Digesting The Moment

 March is the longest of months. Seems that way because it can never decide what it wants to do. At times it throws teaser days around with abandon ushering in warm spring-like temperatures only to turn blustery and cold again with a vengeance. Gentle winds transform into a roaring tempest, then filter back into a near calm spirit. A brilliant sun can fill the landscape and encourage it with the clearest of blue skies and then clouds blow in so thick as to turn daytime into a discouraging dusk at mid-day. Blooming trees, lured into an early display of flowers, are often zapped back into a muted wrinkled state. March is indeed the longest of months, and by months end, my spirit is often in need of some lifting.

March is for me the most difficult month to stay motivated. Those teaser days lure your aspirations with anticipation, then dash them, as finicky weather tosses them back into dormancy. Even so, there are moments I force myself to pick up my camera gear and get out. The scenery is often bland this time of year, but the trick is to find a way to digest the moment. 

The other day I took an easy stroll through the woods outback and stopped at a nearby pond. There was a bit of a breeze and a chill in the air, but the woods surrounding the pond served to muffle the effects of the wind. I found a somewhat dry spot and plopped down to lean against a tree trunk. Over the next thirty minutes or so, I really did not do much, just sat quietly and watched the ripples push a few dried leaves across the pond and listened to the breeze as it reached across the tops of the still dormant trees. Only a few early season, green clusters of leafy foliage broke the mundane gray and brown prevailing color. A few birds joined me; a cardinal, a titmouse, a chickadee or two or three, and some crows added their annoying squawking to the sounds of the afternoon.

I really did not take very many photos, just a snapshot or two. Mostly, I just enjoyed the quiet...digesting the moment. After sitting for a while, I continued my stroll crossing the open area between the two patches of woods and walked along the outside edge of the far one. All the fields were filled with debris and stubble, soybeans and corn. Toward the far corner of the woods before it opened up again into another field, I crossed through the outer edge and stepped onto the wooden bridge that spanned a low swampy area. As I stood on the front edge of that bridge, some movement caught my attention to my left. At first I could not make out what it was, then it moved again about 30 feet away; a migrating woodcock. He had stopped in this thicket, as they so often do, searching for a juicy worm to eat by probing their long beak into the soft mud. I raised my camera to attempt a photo but he spooked before I could capture him. A short time later, I jumped him again a bit further down along the outer edge of the woods. I never saw him the second time until he jumped. It's amazing how well camouflaged they are.

Before long, I had made my way to the far end of the woods and angled across the back edge of the cornstubble field to the other pond. As I carelessly approached, a couple of deer trotted off through the woods. Should have known they might be there. I stopped for a few moments next to that small pond and listened to the wind again as it moved the tops of the trees and jostled a grove of cedars into activity.

I made my way back toward home, sidestepping and zig-zagging around muddy pools of standing rainwater. When I crossed over the backside of my yard I stopped for just a moment to sit in the old porch swing we have set up out there. The firepit was cluttered with debris and filled with leaves...time to clean it up and get it ready for a new season...but not today. Today I'm just digesting the moment and allowing nature to say a few things. I suppose the best way to do some digesting is simply to allow nature to hold you captive for a while. As far as that goes, nature can hold me captive anytime of year...even during the longest of months...

The Meadowlark and the Prairie Pond

The tallgrass prairie, once covering over 400,000 square miles, as a continuous ecosystem was virtually destroyed in a few short years. By 1900, over 95% of it was lost to agricultural development and urban sprawl. However, a few remnants still exist. One of my favorite locations to visit and photograph is Oklahoma's Tallgrass Prairie Preserve, just north of Pawhuska, Oklahoma. It's almost 40,000 acres of original tallgrass prairie is the largest tract of protected and unbroken tallgrass prairie left out of the few scattered remnants of what once stretched from southern Canada through the central portion of America all the way to the Texas gulf coast. 

It is one of the few places where horizon to horizon vista's of tallgrass prairie, unmarred by man made structures can still be observed. I've made a good number of visits to this remarkable landscape over the years and have yet discovered all of what it has to offer. It's been a few years, Spring of 2019, since my last visit; circumstances has prevented my return, but I from time to time revisit this amazing landscape through memories and the thousands of photographs I've taken there.

Recently, I browsed through some of the images and spent some time examining a single photograph; The Meadowlark. It perhaps captures one of the most enduring elements of the prairie and that would be the myriad of wildlife that can be found there. Here is the story of how this image was captured.

On my last visit to the preserve a few years ago, my intent was to spend upwards to a week camping in a nearby campground, and spending the days driving through and hiking into and across this landscape. As luck would have it, I was greeted with thunderstorms, heavy rain, lightning, and tornado warnings which lasted for most of my time there. As a result I pulled out a day or so early having been thoroughly water logged. Although the rough weather curtailed a lot of my plans, it did not prevent me from exploring and photographing. 

One of the more productive locations I explored was a small prairie pond located just a few dozen yards or so from the gravel road that winds its way through the preserve. I suppose it was about mid-day on my second or third day, there was a lull in the rain and I decided to spend some time just sitting near that pond. With my tripod and 50-500mm lens I found a somewhat dry place to sit and just waited for whatever might appear.

Over the next few hours a good number of migratory birds including Long Billed Dowizers, one American Avocet, several kinds of Sandpipers, ordinary black birds including a Redwing Blackbird, and Killdeers which were fun to watch with their broken wing antics trying to lure me away from their nesting sight. There were a few Common Terns buzzing around performing aerial acrobatics, and a few Meadowlarks that spent most of their time riding the tops of the tallgrass stems that surrounded the pond.

One particular Meadowlark landed about twenty five yards or so from where I sat. He was just out of range really where I was unable to capture any kind of close up shots, but his striking yellow and black coloration stood out against the green of the prairie grasses. It just so happened that he perched on a stem that made him just about eye level with me. Slowly, I scooted across the damp ground lifting my tripod carefully forward. I closed the distance a few yards when the Meadowlark spooked and flittered a few yards further away, stopping again clinging to the tops of a tall stem of prairie grass.

I stopped moving, positioned my camera and zoomed out to 500mm and focused on the smallish figure of the bird. Between me and the bird and also behind the bird were thick layers of tall grasses which became blurred as a result of the exposure values. The overcast skies generated a soft filtered light across the landscape, and I snapped several images before the Meadowlark decided to move on.

I really did not know what I had until several days later when I returned home and began to rummage through the thousands of photos. This one stood out as it represented nature at its best and an environmental portrait of a beautiful prairie bird.

I'll never forget that trip. It was unique to say the least with the stormy weather. In hindsight, it was the stormy weather that helped to present another unique side to the Tallgrass Prairie; Nature in its raw form always creates the most demanding of changes, and change is what a photographer is compelled to capture.

The "Brick" - Argus C3

 My dad passed away a few years ago. He was one of those unsung guys who could be counted as among " The Greatest Generation", having fought during WWII on the Island of Leyte, Philippines as part of General MacArthur's return. He also fought in the bloodiest battle of the Pacific War on the Island of Okinawa. He was attached to the 96th Division, 321st Combat Engineers. It's an odd story really how he became assigned to an engineering outfit. You see he was not very mechanical; barely knew which end of a hammer to hold, but he did have a year of college behind him and while in college he took a photography course. Somehow or another, the Army in all of their infinite wisdom thought his photography skills might be useful in an engineering outfit, so that is where he ended up. He did take a lot of photographs during that time, not one was ever used by the combat engineers. His camera of choice was the venerable Argus C3, otherwise known as "The Brick".

Of the meager possessions he owned at the time of his passing, the only one I truly wanted was his Argus C3. It was not the actual camera he carried across the Pacific, but another one his good friend from his college and army days found and bought for him many years later. It is indeed a brick and earned that nickname because of its reliability and ruggedness, not to mention it is about the size and weight of a brick.

The C3 was manufactured by the International Research Corporation, Ann Arbor, Michigan starting in 1939. They changed their name to Argus in 1944, about the time my grandfather purchased it for him just before my dad shipped out. A little research revealed it cost about $70.00 which was a substantial sum back then for a camera. Being my grandfather probably did not earn more than about $150.00 per month at the time, it was a real sacrificial outlay of funds for him to buy it.

My dad during his WWII
Army days - circa 1944
Taken with his Argus C3

He took a good number of Kodachrome color slides, most of which have been lost over the years, and he also took a lot of black and white photographs of his time overseas. I have a precious few of them in my collection. Many of them were damaged while overseas by fungus and mildew because of the humid and often damp and hot conditions.

Not sure what ever happened to his original one, but the substitute camera his friend purchased for him was probably manufactured in 1955 according to the serial number.

A while back I loaded that old camera with a roll of 35mm black and white film and shot a roll through it. The focus, being a rangefinder, was a bit off, as the focusing knob was really hard to turn, but it was fun to give it a try.

Heavy Equipment Operations
Taken with the old Argus C3
circa 1944/1945

I suppose as I have grown older, nostalgic reflections have become more important to me. Possessing that old camera and the history surrounding that particular model as it relates to my dad, well, it's just hard to place a price on such a thing. I break it out ever so often just to feel it in my hands, and yes it does weigh almost as much as a real brick. We've all been spoiled today with the technology of digital cameras and computers. Back then, you really had to know what you were doing to obtain a decent photo. 

I don't know, maybe I will give it a try again someday, if I can find a place that will develop the film. Just holding on to it and gazing through the fuzzy viewfinder is almost like looking through a time machine. Sometimes I wish I could travel back in time in cognito and visit my dad during those war years and observe first hand just how important that old camera may have been. Even though the one I do have is not the same camera he carried, it's close enough and serves as a connection between two era's. Photography, it seems, has indeed connected me to my dad's legacy.