| Friday, January 4, 2019 | | New Year Gifts | My first gift of the New Year was our recently acquired rescue kitty Barney waking me up extra early, and then insisting I get up and feed him, not merely scratch his chin and his ears. Now that might not seem a good gift, especially since Pete and I did stay up to watch the New Year’s ball drop on TV, but hang with me here.
Once kitty was fed and I’d blinked myself awake, I realized that the forecasted rain wasn’t yet falling and though the sky was almost overcast, that “almost” gave rifts and breaks for the chance of some sunlight. I got dressed in a quiet hurry and left the house four minutes after official sunrise, reaching the beach in plenty of time to watch the light play peekaboo with the sky and create a month’s worth of looks in one happy morning.
A couple pods of dolphin were swimming and jumping; a few lines of pelicans flew past. I walked and sang and photographed and reaffirmed all I know to be true for me, that a life of impact and service is the best life. Good thoughts for a new year.
We had a warmer than usual end of the year, although a nasty cold bug kept me indoors and abed for the last week of it. New Year’s day was my first chance to really breathe some salt air in about ten days, though I had managed to get out long enough to visit with out of town family right before they left the area. Right before the holidays I made a quick day-trek off island, on a particularly foggy morning (we had a lot of those with the warmer temperatures in December), stopping to photograph along Currituck Sound and in Waterlily. Fog was prevalent several days in Duck, too and I drove up to Whalehead one foggy morning to experience some different ambience there. Friends and perhaps regular readers should know by now, I love fog. I love the simplicity it brings. We talk about being in a fog as a bad thing; I like the way fog clarifies my perspective by paradoxically eliminating distractions, and emphasizing what is most prominent.
Closer to home, we’ve seen over the past years deer in our neighborhood and even at the edge of our property. This year, on the afternoon Pete and I were setting out our lighted deer Christmas displays in the yard, a little group of three does and a Piebald fawn were grazing right across the street! That was a little Christmas gift delivered early.
Our Christmas miracle this year came in the form of Barney’s surviving a genuine health crisis in the middle of December, rebounding overnight thanks to the action of our mobile vet (and our prayers, I am sure). I knew he was an older kitty when I brought him home, but I sure wasn’t ready to let him go after only a few weeks, so I am grateful he had more lives left to live with us. And that brings me back around to my first gift of the New Year, that beach walk near dawn, made even more precious since Barney was the one that arranged it. I hope you never get tired of me writing about gratitude. Yes, on any given day I can find plenty to grumble about if I so choose. I choose otherwise. I choose to find plenty to smile about. I hope these images below help you choose to smile, too.
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click for larger image | I never tire of the view from our part of the Duck boardwalk, especially if there are birds in our little cove. |
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click for larger image | The sun's appearance between the clouds, and subsequent disappearance, made for spectacular light shows that lasted more than two hours. |
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click for larger image | Next, after the sterling silver faded, beachgoers were treated to this increasing dazzling display of sun rays to the south. |
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click for larger image | Every time I thought to leave the beach, the light had other ideas, drawing me to linger. |
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click for larger image | Meet Kitty Barney! This is my usual morning view. If this doesn't get me up and at-em, then bumping the blinds with his head will do it! |
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posted by eturek at 8:13 PM |
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| Thursday, November 29, 2018 | | November Blessings | My last blog was all about gratitude, as I posted shortly after Gratitude Day, which is also the International Day of Peace, and which we mark as the first day of autumn. Now nearly two months have passed, we just celebrated our national Thanksgiving holiday, and once again the theme of the season is gratitude.
Those who know me know that gratitude isn’t seasonal with me. It’s not a holiday, it’s a way of life that combines the elements of prayerful dialog, awareness of and connection to the natural world, and alertness to daily synchronicities, some of which I seek by intention and others that come as surprises. You will see some of all of that in this edition.
I didn’t write at the end of October because I wasn’t outdoors much at all! I have a sunrise series from October 2 and the full moon on October 23rd and not much in between. I hadn’t fully realized until this minute, sitting to string together images and words into a garland of autumn delights, how spare my offerings for October are, and how much my not-getting-outside influenced my emotions all month. Some of you know October was extra stressful with Pete not feeling well; he is better now after finally getting on the right antibiotic, but medical worries predominated my time and my heart in October.
In early November, SeaDragon’s founder and my good friend Paula invited me along for a whirl of a ride—literally. We drove out to Wilson’s annual whirligig festival, the best part of which was our long conversations there and back again, and seeing the gigantic whirligig creations of Vollis Simpson. The town has set aside a public space for his wind machines, and that central square was the hub for a street festival of vendor craft and food booths. I came home with a locally made metal whirligig, a yellow wooden duck as a nod to both shops, and a bobbing metal bird for the garden. While there, I got a ride in the power company’s bucket truck so I could view the town and the whirligigs from above. All in all, great fun and a playful start to November, which I truly needed.
Shortly before Thanksgiving, I noticed several Bufflehead ducks in our cove, one male and a bunch of females. By the next day, the odds had evened out and there were three pair. Fast forward a few days later and we had more Buffleheads than I have ever seen before in one place—more than 80! I was astounded—until I processed a more recent image for this blog. I had to enlarge to count the tiny heads, photographed on a drizzly gray afternoon, to learn that this huge group numbered more than 150 and that females outnumbered males about 4 to 1. I am really anxious now to see how many stay all winter in our area of Duck. We have been having a small flock spend the winter in our cove alongside Canada Geese and a couple dozen Tundra Swan. As impressive as a huge flock is, the Buffleheads really dazzle up close. The males have bright white sides, and white atop their heads, while the rest of their head feathers are iridescent jewel tones of green and purple. The females are not entirely drab, as they have a small white patch on the sides of their heads. These are diving ducks, so they bob up and dive under constantly for food, which makes counting (and photographing) in real time a happy challenge!
Birders who browsed the gallery Thanksgiving week told me that the Tundra Swan and White Pelicans were present at Pea Island, so I took one afternoon and drove down shortly before dusk. I have had reports of a few swan in our little cove but I have not seen any there yet myself. But Pea Island was loaded with birds! I had about an hour to walk the berm between north and south ponds and watch the comings and goings. Most swan were a long distance away with a few at closer range. I saw a few Buffleheads, but nothing like the large groups in Duck, and I saw a lone White Pelican. Tricolor Herons, an immature Night Heron, and lots of Ibis flew by while I watched. Way, way off in the distance over the Sound a huge flock of somebodies appeared as a large pulsating almost-murmuration, one of my favorite bird formations to watch. They are much more impressive as video than as still images, so if the notion of undulating dancing shapes of birds intrigues you, google the phenomenon.
I had to stop by local artist and friend E M Corsa’s house to pick up some paintings for the gallery and while there, she pointed out in the tree by her house a life list bird for me, a White-winged Dove! This is not the first year a lone White-winged has overwintered at her house. It is way out of its usual range, as this is a western bird that has slowly been making its way eastward. What an unexpected gift!
The day after Thanksgiving, I walked the Nags Head town trail which begins at the end of Barnes street (you can access the trail from behind the Y as well) and ends up at the Sound on another late afternoon, again spontaneously, as I was completing some errands and had just enough time for a brisk walk out and back. It’s an easy trail, about 20 minutes one way walking at a good pace. I meandered more going out, noticing the splashes of fall color amidst all the green and brown. Our wet autumn has meant less color than usual. You have to appreciate it when you glimpse it!
But my favorite unplanned surprise occurred day before yesterday. I was in the gallery, even though we are closed at the beginning of the week now, as our season winds down, for my fire department inspection. Shortly after the firemen left, Ray Matthews called. He was—spontaneously—on his way north to Carova, as the day was clearer and prettier than he anticipated, and did I want to ride along? Since I was already in the gallery and since he was well on his way, I was able to say yes, and we had a pleasant afternoon looking for horses. The light was pretty but the harems were elusive. What we did notice were huge flocks of gulls – no terns, no sanderlings at first. We saw no horses until we headed back down the beach and finally spotted a lone stallion grazing behind the dune who very quickly trotted up and over to the beach side.
First, he grazed on very sparse grass growing on the other side of some sand fence. A little ways south was a small clump of grass with a couple sea oats, growing right beside a house’s walkover and stairs. The horse wandered over there. But south of that was the prettiest clump of sea oats I had spotted all day. Gee, I thought—and said to Ray—if the horse would just wander a little further south to THAT clump, that would be perfect. As if reading my thought, and maybe he did, the horse pretty quickly abandoned the first clump and did just what I had wished for. We spent the next 45 minutes watching and photographing him. Offshore, some of the nine shrimp trawlers we had seen earlier in the day passed in and out of view. Those dragging nets had large flocks of gulls flying all around them. I spotted my first Gannet of the season; they always mean “wintertime” to me, and Ray and I both remarked how the angle of the light, the one horse, the trawlers offshore, the beach pretty much to ourselves, and the last of the season’s sea oats all set a winter scene.
We came off the beach to an unexpected sunset glow, given how clear the sky had been most of the day, and both of us enjoyed photographing the birds and clouds in the wave wash.
What are you grateful for? In October, I was grateful Pete’s sudden spiking fevers finally abated with the right diagnosis and medicine. And while in the middle of that situation, I was grateful for the caring support of my staff that let me be absent from the shop and present at home. In November, I have been grateful that we both feel much better, that we have had a wonderful first season with Yellowhouse in Duck, and that I have been able to spend more time outside. My takeaway from both months is simple. Life sometimes gets complicated, and very quickly. I know what to do to take care of myself, my spirit, my body, and my soul, even as I take care of others and a bustling business. I just need to commit the time and resources I need to do that. Even the most stressful and complicated situations have a way of smoothing out if I remember to stay grateful, stay connected to God, stay connected outside.
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click for larger image | The Vollis Simpson Whirligig Park in downtown Wilson, NC is a delightful grownups' playground--though all the kids seemed to be having fun too. Notice the scale of the wind sculptures. |
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click for larger image | The largest flock of Bufflehead ducks I have ever seen seems to be getting larger and larger in Duck. |
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click for larger image | I wish I had been close enough to tell exactly what these birds, I assume some species of duck, are. Can you see the tiny heart shape within the larger flock? |
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click for larger image | In spring, we can usually count on seeing large harems resting--or running--by the water. Today we were grateful to spend part of our afternoon with this bachelor stallion. |
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click for larger image | The soft sunset glow produced the perfect conditions to highlight the pelicans flying back toward their evening roost and the gulls still standing in the wave wash. |
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posted by eturek at 9:37 PM |
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| Monday, October 1, 2018 | | September Gratitudes | Gratitude Day falls each September near the Solstice, and this year, topping our list here in the northern Outer Banks is that we were spared a hit from Hurricane Florence. What a juxtaposition of emotions, gratitude for our near miss and grief at the damage we still see in communities just hours to our south. A slight tweak in the track and their devastation would have been ours. As it was, we spent days collectively holding our breath, watching the Weather channel and watching the weather. I got up two mornings in a row to see what effects the storm’s outlier clouds might have had on our morning sunrises. I went alone to Nags Head pier the first day, and joined fellow photographer Gordon Kreplin at Jennette’s Pier the second.
A few days before the storm, we had one of those bluebird-calm days when the Sound looks like a mirror. Two kayakers were out taking in the beauty of the still morning up in Duck.
Among the treasures I have on my bookshelves is my mother’s copy of an old paperback Roger T. Peterson’s bird guide—so old, in fact, that many of the birds are not even illustrated in color! There is a section in that guide, long since updated, named Confusing Fall Warblers. I always thought that was a funny title for a bird book chapter, until I took up birding myself.
After the storm slowed to a walking pace over the lower part of the coast, I had a chance to walk the boardwalk behind Duck church and look for our annual fall warbler migration. Local birder Peggy Eubanks confirmed that we were spotting Cape May and Magnolia warblers along with a Nuthatch, the only bird that can walk head-first down a tree trunk. Peggy and I were glad to see each other; she was one of my earliest friends when I first moved to the Outer Banks back in 1976. She was wishing a photographer would come along and give her a closer long-lens look at the birds, maddingly camouflaged in the dense tree branches, and I was wishing she were there with her wonderful accumulation of knowledge of bird plumage and calls. The timing, as is so true many times, was perfect. True to Petersen’s volume, the warblers were confusing, at least to me. I will include an admittedly much less than ideal image to show you how challenging spotting them, much less photographing and identifying can be! Before I left we were joined by fellow birders and photographers Joyce Edwards and Pat Draisey. They had more time to spend than I, and I left for home while they continued to stroll back south.
One of the first post-storm oddities I noticed was heightened butterfly activity at my lantana bush. Day One revealed at least 8 or 9 separate species, including some I did not recognize. Closer looks over several days confirmed that I also had nearly a dozen Gulf Fritillaries, presumably nudged (or shoved) north in the winds of the storm. We see this species in Carolina, but this is pretty much the northern extreme of their range. From researching online, I think it is unusual to see so many at once this far north.
About the middle of the month, I went to Nags Head Woods, intending to walk the main trail by the visitor’s center, but found it completely underwater! The bridge from the center’s porch disappeared into green ooze, and at least one other main trail was blocked off by signs warning of flooding. As all the rainwater from Florence makes its way slowly downstream, the Sound and many of the areas within the Woods are still wetter than usual. I checked the trails yesterday and while there is a spot of dry pine needles at the foot of the bridge, within a few feet the water takes ownership of the trail there again.
Thanks to the encouragement of Daniel Beauvais—and the loan of one of his cameras for a week in August—I sent off my older camera body to be converted to photographing only in Infrared. Back in my film days, I’d purchased a red filter that I loved to put onto my all purpose lens whenever the clouds were particularly spectacular, as the filter mimicked the look of IR film by darkening blue skies to nearly black and turning anything green—trees, grass, bushes, marsh—a luscious bright white. The IR conversion replaces the normal camera sensor; there are ranges of false color or true black-and-white you can specify, and I chose what is called Deep Black. If you are interested in the particulars, both lifepixel and Kolari Vision offer conversions and plenty of explanation and tutorials. I got my camera back from Kolari in record time and had one more hike in Nags Head Woods, this time with Gordon who was also using an IR converted camera. I carried both cameras and will include a full color and an IR image to show you the difference below. Retraining my eye to see, first in black and white and then in IR is an exercise in playful creativity! I am having a wonderful time with it. Look for some sprinklings of IR images in the blogs to come, if the scene warrants the treatment. One thing I am rapidly learning is that not all scenes are good candidates for the IR look. I enjoy learning, and fall’s somewhat slower retail pace is a perfect time—coupled with lower humidity and nice cloud formations—to be outside to play.
I think often how upside down our routine is compared with a non-resort area (or, say, a ski resort!) While most of the rest of the country is planning vacation and play time, we gear up for our busiest months. Winter, not summer, can mean rest for many of us and this in-between of fall begins to focus my attention on creative play. The IR conversion arrived just in time to inspire my visual self to see in new ways, always a great exercise and not just for photographers.
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click for larger image | Who would have thought from the pre-dawn above that I would soon be treated to this? It always pays to stay put longer than you might first expect to, if you can. |
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click for larger image | By the time the sun rose above the clouds, it was almost too bright to photograph. I loved the cross-current wave patterns here. |
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click for larger image | Normally I would delete this out of focus butterfly photo-bombing my focused image. But this is a female signaling non-receptivity to the overflying male. She might be playing hard to get...or has already mated, and is therefore unavailable. |
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click for larger image | Here is a Confusing Fall Warbler. I should mention these are small birds--and fast! No sooner would we spot one than it would be off its perch and away. |
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click for larger image | Sound shore in Nags Head Woods. Mid to late afternoon and not the ideal time of day at this location. But a pretty spot. |
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click for larger image | Here is the same scene with my newly converted IR camera body. I can already tell this is going to be fun! |
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posted by eturek at 4:27 PM |
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| Friday, August 24, 2018 | | Foxes and Rainbows | Usually my monthly blogs hind-cast back four weeks or so, and catch you up on whatever has been happening, naturally-speaking, in my part of the Outer Banks. This particular blog will include some images even older than that, as I deliberately like to wait to post images of Very Young Critters until they are older and out on their own.
I mentioned in an earlier blog that I had the chance this spring to watch some baby red foxes for the first time in a couple of years. Mom and Dad Fox have moved that den now, and the youngsters become more wary as they grow, so I have not seen any activity at the den site for some weeks now. Just when I was really missing seeing them, and thinking how very long eleven months loomed without any fox interaction, I had another opportunity with an entirely different family to watch some young foxes at an age I have never photographed before. These kits were more like young teenagers--still somewhat curious but limiting their appearances to the edges of the day, so I needed higher ISO (and a lot of patience) to photograph them at their serious business of playtime, exploration and occasional rest. I think I may have seen one of the parents a good ways off, watching the teenagers, a time or two, but never at close enough range to make a decent photo, even with my long lens. What struck me most about these growing youngsters was that they needed to grow into their ears! A couple of folks I shared these images with remarked how different they look from the other red foxes, either younger babies or older adults I have photographed before. Perhaps that is due to seeing them at a different age and stage in their growing. The most curious had distinct markings around its eyes, so I was able to tell that one apart from the rest.
Now they, too, have become more elusive, whether they are in a different spot altogether or coming out only well after dark. I did go to their general area after the sun had set and saw some glowing eyes, so they may still be nearby. The chance to see foxes at this age and stage was a totally unexpected delight, one for which I am very grateful.
Following a couple weeks of relentless rain, we have again settled into the weather I associate with August—towering, glowing thunderheads in afternoon that sometimes result in a quick squall and a kiss-and-make-up rainbow afterwards. I have seen more rainbows in the past week than in all the rest of the year so far put together. The longest lasting one of those is below.
After photographing a dramatic downburst in Duck in early June, I never expected to see practically the same formation so soon again, but an offshore squall line obliged with a double downburst the other evening as I was driving home through Kitty Hawk.
How many times in a week, in a day, I find myself giving thanks for this wonderful life I am blessed to live! Not only do I manage to find moments outside, in this beautiful place I get to call home, but I can make memories out of Moments, and then share them. Life is pretty great. Especially with foxes and rainbows!
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click for larger image | Frog legs for breakfast. Foxes eat small amphibians, bugs like crickets, persimmons, and small rodents. I've even found sea oats in their scat. |
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click for larger image | As with puppies and kittens, fox-play involves a lot of rough-housing that seldom gets too rough. |
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click for larger image | Just as at our old gallery location, foxes and bunnies seem to coexist nicely here. It was good to see them in the same space. |
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click for larger image | All our rain squalls have left ponds at Jockey's Ridge, which pick up the sunset color nicely and give a view we don't usually see here. |
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click for larger image | Folks who know me well know I am always, always on the lookout for hearts in the landscape. I like to say, Love shows itself everywhere. We just have to pay attention. |
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click for larger image | Here is the reward for all that rain! I got wet for this one. The conditions were perfect for a rainbow--sprinkles and sunshine. But I waited through heavier shower for the rainbow to reach its brightest appearance. |
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posted by eturek at 10:58 AM |
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| Friday, July 13, 2018 | | Summer Days | One of a photographer's challenges is to see the familiar in fresh ways. I've lived here 42 years now, so I can definitely relate! I find that is a life challenge, too. Sometimes nature itself provides the freshness, and sometimes I have to deliberately change my perspective in order to see and share a fresh angle or a fresh vision. One reason I love photography, besides the fact that it leads me outside, is that I am reminded of these larger life lessons every time I pick up my camera.
The past thirty days has provided wonderful opportunities to be outdoors. Even in the middle of a busy summer schedule, I’ve managed to work in a sea turtle release, two trips (one planned, one spontaneous) to Carova, and some stormy sky watches both in Duck and Colington. More than one of the artists we represent uses the Shakespeare quote, one touch of nature makes the whole world kin, and I feel that kinship every time I step outside with camera in hand. Sometimes the kinship is extended to shared experiences, and that happened several times this month, too. I went to Carova with fellow photographer Ray Matthews and for one of those excursions, Phyllis Kroetsch came as well. I am always intrigued by how different photographers view the same general scene, just as I am enchanted by the myriad of authors and musicians who interpret our shared human experiences through their own gifts and perspectives.
For the sea turtle release, I positioned myself out in the water. The tide was coming in and that meant I got wetter and wetter as we waited for what turned out to be nine turtles headed back to sea after being cared for during the winter months by the staff and volunteers of the NC Aquarium’s STAR center, now open to the public. The little Green and Kemp’s Ridley turtles had been cold-stunned during our freeze in January, while the huge Loggerhead was the victim of a shark bite. It is a thrill to watch the turtles crawl back into the ocean, well worth the soaking from a couple rouge waves that nearly toppled those of us at the edge of the line! I kept my gear high and dry and the angle I chose was certainly worth the wait. A bonus from that day, along with being able to share my images with the NC Wildlife Resources staff, was an unexpected visit with friend and photographer Pat Draisey who had come to the release as an observer more than as a photographer that morning.
Just as I have not yet seen close up bear cubs this year, I have not yet seen any of the foals born in Carova this year either. The most exciting sight this past month was a harem running single file, one at a time, down the dunes and down to the water. Cattle egrets were resting atop several horses’ backs and I managed to make some images before they flew off. We saw some posturing and a bit of race-chasing both trips but no serious fighting. The most humorous sight which gave all three of us a chuckle was a harem browsing and meandering beside the Wild Horse road sign back behind the dune. The most unusual sight was a band of horses lit by our headlights as we drove back down the beach, with a cobalt blue dusk background all around them. Our second Carova trip was timed for sunrise and we all enjoyed the tide pools and the sun’s disk rising in a clear sky before we continued up the beach to look for horses.
That day, we saw only two by the water despite more than one trek up and down the shoreline. Instead, we were treated to a Dragonfly Migration Day, which regular readers will remember is one of my favorite events all summer! This time the dragonflies that had just come ashore all seemed to be the same species, with bright red bodies and heads. We paused to photograph the phenomenon of dozens of dragonflies perched all over the not-yet emerged sea oats before driving on. Ray told me later that his favorite image from the day was a closeup he made of a single red dragonfly resting atop a green sea oat stalk against the Carolina blue sky. You just never know what gifts nature will bestow. The key is to be alert and have open eyes and heart. That’s good advice for living a full, fulfilling daily life, whether as a photographer or not!
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click for larger image | The Loggerhead survived a shark bite and after months in the STAR center, was finally ready to swim home. |
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click for larger image | One of our dramatic sunsets this past month. I love the rain bands, but what caught my breath was that dark blue streak above the cloud, like a beacon. |
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click for larger image | A bright sliver of a new moon and the planet Venus shine above the dock at the Blue Point restaurant in Duck. Using a tripod and a long exposure smooth the water. |
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click for larger image | The illumination from our headlights at dusk gave the scene an entirely different look and feel. |
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click for larger image | Dragonfly migration day is one of my favorite nature events all year; in some years we have more than one migration. This is one of those years. |
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posted by eturek at 1:17 PM |
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