Tag Archives: Milkweed

Lost … and Found


For years, I was able to find things in stacks in my office by estimating the life of the pile.   Needed something from last March?   No problem.   March was about …. right there!    I was always close.

The same with my photographs.  There was a time when I thought that I would remember every photograph that I took.  And, I was certain, that I would remember when I took it so that if I needed to retrieve it, I could easily.

So, when I went to find a particular photograph — a closeup shot of a milkweed seed — for a forum I participate in, I wondered when I took it.  I knew it had to be fall because that is when milkweed pods burst.  But I couldn’t remember what year it was.  2013? 2012?  2011?

I didn’t start using Lightroom until Spring of 2013.  Previously, I didn’t tag and only rarely named the files with anything other than the automatic IMG_xxxx assigned in camera.

After several hours of searching, over the course of two days, I finally located the shot that I wanted, although I only found an edited jpg, not the original raw file.  And, to my surprise, it appears that I took it when on a road trip, not along the creek near my house as I had originally thought.

Seed pod

Milkweed Seed

Lesson learned?  I’m glad that I now catalog and tag my photos.   LR is such a powerful tool; I’m not sure how I found anything before.   One of these days, I’ll need to go through all of my pre-LR  photos, import and tag them.   Otherwise, they are not much different from the boxes of photographs and negatives  I’ve accumulated over the years.  Looking through them may bring back memories, but it’s time-consuming and too difficult to find what you want.

Here’s a shot of some things I found on my walk today.   It’s cooler than normal; fall is definitely in the air.  I’m hoping that I don’t regret not covering my porch plants this evening.   I’m sure they’re thinking “What the heck?  This cold already?”

acorns

Dr Suess -like acorns

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Photos: Late afternoon, with ice


I sat at my desk most of the day today, reading and writing. At 4:50, I realized that the light would be fading quickly, leaving me little time to do one of the things I wanted to do today: take pictures on the greenway near my house. Quickly, I donned socks, shoes, sweater, coat and hat, grabbed my camera, seated the macro lens on the body, and started for the door.

“I’ll walk with you if you wait a few minutes,” my husband said. “I just need to change out of my suit and put on some jeans and my walking shoes.”

“Can’t wait,” I replied. “The light is fading. Maybe 10 minutes more at tops. Join me if you want on the trail. I’m shooting, won’t be walking far, so you should be able to catch up.”

The first picture I took was of the houses directly across from the greenway. The sun was just starting its rapid descent, streaking gold rays across the cold winter blue. I knew I didn’t have the right lens for this kind of shot, but I took it anyway. The sky was just too pretty to pass up.

I quickly walked to the path and into the grassy area between the pavement and the creek. With all of the rain recently, the banks were swollen as if it were late Spring, and the water was moving swiftly. When is a creek a creek, and not a river? This creek is sometimes so empty in the summer that you can walk across it. In the Spring, it will be deep and treacherous enough that people have drowned here, after their cars were swept away by the overflowing banks.

Throughout the grass were remnants of the snow and sleet from yesterday, mostly on the fallen leaves. There are still remnants of flowering plants along the trail, some with dried and frosty flower caps. A few milkweed pods remain too, their seed pods split, the seeds seemingly frozen into place. Even the slight breeze would not scatter the seeds.

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Tomorrow I should head outside a little earlier in the afternoon, so that I have more light.