A fellow photographer passed away the day after my 63rd birthday, and I was sorry for his family's loss. I thought a lot about him in the past week, for, although I didn't know him a long time, I cared about him, his struggle with health and his family; I heard their worry and sadness as they talked about his life, career, and interests other than photography.
I met "Russ" through a photography circle/club I formed along with a young, professional photographer I knew since he was a boy in scouts with our sons. Russ was one of the old guard of photographers who studied and worked creatively with film cameras, and was now studying and sharing his experiences with the other 80+ members of our group.
While he learned how to interpret all the bells and whistles of his beautiful new SLR digital camera, we newbies struggled to understand what he and the pros sharing experiences of shooting with film, were talking about. Many of these film photographers also developed their own photographs in the past, something I knew nothing about.
We were the same age, Russ and I, but I had only recently started learning how to photograph with a good quality camera, and I was learning all I could to shoot manually, rather than automatically, so I'd get the feeling they had when they shot with film and had to rely on their knowledge of how do do so.
I used to dream of painting with oils, but never got better, even in sketching, to capture anything without it looking like a stick figure! I took snapshots rather than photographs... I didn't embrace the work of photography. I just took pictures to document and share family outings, celebrations, etc. I was a busy housewife, mother and had a busy job. So, when we met for spot-lessons at the studio of my pro friend, I felt like a "lightweight" around these more experienced photographers who understood how to make light and composition work for them - not automatic cameras. These pros were generous in their encouragement, saying that all of us - whether pros or amateurs - wanted the same thing...good photographs. They cheerfully taught us why some of our great photos, while accidental, worked, and how to make it happen, on purpose. It was fun to learn this way!
For Russ, film had been the gold standard of capturing life all around him. For me, digital made the same dream more affordable and possible. You see, he and I shared a very special bond, regardless of where we came from before, and that was that we were going in the same direction, now. We both (and all who were in this group) loved to capture nature and people in their most vital and/or interesting situations/poses/landscapes.
I have worked hard to make sure my photographs could live up to the ambition I had of being noticed and admired for my landscape and 'informal' portraits, but I started so late in life. I wondered if I could ever catch up to these pros and talented advanced amateurs. I felt I could learn from them but never BE them. Russ and others in the group shared their knowledge and enthusiasm with the rest of us greenhorns, and we embraced those lessons and companionship on photo shoots in Waterloo Village, an old town, a Civil War re-enactment, and other opportunities....and I did learn. I mused, at times, that I regretted starting so late, and then one day, I realized I was so very happy I started - ever! What a wonderful creative vein I tapped when I bought my Canon SLR Rebel XS. I had no idea how much I'd embrace, learn and thrill to, capturing nature and people in my life.
Sitting outside with my coffee this morning, then, I was surprised to see a number of "lemon drops," as I call goldfinches, on the finch feeder. They have been scarce since the hottest days of June and July, and here they were, back again! I let my eye land on a movement, nearby, and to my surprise and delight, saw a goldfinch on my dying sunflowers. No...I saw two - wait - three (!!!) on the tallest sunflower stalk along the edge of the patio! I was thrilled to say the least. I went inside, grabbed my green flowered sheet that I use as a blind, sat in a chair, with my lens peeking out the hole in the sheet, and started shooting. The birds heard the click, but didn't seem to mind, which has worked for us all before! I was in heaven...so glad to be there, now!
I had planted a wildflower garden along the edge of the curved patio block area, this year, wanting to have butterflies, bees and hummingbirds visit, where I could enjoy them, this way, and also have them captive to feed my hunger for photographs of all creatures, great and small - close up and personal - where I could sit a spell and take it all in. The flowers were lovely, all summer, and did bring the butterflies and hummers, but I didn't realize that, in the wildflower seed mix, I would have such big sunflowers, too! They reached for the sky and are so gawky and big, but it's been great to see such these as sunshine outside my kitchen window, every day, even on the cloudiest of days.
Yesterday, before I saw these goldies, I was thinking that the sunflowers were getting kind of droopy and had served their purpose, perhaps. It seemed quite a coincidence that, while working in the library basement where I volunteer, sorting children's books to stock our shelves) I found a book for small children about what sunflowers are/do/give to the earth and birds/beasts therein. When the flowers are the brightest, the way most of us want to photograph them, they are a source of pollen to so many bees, butterflies and some birds, but when they are then brown, and ready to wilt, that is when their seeds are pulled out by the birds that hunger for sunflower seeds in the wild (our bird feeders are filled with the shelled pieces of sunflower that cost more than a dinner out once a week, so our birds are spoiled). Sunflowers are nutritious and enjoyed by many birds, but my beautiful cardinals are the ones I planned to give them to, I thought.
So it was, this morning, that I took my rumpled body, decaf coffee and foggy brain outside and saw the brightness of the goldfinches perched on my still standing sunflowers! I watched the birds squabble for the best perch from which to extract seeds, and enjoyed their flitting back and forth from clothesline to sunflowers and back as they enjoyed their repast. It struck me then that, regardless of our age and how we perceive our looks, our usefulness, our beauty to others at this time and place, we might, some day, actually serve to do even more, even as our bodies and minds are slower, less fabulous and dynamic than even now, with our life-learned knowledge and passion to share it with others. The flowers I thought past their prime were just now reaching their stride!
I hope that, someday, a great grandchild of mine will hear about MomMom Jen, who took wonderful photographs of birds, landscapes, sunsets and her family and friends - that she saw special beauty in a bird's extended wing, or in the sweet, clear smiling eyes of her first grandson, as he gazed at her. Will they be told by their parents, who right now are children and grandchildren in my life, that I took hundreds or thousands of photographs of them and the natural world around me, because I cherished this life - from a loving God and bountiful Mother Nature - so much? I hope so, because the Russells and Jenyfras of this world want to say we were glad to be here, happy to share it with others, and will cherish those moments in our lives, as we dream we will be cherished, in this life and the next. We are not, or ever will be, past our time, but have passed through this time, into the next, in the memories of all we touched, and who touched us. This is not a rehearsal or just a hobby; this is our purpose and our heritage, now and always, and, as always, I cherish it, from where I sit.
