The Blessing of Memories

Last week I had the honor of participating in a webinar “opening reception” for a virtual exhibit of work by women photographers called “Sacred Spaces.” The entire extravaganza was the brainchild of Colleen Miniuk, and it was grand.  Several of us spoke about our feelings on the topic and about our images.  The exhibit is available to view through the end of June 2026.

Just days later, in one of those dizzying moments of synchronicity, I found myself in what used to be my most sacred physical space.  Until the Dragon Bravo Fire. That was yesterday.

I’d like to tell you about yesterday.

I opened my eyes in an isolated spot (like, maybe one or two people make it down this road in a month) and decided that I had the courage to do it; to cross into the burn scar and see what happened to this part of my beloved forest.  Extraordinary courage was required. I figured I had another four days to spend, so I could back out at any point and make another run at it later.

If I were reading a novel, I would have been forewarned by the 10” dead tree that had fallen across the road during the windy night. I managed to clear most of it off the road and blithely carried on.

Many of the places I revisited were nearly unrecognizable.  I won’t belabor the way it looked or my feelings about it. I was saying goodbye to my beloved.

As if that were not bad enough, I noticed some odd electrical behavior in my van – lights turning themselves on and flickering.  After a few hours of driving and photographing in the burn area, I crossed back into healthy forest.  I figured I’d hook up the Starlink and troubleshot the problem with my husband, who built the van.  Only, the Starlink didn’t work either.  I sent him a message on my InReach (satellite communicator I carry when I’m away from the van).  I figured I’d hunker down and try again to reach him the next day.  Then I noticed the heat didn’t work either.  It would be in the mid-20s (F) that night.  I’d pretty much resigned myself to going home that day, but I drove 40 minutes to the nearest place I could get a phone signal while parked.  I called Marco, moved all the gear away from the electrical cabinet, and we failed miserably at troubleshooting the problem.  So, I spent less than 24 hours on a trip that was planned for five days.

Unpacking all those clean clothes and that uneaten food is rather sad.

Now we (and by “we” I mean he) know the culprit was a battery terminal fuse.  Replacement cost, $17.  Not that I could have made the diagnosis or the repair in the field.

In any case, I did accomplish part of the before and after project I’d planned for this excursion.  I have a couple of other spots I want to see for this venture, but I won’t be back to the places I photographed yesterday.  Ever.

 Perhaps there’s still something sacred there, but I can no longer feel it.  The forest’s soul has moved on, leaving me with only the blessing of memories.

House Arrest

Cyanotype, modified with Procreate

This one’s been attributed to lots of famous people, but I like Woody Allen’s version best, “If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans.”

I had lots of those, and then my beloved dog blew out her knee. There’s surgery for that, which she had a little over three weeks ago.

Unfortunately, she requires 10-12 weeks to recover.  No running, jumping, stairs, or walking off leash. That’s a big challenge for an active, smart dog.

Cue the cancelling and postponing of my plans. I don’t want to leave her alone.

In between home physical therapy and ice, I’ve been looking for things to keep us both out of the looney bin.

When my husband is here to watch her, I’ve gotten out on a couple of day trips to photograph.

Sahuaro and blooming palo verde backlighted at sunrise, Near Congress AZ

The palo verde trees bloomed voraciously this year, covering the hillsides outside the town of Congress with yellow poofs of elation.  I caught that display at dawn with the drone camera, effectively clearing my head with a little photo-joy.

The magnificent seven, Chino Valley AZ

Later that week, I had a medical appointment near Chino Valley. I’m so grateful to Greg Murray, a wildlife biologist I met while working with the Central Arizona Wildlife Alliance (CAWA).  He had some helpful suggestions about where I might see Pronghorn in a nearby area.  There are several around Prescott and Prescott Valley which I know about, but those require more cojones than I possess, pulling over on busy roads which closely resemble highways. Wildlife photography is always hit-or miss.  After an hour or so I’d seen just one buck, who was far enough away and in dull enough light to not look so great, even with my long telephoto lens.  I was about to give up when these animals, which I’m calling the magnificent seven, appeared just twenty feet from the roadside in decent light. I’ll go back and try again first chance I get, but that kind of luck is usually not reproducible.  Incidentally, I’ve donated usage rights for this image to CAWA.

Then my husband went out of town, but I’d planned for this.

Fall Aspens modified in Procreate

My readers will recall that over the last eleven months or so, I’ve been working thought The Artist’s Way, a sort of self-paced coaching program for creativity.  Julia Cameron, its author, suggests (among many other things) a strategy for taming the demons of procrastination.  She advises devoting 20 minutes each day to the deferred project.  Easy does it, she says.  This technique gets me past the resistance to beginning. I committed to a week of 20-minute sessions with one of my current ventures, digital art with the Procreate app.

RBG Tribute cyanotype

Another undertaking I deemed suitable for the homebound is a second foray into cyanotype.  This simple technique leverages light -sensitive chemicals to create silhouettes of whatever I place on top of the treated paper.  It’s the same process used to make blueprints, when they were blue.

There were non-art projects as well; homemade limoncello, granola, and yogurt, and quiet times on the porch with my grounded fur-missile reading and streaming train wrecks like Netflix’s new FLDS documentary.

Eye contact; pronghorn near Chino Valley AZ

 I have at least six weeks to go.  Any suggestions?

The Sixth Hundred Nights

Blooming Claret Cup, Grand Canyon - Parashant National Monument

Welcome to installment number six in this navel-gazing series which looks at camper nights 501-600.

Mostly, I’ll just say I’m deeply grateful for the opportunity to experience remote and beautiful parts of the world with the base camp that camping vehicles provide.  We’ve been doing this overlanding thing for almost 13 years, and are now in our second vehicle, a black Sprinter which Marco adapted for camping and which we call the Raven. The Raven has been with us for over 250 nights now.

So, in keeping with this tradition, I’ll run through some numbers and a few superlatives from these last 100 nights.

Since Marco’s retirement, I camp less often on my own, 27 nights in the last 100.  Eighty camps were dispersed (AKA boondocking) and four in the driveways of kind friends, leaving just 16 in campgrounds.  I’m pleased that we’ve successfully minimized that number, limiting it to times when there’s no other way to be in proximity to something photogenic or to fish.  Speaking of fish, there were 27 camps chosen for their proximity to angling areas.  One goal is to balance revisiting beloved places and exploring new ones.  To that end, there were 37 entirely new spots.

On to the superlatives.

East Fork Black River, Utah

The most beautiful camp was on the East Fork of the Bear River, Utah.  We’d day tripped there before, but never seen this grassy, isolated riverside nirvana before. I was a little late for fall color in the aspen trees, but the riverside willows made up for that.

Striped Tinaja, Southern Nevada

The gotta go back prize goes to the striped tinaja in middle of nowhere, Nevada.  Now that I know the hike, I can do it in the dark to catch sunrise and sunset there. It’s too bad the drive is long and slow.

Twin Point Sunset, Grand Canyon - Parashant National Monument

We just returned from the most remote spot, Twin Point in Grand Canyon-Parashant National Monument.  95 miles on pavement in 5 hours.  This was our second expedition to Twin - there was also a trip there in December.

Hell's Backbone, Utah

For favorite surprise image, we have Hell’s Backbone in Utah.  This special road had been on my radar for a while, and we tried it out on a whim on the way back from a fall color circle in Southern Utah. I had no idea what to expect. At the apex of the hill, Death Hollow and The Box drain in opposite directions.  I found aerial images conveyed this incredible place best.

Taking the trophy for most visited (four times) and for best solo retreat is my favorite secret sand dunes in the Mojave. This place satisfies my craving for peace.

Stormy day over Kelso Dunes, Mojave National Preserve

I was going to propose “worst site” as a category, but instead I’ll call it most utilitarian.  Sometimes we’re pooped and just need a safe, quiet place to be for the night.  Kelso Dunes, in the Mojave National Preserve is the winner here.  I’ve never gotten an image I love there – here’s the best I can do.

Sunrise from "Aspen Circle," Utah

About the best story, I offer what we call “aspen circle,” in the Tushar Mountains of Utah.  We discovered this place a few years ago when we saw the road on a satellite map and decided to give it a go. Then last July our way was blocked by a small fallen aspen trunk, maybe six inches in diameter, that lodged in other trees at about chest level.  We were stopping off on the way to Park City.  There was another, lesser spot nearby and we settled for that.  We bought a saw in the interim and on the way back opened the road up and enjoyed the site.

Box Canyon, Mogollon Rim Country Arizona

Finally, in the category of most unusual is a couple of nights camped at a boy scout camp (out of season – there were no scouts there) for reconnaissance for a Trout Unlimited conservation project.  We were on the bank of Christopher creek.  The best part of that for me was easy access to Box Canyon, which I hiked and shot from the drone with gratitude.

With gratitude to you, please wish us luck on the 7^th 100. 

Cheers.

Parashant 2

Claret Cup Cactus, Kelly Point, Grand Canyon-Parashant National Monument

I went back.  I just had to.  Unfinished business is a powerful motivator, and I also have an assignment for an illustrated magazine article about Grand Canyon – Parashant National Monument.

My husband was game, bless him, and Gypsy the wonder dog came too.  She was queued up for knee surgery just after the trip, so our family hikes were limited to easy walks she could do three-legged without risking another injury.  The hike to Mount Trumbull’s summit would have to wait, but in the vicinity is a lovely 10,000-year-old petroglyph site called Nanpaweap (not to be confused with the Grand Canyon location Called Nankoweap. ‘Weap’ apparently refers to a canyon.) The dirt road on the way there from Fredonia was about 50 miles.  We considered that this expedition’s short drive.

Mount Trumbull Schoolhouse, Just outside Grand Canyon-Parashant National Monument

Mount Trumbull Schoolhouse, Just outside Grand Canyon-Parashant National Monument

From there we headed west to the Mount Trumbull Schoolhouse.  That section of road was slow and only disconcerting in a curvy section with big drop-offs.  Meeting a vehicle in the other direction would be harrowing, but we didn’t.  The schoolhouse was completed in 1922 and served students until 1966.  It also served as a town hall, church, and dance hall.  Peak population in the area was 200-259 in the 1930s, and the last full-time resident left in 1984. The building was restored to near-original condition in 1994.  Arsonists burned it down in 2000 and was restored with funding from a private – BLM partnership in 2001

From there we acted on particularly bad judgement and took the 18-mile route over BLM Road 1018 (not for nothing, in radio code 10-18 means ‘urgent’) to Poverty Junction.  Though we were never in danger of bodily harm, the road was too rough for our 144-inch wheelbase Sprinter, despite its ground clearance and capable four-wheel-drive.  We worried most about needing a recovery vehicle there to extract the 4-ton beast. We completed that route in about 3 ½ hours. Breathing exercises were helpful. I’d do the road on an ATV, but it would be a challenge even in a short-wheelbase Jeep. There was no permanent damage to anything but our nerves.

This brings me to an important observation about Parashant in general.  The major ridges and drainages run north and south.  The roads running parallel to these are generally not harrowing, just slow and painstaking.  These two challenging ones, and the one I wrote about when reporting on the December trip, are all oriented east-west. The practical advice I can offer about that is to think of the monument as consisting of three “compartments,” each accessed from a different point.  It’s both better and quicker to retreat to civilization, go to the next access point, and re-enter the monument.  The sections are accessed from Mesquite Nevada, St. George Utah, and Fredonia Arizona.

Grand Canyon is out there somewhere. Poverty Junction Area, Grand Canyon-Parashant National Monument

Exhausted from that ordeal, we had an adult beverage and spent that night tucked into the forest in the Poverty Junction area.  I flew the drone from there and found it a great vantage point to show the vastness of the Monument, greater than 1 million acres.

Sunrise from Twin Point, Grand Canyon-Parashant National Monument

We did some exploring on the way to revisit Twin Point, looking for other interesting vantage points on Grand Canyon, but in the end scooted out to Twin.  Unfortunately, three guys (in three vehicles) with no idea about camping ethics came speeding in a couple of hours after we did, and camped ten yards from us, if that.  

Backlighted cactus from Twin Point, Grand Canyon-Parashant National Monument

We’d planned to stay two nights, but after I got the sunset and sunrise shots I wanted for the assignment from the tip of the point, we relocated to a lovely west facing spot a few miles away for the night. There we found the peace we sought, and my favorite shot of the trip (above).

Virgin River from the December trip

The route out to St George is 95 miles, requiring about five hours.  The trip home from there was a bit more than that, so we posted up in the Virgin River Canyon Campground along I15 on the way out.  Bear in mind that the elevation there is several thousand feet lower than most of the Monument.  It’s hot there, often windy, and within earshot of the highway. We planned to arrive late by taking a lunch stop on the way out in the shady pine forest at 6000 feet and lounging in hammocks.

Lunch stop in the pines (the van is, in fact, black under all that dirt). Grand Canyon-Parashant National Monument

In fact, I still have unfinished business, but that’s the nature of expeditions.

I’ll repeat my disclaimer from the December post. GCPNM is undoubtedly the most isolated overlanding destinations I’ve explored.  It’s likely one of the most remote in the country with over 1200 miles of rough dirt roads.  To attempt this you need (at a minimum) a full-sized spare or two, tire repair capability and a compressor, extra fuel for your vehicle, communication other than your cell phone and preferably a way to follow weather patterns (we travel with an In-reach and Starlink), much more food and water than you think you need, redundant maps (think paper as well as electronic), first aid, warm clothes, and a modicum of good sense and experience.

There’s more on the website, in the Spring 2026 Gallery.

Beat the Bus

Reflections in the Colorado River Downstream from Moab UT

It’s a trade-off.  I lean toward solitude and choose it whenever I can, but some of the crowded spots hold treasures that justify going there even though they're more people-y.

Crescent Moon at Sunrise, Dead Horse Point State Park, UT

One benefit of rousting myself well before sunrise is that most tourists are still sleeping. That’s a winning strategy for busy parks like Arches National Park and Dead Horse Point State Park in Eastern Utah.

Last week I met up with a friend in Moab.  She’d already been there for five days doing a photo workshop with Colleen Miniuk.  I thought it would be fun (except for the 7 ½ hour drive) to spend a few days together after the workshop.  It certainly was.

Preternaturally unpopulated Delicate Arch at Predawn, Arches National Park, UT

One morning we photographed Delicate arch from a distant viewpoint.  I don’t generally remove things from my images, but in this case it seemed appropriate to digitally remove the hordes of people around the base of the arch.

Dawn at Broken Arch, Arches National Park, UT

Several times, after hustling up a trail in the dark and enjoying the quiet, we’d see a tour bus pulling into the parking lot on our way out.  Literally, the bus.  Other times it was a train of cars going where we’d come from – a sort of figurative bus.  We decided that our best strategy for National Park outings is to beat the bus.

Winter Trees in a Quiet Canyon on BLM Land, UT

There were other places.  Quiet canyons that I remember from my last trip there, eight years ago, and places that Amy had learned about during her workshop that we revisited.

Moab is a cool town, whose population has been stable over the last decade though it has sprouted a slew of new hotels and timeshares.  Crowds have increased, but the people are largely not locals.  Easter jeep week brings 20,000 people to this town of 5,000.  Still, it boasts many of the characteristics of the perfect outdoor-focused town.  My favorites: A first-rate bakery (Sweet Cravings), perfect independent bookstore (Back of Beyond), Great food and beer, local art shops, and lots of Subarus, Toyota four-wheel drives, and Jeeps.

Backlighted Cactus along a Trail

In a sense we beat the bus when we spent time in town, too.  I’ve always visited later in the spring, and mid-March was a much better time to find downtown parking and even to have reasonable luck with left tuns onto and off of the highway. In May, not so much.

Bowtie Arch, Along a Popular Trail

As always, there were many more natural places we wanted to see than time to visit them, so we hope to be back.

But not by bus.

There’s more on the Website, in the Spring 2026 Gallery.

Closer to Home

Harquahala Mountains, AZ at Sunrise

Here I am again, writing about a pivot in my plans which turned out for the best.  I’d expected to do the unpack-pack thing after a drive home from visiting family in California.  I wanted to have another crack at flowers in the Mojave Desert.  Belatedly it dawned on me that the temperatures where I wanted to be would top out around 95. That’s not ideal in the black van without air conditioning. Plus, crowds.

So, I decided to enjoy some spring beauty close to home.  I did the scouting (looking for compositions before the good light hit) on my Vespa, for a bonus thrill.

Yarnell Hill AZ

The brittlebush on the Yarnell Hill section of State Highway 89, literally five minutes from my front door, were having their once-in-a-decade bloom.  The terrain is rugged there, which made this a perfect project to tackle with the drone.  I shot at sunrise and sunset on the hill, being mindful to keep it legal and avoid flying over moving vehicles.  That means carefully timing highway crossings, which is fun.

 

Yarnell Hill AZ

Recently I had a conversation with a friend who isn’t a big fan of drone images.  He insists that they’re impersonal because there’s no foreground – that the aircraft flies too high.  I countered that there’s no reason that (with care) drone images can’t be taken from just a few feet above ground level.  Here’s an example of a drone image with foreground.  I rest my case.

Owl's Clover near Congress AZ

Another little trip was to highway 71 outside Congress.  I appreciated the Owl’s Clover.

Total Lunar Eclipse March 3, 2026

I did get up at 4:00AM to see the lunar eclipse.  There’s nothing at all original about this image, but it does bring back the feeling of standing in a cold wind, focusing on the moon.  I was reminded that I’m merely a tiny being, pasted by gravity to this planet while it temporarily cast a shadow on it’s moon. 

Harquahala Mountains, AZ at Sunrise

Finally, I had a quick overnighter to the Harquahala Mountains, which is a favorite spot with reliable solitude.  Unfortunately, the annual flowers (mostly poppies, lupines, and scorpionweed) had finished blooming, and there had not been many of them.  There were a few brittlebush still blooming.  I managed to have a great time with sunrise shots there regardless, and I had a lovely mental reset from the solitude.

All this while spending the nights at home.  There’s more on the website. 

The Artist’s Way

 

Really, this has been transformational, and that’s not a concept that I throw around lightly.

I bought Julia Cameron’s book The Artist’s Way about twenty-five years ago. It’s a sort of guided tour through the development of creativity, with weekly reading and assignments.  I started and stalled the course at least twice, and there it sat on my desks (at least three houses), reminding me of my lack of follow-through.  I think it just wasn’t time yet.

Then last May my sister told me she had started it.  She had no idea of my history – she was just chatting about what was up in her life.  I decided I’d give in another go, and this time it stuck.  I’m currently midway through the third 12-week course.  Don’t let that deter you.  The first step is just 12 weeks, and I’d suggest (if it’s the right time for you) that you start by committing to that.

So, in addition to reading each weekly chapter (It’s OK to stretch your weeks out to two or three depending on your schedule), there are two important practices.  First, morning pages are a stream of consciousness journal.  There’s no audience and all you must do is fill three 81/2 X 11 pages each day, as early in the day as possible.  It’s an opportunity to rant and be grateful and sometimes to nurture new ideas to fruition.

The chapters and pages got me off high-center and I printed an archive of my first 13 years of blog posts, and wrote a boxed set of 12 books of my favorite images, mostly arranged by location.  I’m sure I never would have tackled either of those projects without the Artist’s Way. I’m grateful.

The other practice is what underpins this post.  An Artist Date is something you do weekly, ideally alone, which allows you to play and exposes you to new stuff.  Research has shown that creativity is largely about combining disparate concepts, so the more you know, the more creative you’ll be.  An Artist Date is “filling the well.”  Things that are traditionally artistic count, Like museums or the ballet, but also interesting shopping trips or podcasts, hikes or a great conversation.

So I did some classes.

I’ve always been curious about mosaic, so I did three classes at Phoenix’s Desert Botanical Garden with David Jarvinen.  This is my favorite of the three projects.  In general, I loved the freedom, with mosaic, to be a bit random.  I've learned that I’m not good with hyper-realism because I’m not that fussy.

A cyanotype class with Gabrielle Bitter at the Wickenburg Art Center last month was engaging.  This is a medium I think I’ll work with more at home.  It’s easy and like Raku (which I haven’t tried yet) you don’t know exactly what you’ll get until you’re done.  Cyanotype involves bringing up silhouettes by placing objects on a light sensitive medium (in this case applied to paper) and setting the whole assembly out in the sun.  It’s the same chemistry that made old-fashioned blueprints blue.

Oaxacan figure painting with Julia Fuentes, also at the Wickenburg Art Center, was fun even though it was a bit humbling.  Mine looks OK, but hers are stunning.

I commissioned a “portrait” of Gypsy and this is what Julia made.  Her work is so much more impressive than mine!

I have a heap of beach glass from 50 years of beachcombing in San Clemente.  As a tribute to the home there that my siblings and I sold after Mom passed in 2024, I tackled some crafty stuff with the glass, coached only by Pinterest. It was a fun exercise.  I made four pieces and there’s still quite a bit of glass left.

The project I’m most excited about now is using the app Procreate to transform some of my images to have a painterly look.  I got myself an apple pencil to allow precision and pressure – sensitive work on the iPad, and I’ve been having a ball. Procreate can do much more than that, and there are lots of free learning resources on YouTube.

I’ve got what I call the “re-adjustable” project list, meaning that I’m free to change my priorities any time.  So next up (or maybe not) are blackout poetry, a book based on a series of photographs I’ve been working on for years, and resurrecting something I did when I was 8 or 9 – abstract oil painting on ceramic tile.  But I’m modifying the list all the time.

Maybe I inspired you or maybe just confirmed your unfavorable impression of my mental health, but thanks for the read.  We’ll return to our regularly scheduled photographic content soon.