cincinnati, I have developed quite a fascination with and appreciation of Kentucky. Every once in a while, when I have a few spare hours, I get in the car and drive the backroads, taking pictures or looking for quilt barns with my daughter. I have also spent quite a bit of time camping and caving in the wild limestone hills of Rockcastle County, one of my favorite areas.

Depending on my mood, then, I go either east, south, or west, each direction having a specific geography and culture. First off, the minute you cross the Ohio River, you are in The South. You also often feel that you have travelled back in time either several decades or at least a century. This is a good thing. I am so grateful there are still places where one can get off the beaten path, travel the blue highways, and see a way of life that has all but vanished in our modern suburban existence.

I get off the treacherous AA Highway ("Alexandria to Ashland"), as quickly as possible, and am soon winding my way down equally treacherous but beautiful county roads, down through the wooded hills, past small neat farms tucked into the hollers just off the road.

God and country are big themes down here, and although these are generally poor areas, the farms are neat and well-kept.

A horse rests in the shadow of a barn. Horse country is further south, but extends up here a bit.

Traveling east, the hills get higher, the land opens up, and the poverty gets more obvious. You can drive miles and miles without seeing a town, let alone a grocery store. My thoughts turn to the current talk of "food deserts" in rural areas. This abandoned store is in Bracken County.

Although I'm not a fan of tobacco use, I appreciate its history and cultural significance in this area.

Tobacco fields turn a beautiful golden color in the fall, and after harvesting (still done by hand, but using migrant labor), it is hung in open-air barns to dry.

Further down in the middle of the state, the feeling is decidedly more Appalachian, and far more remote. Rockcastle County is hilly, deeply wooded terrain, with limestone caverns throughout the area. One of my favorite camping spots is at the Great Saltpeter Preserve. It is one of the few places I know in the region that is so remote you hear absolutely no human noise: no motors, no traffic, no airplanes. There are no lights from towns, and the stars are incredibly bright. The number and variety of bird songs is simply amazing. There I feel life stripped of all its unnecessary, jarring modern-ness, and am serenely happy.

Just over the hill from one of our favorite caves is Climax Spring. It  comes out of the ground and runs down the hill in a small bubbling stream lined with watercress, which grows only in the purest water. (I hadn't see watercress since I hiked with my dad as a child back in Iowa.) The spring water is bottled and sold, but there is also a standpipe that runs continually, and is available for free to people who come from miles around to fill containers. It is a wonderful place to refresh after a morning in the caves, and a great way to meet the locals.

As soon as spring gets into full swing I will venture out again to fill my own container up with the sights and smells of renewed life along the backroads.

Awakening

"Every day is ordinary," Father Willibald said, "until it isn't." -- Bernard Cornwell, Death of Kings

Last Sunday, it was Spring. Oh, there have been warmer days this winter, and since then it has returned to cold nastiness, but last Sunday, it was Spring. I could hear it, smell it, feel it. The hawks were going crazy, calling and chasing each other above the trees. The cardinals were singing their spring song, so different than their winter noises, so full of joy. The branches of the maple trees were swelling with red buds. And as we discovered when we went to the Cincinnati Nature Center, the wildflowers were out!

Hellebores, their purple globes hanging heavy above nests of thick green leaves, 

carpets of yellow wood anemones bursting like little suns from the forest floor, 

and tiny clumps of snowdrops nodding their delicate heads toward the cover of last year's leaves.

It is visceral in me, this feeling, this knowing. It makes me sad that so many people are cut off from the natural world, with little knowledge of, or interest in, the movements of earth and life. I regret this de-evolution of humans, in my mind, to the point where most in our society have lost the connection with the rest of nature. And I am eternally grateful to my father, Dayton, for instilling in me the love and hunger for nature from an early age. He would take me hiking in the wooded hills around Dubuque, Iowa, and through the countryside surrounding our cottage at Crystal Lake. He told me the names of all that he knew, the birds, trees and flowers; but more importantly we just walked and talked. I think my love of the outdoors is tied up in the wonderful memories of those early times together. 

I have tried to instill that same love in my own kids. It's harder now, but when they were little we spent many hours catching tadpoles and throwing milkweed fluff to the wind. It is my great hope that someday -- not now, for they are teenagers and have more immediate concerns -- but someday, they feel this same awakening, this love for and connection to the world around them. It is so vital, and I would hate to see it lost to the young of the world.