Happy 2008

A time of review and a time of looking ahead: it looks like a year of travel--Liberia in February, Maui in March, Fort Worth in April and possibly Nova Scotia in the summer.

A Poor Substitute for the Real Thing

Yesterday, we made a side trip to Galtlinburg. Apparently for a lot of folks, it is the main destination for those who go to the Smokies. It mystifies me that at the edge of one of the most beautiful spots in the country is this monstrosity of touristy consumerism. I hadn't been there in about ten years and it has only gotten worse. It may be more expensive and slicker but it is just as offensive as it was ten years ago. The on-street parking is gone as now the streets are four-lane thoroughfares, although traffic moves agonizingly slow. We paid $5 to park in an off-street lot and stayed less than an hour. We had ventured to Gatlinburg to return to an outdoor gear store and visit some galleries. But I was disappointed in the photography gallery. The photos were disappointing in their quality. The mats were gorgeous, must have been computer designed and cut. But too many of the photos could have been composed differently and printed better. It is possible that the original exposures were deficient but in these days of digital enhancement there are many adjustments that can be made to less than perfect exposures. No, it was disappointing prints. It took me a little while to gather my thoughts about the experience. I have been to several photographers' galleries, notably Tom Mangelson and others. To visit their galleries is a mystical, spiritual, renewing experience. Each photo is carefully exhibited and well-lit like a museum. Just to stroll through the gallery is a joy. I would never be bored revisiting either of their galleries. But the Gatlinburg gallery was overwhelming with hundreds of images, as if one could make up for the lack of quality with a quantity of work. I found it boring, stifling, and enbarassing for those photographers who insist on quality in the presentation of their work. The other thing was that it was such an injustice to the beauty of nature that was just a few miles away.

Good Day

My grandaughter is beginning to develop a vocabulary which sometimes is dependent upon one's imagination or generous interpretation. I do believe that after the fun of a Sunday outing in the park she proclaimed it to be a "Good Day!" I could say the same for this day of being in the Smokies. We are staying in Townsend which we like much better than Gatlinburg because there is not the emphasis on all the tourist gaudiness and clutter. Although development is certainly more pronounced here than it was ten years ago by the evidence of banks, gas stations, and grocery stores. But the beauty of the mountains is still obvious. The lack of rain has significantly affected the autumn color and the warmth of October has delayed its peak. We went up the road past Tremont this morning and the air is crisp and the color is deeper and the on the Parkway this evening for sunset. I have enjoyed the opportunity to take some photos and learn more about my camera. And it has been delightful to spend this day with Judy. Madeline is right, it's been a good day!

A Poem for the end of October

Poem: "The Invention of Fractions" by Jessica Goodfellow, from A Pilgrim's Guide to Chaos in the Heartland. © Concrete Wolf Chapbook Series.

The Invention of Fractions
God himself made the whole numbers: everything else
is the work of man.—Leopold Kronnecker
God created the whole numbers:
the first born, the seventh seal,
Ten Commandments etched in stone,
the Twelve Tribes of Israel —
Ten we've already lost —
forty days and forty nights,
Saul's ten thousand and David's ten thousand.
'Be of one heart and one mind' —
the whole numbers, the counting numbers.
It took humankind to need less than this;
to invent fractions, percentages, decimals.
Only humankind could need the concepts
of splintering and dividing,
of things lost or broken,
of settling for the part instead of the whole.
Only humankind could find the whole numbers,
infinite as they are, to be wanting;
though given a limitless supply,
we still had no way
to measure what we keep
in our many-chambered hearts.

Taking Superior Home

Judy loves the rocks on the shore of Lake Superior. She is not the only one as there are books written about the variety of rocks and where to go to find particular ones. This is Paradise Beach, about 50 miles south of the Canadian border, where an abundance of agate can be found. You probably can't tell it but it is pouring rain in this picture and in the center far right there is a young eagle feasting on a fish. Several other eagles were in the nearby trees and occasionally swooped over the tree tops. The wind was blowing strongly from the northeast and the temperature was dropping. But the rock gatherer was undeterred. She picked up enough amazing agate rocks to fill a disposable Subway salad bowl. The variety is stunning. How does such a mixture of stones find its way to this beach? From where along this enormous lake did they originate and how long has it taken to get here, driven by wind and ice and water? But it is not just this one spot where rock gatherers bend at the waist but all around the shoreline are treasures of color and shape and texture, all polished by nature. It is a rock pickers' dream.

World Communion Sunday

We have retreated to Eau Claire for a few days to escape the weather and the abyssmal photo opportunities. The summer has been too dry and the autumn too quick to provide photogenic color. The wind nor the pouring rain provide any assistance in that matter. Cloudy skies are no problem as one can photograph water and detail, but that has not been the case the last few days. We have attended church in Eau Claire and one of the pastors is a good friend of my bishop. The sermon is prophetic, delivered by a pastor from South Africa which gives real meaning to the day. The communion bread is the first bread I have had in more than two weeks due to this new diet and the small cup of juice is the first fruit juice in as long a time. True soul nourishment and connection to fellow Christians when we are far from home. We are not strangers at this table.

The Winds of November Came Early

Gordon Lightfoot sang about the sinking of the Edmund Fizgerald with the words of the opening verse:
"The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they called 'Gitche Gumee'
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty.
That good ship and crew was a bone to be chewed
When the gales of November came early."
Lat night it felt every bit of November as thunder and lightning and strong winds howled outside the motel door. We have retreated to Wisconsin.