Morning Walk (or, Paying Attention)

Elegant Frost

A friend reminded me of this one recently, and it has been following me around ever since:

“You can observe a lot just by watching.” ~Yogi Berra

Then, while reading, I stumbled across this gem:

“I was starting to behave as if the present were only a preparation for the future.” ~Barry Lopez

Gypsy the Wonder Dog

I practice a small, informal version of this idea close to home: on my morning walks, I try to stay open to whatever scenes might be waiting for me. I have an energetic dog, so we cover a lot of ground, EVERY day. By now, I think she understands my stops to take photographs as equivalent to her stops to sniff. We are both gathering information; I’m simply more visual about it.

Winter frosting

That practice changes an ordinary walk. A slant of morning light, a shadow on a wall, the geometry of branches, or a scrap of color at the edge of the road can become the whole event. The photograph may or may not amount to much, but the act of seeing already has. It brings me fully into the place where I am.

“Tell me what you pay attention to, and I’ll tell you who you are.” ~José Ortega y Gasset

Backlight

This subject has fascinated me for as long as I can remember focus, mindfulness, attention. I’m always working on noticing what is around me, and still, I’m sure I miss a great deal. That’s part of the appeal. Attention is not a skill we finish learning; it is a lifelong practice in curiosity and humility. I’m urged on—and humbled—by these familiar words:

“If you want to make more interesting pictures, become a more interesting person.” ~Jay Maisel

After the Yarnell Hill Fire. I thought this was beautiful, but one touch and it crumbled

There is a fascinating corollary to all of this. Especially in the age of smartphones, we have developed very little tolerance for boredom. The moment a line moves slowly, a conversation pauses, or we find ourselves with a few unclaimed minutes, we reach for a screen. We fill the empty space before it has a chance to reveal anything.

Stunning Blue

Yet many thinkers on creativity argue that if we stay with tedium a little longer, the mind begins to wander in useful ways. Associations surface. Questions sharpen. What first felt empty becomes spacious. Boredom, approached with attention instead of escape, can be less a dead end than a doorway.

“When you pay attention to boredom, it gets unbelievably interesting.”  ~Jon Kabat-Zinn

Sister Rose, a plywood turkey vulture (Yarnell's mascots)

These ideas can feel intimidating to me when I turn them into lofty goals: be mindful, be creative, become more interesting. It helps to make the assignment smaller. I can begin with one thing—the quality of light, an unfamiliar sound, the way my dog pauses at a particular patch of ground.

My favorite Yarnell Tree

“I’m pretty much done with mindfulness.  I’m just going to start paying attention.” ~Gina Barreca

Sego Lily

Maybe that is the real lesson running through all these quotations: attention does not require a grand philosophy or a perfectly disciplined mind. It requires a willingness to pause, look again, and let the present be more than a waiting room for whatever comes next.

“To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.” ~Mary Oliver

Backyard hummer nest

Thanks for playing along with my musings today. I hope you notice something on your next walk that you might have missed. See you out there.

LOST
Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here, and you must treat it as a powerful stranger, must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers, I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you, you are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows Where you are. You must let it find you.
-David Wagoner

Camp is Very Entertaining…

Crepuscular Sunrise on Willow Springs Reservoir, Sitgreaves National Forest AZ

…And they say we’ll have some fun if it stops raining.  Some of you might remember Alan Sherman’s song, Camp Granada.

 

Flower after the rain, Apache National Forest AZ

Around here we’re grateful for every drop of rain, and during our week in Arizona’s White Mountains, we got plenty.  It was green and there were flowers everywhere.  It’s even a bit of a gift to have an excuse to lie low in the van during the afternoons when the thunderstorms, predictably, arrive. I’m all for reading and napping, gin rummy and photo processing on the road. Gypsy the wonder dog is frightened of thunder, though, and that takes some of the fun out of storms.

East Fork Black River, Apache National Forest AZ

We took pains to do our exploring in the morning and, if the storms cleared, at last light.  I’m a sunrise person so this is no hardship.  There wasn’t a lot of sunlight early and late, and so I ended up making quiet images in subdued light most of the time.

 

Sneezeweed in bloom along a tributary of the Black River, Apache National Forest AZ

I’m sure I’ve said this before, but traveling with a fly angler has some perks.  I’m especially excited to share some campsites near rivers and creeks with him.  They’re photogenic and good for the soul.

 

Ponderosas reflected in the West Fork of the Black River, Apache National Forest AZ

Morning light in canyons can be tricky as it tends to arrive long after sunrise when it looks harsh.  One of my favorite tricks is to time images when the river is in shadow, reflecting something lighted on the canyon wall behind it.  This works great with the grand and colorful rock walls in the southwest, as well as things like the stand of conifers in this image.

 

Morning light, Apache National Forest AZ

Very early light can be breathtaking, especially when there’s moisture or particulates which makes it dreamy. 

Amanita Mushroom detail from morning walkabout, Sitgreaves National Forest AZ

I’ll say that my morning walkabouts, generally done alone or with Dogface, are the best part of these road trips.  They’re a meditation, mostly about mindfulness and connection, practicing my version of Shinrin-yoku, or "forest bathing," I have a blessed re-connection with nature through the senses.  I think Gypsy does that every day – yet another thing I can learn from her.

Top-down drone view with flowers, East Fork Black River, Apache National Forest AZ

I’ve had trouble finding my mojo these last few months for several reasons, but after this nice, quiet week, I think it’s back. 

Bring on the rain.

There’s more in the Summer 2026 Gallery on the website.

Hike, Shop, Eat, (Nap)

Front Yard Mascot, Park City Utah

Our summer trip to Park City was a little different this year.  Because of the destruction of our habitual “halfway there” camping area by the Cottonwood Fire, we decided to drive a car up and do our halfway stop in St. George. No Sprinter camping this time. On the positive side, our fuel cost was cut in half (better fuel economy and no diesel) and parking was a breeze.

Summer Glory along the Shingle Creek Trail

Once we got there, though, the trip looked about the same. 

The Family on a Bridge Across Shingle Creek

Each morning there was a hike.  Gypsy got her running papers from the surgeon just before we left, so she could participate fully.  That means being largely off leash and treeing a dizzying number of squirrels.  It’s great to see her so happy and so tired at night.  We hit perpetual favorites like Rob’s Trail and a couple of new spots, Shingle Creek in the Uinta Mountains and Meeks Trail in the Pinebrook area, thanks to a generous friend who lives there.

We have our favorite shopping spots.  The Christian Center of Park City has two nearby thrift store locations.  I can’t miss this opportunity and even resolved my blown-out flip-flop crisis there.  Marco hit his favorite fly shops, too.  There were lots of feathers and hooks and I confess I don’t quite get all that.  He seemed happy.  We both love the clothing brand KÜHL, enough to do some shopping at full retail.  I don’t do that very much.

Above: Goofy snaps with Beer over the years, Red Rock Brewing
Below: This year's entry

Typically, we have one big meal each day.  Among other things, this allows for gelato for dinner. Because we were traveling with a dog, dining required some planning.  We’d planned to eat at Top of Main, which had great food, was just a block away, and sported a great patio.  They have closed since last summer, so we rallied. We enjoyed some favorites, including bison burgers from No Name Saloon in Old Town (take out – no dog patio) and (believe it or not) sushi from the Smith’s grocery store.  Red Rock Brewery has been a favorite for decades.  Literally – I’m old. We have a tradition of these silly photos of Marco with the great beers that are somewhat embarrassing to ask for out loud. Elephīno and Fukiphīno. Next trip, The Notch on the way back from the Uinta Mountains, and Silver Star Café in town.

Summer on the Streets of Park City

By then the delightful mountain afternoon storms were heading in.  The humans were delighted.  Gypsy is not a fan of thunder.  The heavy rain offers an ideal excuse to nap and read for a few hours.  Our usual rental in Old Town Park City was on the market when we were there last year.  The new (to us) alternative was interesting.  It was a creaky historic building with no air conditioning and an upstairs neighbor with insomnia (creak, creak).  Live and learn.  This was another excuse for liberal naps, though.

Once the radar cleared and the temperature dropped, we’d head out to the library lawn, a defacto dog park where Gypsy could run and make friends.  We saw her running at full speed with one of those new friends for the first time since her injury in March.  I might have teared up a little. While we were out, we’d get gelato on the way home.  There are no bargains (that I know of) on Main Street in Park City, but for a quality, dog-friendly experience, I recommend Park City Desserts.

Shingle Creek

Hike, shop, eat, nap.  The perfect family vacation.

Little Mount Rushmore: Easter Island and Statue of Liberty

On an unrelated note, we took a roadside detour in Mesquite Nevada on the way home.  Little Mount Rushmore is a quirky collection of carvings in the roadside bluffs. It's another on my long list of Weird sh** in the Mojave Desert, and worth a quick stopover. I'll confess that, even after two passes, we couldn't find the actual Mount Rushmore sculpture.  I'm convinced it exists...

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

Yet another Requiem

 

Sunrise over Highway 153, Utah

Apologies up front if you’ve heard enough from me about the personal side of grieving wildfire-mediated losses. The current Cottonwood Fire has consumed nearly 100,000 acres, much of which was a sacred space for me.  Yes, I understand that wildfires are part of the natural lifecycle of forests (though modern megafires are not), and that there are issues beyond my own loss, like wildlife habitat destruction.  What follows is written from a selfish perspective. Sorrow is a lonely pursuit.

 

Summer Lupines, Fishlake National Forest Utah

I stumbled upon this part of the Fishlake National Forest by accident, just three years ago.  My husband was fishing with a guide near Beaver Utah, and we needed a cooler place to camp.  We headed east on highway 153 and set up near Puffer Lake at almost 10,000 feet elevation. On the way out, we continued over the mountain toward the tiny town of Junction and saw lots of terrific camping areas along the way. We knew we’d be back.

 

Detail, Fishlake National Forest Utah

We’ve made five more trips since, for a total of about 15-20 nights.  We’ve made that area a regular stopover on the way to Park City and have had longer stays during fall color season.  Of course we didn’t think we were done exploring there.

 

The Resplendent Autumn of 2025, Fishlake National Forest Utah

Fall 2025 was particularly spectacular, and we were blessed to have arrived at the peak of fall color.  That was our most recent trip, and like most final encounters, we had no idea. It was a great experience to go out on.

I don’t have the history here that I do in the (Grand Canyon’s) North Rim Forest.  Still, this place had gotten under my skin.

 

Small Lakes near the Summit of Highway 153 in Summer, Utah

So once again I’m struggling with grief, but I also feel profound gratitude because I experienced this extraordinary place.  The loss is an apt metaphor for the process of aging.  We lose important abilities bit by bit and increasingly must get by on memory. I’ve said goodbye to rock climbing, scuba, cesarean sections, acupuncture, swing dancing, and bikinis, to name a few.

Kiss your loved ones, make hay while the sun shines, and thanks for the read.

A Disturbance in the Force

Procreate Painting

I’ve been overlanding and photographing natural settings for 13 years now, over 600 nights. These trips are so integral to my life that I confess they’re a big part of how I define myself.

The shift started with the Dragon Bravo Fire.  I’ve written about my personal connection to the land north of the Grand Canyon and the sense of loss from the fire, so I won’t go into detail now.  Since then, I’ve been working to balance grief with gratitude.  I was blessed to spend so much time in that special place.

Still, I’ve lost my favorite locale and that’s made me feel disconnected.

Earlier this year, my beloved companion, Gypsy the Wonder Dog, blew out her knee (stifle).  The surgical recovery takes 12 weeks, and I’ve been focused on her rehab.  Early in the process, I cancelled photo projects and trips so I could be with her.  I hung out at home for a much longer stretch than I’m used to doing.

Early Attempt at Cyanotype

During this time of “house arrest”, I fiddled with some new projects at home and nearby. I’ve been learning cyanotype, digital art using the Procreate app (for iPad), and have been shooting more with my phone Camera.

Dusty Sunset, Near Desert View, Grand Canyon AZ

Palo Verde Bloom near Congress, AZ

I shot a little with the big girl camera and the drone in the nearby desert when the palo verde trees bloomed and made a quick trip to Grand Canyon’s South Rim.

Looking West from North Kaibab Forest, AZ (Before and After Dragon Bravo)

Finally, Gypsy became more independent, and I planned a week in the North Kaibab Forest.  I lasted one night before an electrical glitch in the van had me scooting home early.  I had just enough time to make some images for a “before and after” series in the Dragon Bravo Fire’s burn scar.  I’m glad I went, but exploring the devastation took an emotional toll.  I drove out of that part of the forest convinced that I’d never go back.

Jones Crossing Area, Mogollon Rim, AZ

Recently I began what I thought would be a week camping on the Mogollon Rim, this time with Gypsy.  On the first day a heat wave pushed the temperature at 7000 feet to 90 degrees F.  The next day’s forecast called for even higher temps, so I retreated after one night once again, stopping to see friends on the way.

These things happen when camping, but somehow, they’ve left me more discouraged than usual and less excited about the overland experience.

As often happens when I’m amidst a time of change, I’m not sure what’s up.  Maybe this is just a down cycle in my creativity, or maybe it’s time to focus on different kinds of art and travel. I’m increasingly aware of my finite life, so I’d better figure out what I want now.  I’m bound to mess up some of the decisions, but at least I’ll make them mindfully.

Redefining myself is frightening, but maybe not so much as being stuck.

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?