Life and Death in the Desert and The Intelligence of Nature

Desolation in the Desert ©Lynne Buchanan

In the process of writing my book, I have come across many photographs I made during my cross country journey that are striking a chord with me now.   Sometimes people succumb to the mistaken impression that they are more powerful than nature.  Yes, the hand of man has done many things to harm the environment by being out of balance, but when it really comes down to it nature is more powerful.   These ruins were from the town of Kelso.  Today, the mission revival style former depot located down the street serves as a visitor center, while this is what has become of the town around it.  I am not alone in being fascinated by ruins; many people are drawn to them likely because they show what becomes of the havens we construct to "protect" ourselves from the elements the instant we begin to neglect them.  Nature can be harsh and inhabitable for human beings when we don't work with the environment.

Sunrise, Mojave Desert ©Lynne Buchanan

Though there are hardly any people residing or even visiting the Mojave National Preserve, in comparison with other National Parks, it is teeming with life.  In fact, the Mojave Desert is one of the most diverse places in the entire southwest in terms of wildlife, with 38 species of amphibians and reptiles, 50 species of mammals, 300 kinds of birds, and even a native fish in the two ponds within the preserve.  In the springtime, there are carpets of desert sand verbena and dunes evening primrose, but even in the fall the desert plants were abundant and beautiful though non-flowering.  This sunrise was one of the most spectacular moments of my journey.  To get to the Mojave Desert, I'd driven straight through on I-5, the real wasteland, from Redding to Nipton.  The moment I got out of my car and stepped foot on the desert, I could feel the energy of all the life around me.

Joshua Trees, Mojave Desert ©Lynne Buchanan

Even after the sun had risen, nature continued to put on a magnificent show that morning, as dramatic clouds filled the sky and the light was soft enough to subtly illuminate the desert floor studded with Joshua trees and the mountains behind.  Yucca moths lay their eggs in the pollinated flowers of Joshua trees and disperse the seeds, while 25 bird species nest in them, and lizards and other invertebrates use them for shelter.  These tree homes look in much better shape than the houses the gold miners built and abandoned.   Afterwards, I visited the cinder cone lava beads and the Kelso dunes, before heading on my way to the Grand Canyon.  There is something that speaks to my soul when I see plants and animals survive and thrive in seemingly hostile conditions, and I know it is because they have learned to work with the environment instead of fighting against it...

A Recent Excursion on the St John's River Near Blue Springs...

St. John's River Near Blue Springs ©Lynne Buchanan

A couple of weeks ago, I went kayaking on the St. John's River to make some images for my upcoming river exhibition.  I rented a cabin in Blue Springs State Park and put in the river right there, paddling up towards the Hontoon Island landing, although I didn't make it all the way there.  This part of the river was so intriguing, I had to stop.  I loved how the clouds and lily plants in the river paralleled each other yet were different. When I think about life and meaningful relationships we have with anyone, whether natural elements or people in our lives,  things seem to be smoothest when we are going in similar directions yet respecting our uniqueness.  Differences add dimensions to our experiences in life.  If everyone or every bend in the river were  the same, it would get pretty boring, yet we also want to balance and support one another.  While I sat in my kayak and watched and photographed, I was overwhelmed with a sense of peace and harmony.

Sky and Water Epiphany, St. John's © Lynne Buchanan

The beauty of one aspect of a relationship, the sky in this example, creates more depth and beauty in the water that reflects it.  Oh to be a mirror for such wonderment...

There is Light in the Darkness ©Lynne Buchanan

On the way back towards the park, more and more clouds filled the sky and the sun was veiled behind them.  Yet, at the same time its brilliance could not be contained and broke out in all directions.  It is this way in my life sometimes too.  Though I have faced many challenges, as everyone does, I always know the light is still there waiting to cast its golden rays on everything it touches.  And without the dark, we would never know the light. Having felt despair, joy becomes even more beautiful and miraculous.  Life is filled with ups and downs and each is always contained in the other.

Nursing Manatees in the Form of a Cross ©Lynne Buchanan

Life is sacred.  If there was ever a doubt in my mind it was erased when I saw these two young manatees nursing their mother.  The young manatees flanked her and flayed to the side creating a cross.  It was so perfect and balanced and intimate.  Though my children are long grown, I will never forget the beauty of nurturing new life.  To see this exhibited by any species is a gift.

Anhinga Facing Dark Skies ©Lynne Buchanan

Though the skies were darkening the Anhinga still stretched its wings and lifted its head, facing whatever was to come.  In this case, it was only ominous looking skies–the weather retreated.  We never know what is coming.  Sometimes it seems there might be a dark cloud, but when it will blow over is a mystery.  Instead of feeling beaten down by storms in nature or within our own hearts, it is best not to retreat and close up but to spread or wings and keep the dream of flying alive.

Eagle Watching ©Lynne Buchanan

Whenever I am blessed to see an eagle, it always gives me courage and hope.  They are brave and have penetrating vision.  The lesson they teach me is that though they see clearly what is in the world, they stay strong and fly high.  

Fall Color and Reflections on the St. John's ©Lynne Buchanan

The following morning, I got up just before sunrise and paddled out onto the river.  I went down a little inlet into this amazing watery section of Hontoon Island.  The water was so still because nothing had moved on it before me.  I stopped paddling and just floated, not wanting to create any disturbance and mesmerized by the reflections.  There were these sharp lily pads in the foreground and they and the patterns formed by the tree trunks would have been enough to excite me.  To have gorgeous red fall foliage too was beyond my wildest expectations.  These are the rewards you receive that mean the most–the ones you least expect or in any way have tried to demand.  The colors were so vivid in the early morning light.  The soft energizing light illuminated everything perfectly.  I thought, if there is a heaven this is it.

Fall Color Amid the Spanish Moss, St. John's River ©Lynne Buchanan

I know that the St. John's River faces many issues stemming from overdevelopment, agriculture, fertilizers, and other byproducts of human impact.  In the coming months, I will be working with the St. John's Riverkeeper and visiting other areas of the river that are suffering more from these issues than this comparatively undeveloped section is facing.  When I start any project like this, I prefer to begin with appreciating the beauty, so that I am aware of what I am trying to help protect through my work.  It is important to realize why we want to save our rivers and what we are at risk of losing...

Lost and Found in White Sands

White Sands with Starburst ©Lynne Buchanan

It has been just over a year since I returned from my incredible 13,000+ mile solo cross country journey, the whole point of which was to lose and find myself.  I am over 250 pages into my book about this experience and as I am writing, I am revisiting the photographs I made on the trip.  While I was traveling, I was also trying to process a few photographs and write this blog.  Often, I did not have time to really go through all the photographs and am finding lots of wonderful images I didn't catch then.  I did have to leave time for a little sleep.  Three months was a long time to be on the road.

When I arrived at White Sands, it was late in the afternoon.  The ranger groaned when she saw me and said, "Oh, you're a photographer.  You're the ones that always get lost out here.  You always get so caught up in taking photographs that you forget to look where you came from." I promised I wouldn't do that, and then I went out wandering through the dunes.  At first, I kept looking back, mindful of her warning and not wanting to be a further embarrassment to my profession.  Then the sky started to do what it is doing in the image above (the color version is at the end of this blog).  The sun was heading lower and lower into the sky and I knew it would hit the mountains and make a wonderful starburst.  I started running with my tripod, to get into a position where I could frame a composition I liked with the yucca, dunes, mountains and clouds.  I was practically hyperventilating and I completely forgot where I came from.  I'd also gone over many dunes to get past where the footprints were, so the only ones I saw were mine and I couldn't find the ones that had led me to this place.  It was going to get dark soon and I had no idea what was out there.  I consoled myself by noting that I'd left the grizzlies back in Montana and Wyoming.  It couldn't be that bad, could it?

Fortunately, as I was wandering back, I ran into a couple from the air force out walking their dog.  I told them my story of getting lost and they laughed and led me in the right direction back to my car, allowing me to save face this time.  Still, there is something so freeing about realizing that you have gotten 100 percent lost in the moment; that all you are doing it reacting to what is and celebrating it with ever fibre of your soul.  

The Way of the Ridges ©Lynne Buchanan

The next morning, I got up and arrived at the park as soon as it opened, driving as far back as I could so I could hike in a remote area once again.  I had a couple of bottles of water with me and realized that I better not get lost, because I could end of very thirsty.  Again there was no one there, but I remembered what had happened the night before and this time I kept looking for signs and physical formations I could follow like this ridge.  I counted the dunes I crossed, remembered  peaks and valleys, as well as patterns and textures.  It was a different kind of being in the moment, a kind of being that reminded me of when I used to play that game as a child where people say a word and then have to repeat what everyone said before them.  It is a being in the moment that is aware of connections and history without getting stuck in the past.  What a wonderful exercise for my brain and it worked, mainly because I was paying more attention to what was on the ground and I wasn't losing my head in the clouds like I often do.

White Sands with Full Moon ©Lynne Buchanan

That's not to say that there weren't interesting clouds in the sky and I did notice an almost full moon above a crater-like formation on the earth.  White Sands is so barren and strange that sometimes I felt like I was on another planet, although I definitely wasn't weightless and free.  The sand is so powdery and white and it was definitely strenuous slogging through all the sand, but worth every ounce of physical exertion.

I only stayed until the late morning, because I knew I had to get out of there.  A giant storm was brewing that chased me all the way across the country from there to Florida, and I still had to get through the mountains of New Mexico, so I could make it to Texas and had head south.  

I am sure it was the storm that had created the amazing clouds the night before and which continued to add drama to the sky.  The image below is the starburst photo in color.  The sky was so colorful, I actually had to tone it down a little bit.  When it was all happening, I couldn't believe my eyes.  Who can blame me for getting lost.  Which image do you prefer, color or black and white?