San Francisco on film

34773537094_1763852863_c35575036226_dab2987c23_c (1)35446384832_c5c0de9cfc_c

The colors were everywhere. Bits of coral, the blue of the sky, the warm hue of sand, the cool grey of the dense fog that engulfed Adrienne’s neighborhood each night. The smells were different- hot asphalt, whiffs of delicious foods not found in Montana, the sterile yet slight omnipresent stink of public transit, of thousands of bodies inhabiting the same small train cars day in and day out. San Francisco felt like a city that was in the midst of a lot of change. Money and youth everywhere, and yet none of it to be found for many.

35446386132_3a1d673b32_c35575038196_15da0a4ce0_c35446387822_4a5dd6612c_c35575042506_1a191eab64_c

We walked through the park, surrounded by massive eucalyptus trees, before breakfast. Logan took a picture of poop in the park with my film camera because he said I was being stingy with my film. We smelled the rich earth and the flora and saw red wing blackbirds and ravens before making our way to the beach.

The beach was engulfed in fog that was slowly retreating, and we walked to meet the waves, letting the edges of the Pacific ocean lap at our feet. The sand felt good in between my toes and I watched as one man in a dark coat walked up and over one of the dunes. The beach felt melancholy and full of gloom, but I loved it. Such spaces are great for letting thoughts wander and unravel and then pulling them back to have new, strange, and better ideas and thoughts.

35446391172_66f412070d_c35575045266_7ce2db39ff_c35575047426_1051152eb7_c

We went to the Mission District, which Adrienne had warned us was quickly becoming gentrified. Historically Latinx and Hispanic families have lived there, but as we got off BART we saw the inevitable results of gentrification. We walked a lot around that area and still heard plenty of Spanish, saw groups of school children and church groups outside churches with signs that read, “Jesus te ama”, and I hoped that the people who had been there would hold onto their apartments and stores and churches and habits, but I quietly knew that money and white people were probably sinking their teeth into the area and biting away at what hadn’t been theirs before.

In in the midst of our Mission ventures we found a beautiful, cramped Italian market. One wall was entirely devoted to hanging sausages and I felt myself growing hungry even though we had eaten quite recently. A beautiful wheel of Parmesan cheese sat staring at me and Logan pointed out some meats he had been searching for. We looked at the olive oils and the cans of tomatoes and all the pasta and left because if we didn’t leave soon we would buy meats and cheese that we had no room in our luggage for. We found a Brazilian mercado, and once inside I was the only one who wasn’t speaking Portuguese. People sipped coffee and around us were baskets full of Brazilian cooking ingredients, juices, and random odds and ends like deodorant or romance novels. Logan chatted with the barista and we left to go find a cool place to linger. We ended up at a dive bar with the right amount of sticky counters, grimy interiors, and dark corners and sat down. Adrienne joined us shortly after, and we talked and people watched.

35575048426_8ce2086312_c35484211501_c57cef8f4d_c35575033486_d133c3e944_c

The rest of our trip was like that- full of lovely places but being quietly reminded that this was a city being inundated with money from tech firms and start ups and that things were shifting and maybe had been for a while. Regardless, we thoroughly enjoyed being able to see and do the things only cities can give you- art, diversity, busy crowds and the kaleidoscope of humanity that buzzes and bustles as each one of us carves out our own space in the world in whatever way we can.

Advertisements

The stuff dreams are made of

35418969091_5e0a16755e_c34740463063_7edc76d5ea_c35549258925_d4a230a49e_c

San Francisco was busy, busy, busy. We got there over Pride Weekend and got to see the city in full celebration. We walked miles every day, ate amazing food, took MUNI and BART everywhere, and drank green tea smoothies in Chinatown while we tried to escape the heat. 35549259335_4fa04125fb_c35549260115_b21817f384_c34740464803_4894c8ed61_c35549260405_19c15f03ba_c35549260725_3d315156bb_c

We went to SFMOMA and saw Munch, Brancusi, Matisse, Calder, and many other modern art makers. It was marvelous to walk the halls and see Diego Riviera paintings and little Matisse landscapes close together.

34740465223_cde867126c_c34740467273_4464d8d9de_c34740466973_b2703c8fcc_c

We stayed with Adrienne, whose penchant for art, travel, and food all made our visit even more wonderful! Going over old memories in the back of a Lyft or quietly chatting in front of a Munch painting about the past, about our futures, about nothing at all. It really is a beautiful thing to spend time with people from your past and see the both of you change and grow and become marvelous souls in your own rights.

Saturday night Logan and I perched on the cement seats at the Greek Theater in Berkeley and watched Nick Cave, that master of all things dark and deep, play, and I cried multiple times and reveled in that man’s ability to pluck sudden, intense emotions and reactions seemingly out of thin air. His voice was incredible, deep and sinuous and full of things I can’t verbalize or type effectively. I had salt on my face from my tears when we left and as the fog consumed everything around us in the amphitheater I felt so alive.

Two Years

18814856441_a04249b1c4_b18623530490_e54a9a1fd4_c24348089899_7bbf5519fc_c24622247531_ea8b52014c_c24420224440_6fe9b6f212_c18188797924_9dfaeed88b_c18191522503_17e74febb6_c18624343208_48c5d06768_c18814930951_864b36b707_c

Amsterdam, two years ago.

Two years ago Emily and I were eating apples and going to the Rijksmuseum and seeing MisterWives at Paradiso. I wrote directions to the venue on my upper thigh so we wouldn’t have to bring our phones and we stuffed our cash in our bras and shoes. We found out that the Dutch don’t party on Saturday nights like I thought they would. We were told by some family friends that Amsterdamers prefer to go out on Wednesday or Sunday nights, oddly.

We stayed in the apartment of a family friend close to the Albert Cuyp market and got sushi to go on a rainy evening. We spend time in the Hortus Botanicus and the Artis and ate delicious Indonesian and Vietnamese food. We had proper dim sum for the first time in our lives and I had a love affair with some duck crepe thing and a shrimp dumpling.  I lost close to ten pounds just being on my feet all day every day seeing what this old, vibrant city had to offer, and it was so refreshing to be in the motherland in a place where our long, strange last name was perfectly reasonable, even if Dutch still sounds so strange to my Anglo ears.

I cannot wait to go back someday, hopefully sooner rather than later.

Provincetown and points of view.

34972041706_78625f7cb1_c (1)34972038846_d8015a28f8_c34972030386_71bd35ba85_c34972040216_0424103e0a_c34168140164_72a568eb43_c34972037016_875fe23daf_c34201379423_0df57c3fea_c34624711580_66d115cd1c_c34201375183_4d143bd801_c34201378623_57a1714bf3_c34624701620_30310c92e8_c34168170774_afb102e08a_c34880003291_6aed62699e_c34624699510_697a1d610d_c

I asked Logan what “Lagosta na Panela” meant after I saw the tiled sign outside of the Lobster Pot in Provincetown. “It means lobster in the pot”, he said over the phone and I laughed. Of course it does. 

Provincetown is a centuries old whaling town with a historic Portuguese presence that turned into an artist and gay colony. The town is saturated with gorgeous old architecture, vivacious townspeople, and a wealth of galleries, restaurants, and beachfront to visually and otherwise consume. You can walk down the “Widow’s Row” which is full of old ship captain’s homes, with windows so that the wives could watch for their husband’s ships to come in- or never come back. Colorful buildings, shingled Cape homes, and lots of old New England history abounds there. I forgot how much I love that weird little town, where drag queens make a living alongside literary celebrities, and where one day it can be gorgeous and sunny and the next rainy and miserable. Oysters and good gin are always called for, but so is Spiritus Pizza, a local pizza joint that serves up delicious pressed apple juice alongside large, floppy slices.

To me, though, Provincetown is also just a place to get lost. It’s a magnificent town to people watch in. I wish I could someday spend a week with my camera and just sit on various benches and photograph the diverse humans that weave their way in and out of Commercial Street as they hunt for a new painting, a place to eat, or perhaps somewhere to just get away from the crowds. When I am there I try to get up early and see the town before it is full of souls, and there is nothing better than

On one rainy afternoon with Exa and Emily, we walked into a little store and browsed. The owner of the store immediately broke into conversation about what we were looking at, and asked us where we were from. We chatted about lots of little things, and it felt really lovely to do so. The same thing happened earlier in the shop where I bought my beautiful blue woodblock printed dress, and again in another store. Provincetown is full of people who have fascinating stories and pasts and are more than willing to engage and share those pasts. I love humans- all of us are a unique sum of all our experiences, both good and bad, and none of us are the same. We all have to survive, thrive, and suffer together and being able to touch on people’s humanness and chat about books, about their store, or about what adventures and activities we were up to felt wonderful in a small, satisfying, the world isn’t so bad way. If that sounds hokey, that’s alright, but I’ll be the sappy optimist over the grumpy cynic that I worry I am becoming any day.

Back on the Cape

35012207955_bdfeb8cf4a_c34201283113_a1970d6a8d_c34972041706_78625f7cb1_c34972052936_00dbb050d0_c34972062216_b7f321d644_c34972064086_86b9897639_c34201285903_7422480348_c34879942241_68f64de12a_c34879947081_b88b9c4450_c

Some shots of the East Coast, which I haven’t been to in three years!

Fried clams, shrimp, greyhounds, tracking sand into the house, catching up with friends and family you haven’t seen in far too long…it’s been marvelous. The Atlantic has a very different feel about it than the Pacific I was so entranced by in British Columbia. Here, the oldest parts of American history resonate all around me as signs that pronounce the town I sleep in was founded in the early 1700s remind me that yes, there are hundreds of years of history that we don’t have in many ways out West.

Here I write about it as I pilfer Wifi surrounded by the older denizens of Cape Cod at our local Dunkin’ Donuts. I have taken hundreds of photographs, both digital and film, and I cannot wait for the chance to get more Wifi and show more of our adventures here.

Juno, did you by any chance barf in my urn? Mac, you know that nice urn by the front door that I got up in Stillwater?

33275463421_d6e02e8f76_c33275463101_d21a0b3dd1_c33275462341_8fa37e5844_c33275462581_19957971e4_c32560775724_09b3e2c5d4_c33275461931_8630c8e825_c33275461611_b98815a5ba_c

I flew to Minnesota on Tuesday to surprise Logan at the airport. He was coming home from Brazil and Mary and I hatched a plot.

We spent one beautiful, cold afternoon in Stillwater, and later that night Logan and I were watching Juno and I started laughing so hard because had just been there. Hence, you know, the long title. We did not buy an urn, but rather perused bookstores, had a nice beer at a pub, and looked at all the lovely old buildings.

Mystic Beach Hike: Into the woods

32991582861_57ffe24de3_c32991583411_d07e1be6be_c

32735860070_30214aaee3_c32273253834_6774cf93d2_c32991596631_3d86d206a4_c32991590611_315e7b1c58_c

Three cameras. Four rolls of 400 speed Fujifilm. One pair of Dr. Marten boots. A rain slicker. As Noah drive Rhiannon, Isobel, and me towards our destination, I wondered if my boots would suffice- my hardcore Keen hiking boots being back in Montana- and as it began to rain and rain hard, hitting the windshield with a veracity that seemed almost personal, I thought, I should have worn warmer things. Luckily, by the time we pulled into the trail head, the rain had stopped. A cool mist, the kind that is omnipresent on the coast of Vancouver Island in the morning, hung around us. The air, heavy with moisture, felt good and I breathed it in deeply. We were on the edge of the dense, hyper-saturated woods of the Pacific Northwest.

32735858000_d191f99835_c

32991597491_f42555d7a0_c32991591211_e15e3ee666_c32991589771_16a0b6f087_c

My parents started taking my sister and I camping, hiking, and deep into nature when we were only a week old. Our whole lives have been laced, consistently, with adventures where the smell of soil, the sound of water, the delighted finding of animal footprints, and the deep responsibility we have to nature comes through. I remember helping my father catch fish and learning how to be gentle with them, how to properly hold frogs, how bird feathers worked as part of a wing to help them fly. One time, to a show and tell at school, I took a duck foot in a Ziploc bag to demonstrate how a certain muscle, when pulled with tweezers, retracted the foot. (No, that did not help me make friends.) My sister and I were taught to identify footprints, find patches of fur stuck to brush, to scout for feathers, for signs of life. Something my parents have done is give me a strong, very intense emotional connection to the woods. When I walk into any forest, I feel quietly humbled,  immediately renewed, and a sort of basic instinct whispers that I am part of this, and that I owe it so much. My sister has a poster that says “The woods are my church,” and I agree with this to a certain extent. Spiritually, going into nature feels like walking into a cathedral. It’s not about you, it’s about something bigger than you, and allowing that to be alright.

As we meandered down the twisted-root and mud-puddle filled trail, I mentally marveled at the wood’s density and how sound traveled in trapped, quick pockets, roped in by tree trunks and muffled by moss. Ferns grew out of old logs. Trees rose high, higher, highest, chasing sunlight. Saplings, small ferns, and fungus all compete to cover every surface. Birds chirped from branches up above. Pieces of moss trailed from branches, catching the light. Stumps of enormous size looked like squat, wooden boulders, surely occupied by insects, birds, and other animals. Downed woody debris is vital to any landscape, and here, where everything is fertile to an almost-ridiculous extent, I acknowledged every bit of the landscape. It all had a part to play.

32991587051_a191d70ae8_c32991586091_95397c928b_c

32273248094_06e15d166f_c

One thing I am still not used to in these greener, more lush woods is the wet.  It keeps evidence of life to itself more. Water distracts and obscures and I wondered what else had been on our path or had crossed it earlier. The woods here are full of cougars, bears, raccoons, deer, and eagles, but their signs were more difficult to find, because the soil and the wood-covered ground do not hold footprints as well- the water saturates the ground and erases or muddles them. I wondered who our neighbors were- what quiet, stealthy animals were nearby? I knew that they were aware of us- our smells, noises, and our lack of grace may as well be like a flare launched to the natural world. WE ARE HERE!

About an hour down the trail, we finally came to a series of steps down to the sea. It was high tide, and the ocean roared. We could see the cloud and snow capped Olympic mountain range in America across the strait, and the sea spit forth foam at our feet. The forest goes right up to the edge of the ocean, and the two share much with each other, as these two ecosystems tend to do here in the Pacific Northwest. If you want to become enraptured with this part of the world, and the power that some of these forests hold, I highly recommend The Golden Spruce by John Vaillant. That man has a way with words I haven’t experienced before and his ability to describe the woods and the land are unparalleled.

We gazed at the sea, went near a waterfall, and soaked in the sights and sounds. I cast loathing looks at the jacket-wearing chihuahuas that were brought along by their owners (I loathe small dogs for some reason.) The ocean’s tempo of rising, falling, gathering, spreading, taking and leaving, spoke to each of us in ways I don’t think we fully understand. After taking photographs, breathing in the salt air, looking at the clouds, and enjoying the sun, it was time to descend back into the thick copses of trees and bid the coast adieu. The light, in the short time we had left the woods, had changed significantly. It was warmer, more golden, and it seemed to cloak everything in a comforting light. Even the shadows beckoned in a welcoming fashion. We made our way, souls content, to the car, and the urge to fall into a relaxed slumber was almost overwhelming.

What a marvelous day.

Venice|Venezia

32014046303_a638e049b1_c32014046863_94263edfe6_c32828552745_56b5e19fa5_c32014047133_3fe9b21f8d_c32014048633_0b980fd619_c32014049353_f000a73690_cI learned a valuable lesson from a friend back in my undergrad. On a trip to Florence and Tuscany, my roommate/friend Lexi taught me, a photograph amateur, to always keep a folder of untouched, original files, and then make copies to edit. Thankfully, through this wisdom, even though my camera was horrible, I managed to salvage thousands of pictures of my “CONTRAST IS GOD” phase- where literally any photo, no matter what, was worthy of being destroyed through heavy contrast and manipulation. I cringe internally thinking about such times…but the original files remain for me to enjoy!

32014049633_b2017b88b1_c32787509076_9b7f70a9f5_c32787509396_14074998aa_c

And so, without further adieu, here are some photographs of a few days my beautiful mother and I spent meandering aimlessly around Venice|Venezia in May of 2010. We had a great time sipping coffees, eating sandwiches, admiring architecture, ducking into shops, and smelling that strange smell that haunts most of Venice. We encountered dogs that knew the city like the back of their hands (paws?), ate a lot of baked goods, had some Italian ladies make fun of my mum’s sneakers on the train (they didn’t know I could understand them, even with my bad 9 months of Italian classes), and I took a lot of naps (sorry Mum). We ate at a delicious pizza place whose name escapes me almost 7 years later.

I hadn’t looked at these photographs in years and today I realize how awesome it was for my mother, who had never left North America, to come spend a few weeks with me travelling. My mother is one of the most hardy, intelligent, and creative human beings I know, and as I get older I realize more and more how much I admire her. Mums are amazing creatures in general, but mums who travel across the world solo like a pro on their first go are pretty wicked.

32787509796_b2bcfb9ed4_c32787511206_73f2762b86_c32787510856_7ed11bc6d9_c32675074072_2078a22ef0_c32014053063_ea45d9831b_c32014052893_d9a3e21f20_c

Restless creatures take to the woods pt. 1

24300109303_8e6c45ece2_b24809006162_fe96f009ce_b (1)24300106693_86bd0b557b_b24300106833_82c204302d_b24833623821_616d056896_b24296374734_f80369623a_b24631514910_c845898004_b24833636321_ab757923e7_b

Images from our hike on Tuesday. Morgan drove us deep into the rain forest near the coast and we hiked, smelling sea air, hearing creeks trickle, birds chirp, and soaking up the magnificent visuals.

I needed to be outside. I had cabin fever of the “stuck in the city” sort. I can be outside- it’s temperate- but everywhere in Victoria are yards, yards, yards. Manicured, controlled “natural” spaces that make me feel claustrophobic. When Morgan suggested we head to Sooke, I said YES YES YES.

I’ll talk about the hike more on the Part 2 post- I’m off to pick up some 35mm film that went through my repaired Olympus OM-20! Hopefully no light leaks this time, I got all the foam that keeps light out replaced. Can’t wait to get the scanner going and see what I’ve got in store!