The Calling

Cape Cod was calling me one sub-zero morning last winter.

Or so I thought.

I’ve always loved the peaceful, beautiful beaches of Truro located on the tip of the Cape, but it’s been years since I’ve made a trip out to the coast.

I busily researched cozy cottages to rent and considered the logistics of getting there from the midwest for a short spring visit. It would make for a complicated itinerary, yet a Cape visit was still pretty tempting.

Yet something else was calling me as well.

It was the sweet simplicity and low cost of a trip to a lovely lake just an hour away. I’d been there as a child and years later with my late husband.

I found some photos of a charming little lake cottage on line and immediately booked it.

As I first walked through the door of the cottage last weekend, I knew I’d made the right decision.

It was built of stone, well over a hundred years ago, and was filled with personality and old world charm.

I saw well worn canoe paddles repurposed as book shelves next to the pictures of sail boats on the wall.

I felt the sea foam green soft throws ready to use for naps on the porch, and as lap blankets on the porch swing by the water.

And I tasted salt water taffy in the big candy jar.

Taking the steps down to the dock that evening with my camera, I smelled the promise of fresh walleye dinners also in that lake water.

I decided to sit for a while waiting for the sunset. I was hopeful the day’s heavy cloud cover would melt into a pool of warm colors just in time for sundown.

I watched what looked to be a loon swimming, then circling in the distance.

He appeared to be watching me.

About twenty minutes later, I bid adieu to the lone loon and started to climb the steps back up to the cottage.

But suddenly the loon abruptly called out to me.

I turned and finally took a picture of my sunset.

Nodding to the loon, I realized I’d found my calling after all.

Advertisements

Rising above again

I confess that I have trouble taking myself seriously as a photographer.

My body quakes whenever I venture from an automatic setting to manual.

Could it be all that camera terminology? I can’t help but wonder every time I pull out my instruction book.

Though more likely it’s my fear of technology.

Heck, I don’t even have a Smart Phone as I doubt I’ll ever figure out how to use it.

It seems I’ve missed ten tech upgrades during the last ten years while I was busy caregiving.

But I’m tenacious in my quest to keep trying, and to overcome those fears.

So Friday morning I was very anxious to capture the gulls flying overhead as I stood on a sandy beach.

It’s a special spot.

My mother-in-law and husband’s remains lie just beyond.

Moving in for the shot, I was ready to change my setting to manual until I suddenly found myself moving.

Sinking actually.

In what seemed like an instant, I was standing in a thick mix of sand and cool water rising above my ankles.

I quickly made my retreat.

Still I was able to snap one quick picture in transit.

I wasn’t leaving without it.

Maybe I’m a budding photographer after all.

Or more importantly, one now even more determined to rise above her photo fears.

Oh, and definitely any soggy sand bars.