Seasons, Egrets and Death

 

I set out to see the egrets but they were gone. There are things in nature I can watch for hours, lightning storms, meteor showers and egrets on water are some. The wingspan of an egret is roughly two feet less than that of an eagle. In stillness their white regalia makes forest backgrounds fade. Majestic and elegant flying over water, still captivating, though not as dramatic as an eagle stretching out to snatch a fish from the water (go watch a Mark Smith video). The egrets are gone from the rookery. To return in Spring. The cycle of seasons.

The question on the intake form, “Do you think of death?” I answered no (I lied) and handed the form back to the masked lady behind the desk. I think of death often. It seems a natural thought process. I mean, the song that put Marc Scibilia on the charts begins, “I’ve been thinking about dying, and how that’s gonna be…” In Christ it’s the air we breathe; crucified savior, cruciform life. Even Solomon says, “It is better to go into a house of mourning, for that is the end of every man, and it causes the living to take notice.” Maybe I should have answered yes to that question. The question should read, “Do you think about death without hope?”

My hope is to photograph an egret in it’s glide over the water. White wings shimmering in reflection, all creation still and silent. And why head to the rookery? To quote Lewis, “But nature gave the word glory a meaning for me. I still do not know where else I could have found one.” For nature awakens in us longings for another world. I glimpse that in the egret.

Photo by Akshat Adsule on Unsplash

Dark and Life In Contrast

 My father gave me wondrous gifts wrapped in emptiness and loss. The pachinko game caught this teenage boy’s eye. Bright lights, clanging bells, silver balls bouncing off a thousand pins. Can’t tell you if I told him I wanted it once or a hundred times. My birthday came and with it came the pachinko game. A gift which brought hours of joy. Seeing the desire but not understanding the heart.

Pachinko is gaming at its core. Pulling on a lever shoots a metal ball into a field of pins. Much like pinball (except the Pachinko game stands upright) there are paths the ball bounces down; entering a cave where a little man stands at guard. Knocking him over sets off a mad clanging of bells followed by the sound of ten or twenty ball bearings crashing down a tube into the little ash-tray of winnings. A celebratory cacophony of clanking steel! In Korea you’d cash these winnings out with the house at the end of the night. In my house my friends and I kept a piece of paper where the highest score was scribbled in pen and taped to the door jamb. Hundreds of hours spent pulling that lever. Dad’s hand never touched the game.

The camera is awkwardly received. A gift more transactional than heartfelt. Motivated by a hidden heart. A gift for graduating high school. Hence this failure to receive love no matter how it came wrapped.

Taking pictures is as central to me as breathing. I carry around an inhaler for asthma attacks. I’m never without it. And never without a camera. Then the SLR (single lens reflex), now my Samsung. Photography was enjoyed by my father as well. Yet it was my cousin whom he took under his wing to teach photography on a field trip to a Sequoia National park. As if he were extending to me pieces of his heart then walling them off so they could not be accessed.

Like breathing in those gifts give life. In the stream of bouncing balls and clanging bells I spent hours thinking and meditating. When friends visited, we played the game. One person pulling the lever, leaving room for chatter. Pachinko was for a season; photography is for life.

Through this gift of a lens life is viewed differently. Nature and beauty in crisp contrast. Friends and family caught forever in different poses, stages of life in freeze frame. Millions of memories I’d have forgotten. These gifts are like a Cibachrome print. Dark and grey frame and saturate the picture. In contrast the rich colors of life; the cyan, magenta and yellow astonish with their richness. What a wondrous gift!

Photo by Ethan Hoover on Unsplash

Some Photography Etiquette

You learn as you go, I guess. As long as you still have your camera, your teeth and your money at the end of the lesson, then it was well worth it.

My friend Robert recently learned that you are not supposed to shoot pictures on a pier (as in Santa Monica), on a tripod without a permit.

I just found out that Carnival workers don't like you taking pictures of the teddy bears on their booths without permission. I was informed that it is proper etiquette to ask. At which point, the Carny, whose picture may be hanging in post offices throughout these United States, and whose foot is furiosly working to get the player at seat #3 the big teddy bear, can either approve or decline your request.