Last spring, I decided to explore a new section of the Taconite Trail near our cabin, which sits just inside the boundary of the Chippewa National Forest. Taconite runs 150ish miles between Grand Rapids and Ely--for a few miles north of Grand Rapids it is a paved surface for cycling or running, but beyond that it is primarily a snowmobile trail, with many sections crossing bogs or standing water. I love to run some of the dry stretches early in the year before the vegetation is too high, but it is always a bit of a game as to when my feet will end up wet. This day, I ended up with wet feet right out of the vehicle, and quickly found myself in a tamarack and black spruce bog. The forest was just starting to wake after a cold winter.
I will forever love this photograph, not for its technical merits, but because the image reflects back to me a most elusive subject: the emotion I felt in this place, in this moment. There is a softness which speaks to the intimacy I find in nature when I am able to go to it with humility, empty of a desire to take part of it away for myself--watchful only for that which I could not anticipate.
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| Tiny tamarack needles. |
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| Suddenly reminded of eating halibut and fiddlehead ferns at Blackbird Cafe in Minneapolis... |
Hopping over obvious swamp pools, marsh marigolds, and wolf scat, I made my way across a mile or two of sphagnum, before coming to a road. In the context of the national forest system, this was a very nice road. It was built from a reddish gravel, although I don't know exactly which minerals give it that color (feel free to comment that it's taconite, or iron ore, or something else embarrassingly obvious. Geology was never my area.) Puzzled, I wondered who would build this road. There was a choice to go left or right. For no particular reason, I went left.
I followed the road through stands of aspen and birch, the new leaves dropping in a stiff breeze, until finally Taconite became a proper forest trail again. After a few more (dry) miles, and three skittish deer, I arrived at a small shelter and a picnic table. You know what this girl loves? Picnic tables. They are great to sit on, or for a nap. I remember lying on this one, eyes closed, listening to the wind in the trees. Listening to thoughts run through my mind.
As I've gotten older, I've become mindful of the ways in which my personality is evolving, even somehow diverging. This is reinforcing my belief that people can, and do, change over time, despite our societal cliches to the contrary. In many ways, I have become more direct--more sure of myself and my wants, less anxious around strangers, more apt to ask someone a narrow question and swallow the answer. But in another sense, I have become increasingly...vague. And, I've decided this has everything to do with my attempts to unbind myself from a new nemesis: expectations.
This (imperfect) process started, largely, because of my photography hobby. I have spent countless hours learning to be a better photographer--absorbing the technical aspects of shooting and editing, self-imposed projects, upgrading my equipment when I felt limited by what I already owned, attending workshops, inviting criticism. There is no end to the attempt to fuse knowledge with the eye I was given. This led me to scout areas and envision shots--I put myself in places with intention, craving to capture something I had already decided on. Almost always, I would leave frustrated and disappointed, unable to comprehend how the world does not bend to meet my imagination. These thoughts flowed through my mind on that picnic table--how expecting a place to look a certain way made it impossible for me to see it in reality. The odd thing is that once I was able to begin to detach from expectations in one area of life, I allowed that thinking to slowly flow over into my career, or friendships, even my daily commute. The struggle to accept life as it is, instead of how I think it should be, has been one of my quieter paths--the way a leaf floats away on a stream when no one is watching, or clouds drift from the sun. The way a braid becomes loose in the wind.
I went back to this section of Taconite in October. This trip, I came to the red road again, but went right instead of left. Around a long and clever bend lay a wasteland of clearcut forest, marked by grayed tree stumps and large rocks torn from the ground. When I left the region of my upbringing in west central Minnesota and lobbied for our cabin in the northeastern part of the state, that decision was largely to escape overdevelopment, and the influence of farming on lakes. By doing so, I traded agriculture for logging, and I do not yet have an opinion on logging beyond the fact that it is ugly. The road went all the way to a tree buffer and a locked gate, intended to conceal these scars from drivers passing on the highway. I sat on a boulder to let my feet dry, detached and eerily neutral, as if watching this scene from a great distance. I did not long for a nap on the picnic table, or the confetti of aspen leaves. Because I had not expected turning right to mirror turning left, I was not disappointed.
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| I cropped out a really big spider. You're welcome. |
I followed the road through stands of aspen and birch, the new leaves dropping in a stiff breeze, until finally Taconite became a proper forest trail again. After a few more (dry) miles, and three skittish deer, I arrived at a small shelter and a picnic table. You know what this girl loves? Picnic tables. They are great to sit on, or for a nap. I remember lying on this one, eyes closed, listening to the wind in the trees. Listening to thoughts run through my mind.
As I've gotten older, I've become mindful of the ways in which my personality is evolving, even somehow diverging. This is reinforcing my belief that people can, and do, change over time, despite our societal cliches to the contrary. In many ways, I have become more direct--more sure of myself and my wants, less anxious around strangers, more apt to ask someone a narrow question and swallow the answer. But in another sense, I have become increasingly...vague. And, I've decided this has everything to do with my attempts to unbind myself from a new nemesis: expectations.
This (imperfect) process started, largely, because of my photography hobby. I have spent countless hours learning to be a better photographer--absorbing the technical aspects of shooting and editing, self-imposed projects, upgrading my equipment when I felt limited by what I already owned, attending workshops, inviting criticism. There is no end to the attempt to fuse knowledge with the eye I was given. This led me to scout areas and envision shots--I put myself in places with intention, craving to capture something I had already decided on. Almost always, I would leave frustrated and disappointed, unable to comprehend how the world does not bend to meet my imagination. These thoughts flowed through my mind on that picnic table--how expecting a place to look a certain way made it impossible for me to see it in reality. The odd thing is that once I was able to begin to detach from expectations in one area of life, I allowed that thinking to slowly flow over into my career, or friendships, even my daily commute. The struggle to accept life as it is, instead of how I think it should be, has been one of my quieter paths--the way a leaf floats away on a stream when no one is watching, or clouds drift from the sun. The way a braid becomes loose in the wind.
I went back to this section of Taconite in October. This trip, I came to the red road again, but went right instead of left. Around a long and clever bend lay a wasteland of clearcut forest, marked by grayed tree stumps and large rocks torn from the ground. When I left the region of my upbringing in west central Minnesota and lobbied for our cabin in the northeastern part of the state, that decision was largely to escape overdevelopment, and the influence of farming on lakes. By doing so, I traded agriculture for logging, and I do not yet have an opinion on logging beyond the fact that it is ugly. The road went all the way to a tree buffer and a locked gate, intended to conceal these scars from drivers passing on the highway. I sat on a boulder to let my feet dry, detached and eerily neutral, as if watching this scene from a great distance. I did not long for a nap on the picnic table, or the confetti of aspen leaves. Because I had not expected turning right to mirror turning left, I was not disappointed.
After I stepped back into the sphagnum for the last stretch to the vehicle, I was instantly relieved and present again. When nature is whole, we have a chance to feel whole, too. The wind was breathing the tamarack needles to the sky, the day only just beginning to think of sleep. A tattletale raven called in the distance. There was no memory of the red road to nowhere. I did not travel intending to see the sun this low, or the tamaracks this golden, but they both existed this way. Enveloped in privacy, I opened the shutter.
I will forever love this photograph, not for its technical merits, but because the image reflects back to me a most elusive subject: the emotion I felt in this place, in this moment. There is a softness which speaks to the intimacy I find in nature when I am able to go to it with humility, empty of a desire to take part of it away for myself--watchful only for that which I could not anticipate.
Best way to start my morning on the exercise bike! 😘
ReplyDeleteWhat a fine writer you have become. I love the power of your imagery and evocative word choice -- the red road, a braid comes loose, confetti of aspen leaves....
ReplyDelete