Every morning I sip my first cup of coffee and blearily stare out the window looking for light. If it is golden or pure white, I grab my glasses and fly out the door camera in hand. The chance to revisit my old stomping grounds was not expected. When I first started shooting in high school, I laboriously penciled little x’es on maps in preparation. For the past nine years I only had the chance to see these locations over the holidays for a week or briefly during the summer. The interactions with the landscape were casual, something that would happen out of nostalgia or convenience on the way to town. A quick pick of an eagle on a telephone pole, another of a sunset off Chuckanut with a car load of steaming dumplings for dinner. But now it is serious. I am home much much longer than I thought I would be. Six months ago a coup happened, jobs fell through, and my tenuous life plan got dumped (rightfully) on its head. It is about time I realized sketching those things out is futile. Life likes to pelt you with lemons, so its best to pull out Great Grandma’s recipe for razor clams and start squeezing. Time with family is a major bonus, and the opportunity to analyze my initial inspiration for photography is remarkable. The same places say different things now. Backdrops reinvented, a flurry of ideas guided, a path not followed tested. I see the light glancing across my fingers, so I should probably head out to Samish Island and see if Mount Baker decided to wake up today. I wonder what she will say.
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