Photo Journal

Early Morning Musing

Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air. Ralph Waldo Emerson

Racing Sunshine

On Sunday morning

I woke before dawn and ran,

sunshine at my heels.

Sunday morning - The sun rises earlier and earlier, and temperatures rise with it. I try to start my run early enough to beat the heat of the sun; but then I can’t resist stopping to take some pictures - so it catches up with me.

Mornings here are special - the lifeguard towers are not open yet, beach rental sheds and concession stands locked up - and only a few of us are out to greet the sun.

Pelicans fish close to shore.

Kindred spirits try to capture the beauty of sunrise.

Tuesday - Even a dark morning is beautiful -

- especially when the sun breaks through the clouds for a moment.

I don't ask for the meaning of the song of a bird or the rising of the sun on a misty morning. There they are, and they are beautiful.

Pete Hamill

Thank you for being here with me: here in this photo journal where I’m clumsily learning my way, and here on this beautiful, fragile planet.

Through the Desert from Big Bend to El Paso

We are part of this universe; we are in this universe, but perhaps more important than both of those facts, is that the universe is in us.

Neil deGrasse Tyson

One

In the desert as the sky grows dark and

the silhouettes of mountains loom starkly

against the quickly fading light I stand.

 

I stand here with my camera focused

on the graceful curve of the western ridge

where dark clouds lifted just as the sun fell.

 

I stand here, my body blending into shadow -

with the other elements of the desert,

merging into a single black silhouette.

I stand as the night deepens, stars appear-

the Milky Way shows its bright cloudy face-

seeing it, from the inside looking out.

 

I stand with the mountain, by the river

with cactus and wildflowers, and other wild things-

among the vast and the small, invisible.

I had this sense of just being a part of the landscape in the dark here, in Big Bend. I can’t explain, it but it felt something like relief.

The drive from Marfa to the Barton Warnock Visitor Center at Big Bend was only a couple of hours. I stopped at the visitor center to pick up my camping permit and was surprised to see that I had a pretty good cell connection there. Then I found out it was a fifteen mile drive through the mountains to get to my site. I lost my connection after the first major climb. Then when I arrived at my campsite, I realized I was the only person at this particular campground. I was surprised, because it was beautiful. I was also a little spooked; but I was there - and it was a little late to try to find another spot; so I stayed.

A river access just down the hill from my campsite. I walked down there on the first night to see the river and stretch my legs. That’s when I learned how close I was to the Mexican border. I found out later that it was just across the river - which was narrow and shallow at this point. Something about being that close made me realize how weird the concept of borders is in a place like this, where the division is so (literally) fluid.

It was hot when I arrived in the afternoon, but overnight the temperatures dropped into the 40s. Flowers were blooming everywhere - the cactus blossoms were particularly beautiful and swarming with bees. With the temperature drop, I noticed in the morning that the bees were huddled together and not moving. At first, I wondered if the cold temperatures killed them; but when I returned later in the afternoon - they had flown away.

My first long hike was on a trail called the Fresno Divide Trail. I am struck by the etching in the rock on the mountainside here - it almost looks like a city carved in stone. The trail map I carried said that unusual landscape is caused by a mixture of volcanic activity, limestone upheaval and erosion from wind and rain.

I loved the leggy ocotillo plants all around the park with their bright red flowers reaching up into the air (that plant next to the trail in the picture). I was definitely here at a good time to see wildflowers of all kinds.

Yucca Plant against etched limestone

Some wildflowers and cactus blossoms I saw along the trails.

One of the only shady hikes I took in the park was on a trail called the Closed Canyon trail - where you hike between two walls of rock - the trail ends abruptly with a sign hanging from chains after a descent. When I reached the end, there were people picnicking there and a ten-year-old boy told me “you can go further” but I decided to live to hike another day.

On my way out of the park - I stopped to take a picture from above my campsite. It’s down there somewhere, below the curve in the road; alongside the river.

Couldn’t resist stopping here on my way out of the park, either. It’s a movie set. The Streets of Laredo was apparently partially filmed here. I loved the way the adobe building contrasted with the carved rock of the mountains behind it.

Stopped at the visitor center to make a reservation at Davis Mountains State Park, eat some breakfast and do a little routine maintenance on the van before driving back north. On my way to Davis Mountains, I had to stop at a border patrol checkpoint where they took a look inside the van to make sure I wasn’t bringing anybody back with me. They were very nice; but that was a new experience for me!

I would like to step out of my heart and go walking beneath the enormous sky.

Rainer Maria Rilke

Davis Mountains State Park sits about a mile above the Chihuahuan Desert. On my first hike I took the Skyline Trail. That white building off in the distance is a white adobe inn that’s part of the park.

An eastern ridge, just before sunrise. This park gets more rain than Big Bend and there are trees. They aren’t tall trees, but they’re a welcome sight on the trail when the sun is high and you need a break. I was only here for two nights, but I really loved it. The park staff and volunteers were really wonderful.

Nature’s delicate balance.

A little surprise at this park - there were two buildings with shaded viewing areas and multiple bird feeders. The birds were really active. I could have watched all day if I only had more time! Unfortunately, I had to leave on the morning of April 1 for El Paso where I would be parking my van and flying back home.

One final surprise on the way to El Paso - I stopped along the highway at a picnic area to get a little lunch and saw that there was a trailhead behind the picnic table pavilions. I thought it would be nice to stretch my legs mid-drive, so I walked up - and this was the view from the top of the trail. West Texas did not disappoint in any way.

I am so grateful I have the opportunity to make trips like this, and I am really grateful to you for being here!

Rambling from Azle to Marfa, Texas

How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.

A. A. Milne

As excited as I was to see west Texas, it was hard to leave my mom’s house in Azle. There are so many people I love here, and so many memories.

The neighbor’s horse, eating grass and looking how I felt.

San Angelo State Park. Texas trees twisting in twilight.

First morning of my trip, I am at the beginning of the desert.

Prickly Pear Mickey Mouse. As I do with clouds, I look for creatures in the cactus.

San Angelo State Park. A remnant left behind when the reservoir waters receded.

Today I move on to Marfa.

Marfa, Texas. Questions.

Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns.

Anne Lamott

Marfa unsettles me. So many contradictions. So much beauty, so much poverty. There is something writhing under the surface here. After my first full day, I thought about ditching my reservation at the Tumble In and finding a park somewhere.

These metal cylinders, which I was calling the Marfa Stonehenge, were right next to my campsite. I took this picture and then went to bed, deciding I’d figure out what to do in the morning.

Marfa. Sunrise view from my spot at the Tumble In. I walked to town, got some coffee, and thought I’d figure out another plan.

I saw a kiosk outside the post office with a sign about a free watercolor class, starting the next day, at the Chinati Foundation, where everyone told me I should go if I was in Marfa. I figured it was probably full (and secretly almost hoped it was), but I contacted them anyway. Michael, who responded to my message, said there were no openings. Then later - much later - I checked my email messages. Someone cancelled and I was the only person on the waiting list. I decided to do it.

Donald Judd’s Concrete Boxes at the Chinati Foundation.

This was the view I chose to (try to!) paint. K B Jones was our instructor (@kb_jones on Instagram). I learned so much in these two days and got a such an intimate view of some of the artwork at the Chinati Foundation that I’m still in a little bit of disbelief.

A tree I decided to paint on the second day.

Here is what I finished. Something I loved about painting vs photography is that you can just leave out what you don’t want to include. You can do a little of that in photography, by changing your point of view or zooming in closer or editing afterwards, but when you paint - it’s all up to you right from the start. Developing the skill to convey what you feel is probably the work of a lifetime.

This experience made me love Marfa in all its imperfect glory. I realized that everywhere I go, the same conflicts exist. It’s just much clearer in a place where the population is so small and because of that, the economic and cultural conflicts so much more visible.

Marfa Stonehenge at night with the lights of the highway in the background.

My last morning in Marfa before driving into Big Bend. The sky looked like a watercolor better than anything I could ever paint.

Thank you for being here!