We had to hurry home from the Massawippi Trail on my birthday two weeks ago because it coincided with opening day for registration for the campgrounds at Parc National du Fjord-du-Saguenay. I wanted to register at at the first minute of the first possible hour so that I could get my favorite spot. Both Martin and I clicked the proper button on our separate computers the instant registration opened. I had around 10,000 people in front of me and he only had about 8,000 people in front of him, so after a mere 50 minutes in the virtual waiting room, we were in! Bonus, I got my spot. It helps that I’m not really picky about which week we go camping.
Anyhow. That’s all besides the point.
The point is, we had to go back to the Massawippi trail so that we could walk to the far end of it.
The autumn that Akiva was 6, we hiked up Mt. Orford the long way. It took six hours. I didn’t take any photographs. Instead, I told an epic tale about a war between the monsters and the humans. It was probably the best story I’ve ever told in my life. I told a lot of stories that year. Unfortunately, I don’t remember any of them. It’s a pretty sad state of affairs.
I started telling monster stories when Akiva was at Kate’s at the Waldorf school. The first story I told was about a monster who dug tunnels in the Japanese knotweed (Fallopia japonica) and the boy who met him there and befriended him. It was a good tale, and probably the only one I’ve ever told where the main character is sad about the removal of a large swath of invasive plants.
I stopped telling monster stories when Akiva found out about superheroes. He wanted superhero stories. To me, superheroes are all the same. The only thing really interesting about them is their creation story, and creation stories are pretty difficult. I managed one inspired superhero story about a boy who somehow gained the superpower of zapping dog-poop that was left in an inappropriate place back onto the property of the human who owned said dog, often with the human being in a coincidentally inconvenient location when the poop descended out of the sky— a telling tale in terms of how I fell about humans who let their dogs shit in public places or on others’ property and don’t carry out the common courtesy of cleaning up. That’s basically the only superpower I’ve considered acquiring lately, so after that tale, I had no more inspiration.
But the tale of the war between the monsters and the humans was one of utter devastation ending in hope of resurrection. I wish I had recorded it. On this hike, the kids spent time trying to re-tell the tale to me. I think it’s all Humpty-Dumpty, tho, to be never together again.
When my high-school photography teacher described the flavors of Kodak B&W films— Kodak T-MAX or Kodak TRI-X— I chose T-MAX & stayed faithful to it until I discovered Ilford Delta. I’m sure there were people who switched films all the time—and there were many films— but such loose behavior me feel like a floozy.
I would expose the onto paper in such low light, sooooo sloooooowly. I was agonizingly slow in the darkroom. I was afraid that if I exposed with more light and shorter times, the moment of perfection would pass and I would not be able to catch it.
I liked matte paper. My high-school teacher recommended that we all start out with glossy, but I thought the reflection of light on the paper annoying. I would see the image, then I would see the extra light. I liked how the light sunk into the matte finish so I could look at the picture.
I took okay photos in high school. I was too shy to venture too far or to be too creative. I became more adventuresome in college, but still, I was shy. I was too afraid of humans to photograph them well, but I certainly thought they were (and still are) the most interesting thing to put in a box and look at through a view-finder. My favorite humans are my family. I like looking at them.
Now I can click on one imitation B&W film after another, chosing whichever one pleases me, wondering how accurate they are, wondering how they can mean anything at all when the look of the image changes so dramatically when I change my camera profile. For this picture, I tried out each film simulation one after another in quick succession, and then I did it again. What a floozy!
It would have been a much better picture— perhaps almost interesting— if she was leaning on the other side of the bridge. Unfortunately, I didn’t ask her to move. Also unfortunately, it reminds me of my high-school photos. I think I photographed a lot of chain-link fences.
Developing B&W images in ye ol’ darkroom, courtesy of Ilford. The above photo is imitation Ilford Pan F 50.
Follow all step-by-step instructions or skip right to 5:50 to see the moment that makes a photographer’s heart go pitter-pat.
Back when I was learning to work in the dark room, we were encouraged to study Ansel Adams. I pondered some photos and I read some of his words about technique. I was particularly impressed with his equipment and darkroom setup— or lack thereof. I understood the importance of his work from a historical and from a conservation standpoint, but I had trouble “reading” landscapes in black & white.
What I remember most of all of it was his portrait of a man’s face. After discussing his photo he wrote, “I think this portrait would have been better in color.” That was remarkable to me, as I have generally preferred portraits in black & white and landscapes in color, and I was under the impression that Adams did everything in B&W. I hadn’t even known that color film existed during his lifetime.
I wonder what it was about the face that he thought would have been better in color. He didn’t explain. The only thing I can think that displeased him was the difference in drama between a mountain and a face. Mountains are dramatic in a way that allowed him to capture them in stark blacks and whites, expertly balancing the tones across the page. A face has more muted peaks and valleys, lending itself to the ambivalence of grey. Perhaps Adams was less sure of himself due to this lack of starkness. While most of us need color to comprehend the landscape, perhaps landscape is what Adams saw most clearly in any light. Perhaps Adams needed color to help him comprehend the human face.
I wanted to bring the goslings somewhere new and different, so I loaded them into the basket of the cargo bike to go for a ride. I didn’t know that geese don’t like riding bicycles. It would explain some things, tho! I suppose if they liked riding bikes, they could bike south instead of fly. Unfortunately, our geese can’t ride bikes or fly. To make the trip to the river easier on them, I put a big burlap bag over the basket.
I biked through the woods until I couldn’t go any further on the cargo bike, then we all walked.
It may well be a kilometer between the bike and where I wanted to go on the river.
By the time we got there, the geese were too exhausted to swim.
