My drive home from school today took less time than I expected, and I had exactly ten extra minutes before I had to pick up my oldest daughter to take her to the gym.

Given the fact that I was still five minutes from home, that left me with exactly five minutes of spare time. What could I possibly accomplish in such little time?

I stopped at Goucher College (near my home), went in the direction of the pond on campus with camera in hand, and remained receptive to what might present itself to me. I was struck immediately by the brilliance of a single fruit dangling from a dying tree. After shooting five frames in under a minute, I wandered further down toward the pond. I disturbed a grasshopper in the tall weeds, and I followed him to a blade of grass (below). Fired off another 8 shots (took two of the tall grasses blowing in the wind), returned quickly to my Jeep, and headed home.

I was a little disappointed. I arrived home a minute early. I wondered what else would have presented itself if I had spent that minute at the pond?

photo: rus vanwestervelt, goucher college, towson, md 9/26/11

Eleven days ago, an earthquake rocked the Mid-Atlantic region. Then, five days later, Hurricane Irene moved through the area, bringing down trees and power lines that disrupted service to over four million people along the East Coast.

And now, looking at the weather forecast, we’ve got rain and thunderstorms predicted for every day through next Saturday. The ground is already saturated, and many trees weakened by the first two natural disasters in the last two weeks will struggle to survive the constant rains and winds that will trudge through the region at some ungodly slow pace.

These trees can take only so much before they surrender and fall to the ground — a life of 100+ years ended by the forces of nature.

Or maybe not. Perhaps all of our development has led to the rapid erosion of the areas surrounding our trees, making them more susceptible to oversaturation and high winds not buffered by a tough, surrounding terrain untouched by man.

This vulnerability — this quick breakdown of once-mighty oaks and evergreens — reminds me of what is happening to both our youth and our older generations alike.

We were, not too long ago, a tough breed. We had to move to live, to survive and thrive, both as children and in our adult lives. We were not coddled, over-protected, over-booked with too-safe activities. We took risks out of both necessity and desire. At any age, we didn’t expect anybody to do anything for us. As well, we didn’t think twice about helping others, because we had a basic respect, a faith and trust, in the people comprising our community.

The real tragedy here is this: Not that we’ve all been weakened by the lack of risk-taking movement and survive-and-thrive mentality; it’s that there are fewer and fewer mighty oaks and evergreens standing tall in our society. Tragically, we’re becoming nothing more than a conservative ground cover, staying close to the surface and being a little too territorial, pushing away others and seeing little of what the rest of the world has to offer.

We do our best to teach our kids to take those risks, but we’re now fighting an uphill battle. They have many expectations of what they believe is due to them, and they resist the challenge to move and take control of their lives, of their personal growth.

And let’s face it. They’re not the first generation of coddled kids; we struggle with this ourselves because, like it or not, we’re an MTV generation of remote controls, speedy drive-thrus, and pizzas delivered in 30 minutes or less. We are now desperately trying to reverse the direction in which we were raised. Not an easy task for any of us; so who are we to blame our own kids for expecting a little too much, and daring a tad not enough?

It seems to me that, if we expect a change in our children, we need to strengthen the roots in our own lives so that they have a few mighty oaks in their upbringing to show them how brave they can actually be in their own lives.

Last month, I sketched out a monthly hiking plan that would send me all around the state, tackling some of the trails that I’ve never been on. This strategy was in line with my bigger project of dropping the weight and leading a more healthy, active lifestyle.

Well, the good news is that I am succeeding on the diet and the exercise. I’ve met with good success over these last four or five weeks, and I am right on schedule.

Scheduled for this Friday, in fact, is my first monthly hike. I decided to head to the Merkle Wildlife Sanctuary in Prince George’s County, MD. I thought this would be a good time to see the migration of birds and walk a path my feet have never touched.

It’s also about 150 miles round trip.

Unfortunately, with the way gas prices continue to rise, I’m beginning to rethink where I take these monthly hikes. I know it’s only once a month, but is this really worth 5 gallons of gas, or an additional $25, to head to this sanctuary? As we’re on a very tight budget right now, I’m thinking that there are some places closer to home that I could take that hike and save the $25.

We’re beginning to think this way about all of the trips we make. Yesterday’s jaunt to Ocean City, MD for Holland’s Gymnastics States Tournament cost me over $50 in gas. If I still had my Jeep, it would have been nearly $100 in fuel costs.

I think I’m going to pocket that $25 and keep it local. There’s plenty around here in a 10-mile radius that I can do that will help me accomplish the same goals. I’m a little bummed that I won’t be seeing as many of the parks throughout the state, at least right now. But keeping it close to my community is not a bad way to go at all.

I’m wondering–Has the rise in gas prices caused you to make similar decisions?

I was struck this morning by the satellite image of the three storms brewing in the Atlantic Ocean. The National Hurricane Center is predicting an above-average likelihood for storms to hit the east coast this year, making the stretch between North Carolina and Massachusetts as likely to get hit as Florida or the other Gulf Coast states.

Seeing this image reminded me immediately of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. It doesn’t take a trained eye to see the similarities.

Some things are timeless, aren’t they? Take away the cell phones and iPads and Facebook and Skype, and you are left with a certain kindred spirit shared with Nature. It’s in us, all the time, waiting to be tapped, accessed, embraced.

Now, I’m fairly sure that Vincent didn’t have some kind of psychical experience with the Hurricane Center, tapping into some yet-to-fly satellites capturing the swirling beauty of the giants in our oceans. No. He probably wasn’t event thinking about hurricanes at all.

But the patterns are apparent in all of nature — the whirls and swirls of the winds, the rains, the energy and spirit running like a meandering current around rocks and banks and all things between.

It’s a universal image, when we stop long enough to see it. Maybe even feel it, too.

School starts up for me on Monday. I resume teaching English 12 Honors after a five-year hiatus, and at times I have let the needs overwhelm me. It is at these times that I feel like it’s me against some other force — time, perhaps. Maybe that won’t-go-away pressure to be perfect all the time.

What will they think if they walk into my room and things don’t look polished and positively sterile?

They’ll probably think that things are as they have always been, for sure.

That’s why I am grateful that I am keeping at least a small channel open in my mind to see the beauty in things like a weather map so that it may serve as a reminder to me, in some way, that I can’t fight or resist; I can only recognize the natural patterns surrounding me, then make a decision about whether to Flow or Go.

That’s all any of us can do. Everything else breeds resistance and resentment, and none of us has the time to waste on such nonsense.

Stop, feel the whirls and swirls around you, and act: Flow or Go?

Suddenly, your life will never be the same. . . .

Absolutely love sunrises when hiking or biking….

My friend T and I went to Gunpowder State Park along Jerusalem Rd. in Kingsville, MD this morning to check out the trails that rise and fall along the Gunpowder River. We were wonderfully surprised by the well-maintained trails (the Gunpowder and Hobbes trails) that formed a nice circuit for us to master in the coming weeks.

On a scale of 1 to 5, with 5 being the most difficult, I would place this loop at a strong level 2. A few steep pitches and knobby roots make the trail challenging enough to encourage you to come back for more and attempt to do the entire loop without stopping.

According to the Maryland Department of Natural Resources, Gunpowder Falls State Park comprises nearly 18,000 acres in Harford and Baltimore counties, boasting more than 100 miles of trails. One of the great things about the Gunpowder is that it runs long, yet narrowly, throughout north/central MD, from tidal marshes and wetlands to steep, rugged slopes.

Once you discover the Gunpowder, there are literally years of outdoor experiences for the novice to the expert. Hiking, biking, fishing, canoeing, kayaking — the Gunpowder has it all.

For me, it’s perfect because I can go alone for the solitude, enjoy a trip with friends, or take my family for a day of fishing and picnicking.

The Jerusalem Mill, which is where we started our bike trip this morning, offers plenty of trails, a museum, educational events, and period re-creations that are fun for the entire family. For more information about upcoming events, go here.

It’s 8:23 p.m., and I’ve just returned from taking some friends to their parents’ home in Lutherville. Their power has been out since 5 this morning, and the temperature was hovering around 50 degrees before I picked them up. BGE has no idea when their power will return. They couldn’t take the chance–not with two kids and a dog. Now, the family is safe and warm. Thank goodness for the Jeep, which navigated brilliantly through both trips.

The condition of the roads is grossly inconsistent, sometimes between stretches of just a few hundred feet. It makes little sense to me how two-lane roads are in better shape than major thoroughfares. They are, though, and some even have dry pavement. The worst road is, ironically enough, my own. Every other road I was on has been plowed at least once.

Not that this makes me think we’ll have school on Monday, or even Tuesday, for that matter. I noticed that some of the side streets that I passed were untouched–not even a pedestrian had strolled along the street; the space between the quiet houses seemed more like a common pasture, smoothed with the expertise of a master pastry chef putting the final touches on a classy, yet simple sheet cake.

Cars parked along roads are buried, and the snow that’s been plowed from the streets has been pushed against (and often over) the cars, making them virtually invisible. It will be days before these cars are unburied and able to move along the streets.

Even Governor O’Malley stated this evening that motorists should stay off the roads “for the next few days.” With temperatures dipping to 10-15 degrees each of the next few nights, I wonder how successful snow plows will be in shaving the ice off the side streets before our next storm hits on Tuesday and into Wednesday. A wintry mix is predicted Tuesday, with all snow anticipated for the evening and into Wednesday with driving winds.

With this additional mid-week storm, It’s my belief that we’ll be out of school until next Tuesday, and that’s assuming that yet another storm predicted for next weekend doesn’t materialize. If if does, though, we could be looking at an additional 2-3 days off of school, racking up a total of 12-13 days off of school.

The last thing any school system wants is a second winter break. The only silver lining is that, as long as the state of emergency exists across Maryland, school systems have the right to apply for a waiver and have those missed days excused from the required 180 days of classroom instruction.

We’ll see what happens. For now, let’s keep helping our neighbors in our community. Check in on those who might need prescription refills, or who might just need a call to let them know someone’s concerned about them.

Until tomorow: stay safe…and warm!

10:13 a.m. Good morning.

This is the view of our front yard/street at 8:30 a.m. (This would be a great I-Spy picture: can you find a car by a tree?). We’ve already measured 24+ inches of heavy, heavy snow, and it’s not supposed to end for another 8 hours. The sustained winds are blowing at 20-35 miles per hour. This storm is on track to be the worst snowstorm in Baltimore’s history. The greatest unofficial storm happened in January 1772, when George Washington and Thomas Jefferson recorded in their journals, separately, that 36 inches of snow fell in both Baltimore and Washington.

We are fortunate to still have our power. Between 6:30 and 7:00 a.m., we lost power on three separate, brief occasions. What made it flicker, and how it came back on, we do not know. No need to question the gift of electricity, though. Our friends have been without power since 3 a.m., and they were without power for nearly 24 hours during the last storm. They are just one family comprising the ever-growing statistic of 126,000 power outages in the Baltimore region. It is possible that, in the next 24 hours, that number will double, if not triple. Temperatures are in the mid-20s and will continue to fall to 14 degrees or lower in the evening. Sustained winds of 15-24 miles per hour will create a wind-chill index near zero degrees.

We’ll head out in about an hour and begin the long and arduous process of digging out. I don’t foresee taking the Jeep for a ride before 4 p.m., if it will even be possible then.

I will post pictures of the dig-out, and if we’re fortunate to get the Jeep on the road before sunset, I’ll do my best to get photos of how the rest of Baltimore looks.

Until then, we are grateful for the comfort and safety of our home, and our thoughts and prayers to those around us who are doing their best to stay warm without electricity. Feel free to post updates from your area in the comments section of this post.

(all photos taken with my Blackberry Curve this morning)

One of the things I’ve always enjoyed doing is confronting nature’s elements head-on. It’s one of the quickest ways to feel as alive as I possibly can.

Thoreau put it this way in “Where I Lived, and What I Lived For” in Walden:

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.

This morning, life indeed proved mean, and I got the whole and genuine meanness of it.

Trina, my ever-adventurer friend, and I decided a few days ago it would be a good idea to go for an early-morning bike ride on the NCR Trail. For those of you who don’t know, this is one of those Rails to Trails projects, where old railroad tracks are pulled up and the existing path is converted to a walking/biking trail. The NCR Trail currently runs from Cockeysville, MD to the Pennsylvania line (about 20 miles), where it then turns into the York County Heritage Trail. It then continues north for another 21 miles to York, PA. The incline gradation ranges from 1% to 3%, so it’s a very easy ride. Easy, that is, in normal weather conditions.

Trina wanted to head out at 5:30, as she needed to be off-trail by 8 a.m. I did the math at what time I’d have to get up to meet her there at that time (we were starting at Monkton Station, nearly 25 minutes away), and I pleaded for a 6 a.m. start. We agreed that if we prepped well enough and got right on the trail when we arrived, we could bump it up to 6.

That still meant at least an hour of darkness before sunrise, and taping flashlights to our handlebars last time didn’t exactly work out like we had planned. So, we found some good bike headlights at REI for just $20. With a little bit of tweaking and $6 in bills to hold it securely in place around the bar, I found the light to be just exactly perfect for the ride.

The temperature was 17 degrees when we hit the trail a little after 6:15, and within the first mile, we hit serious patches of ice. We were not yet in any kind of groove, so it was tough navigating through this first icy stretch. By the time we hit the next patch, we were “warmed” up (there was no warming to speak of, but we had acclimated ourselves to the conditions), and we had better control of our bikes. It suddenly felt like we were in some kind of video game, where we needed to stay in the narrow paths of dry soil to stay on our bikes. One sudden move to the left or the right, and we’d lose control immediately.

This was especially hard to do in the dark. There were additional obstacles and challenges we faced, including fallen branches on the trail that our headlights couldn’t pick up until they were just a few feet away. To complicate matters even more, there were low-lying branches that were out of the headlight’s reach. A quick call to duck was all we were able to give each other. Some we missed, and some we didn’t.

When we reached the 4-mile point, we felt numb but pretty good. We decided to push on for another two miles, but almost immediately we hit a serious stretch of ice that was impassable. We figured we had reached our mid-way point and decided to turn around. I stopped to take a drink from my water bottle, which I had filled with tap water before we left.

No such luck. It was now a bottle of ice.

By this time, the sun had started to rise, and we were able to turn out our headlights and enjoy some of the sights along the trail (not to mention the low-lying branches!). The greatest surprise, by far, were the icicles on the rocks by the trail.

I wish we had had more time to really explore, but we still had miles to go, and by this time, we had lost all feeling in our toes and fingers. Besides, every time we stopped for pictures, it made it that much harder to get back into that cycling groove.

We made it back to Monkton with a few minutes to spare (and — no surprise — our SUVs were still the only vehicles in the lot), and we both felt euphoric that we had tackled the trail despite the bitter temperatures.

I haven’t lost that euphoria, even in the warmth of my home hours later. There’s just something about facing nature in her finest hour and taking in all she has to offer. It provides a good-natured, healthy perspective to the rest of your life, for living is so dear, and, as Thoreau suggests, there is much to learn when we live it fully.

Good Sunday, everyone.

A few days ago, I arrived home and was greeted by my screaming son, who wanted to know if I saw the praying mantis outside. I told him that I did not, and just as quickly as he told me all about the green-brown bug standing sentry by the front door. he vanished and resumed playing with his sister.

It wasn’t until we were ready to head out for dinner when he remembered about the bug by the door. He eagerly awaited the chance to run outside and check to see if he was still there. To my surprise, he was.

The praying mantis is such a good subject to photograph because they are amazingly still (much like the great blue heron I shot in yesterday’s post). I did not enlarge this photo at all. He was positioned and poised beautifully, and I felt like I had all the time in the world to get this shot (and a few others, which I will post at another time).

But that’s it, right? Positioned and poised beautifully. Stillness. Taking the time to savor even a few of the many moments in our hectic lives.

On this Sunday, may we all make the time to position ourselves with beautiful poise. The rest of the day may very well be filled with moments enriched with greater love.

I’ve been writing in various places, but I didn’t realize that so much time had passed since my last post here. I thought I’d spend a little time sharing my “best of” nature photos from the last few months. All of these photos were taken with my Nikon D300 with a Nikkor 105 mm 2.8 VR macro lens, better known, in all loving ways, as Bellatrix. So here we go. . . .

1. Preflight. This first picture was taken at Full Moon Farms in Finksburg, MD. My son and I were on our bellies in the grass as my daughter was in the middle of her horseback riding lesson. Suddenly, Braeden found this little guy, and I snapped a few photos. As is the case with most of the pictures in this lot, you need to get into their world with a little respect before you can capture it accurately.

2. Cycle of Maturity. Taken in Marriottsville as we hiked with a close friend. What astounded me most about this cluster of berries is the staging of maturity, all in one tight group. Sometimes, growing up can be a little less attractive than who we turn out to be. . . .

3. In Flight. Taken in Ocean City, MD, on the beach. We were surrounded by hundreds of sun worshippers, and yet it seemed that nature still presented itself in so many ways. Sometimes, all we have to do is be still and open our eyes to all that surrounds us beyond the bikinis and the beach towels. . . .

4. Sleepy Slithers. Taken at Oregon Ridge Nature Center, a baby black rat snake in captivity. I was fortunate that this little guy was so tired and still, as it gave me a little time to play around with my settings. I switched over to aperture priority to increase my depth of field as much as possible. Fortunately, I was able to place the edge of the lens against the glass and stable it for the long, half-second exposure time.

5. Youth Descending. Taken at the Oregon Ridge Nature Center, a juvenile Northern Diamondback Terrapin, in captivity. One of the nice features of the D300 is that it has 51 focal points, a powerful option that, when mastered, will be used quite frequently. I see now, in hindsight, how I could have used that here to manipulate the focal point to the terrapin’s nose to ensure greater focus on the most important part of the picture–his expression. Lesson learned, and I look forward to playing around with this feature more during my next shoot.

6. Deep in the Drill Zone. Taken at Oregon Ridge Nature Center, outdoors in a wild butterfly garden; subject is a Silver-Spotted Skipper. I need glasses for just about everything in my life, including putting one foot in front of the other. What I like so much about the D300 is that the eye piece has a corrective lens, and so I can shoot without my glasses and still focus manually to get shots like this.

7. Spatial Relations. Taken at Full Moon Farms, while waiting for Madelyn to tack up for her lesson. I don’t find this photo particularly strong, especially in its focus. There was the gentlest of breezes blowing, but it was significant enough to move the leaf while taking this shot.  However, it was the first macro shot I took with Bellatrix, and I am deeply fond of it for the memory of my reaction when I viewed it in the field.

8. Everlasting Ripples. Taken at Full Moon Farms. This knot in an old log, long since chopped away for unknown and seemingly forgotten reasons, reminded me of the song “Ripple” by the Grateful Dead, where there is no pebble tossed, no wind to blow. Still, the ripple remains as a reminder of the “forever effect” we have on other’s lives. May what we leave behind be as beautiful. . . .

9. Steady Wins the Race. Taken at Loch Raven Reservoir, Box Turtle. My kids found this little guy in the grass, and at first he was predictably shy. I got down in the grass, and we all stayed very still. Within a few minutes, he summoned the courage to move, and once he did, he moved very, very quickly! It took him less than a minute to clear the field and seek cover under the brush by the water.

10. Sunset at Assateague. Like the title implies, this was taken at Assateague National Seashore, at sunset. I was meticulous in the timing of this shot, and I received a little bonus with the boat on the water.

11. Floral Floatation. Taken at Full Moon Farm, by the stables; this flower was one of dozens exploding out of a hanging basket. This was the first picture I shot on “Raw” setting, which takes full advantage of the camera’s 12 million-plus pixels. Unfortunately, when you take a photo like this, and the file is a whopping 16 mb in size, you lose so much of the brilliant, 14-bit color when you have to reduce it to a 1.5 mb file to upload here or place on Facebook. When I print these professionally, the color resolution will be much more vibrant in its full size.

12. Clover Connection. Taken at Full Moon Farm, outside of the indoor ring. I’ve had the opportunity to shoot a lot of bumblebees this summer. I think I like this one the best, though, because of the detail in the wings as well as in the clover.

13. Dunes Infinitum. Assateague Island National Seashore. Once again, shot on my belly.

14. Following Zen. Taken at the exit at the Assateague Island Marsh Trail, just before sunset. Sometimes, you have to go in the other direction to find balance. . . .

14. Thistle To-Be. Taken at Loch Raven Reservoir on a particularly humid mid-morning. Went back a few days later to see how it had bloomed, and it had disappeared completely. . . .

Now it’s your turn to tell me which is your favorite….and why. Thanks for stopping by!