...could it be?

It has occurred to me that there is actually a fifth season in central Oregon: Springter. The region has been teased with a few isolated days of actual spring-like conditons and even a day or two of near-summer temps. Then the rains and cold return and everyone goes about
their activities mumbling to themselves. Fortunately I've had a lot of inside work to do on the master bath renovation, the downside is the opportunities to get out on the bike have been limited. Then, yesterday, the large cold front hanging over the northwest began to move east and you could feel the change.
I watched the clouds dissipate over the 3 Sisters and then in the late afternoon while on my way to a social function with the Deschutes Land Trust I saw the full-on beauty of Mt. Jefferson. For me the season has certainly moved into what's left of Spring. There are other changes happening as well. Allison finished her McClatchy high school days in Sacramento and will graduate next week. We'll attend and then help her relocate to Sisters and her summer job, then on to the University of Oregon in September. My first TKR (total knee replacement) is three weeks away and the new master bath with the walk-in shower will get a lot of use. Change is upon us and it feels great.

Sisters of the Quilt

Oh, had I a golden Thread
And needle so fine
I've weave a magic strand
Of rainbow design
Of rainbow design.

In it I'd weave the bravery
Of women giving birth,
In it I would weave the innocence
Of children over all the earth,
Children of all earth.

Far over the waters
I'd reach my magic band
Through foreign cities,
To every single land,
To every land.

Show my brothers and sisters
My rainbow design,
Bind up this sorry world
With hand and heart and mind,
Hand and heart and mind.

Far over the waters
I'd reach my magic band
To every human being
So they would understand,
So they'd understand.

Words and music by Pete Seeger, 1958













Sisters, Oregon, May 22, 2008.
A room in the home of Jan Sims is filled with lively chatter over whirring sewing machines. Colorful strips of fabric, mostly in the patriotic colors of red, white and blue, are being cut, pieced together, sewn and ironed. This group of women, and they are among many across the country, are Hero Quilters.

The American Hero Quilts began in the Seattle area in 2004 as a way to say thanks and provide a bit of comfort for Iraq war soldiers recovering from battle injuries. The movement has spread nationally. Sisters, Oregon, known for it's scenic beauty, artistic community and exquisite quilting was a natural fit for the women who volunteer their time, and most often their money, to make the Hero Quilts. During the weekly sessions, there isn't talk of politics, the war or other issues that get in the way of the work. It's all about the quilts and the thoughts of who will receive them.

One-hundred-four quilts have been donated in the 18 months the group has been active. Another 30 or so await the computerized quilting process and the women keep on cutting and sewing. Their reward is knowing that the veterans who receive them find comfort and a tribute to their sacrifice.

The group received a letter recently from a mother of a wounded son.

Dear American Hero Quilt Ladies,
My name is Ranae Simmons. Last week at the Warrior Transition Battalion you
presented my son with a hero quilt. I am writing to tell you about my son and
that quilt. My son did not want to come and get his quilt. His Sgt. said they
had to make it an order that he come down to the common room. He was one of
the last to receive a quilt as you were packing up. Perhaps you remember him,
he is the the very quiet man with haunted eyes. On Friday he had rather
extensive surgery with several bone grafts and skin grafts. My husband and I
were stunned when he appeared at the hospital with his quilt. He has not
shown an interest in anything or anyone since he was injured. The last thing
he asked before they wheeled him away was that we keep his quilt with us and
make sure nothing happened to it. When he woke up his first words to us were
not how glad he was to see us, it was "do you have my quilt?" He asked that it
was immediately put on him, he said he was cold.

I have been thinking a lot about that quilt and my son. We thought we had lost
him emotionally and we despaired of ever getting him back. He was not connecting
with anyone in our family, not even his nephew who he has adored since our little
guy was born. This quilt seems to give him comfort, warmth and is the first sign
that maybe our son will come back to us. This quilt is clearly something that
you spent a great deal of time on. I just wanted to let you know that to us,
this quilt is hope and to our son it is priceless.

Thank you so much for the honor you have done to my son. From our family, thank
you for helping bring our son back to us.

Ranae Simmons.


This is Memorial Day weekend, the traditional first weekend of summer. Despite gas prices the traffic over the Cascades on Highway 20 is heavy. People going on with their lives, to have fun, recreate, enjoy the freedoms that are essentially taken for granted. For the veterans who are dealing with their injuries in hospitals and in their homes, the concept of freedom and it's cost cannot be displaced by a long weekend of camping and fishing. The best result is that a beautiful quilt from the Hero Quilters will begin to say "thank you." Hearts and hands can bind up and bring hope to a sorry world to those who saw their duty to make the world a better place to live.

Moving On, Vol.2

After the overwhelming response to my first compilation CD,

Moving On, Songs In Transition

yes, all two copies, I've forged ahead with

Moving On, Vol. 2: Music for the Journey.

(Laugh here). Now, seriously, the music I listen to is varied, acoustic based, and contemplative. The tracks on the new album, all instrumental, have relevance to me and hopefully you, another listener.

The tracks are:



The Hymn Of Ordinary Motion: J. Douglas, R. Barenberg, E. Meyer

Over the Rainbow: Tommy Emmanuel

Big Bug Shuffle: Jerry Douglas, Russ Barenberg, Edgar Meyer

Send In The Clowns: Tony Rice & John Carlini

Pastorale: Ray Lynch

Take Five: Dave Brubeck Quartet

You Deserve Flowers: Chris Thile

California Quail: Joe Weed

Mendelssohn: Songs Without Words,
Book I, Op.19, Andante con moto: Luba Edlina

Vivaldi: Concerto In D Major For Lute, Strings & Continuo: Frederic Hand

Three/Quarter North: Leo Kottke

Ashokan Farewell: Jay Ungar & Molly Mason

Arms Of Mary: Leo Kottke

Bygone Days: Eileen Ivers

A Whiter Shade of Pale: David Lanz

Deep At Night: Alex de Grassi

The Dark Island: Neal Hellman - Joe Weed

Closing: Linda Ronstadt and Ann Savoy

Goodnight Irene: George Winston


There are two reasons for this album: One, each track reminds me of a particular point in my life when the music was absolutely perfect for the moment. I can (and will on request) describe the event(s) that made the piece a part of my audio archive. Just one for example: Bygone Days. I heard this piece while enroute to Grass Valley, CA to photograph a memorial service for Adam Strain, a Grass Valley high school graduate and star football player and an Iraq war causualty. It was being played on KVMR, the public radio station there. I later contacted Brian Terhorst, the d.j. on the program "Harmony Ridge" who told me that he played the song because he was thinking about his father he never knew who died in the Korean War.

Should you be adventurous, all I need is an e-mail address so we can connect and go from there. The album is free, a gift from me to the visitors of my blog.

Photography and writing is the core of my blog. The music is the third dimension.

The Big Picture

It hasn't been since completing the deck refinishing project last summer that I've felt every ache and pain from a big home project. My sleep and my motivation to keep going is impacted. I'm nearly done with building the new vanity and linen cabinet in the bathroom remodeling project and it's not any too soon. I'm glad I don't do THAT for a living. I took a short break yesterday to make a few images for the Deschutes Land Trust of the Oregon Game & Fish Dept. planting steelehead fry in Whyshcus Creek where it flows through Camp Polk Meadow. The photograph of the guy hauling the fish upstream is exactly how I feel these days. Trying to make progress going upstream.

The concept I need to remind myself is of the "big picture." The issues of daily life, sometimes trivial, irritating, painful, or quite serious for many reasons, are all part of that. A researcher who has studied how some segments of the world's population live long lives (to 100 +) has published a book and newspapers are picking up the story. I read about his research in the Bend Bulletin.

Common to all the groups are nine factors. Dan Buettner’s nine tips for longer life, from his book “The Blue Zones”:

1. Move Naturally. Be active without having to think about it.
2. Hara Hachi Bu. Painlessly cut calories by 20 percent.
3. Plant Slant. Avoid meat and processed food.
4. Grapes of Life. Drink red wine (in moderation).
5. Purpose Now. Take time to see the big picture.
6. Down Shift. Take time to relieve stress.
7. Belong. Participate in a spiritual community.
8. Loved Ones First. Make family a priority.
9. Right Tribe. Be surrounded by those who share Blue Zone values.

I think I'm right there on most of these points (maybe not so much of 7 or 9) and it is not surprising that taking time to understand the big picture is akin to understanding the "space between the leaves," that Carlos Castenada wrote about. Considering then the overall sceanrio of my life allows me to share that
Diane and I celebrated our 12th anniversary recently. It is not about the number of years, it's more of how we got to this point in our lives separately, then together. That is a big picture. We decided to get married and had a little personal ceremony in Yosemite National Park in 1995. That's the photo on the left. We're 13 years later posing for our camera along Tuamlo Creek near Bend, Oregon. There are great stories and wonderful moments between those two photographs. Our lives move together easily and allow us both to try to live like were are in a "Blue Zone." I don't expect to live to 100 though. Just another 30 please?

A convenient collaboration

I have a saying, "Work is what you do when you wish you were doing something else." So I must simply be tired from not working. I took a break from my cabinet making and went to the Sisters Athletic Club for an hour spin class and then went out toward Redmond to see how Dayton was doing.
He was just finishing carving around the bear's feet. That completes the rough profile of the 15' sculpture. From now on the work will be far more detailed and days will pass before there are obvious changes. Fatigue is one of our common bonds and we acknowledge that. Dayton is first to say that he appreciates my company and that my time with him has
motivated him. My response is that I like being around and watching his progress. I know that our separate arts are meant to be together for this project. I am more fortunate. Being new to central Oregon I've looked for ways to continue my photographic journey, my life's work (there's that word again). My days with Brent McGregor, the dancers of the Sacramento Ballet, the Deschutes Land Trust have brought many nice moments.
Also, the spin class two days a week brings a good dose of wellness and more opportunities to expand friendships outside of photography.

In six weeks, however, the whole scene is going to change. My first knee replacement is June 23rd. I'll be pressed to find interesting topics to write about or photograph and I will not bore anyone with endless accounts of my recovery. I'm just hoping that I can have Diane drive me out to see Dayton. I'd hate to miss too much of the convenient collaboration we have going.


Oh, by the way, just to answer the old question, "does a bear shit in the woods?" Yes. And carved bears drop huge piles of sawdust. Dayton knows. He gets to shovel the latter.

Philosophy and a chain saw

For two years Dayton has been planning this project and for the past nine days he has begun to reveal his vision. The platform has been lowered as he carves his way down the log. The bear has come out of redwood hibernation. Dayton after the first pass through the log is tired.
The chainsaw, an older Stihl model, is heavy and he feels the effort every night. During the carving
his mind races ahead to where the carving will go. And, there is an unexpected thought as he pauses and walks away from the platform to get a fresh perspective, to study the scale and plan for the next round of cuts.

He shared with me that he contemplates how many millions of years it took to produce the gasoline and oil he uses in his saw, the evolution of man and the technology necessary to place him in front of the massive redwood log at this moment in time to carve his bear, the epitome of wildness in an era when the Earth's viability is in jeopardy.

In that regard I think about my place in this little drama on the high desert of Central Oregon: The web of life, all the years of photojournalism that taught me to recognize a good story in my own backyard and the sequence of events, professional and personal that led me here as well.

Wind in the sails

It has been a week since the slightest amount of snow flurries. I've been deep into the demolition of our old master bathroom and trying at the same time to keep up with the incredible progress Dayton is making on his bear sculpture. He captured the essence of how this week has gone for both of us. "I've got wind in my sails." This is the
artist fully involved, concentrating as he slices into the log that will become the epitome of a wild creature. Within another week he will have completed the first layer of cuts. The platform will be raised back to the top of the bear's head and he will work more intricately to define the face, mouth, belly, arms and legs. It is only a matter of time and energy before the
bear looks less like Winnie the Poo and more like a well-fed, cantankerous bear with a serious attitude. So, despite the bathroom renovation, Dayton's project, weird sleep patterns, daily life continues to be exactly what I expect: no day is the same and that suits me just fine.

Dayton Lanphear, bear sculptor

Meet Dayton Lanphear, an artist with huge vision. His basic tool is a chainsaw and he has begun to carve a majestic grizzly bear out of a 15-foot, 4-ton trunk of a redwood tree.
Before you scoff at the
idea of using such a valuable tree consider how the massive trunk landed in central Oregon where ponderosas and junipers rule the landscape.

On the west side of the Cascades land was being parceled for a housing development and the tree was in the way. The trunk was offered to Dayton who snapped it up along with a second tree. The trees were put on a truck and driven to Dayton's studio at a considerable expense. Months were spent designing and building a support structure around the trunk, now inverted, so Dayton could access the whole log during the carving process. A forklift will lower the platform to any level.


Finally, on April 27th, Dayton fired up the chainsaw and made the first cut into the log. The shavings flew everywhere, the noise, of course, was loud. Dayton has a plan only in his head. No drawings, detailed sketches. There are a couple of photographs of a ceramic bear he owns sitting off to the side next to the cans of oil and gasoline.

The bear will be revealed over time. He envisions a bear with an oversized head because the viewer will be looking at it from the ground and so the scale needs to be adjusted.
As this project continues I will be updating on this blog. You can also follow Dayton's website to see his past works.

Strength and Grace

Diane and I drove to Sacramento on Tuesday, the 22nd, my 62nd birthday. I did not care that it was still snowing and blowing all the way into Califiornia's central valley. We were going to see Allison, my daughter, have a nice dinner to celebrate her 18th birthday as well.

I'm also on a photographic mission. Ron Cunningham has been the artistic director for 20 years and there is a special gala
performance Friday evening with a party afterwards. The following night is another event, the annual Modern Masters series. So, this week is intensive for Ron and the dancers with two dress rehearsals and seven upcoming performances. The gala rehearsal was last night and once again I was amazed by the athleticism and artistic beauty of the dancers.

However, the story does not end here. Behind the fluid movements on stage, the dancers are dealing constantly with injuries and pain. They do not let it show, they endure and go on. Their strength and grace comes from years of commitment to their art. Jack Hansen has plantar fasciitis and Ilana Goldman has dealt with many injuries over the course of her career. The list of injuries dancers incur rival those of athletes in any professional sport.

Earlier in the day I spent awhile with my friend Geno Masuda. His strength and grace since the sudden death of his wife, Patti, April 4th, towers above anything else imaginable. With his closest friends he has let the pain show and now he has begun his recovery and deciding what life will be for him. "It's relationships and memories," he says. "Things don't matter."

I had not thought about how dancers and Geno were similar until I was out on a bike ride this morning. The when and where is relevant here. Eight days after Patti's death Geno had a wonderful epiphany after his first ride. He realized he was going to be all right. Geno and the dancers and many others in this world who are faced with major obstacles persevere, work through pain and stay committed to a way of life based on relationships and memories. Some ride into the future, some dance. The journey for us all goes on, every day lived to the fullest, and there will be no whining.

A Schizophrenic Spring

I do not usually dwell on weather. It's what happens every day. "The weather is here, wish you were beautiful" is a favorite saying. My years in daily newspaper photography were filled with redundant assignments to make a photograph of the weather. Now, I am conflicted.
It is mid-April and it is snowing in Sisters. In fact it has snowed four times today. Unseasonable squalls make it over the Cascades and drop a layer of gloom. Earlier in the day the sun was out and blasting through the skylights. The cats, heat-seeking mammals, found their spots and reveled in the warmth of a geometric space. I spent the day in the
garage/workshop wearing gloves, cap and two layers of fleece. It was all I could do to divert my attention to the task of finally getting the space suitable for efficient work. Racks for lumber, storage bins for hundreds of screws, nails, and a unique assortment of "things I
might need someday." Outside the weird day continues. Snow, sleet, sun, snow and sun, plenty of wind. I skipped town for an hour, went to Home Depot in Bend, got stuff to finish the organization project and then made my first trip to the new Trader Joe's which opened two weeks ago for a bottle of "Two-buck Chuck." What's there to complain about?

Déja vu all over again

The news is not good on the world's food supply, especially in impoverished countries, where prices for rice and other basic food supplies have risen so high that families are spending 80% or more of their income just to survive. "This is the world's big story," said Jeffrey Sachs, director of Columbia University's Earth Institute.

As far as I can remember, this issue has always been the world's big story. A photojournalist knows there are many themes and recurring stories. Poverty, homelessness, hunger, disease, war, health, the disparity between the haves and the have nots. It appears all the photos and stories have not made any damn difference, at least on a global scale.

I began photographing in my college years and then as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Malaysia in 1969 and the image of the sleeping boy with the empty rice bowl was one of those photographs that gave me a push and also opened my mind to the problem of hunger, a topic I revisited many times in my career. In 1986 I spent the better part of a year photographing people for a major project "Hunger in California." From soup kitchens to homeless camps and transient hotels in San Francisco, the story was the same. Not enough to eat, no jobs, no place to call home, bureaucracy to battle.

Perhaps all the stories and photos have some redeeming value. Awareness was raised, some action or assistance became available. Maybe a few people had life improve just a bit. On a global level though, the pictures don't feed people, money from major countries might. The world economic picture is not pretty either. I am no expert on world economics or hunger or the intricate political issues that prevent solutions to complex problems. I do wonder though how the United States might have been more of a problem solver without the financial burden of a protracted war in Iraq.

An hour on the Metolius

The Metolius River, just 20 minutes away, is one of the most peaceful places I know. A half-mile downstream from confluence of Canyon Creek and the Metolius water flows out of the hillside from an underground source.

I sit there and watch and listen; the water becomes eloquent white noise and allows my mind to slow down, reflect.

The last two days thoughts were about loss. I know I'm particularly sensitive to this and is the one emotion that is the closest to the surface of my being.

Injustice is a close second.

A walk along the river is calming. The Metolius flows from an underground aquifer, continuous and predictable in flow and

temperature. As such it becomes my physical metaphor for reassurance that there is constancy. Then I remember that the only constant is change which, in the past two days has been unpredictable. The song in my head:

" 'til the rivers all run dry,

  'til the sun falls from the sky,

  'til life on Earth is through

  I'll be needing you."

    -Don Williams.

With life comes loss

     The last twenty-four hours have reminded me of how fragile life is. Two people lost their spouses, one in Willamsport, Pennsylvania, the other in Sacramento, California. In each instance, the death was totally unexpected making their loss immeasurably tragic and hard to understand. No one has words sufficient for comfort or resolution. The burden of grief has no time limit and the loss is eternal. For me it is that reminder, repeated often, that the present is all that matters. Say "I love you" today to any and all I care about. Tomorrow may not come.

     I understand more keenly as I get older how my mother felt when my father died on the operating table during surgery for kidney stones in August 1984. She never got the chance to say good-bye. Sixteen months later she was no longer able to stay in the house they had lived in since 1948 and as she finished packing for a move to a senior citizen home I photographed her final moments in their small north Denver house. They were married 55 years. She lived another twelve years and was buried beside my dad, reunited, as she hoped.

     

     I wrangle, cajole, tease, laugh and cry with Diane. We are more entwined every day and do try to say the important things to each other. Words are wonderful, doing loving things are better. In the end it's both that matter and I have to believe both spouses had that.

     

     What will you and I do to take love, caring, respect, compassion a little deeper?  There may be an opportunity tomorrow but how may tomorrows are there?

Bill Clinton stumps in Bend

I was included in the "tight pool" of photojournalists covering President Bill Clinton and Vice President Al Gore during an environmental summit at Lake Tahoe in July, 1997. Since then I have been trying to get this particular image signed by Clinton.

I nearly was successful several years ago when he came to a symposium at the University of California/Davis. He was given two prints to sign but the instructions on who to sign them for were misinterpreted and neither of them was signed to me. I also thought about sending a print to his office in Harlem but I never got around to doing that. Then, last weekend an announcement was made that he was coming to Bend to stump for Hillary. I got a plan in my head and had an 11x14 print made at Costco.

My best chance to get the print to Clinton was to get to the event very early at Bend High School, find one of his advance team members and ask them to have him sign it, rather than hoping for an opportunity in the crush of people after the speech. I drove into the school parking lot just as students were leaving at 3pm. With print and one camera in hand and my old Sacramento Bee press identification card in my pocket I headed to the gym where people were already lining up.

A TV reporter told me where the media check-in was and after securing a spot in the line I walked around to the back of the school where all the TV satellite trucks were lined up. Inside the building was the press table and one advance team woman, Cindy O'Leary, was instructing a few volunteers on the media sign-in procedure. I started talking to her about my quest, showed her the old Bee I.D. and she agreed to take the print with no guarantees. The situation was looking good I thought. I returned to my spot in the crowd and began to wait.

In my years of covering political events waiting for hours is not uncommon. As a working photographer, however, I was able to be inside the venue, warm and sitting. Today I was just another Joe Citizen standing in the line. The number of people that came to event far exceeded the capacity of the school gymnasium. The two-hour wait was difficult, the weather was cold and brisk. One woman said that winter in central Oregon is nature's way of reminding us why there are no cockroaches. Another woman, Cris Woodard wore her patriotic denim jacket with a red/white/blue scarf and brought postcards of Bill and Hillary she hoped to get signed.
Inside the gym I got a seat where I could see the podium and most of the crowd. The people around me were many of the teachers at the school. A woman next to me was an English teacher, a graduate of Del Oro High School in the Sacramento area. Small world. Her comment about the wait to get in was "think of it as waiting in line for a Disneyland ride."
The Bend event was Clinton's fourth of the day so it was not surprising that he was nearly an hour late. When he began his speech the cell phone and point-and-shoot cameras were aimed at the stage. He spoke for over an hour, eloquently and passionately about Hillary's candidacy. The speech, to me, was a down-home "state of the world" address that could only come from a man who has seen the issues from the rare perspective of having had the most important public service job in the world.
Flanked by three Secret Service agents Clinton worked his way slowly and deliberately through the crowd at the edge of the podium. I was able to get as close as I wanted to photograph. Since I wasn't "media" my access was better than most any other situation I'd been in as a working journalist. I also got to do something I would never have done before: I called out to him, shook his hand and asked if he would be sure to sign my print. He looked straight at me and said," I already have." I made a few more frames of him in the crowd then got out of the crush. It took nearly another hour for the gym to clear and the Clinton motorcade to leave for the Redmond airport. I found the woman who had my large envelope and print. I pulled out the photograph and sure enough the signature was there. "For Jay Mather. Thanks. Bill Clinton."

I left the parking lot after a five hour episode of waiting, laughing with folks, meeting teachers and a most helpful advance team member, Cindy O'Leary, and 15 seconds with President Clinton. I call that a great day.