Category : Nature
When I got the email from Indie Film Lab with the subject line, “Your Scans are Ready,” my heart skipped a beat. A few weeks earlier, I had shipped the lab four rolls of film — three from our trip to Spain and France, and one from our trip to Colorado. You know the one from Colorado…that roll of film that was in my camera as I was pulled into the turbulent rapids of the North St. Vrain River. The roll of film that spent 15 minutes under water inside my now-waterlogged camera. The roll of film for which I had slim hopes of the lab being able to process as I expected the emulsion to have either slipped off or to have dried and stuck to itself in the canister. Yeah, that roll of film.
The email didn’t say anything about that roll of film. Despite me contacting the lab ahead of time to tell them what had happened and regardless of my notes on the order itself about the water damage, the message was simply the usual, somewhat automated email from the lab. I held my breath as I downloaded the zip file. Indeed, there were four folders that appeared in the unzipped file, one for each roll of film that I had sent. I quickly determined which folder contained the Colorado roll of film and opened it. And there I discovered 19 scans. Really?! 19 scans? Lest I get too excited just yet, I braced myself for streaky, muddied, images.
To my surprise, as I clicked on each jpeg file, I discovered that Indie Film Lab salvaged these photos! Yes, the images were a bit hazy, a bit “off,” but the photos were there.
I’m so grateful for the work Indie Film Lab did to save this half-shot, damaged roll of film. Not only did they salvage these images, they salvaged my memories from a trip that seemingly got washed away.
Don’t forget that you can click on each image to see a larger version.
Tired. Legs a bit wobbly. Growing ever hotter as the intense Colorado sun beats down on the national park along with everyone and everything in it, including me. This is how I was feeling as Tony and I were in the homestretch of a 14-mile hike last Friday. I was thinking about filling up our CamelBaks at the nearby natural springs and taking some photos of the many hummingbirds in the area as we came into the last mile. Having already passed Calypso Cascades (a waterfall), the North St. Vrain River was rushing down the mountain next to the trail.
Tony jokingly mentioned dipping his head in the river to cool off as he ventured a bit off the trail to get closer to the water. I followed him a few moments later, thinking I would put my hand in to grab a bit of water to throw on my overheated face. As I began to reach down toward the river, I heard Tony’s voice, not registering what he said. The slimmest edge of my left toe, encased in a heavy hiking boot, dipped ever so slightly into the water. In an instant, I felt the slippery surface of the riverbank, and I was gone.
Thrust into the rapids of the rushing river, my feet and legs slipped out from under me as I tried to fight against what was happening. The river’s bottom was too slick and the water too powerful for my legs to find any success. I frantically looked up to search for Tony on the river’s edge only to find him amongst the rapids coming after me. The river was moving so quickly, my brain couldn’t keep up to assimilate what was truly happening. I crashed into rocks, brushed harshly against fallen trees that I desperately attempted to grab on to with no avail. This is what fear feels like.
Then, I was pulled under the water’s surface. My body was tossed about as I gulped in water with an open mouth, caught off guard by this raging river. It felt like slow-motion when I was underwater. Images of Naomi Watts in The Impossible flashed through my mind. I felt like I was in a movie, being pummeled against boulders and debris as I was kept under by the sheer force of the water. I had the fleeting thought that this might be it. This is how I might die. This is what fear feels like.
I surfaced, facing up-river, wildly searching again for Tony and gasping for air. He was close behind, the current moving him directly to me. He yelled to me, urging me to try and grab the fallen trees that we kept rushing by. Again, I tried getting a hold of anything I could to stop this nightmare from unfurling. It was so hard to hold on. Part of a branch would be in my hand for a moment only for it to slip away from me as the river kept pushing me downstream. We began edging ever more closer to the next set of waterfalls. This is what fear feels like.
Next, I feel Tony grab me. I’m still wearing my backpack and my camera across my shoulders, and thankfully, the river has forced Tony closer and closer to me that he is finally able to get me in his grasp by snatching up part of my pack. I hear him repeating, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” The current pushes us farther from the trail edge of the river but that much closer to a downed tree. With his free arm, Tony manages to wrap it around the tree and stop our forward momentum.
I am gulping in air now. I grab on to the tree. My upper torso has actually slammed into the tree. I look searchingly into Tony’s eyes. He tells me over and over, “I’m not gonna let you go. I’m not gonna let you go. I’m not gonna let you go.” And I believe him. I start to think – to feel – that part of the tree, a stray limb, may in fact be embedded in my side. Although we are in some momentary safety, I am keenly aware that we might not be in this spot for very long. The current is still raging, still pushing, still threatening. This is what fear feels like.
Repeating words of my own begin to spill out of my mouth. “Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay.” I say it over and over. Am I pleading with my mind? With the Universe? Or is this just what shock does to the system? I glance down at my arm holding onto the tree branch and I see my hand and my wrist, noticing how pink and red my skin looks. That’s when something registers in my brain. I’m cold. This water that I am submerged in is very cold. We cannot stay in this river for much longer. This is what fear feels like.
While we are remaining fairly steady in our found bit of safety, we are also being shifted about at the whim of the river. I feel a huge rock under me and I try to wedge one of my legs behind it. I’m doing whatever I can to stay put. Hold on to the tree. Keep my leg plastered to this boulder. Do not go downstream. Do not go over Copeland Falls. Tony and I look at each other, and in that flicker of eye contact, I think we realize that we are not getting out of this river on our own.
Tony yells, “HELP!” Right, we need to call for help. Then I start screaming, “HELP!” My back is turned toward the trail, so it is difficult for me to see anything except the river and Tony. I can tell that someone has heard us, that someone has come toward the river and seen that we are in it. I hear Tony tell this person that we need help.
Then, a man quickly appears on the river bank. I turn my head to see what’s going on. I see this man trying to find his footing, precariously edging toward us. He’s looking for another fallen tree to use to help us get out. A few other men join him. There are four of them now. I realize that me turning back toward the trail is making my position in the water more risky. I look back at Tony and keep my eyes fixed on him. He reassures me we’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.
The men have linked themselves together, formed a human chain. The man in front extends the fallen tree he’s found toward us. Tony somehow manages to keep my pack firmly in his grasp, hold the fallen tree we have been clinging to for safety under his other arm, and then grasp the extended tree under the arm that is holding onto me. The four men slowly pull the extended tree toward them, hand-over-hand, pulling us toward them and toward safety. We get to the riverbank and one of the men pulls me out. I take a step forward away from the river and turn to watch the men pull Tony out of the rapids. We’re on land. Out of the current. “Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay.”
I stand on the river’s edge for a few moments. I think I am in shock. I take off my pack. Remove the camera from around my neck. And I still stand there. I look at the men, and I say to them, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…” I burst into tears. We stumble up onto the trail. A mass of people have assembled to watch the scene. I’m outside of myself now. Is this happening? Did this all just really happen?
Two women from two separate groups of hikers start talking to Tony and me. They are urging us to get out of our clothes. They tell us we are shivering and cold. We reply that we are fine, we’re okay. We have no idea how cold we are. They continue to urge. They insist we have to get warm, now. They each have a warming blanket in their packs – those metallic, aluminum foil-type blankets – and they unwrap the blankets and then wrap each of us up.
The four men who pulled us from the river have gone on their way, nameless to us forever. Another man asks if he can walk us to our car. He offers to carry Tony’s pack for him. The Park Ranger arrives, relieved to see us on the trail and not in the river. He gets some information from us, and asks us repeatedly if we have hit our heads, if we think we have broken any bones, and the like. He tells us we are the fifth and sixth people to get swept into the raging water just this week.
We – the Park Ranger, the man with Tony’s pack, one of the “blanket ladies,” Tony, and myself – walk the last mile of our 14-mile hike. At the car, I finally take off my shirts to see that, in fact, I was not impaled on the tree limb. Tony and I both assess our respective bodies, and despite massive bruises, cuts, and scrapes, we have exited this waterlogged nightmare virtually unharmed, all things considered. Our new friends bid us good luck and goodbye. And with our faith restored in humanity and the sheer kindness of strangers, and my decision to spend my life with Tony reinforced yet again, we pulled away from the trailhead.
If you’re curious about this experience through Tony’s eyes, you can read his account HERE.
With all the fun there is to drink up in summer — the ice cream, the trips, the homemade sangria, the bike rides, the concerts — there is also a need for stillness, for quiet. A need to replenish, to sleep late, to read all day.
It’s that time of year — time to gather with some soul sisters on the coast of Oregon. This marks the fourth year this group of sisters, Tribe, will be communing with one another alongside the majestic Pacific. And I’m ready. I’m ready for the ritual, the comfort, the ease of being with these beautiful women. I’m ready to review the past year, to share the triumphs and the defeats. I’m ready to whisper my greatest longings, to give voice to the big dreams I’ve been cultivating. I’m ready to laugh with my whole body, and I’m equally ready to release the tears that have been welling up.
I’m ready for connection and sisterhood. I’m ready to feel secure in my creative journey and these next big steps I’m taking. I’m ready to allow for and accept the support I so desperately need. I’m ready for the dose of inspiration I get from these kindred spirits, from this community we lovingly call Tribe, to walk steadfastly into the adventure of the creative unknown. I’m ready for the self-care, the refocusing, the re-committing to mySelf and the life I want to live.
As a photographer, I aim to convey emotion in my images. For Day 3 of ‘Roid Week, I chose to share two photos that are imbued with a sense of melancholy. I again selected images taken with two different cameras. I also chose two photos that were comprised of very different content — at least on the surface.
First, a still life photographed with my “new” Polaroid 195 camera…
And second, revealing a new self-portrait from 365 Impossible Self-Portraits…
And please, please, please, check out all the amazing photos in the ‘Roid Week Flickr pool. If you’re needing a dose inspiration, that is THE place!
As I was getting all ready to share some highlights and tales from my recent trip to NYC with Lindsey and Deb, I got to thinking about the slightly larger group of photography sisters from which our spin-off trip developed. I’m missing these ladies, or “birds” as we’re affectionately called by Cherish. While the three of us had a grand time in the city, I wish that our whole group had been able to be together for this latest adventure. And since we didn’t get our acts together to do our photo riffing for this month, I thought I’d revisit the last time we birds were all together in Tofino.
The ever-adorable Lindsey in her bear hat…
A gift of the ocean…
A little TTV of Cherish…
Finding myself through the sea grass…
And wondering what adventure awaits us next….
Miss you, birds. xoxo
*For those interested, all photos in this post are instant film photography images using expired Polaroid 600 film, expired Polaroid Spectra Softtone film, and IMPOSSIBLE Project PX70 film.
As I sit here alone on this mid-January morning, listening to the mighty wind rip through the Midwest and seeing that it’s -4 degrees outside, I’m not very present. I’m already dreaming of this coming summer, planning a trip to Barcelona and Paris. I’m also reminiscing about warmer days with dear friends, surrounded by sisterhood and inspiration. The bitter wind that blows across this prairie feels so harsh, even as I make the short walk from work to my car, bundled up in goose-down with hat and mittens. I wonder how the Pioneers made it. My escape is looking back and planning ahead. To get out of this moment. Clearly, I’m not practicing off the mat very well. So be it. For today, anyway.
Come escape with me over to Mortal Muses where I’m sharing some more reminiscing photos today.
Our splinter group of Shutter Sisters is continuing our new tradition of sharing 10 photos on the 10th of each month. We started with sharing 10 photos from our time together in Tofino, then followed that up with 10 festive photos enjoying the holiday season. This month, with the new year upon us, we decided to focus on “restart” as a theme.
As I’ve said before here, I do love a fresh start, a clean slate, a new page on the calendar. So, how have I been I been restarting this year? First, the holiday decorations were carefully put away…
Then new words, new sources of daily inspiration have been sought. Although secure is my word for 2014, “ease” was in the running for quite some time. Ease is another one of my core desired feelings and I am inviting it mightily into my year and my daily life. Interestingly, I am seeing how secure embodies and allows for ease.
My ritual of morning pages and journaling continues to sustain me and provides a secure foundation from which to enter the world each day…
That’s what my “restart” to 2014 looks like so far. You might be saying, “What?! Wait! There’s only 5 photos here! Where are the other 5?” My answer — they haven’t unfolded yet. And ordinarily, I would have frantically taken 5 more photos to make sure I had 10 to share — after all, this IS a 10 on 10 post! But, I’m restarting. I’m allowing ease into my life. I’m feeling secure in my work and who I am. And so, I’m staying loose, and letting 5 be okay this time around.
To keep the blog-hop going, click on over to Lindsey’s blog to see her 10 on 10 to restart this new year!
As I’m letting the fullness of my one little word settle into my heart and soul, I find myself attuning my awareness for secure reminders. Getting back on the mat, rededicating myself to the practice of yoga, standing in warrior asanas allows me to embody secure. Morning pages, a journaling ritual, having always helped ground me, provide a secure base for me to enter into each day. These are the obvious ones, my go-to reminders. But I’m trying to broaden my attention, widen my perspective, and find the essence of secure in places I haven’t looked before.
I see the geese, their trust in the pattern of the seasons, the signs in the wind, take refuge on a frozen pond, secure that the ice won’t crack through. I notice the words of sage poets, wise women and men, describing their knowledge of life line by line, and I take solace in their telling me I don’t have to “do” anything as I am secure, right now.
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
How are you settling into your one word for 2014?
Today, I’m remembering. Six years ago on this very day, I was having surgery. As I lie in the hospital two days after our first Christmas in a new home, in a new part of the country, cancer was being removed from my body. This was my wake-up call. On this day, and the days and months that followed, the true realization of “life is short” hit me. I could no longer avoid the question: “what are you waiting for?” That is when the path for my journey of becoming a photographer really opened up.
Much love and health to you all. xoxo