My father in law always shares his newspaper with me when my family and I come up for a visit. This particular visit there was an article about a farmer and his sunflowers. Five acres in bloom. Only a few days remaining for the golden-yellow field.
I knew I had to go and see.
We follow the route on the GPS to the sunflower farm, past store fronts and restaurants and busy grocery stores. The road seems to empty as we drive on. We turn and follow a bumpy dirt road. The houses here aren’t inches apart, they’re acres apart. Clouds of dust rise up and we’re passing farms and horses in pastures.
It’s amazing how these beauties in life exist down roads near by, but somehow far away at the same time.
I think we’re coming upon a secret treasure–
A couple of miles down the dirt road, we near the entrance and looking up from the dust we see the cars. It’s not a secret. Many have read about the sunflower field. The funny thing is, no one seems to be expecting this hidden country life tucked back only a few miles from the city. As we’re trying to navigate our way into this crowded little oasis, I see women in heels trying to step lightly in sinking dirt and a family trying to dig car tires out of deep sand.
There are photographers and families and women picking armfuls of fresh flowers for bouquets.
We all came to see this beauty growing up from the ground.
“Don’t you find it strange that we have these ideas we dream up? We write and create and go to conferences and critique groups. No one has asked us to write, but we do.”
I was at a conference a few years ago when I asked one of my friends and fellow writers my question about writing. The process and the idea of writing started to feel strange and surreal. Why do I seem to find inspiration for new books all around? I jot down the ideas in my notebook, on receipts in my purse, or on the back of a bulletin in church. Some of these ideas stick with me and their little voice is strong. I feel this desire to put my thoughts and words and art together. I create little book dummies of how I see these books in my mind.
I have 12 on a spreadsheet facing me now. Three in book dummy form.
Family, school, kids, and work pop in and demand some love and inspiration too. Shouldn’t I put my ideas aside and focus on what’s in front of me? And yet these little books speak to me. They compel me to take them to critique group and attend writer’s conferences.
The question I asked my friend about writing has stayed with me. It pops up when I doubt what I’m trying. It’s easier to listen to the voice that says, ‘focus on what’s in front of you’.
But what if all writers listened to a voice that told them to stop writing?
What if all artists listened to the voice of doubt or fear and stopped making art?
The question remained: Why write?
And then I met Nikki Grimes. I was invited to hear her read from her book Words With Wings at the Upper Room Art Gallery. She is talented and gracious and humble. She talked with me afterword about her writing, her children’s books, and poetry, and new projects.
We took a walk with our host Robin Merrill from the Upper Room to see a piece of art in the making. We stood in front of a large log being hand cut into a canoe by a Seminole Indian from the tradition of generations before. A story in its own way, told and passed down.
I asked Nikki the same thing I had asked my other friend, “Don’t you find it strange to write sometimes? To put these ideas and thoughts down on paper and publish them? No one has asked us to write what we write but we do it anyway.”
She answered me quickly,
“If I waited for permission, I would never write.”
Wow! I had never considered that I was waiting for permission.
As we looked at the canoe in raw form and Robin told us about the artwork, she showed us a pile of wood chips on the ground that had been cut from the log. Chunks and layers of shavings discarded for the canoe to takes its form. She gave us a little brown paper bag and told us to take some shavings and create our own piece of art from them.
Here is mine, a bird with Nikki’s winged words for me…
I dont’ have an answer as to why I write, but it doesn’t have to be because someone asked me to.
I have a goal now for my little board books.
That’s what they are. No permission needed.
If you’re the curious sort, one who wonders about why we do the things we do, here’s an amazing book I found one evening at Barnes & Noble, Why We Write About Ourselves: Twenty memoirists on Why They Expose Themselves (and Others) in the Name of Literature.
A couple years ago my daughter asked for some milkweed and a caterpillar. It was a simple request with amazing results. A wonder filled spring.
And now it’s springtime again and there’s a special kindergarten class I know studying caterpillars and butterflies. So I collected those images and videos I captured from my little girl’s wonder filled spring and made this little video to share.
I was tempted to speed up the video, but part of what makes looking at this little creature so amazing is seeing the very hungry caterpillar munch through his nice green leaf in real caterpillar speed! Nothing sped up there. They can munch apart a whole milkeed plant down to stems in no time! The other part that is truly remarkable is seeing the caterpillar spin the chrysalis. The transformation right before your eyes is extraordinary.
These butterflies make me wonder about Walt Whitman’s poem Miracles –these little things that happen all around us everyday that are quite amazing when you get up close and really look.
“Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles…
To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle…”
This is a story about my brother David. But really it’s my story. It’s a deeply personal account of faith and praying for miracles and trusting God regardless of the outcome. God gave me the gift of His love and presence in a dream. I’ve pondered this for some time and although I don’t completely understand it myself, I feel compelled to share this story with you. I want to share the goodness and gentleness of the Lord with you through this story. It’s a bit longer than I usually post, so you may want to get a nice warm cup of tea or coffee to enjoy while you read. This is my gift… I don’t remember hanging out with my big brother David growing up. I have memories of his T-ball trophy in his room and his team photograph, but I don’t know if I ever went to one of his games. I remember he had a lot of matchbox cars and I always loved the big red Coca Cola truck. Did he let me play with it or did I sneak in his room and play with it when he went to school? My mom says we used to fight a lot and I would get him in trouble, but I don’t remember any of that either. I don’t remember his laugh or playing together or fighting together. I do remember the day of his car accident though. I was a little four-year-old playing in my baby sister’s crib. I think I had climbed right in with her. A neighbor came in the room and said, “Your brother had an accident and we need to pray.” I don’t remember any other details that followed. Did she say car accident? Did I understand the seriousness? I don’t think I could have at that age. I just prayed. Time was marked for me and my family that morning. Somewhere in the time span which traveled the day my neighbor asked me to pray for my brother and the in-between days of growing up I learned a few details from parents of what happened that morning. David was crossing the street to his school bus stop and was hit by a car. He suffered a severe head injury. I’ve learned now there is a new name for this, TBI, Traumatic Brain Injury. We lived in Germany at the time of my brother’s accident. My dad was in the Air Force and stationed there. I went to a German pre-school, but never learned German because the teachers would speak to me in English. David was in a coma for some time, but when he stabilized enough my dad was re-assigned to the U.S. We moved from Germany to Biloxi, Mississippi. David spent many weeks at Children’s Hospital in New Orleans. My mom and dad, along with me and my baby sister, would drive back and forth from Biloxi to New Orleans to visit David during hospital visiting hours. He eventually came home with us. My mom took on taking care of him right from the beginning. His injury left him paralyzed, unable to eat, talk, or walk. Davey could understand us though and learned to blink to communicate a simple yes or no. And always to my amazement David could still smile and laugh. We prayed as family constantly. Somewhere in the time before my brother’s accident, to his little nine-year-old body clinging to life in the hospital, God was already at work. He was there with my parents through visions and prayers. I didn’t know much about any of this as a child. But I did believe with my parents God could heal David. I believed he would. Through the years that followed my brother’s accident my family faithfully spent time in church, David right there in his wheelchair with us. I loved my Davey. I talked with him every day and played dolls with my sister on his wheelchair. And I prayed everyday God would heal him, this prayer was also always my secret birthday wish when blowing out birthday candles Sunday school would bring something completely different from wishes and prayers. I would get lost in the wonder of Sunday school lessons. The ones that made me the happiest and upset me the most were the lessons where Jesus would heal the sick people. I always imagined what it would be like if He was healing my brother instead of those people. The woman with the issue of blood who touched his garment; Jesus, if only you were here now, I would run through the crowd and touch your robe for my brother. Or what about the friends who lowered their crippled friend through the roof to Jesus? I knew I could find someone to carry David with me and lower him through that roof so Jesus could heal him and say, “Pick up your mat and walk…” I was jealous of all those sick people who had Jesus right by their side. It was wonderful and horrible. Wonderful to know a mighty God who could heal the sick, horrible because Jesus was no longer here for my brother David. I couldn’t run through crowds to find him and touch him or talk to him or ask him to come to my house. Now I’m older, no longer letting my imagination run wild in Sunday School. But I can tell you, I still get a little tense when I hear a sermon about healing.
Recently my mother in law gave me a book to read about heaven. This story was about a father and his son who suffered a horrific car accident. His little boy, by all logic, should have died. The little boy’s story is about God, angels, and heaven. His dad’s story is of prayers, angels, and miracles. The book was hard to read as I thought of David and his accident. My mind wandered in-between what ifs and hope. I played back through the years of prayer and wondered more about the divine ways of God. (Spoiler Alert) Yet, when I got to the end of the book, the final conclusion, words I was too familiar with hit me in the gut. These unanswered prayer words, “…whether he is healed here on earth or one day in heaven.” Hope and wonder left. I read those words and wanted to throw the book. Our family too had experienced God’s divine presence in the midst of my brother’s injuries. As a little girl I prayed for my brother’s healing expectantly. My mom had shared a vision she had once of an angel and another of a brain being healed. I think there may have been another story of a dead plant which bloomed again, but I’m not sure about the details. I thought for sure I would witness David miraculously get up out of his wheelchair one day. Somewhere though, over the course of thirty years, the expectancy of healing turned to those same words uttered, “Maybe God meant David would be whole again in heaven.” Uncertainty over God’s will. Maybe God meant… I would have stood up and thrown the book in the pool right then, had it not been my mother in law’s library book. Couldn’t God just heal David now? Why a lifetime of suffering? A few months later, March 17, 2012 I was with my family visiting my in-laws again. My mother in law handed me another book to read. One look at the cover and I told her, “No thank you!” Another book about a little boy who experiences heaven and comes back to talk about it. I told her I wasn’t interested, I wouldn’t read it, I already believed in heaven. I didn’t need to read some best seller to tell me Heaven was real. I told her how I wanted to take the other book she’d given me and chuck it the pool. Sorry Mom! Despite my earlier protests, when everyone was out of the room, I picked it up and read the back cover. What struck me was the little boy’s encounter with Jesus. I decided to find just that chapter and began to read. As I began to read I don’t think I found the little boy’s description of heaven hard to believe. I found it reassuring. But I found my self connected to his dad’s questions, and his dad’s thoughts– thinking he was alone when he was crying out to God in anger over his son being in the hospital. The little boy’s father shared something from 2 Peter 3:8,9
But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: To the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years is as one day. The Lord is not slow in doing what he promised– the way some people understand slowness.
Can it be God? When I feel like saying, How long, O Lord, must I wait? How long, O Lord, for David to suffer? Is it really this simple for you God? Thirty years? One day is as a thousand years and a thousand years is as one day? What am I really missing this side of heaven? What don’t I understand in light of eternity? Can I really say, this is a light and momentary trouble?
For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. 2 Corinthians 4:17,18
We left my in-law’s house late to head home. That night I had a dream. I dreamt about me and David. We were little kids and we were playing together. In my dream I knew we were near a castle and we were running through grass. He was ahead of me and I was chasing after him. I had a little cane with plaques on it and he had a cane too. His was bigger than mine and had more plaques on it. I had never had a dream of my brother and I before. When I woke up I was thinking of this dream, but there was also a word, Stute-Guard. This is how the word sounded to me. It’s hard to describe, but I kept going over and over it. I didn’t understand it, but I thought it was German. I decided to see if I could look up this word online. I was excited and nervous. I hoped the word might mean healing or miracle in German. I was almost afraid to look it up. I felt completely ridiculous because I don’t even know German and wasn’t even sure if it was a real word or a nonsensical dream word. I found a translator app online, German to English, and I started to type in my word. A word I wasn’t even sure was real, let alone how to spell correctly. As I started to type, the word came up, Stuttgart. I clicked on the translate button… “Stuttgart, city in southwestern Germany, capital of the state of Baden-Wuettemberg”. I was shocked and even more intrigued. I don’t know anything about the places or geography of Germany. We had left soon after my fourth birthday. I started to look up more information. I read about Stuttgart on Wikipedia and found this: “A number of significant castles stand in Stuttgart’s suburbs and beyond as reminders of the city’s royal past.”Wow Lord! My dream was more than nonsense. The word you gave me was real. I couldn’t help but smile as I thought of me and David running around together somewhere near a castle. The word didn’t mean healing or miracle, but I knew the dream was a gift. The Lord sees my heart and he knows. He holds David in his hands and he cares for him in a way I can’t comprehend. I waited till night to call my mom and talk to her about the dream. I was nervous, but I wanted to know more. Maybe she knew something about my dream that I didn’t. I asked her about Stuttgart. Had she ever heard of it? “Oh yes. We visited there with Grandma and Grandpa. They had good friends who lived there and we took a trip with them. It was just before David’s accident.” She said it all so matter of fact, which of course I suppose it was, but for me it was like discovering a secret treasure! I was more in awe. There is so much about God I fail to understand. He brings me these treasures in the midst of my anger and tears.
What is man that you take thought of him, and the son of man that you care for him? Psalm 8:4
I called my dad later. He filled me in on more details about our trip. It was May, 1983. My Grandma and Grandpa came to visit us in Germany and we traveled together. We drove through the Black Forrest and stopped along the way at a castle named Hohenzollern, south of Stuttgart. This was a Saturday. Then we drove on to visit my grandparent’s friend in Stuttgart, a history professor. My dad told me David’s accident was the following Wednesday. Dear God, this dream, this gift of a memory with my brother, this was the last time I ran and played together with my brother before he was paralyzed. I was amazed by it all, every little detail, adding to and confirming this dream and gift. After my chat with my dad I received an e-mail from my Grandma Betty. She was on that trip to Stuttgart. She said she had talked to my dad and he had mentioned I was sad about David’s accident. I didn’t have time right then to e-mail her back with the details of my dream. I wrote back and told her, I had always been sad over my brother, but I was talking to dad because I had a dream and I was curious. She sent back a reply. I was in awe once again!
“Ah, Laura, I do love you so much…One thing I remember about that trip was when we went to a beautiful garden and you and David really upset me. I couldn’t do anything about it because it was up to your Mom and Dad. I just remember you and David racing through the gardens, full of joy, but with no regard for anyone else, dodging, running into the other’s paths, etc.”
More confirmation of images from my dream. And imagine this very little thing, me chasing my brother around, running after him, this one last gift for my brother and I before his accident. One last chance to run free, legs pumping hard for a boundless and reckless boy, before those legs would be stopped. A gift frozen in time. A memory given to me thirty years later. What if my Grandma had spoken up all those years ago and stopped us from running together? Funny how she thought about it, but decided not to. Strange for her to share those thoughts with me thirty years later. I think of this now when I see my two running reckless. I talked with my dad again more about David and his accident. He told me more details of our trip and the time leading up to David’s injury. We talked about God and faith and trust. He asked me if mom had told me about what David had said to her before the accident. No, she hadn’t. This is what he shared with me- My eight year old brother came to her and said he had a dream. He said Jesus came to him and told him something was going to happen to him, but he would be okay because Jesus would be with him. Jesus would be with him. All these years I’ve longed to find Jesus. To have him near like the disciples did. To walk and talk with him and run frantic to find him and ask him to heal a paralyzed boy. He was already here. He was here with my brother before the car touched his little body. He’s been here the whole time. Mary Magdalene went looking for Jesus too. She was talking right to him. She was begging him to take her to Jesus. She didn’t even know it was him. “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”He was already by her side, right there with her! God, please give me the faith to remember you are already here in our midst, even when I can’t see.
These photos are from my Grandma Betty who was with us in Germany. She asked if I’d like to have them. Yes! Please! What a gift!
I recently had an assignment to photograph twenty one women. Spending time preparing the images for the client filled my heart with joy. I saw these women on my screen and saw beauty in each of their faces.
But I heard something familiar when I photographed the women, “I hate how I look, I never look good in photographs, I hate having my picture taken..”
I’ve said these same words before. I’ve felt those things before.
Funny how It made me sad to hear it from others though.
And then I attended a BBQ where I had a conversation with a missionary Pastor. He was telling me about God and Grace and God’s love for us. He was sharing his own story about discovering God’s grace. He said sometimes there’s this tendancey to look at ourselves and feel frustrated. We need to work harder, or be better, or be at a certain place in our lives.
I was thinking about his words and and myself and the areas I struggle with. And I knew I felt exactly that way about myself, not where I should be. I asked him, “What if you don’t see yourself as good enough?”
He simply said sometimes we believe the lies we tell ourselves. We live believing those lies instead of what God’s word tells us about ourselves. Who does God say we are?
We are God’s workmanship.
I felt tears threatening the corners of my eyes.
This is one of my favorite Bible verses! I even included it in my book, I See the Colors God Made, on the last page with the little photo frame where a parent can include a photo of their own child. Why wouldn’t I dare to put myself there with that verse?
For we are God’s masterpiece
His work of art
If we are working towards grace, trying to do more, or thinking we aren’t good enough, then we aren’t believing what God’s word tells us is true. We are believing a lie and the lie accuses us and keeps us quiet. We don’t see beauty. We see flaws.
but set free by God’s grace!
God already loves us. He isn’t waiting for us to measure up to standards we’ve placed upon ourselves.
This is how to see beauty. We already are beautiful in His sight.
It struck me that when I worked in a studio photographing products, the products didn’t talk back on set or complain about their creator.
When I’m out in nature with my camera and in awe of the beauty around me, nature doesn’t complain about its Creator.
The Blue Jay doesn’t say, “I wish I was red like the cardinal.”
The Everglades don’t say, “I wish I had mountain peaks like the Rockies.”
God calls us His masterpiece and we talk back. I talk back.
I have a list for myself. Things I’d like to change.
I believe I’m not as good as…, I’m too…, I’ll never be like…
If I am in awe of the beauty of the world God has made, how can I say, “All this you’ve created is beautiful, but myself, I’m no good at all”?
If I look at myself as not good enough, in major need of something better, than how can I love others as Jesus teaches? If I don’t believe it’s true for me than it becomes hard to see others as God’s beautiful masterpiece.
For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so that we can do the good things he planned for us long ago. (Ephesians 2:10 NLT)
I pray I open my eyes to see myself the way God does.
I pray I stop in my tracks when I start to compare myself to others.
I pray I see the beauty in myself and others more often.
I pray I stop believing I’m not good enough and get to work doing the good things God planned long ago.
Is it hard to see yourself as a beautiful masterpiece? What is it God has called you to do?
This post is about photographs and a dress and book I recently stumbled across.
My Grandma had to clean out her home of more than 50 years to move into a smaller apartment. There were boxes of photographs in the basement and albums on book shelves and photos on the walls. I had a chance to go through some of those photos with her before she moved. My Grandma told me details about the events and the people in the photos and scribbled names in pencil on the backs for me. What a mix of memories –Great great grandmothers and grandfathers, cousins and friends, birthdays and world wars.
I took a box of the photos home with me.
Then it was my mother in-law’s turn. She took on the task of packing up her childhood home and moving her dad from Buffalo to Florida to live with her. She brought back photographs as well. More life, more memories, more family history, all told through little square and rectangular pieces of paper.
The dress was my mother in-law’s first communion dress. She gave the dress to my little girl. My daughter loved the dress. She wore it around the house playing dress up whenever she had the chance. It made me happy her dress up play had a bit of family history woven in.
When we took a trip to visit family in Buffalo I knew I had to take the dress. I carefully packed up the dress in the suitcase. When we arrived I asked my husband if he remembered where his mom’s old childhood house was located. He did and I told him my plans. My daughter put her dress on and we headed out for the adventure. I didn’t think about the people who lived in the house currently and what they might think. A slight overlook in my plans! I started to think of what I would say as I knocked at the door. Thankfully it was the middle of the day on a weekday. The family and most of the neighbors were gone. My daughter hopped out of the car for our mini photo shoot and I grabbed a few quick shots. I knew these little photos of a dress returned to place would be a sweet gift.
I came across Girls Standing On Lawns by Maria Kalman and Daniel Handler in Anthropologie. Art by Maria Kalman, words by Daniel Handler and old photographs of girls on lawns. -I fell in love.
I immediately thought of the photos of my daughter standing in her grandmother’s dress on the lawn in Buffalo. I wondered about those photos my mother in-law had brought back from her childhood home…
” One morning we found some photographs.
One morning these girls stood on lawns.
We looked at the pictures, and we got to work.”
I think this is possibly my favorite compilation from the book-
“My whole life I have not known where to put my hands.”
This seems like a brilliant solution to me. I think I would very much like to be photographed in exactly the same way.
I spent this past week at my mother in-law’s house. I asked my her about her old photos. I wondered if there were any of her in the dress on the lawn. I went through boxes full of photos. She asked if I wanted them. Of course! She said I was the only one who would be interested in those old photos.
I didn’t find one of her in the dress on the lawn, but I did find other photos. Here are a few of my favorites of my beautiful mother in-law, a girl standing on the lawn.
I have a few old family photographs in frames. I think I would like to arrange the rest of my collection and put them together in a book from Blurb to pass down to my kids. I think this way they would be more easily viewed and enjoyed and not just stashed away in box somewhere.
What do you do with all of your old family photographs?
Little Golden Book Classic published by Random House, Inc.
It’s been a tough week for me and my family. One that certainly had us in our own time of prayer. It seemed fitting to share one of my favorite vintage children’s books this Thursday.
It turns out I liked this Little Golden Book so much I bought it twice at two different thrift stores. The first one was published in originally in 1952 and reprinted again in 1974. The second one is a Little Golden Book Classic, First Random House Edition 2002. The artwork is done by Eloise Wilkin. The covers are different, but her artwork and the prayers in the book are the same and in the same order. I think the only exception is the colors are more saturated in the newer printing. I’d love to be able to find the 1952 version to go along with these.
“God, make my life a little staff
Whereon the weak may rest,
And so what health and strength I have
May serve my neighbors best.
God, Make my life a little hymn
of tenderness and praise;
Of faith, that never waxeth dim,
In all His wondrous ways.”
~ A portion from A Child’s Prayer by M. Betham-Edwards
These books offer sweet prayers to pray with your child through the day. From Morning Prayer, the Lord’s Prayer, Evening Prayer to Good Night prayer, the book is full of sweet ways to talk to God. The last prayer, Evening Prayer surprised me when I saw it. It’s printed as a hymn, the words adapted by Miriam Drury. I said this one many nights through my childhood with my mom. I never knew it was meant to be sung.
” Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray Thee, Lord, Thy child to keep: Thy love guard me through the night, And wake me with the morning light.”
These sweet prayers are a reminder it’s good to spend time on my knees in prayer with my own children each and everyday, no matter what may come.
I’m so thankful my Grandma passed on this photo of my own mom and her sis saying their prayers at bedtime.
Do you have a special prayer you say with your children?
I read someone’s post on Instagram which stated the biggest cliché in photography are sunrise and sunset photos.
As a photographer I wondered about this statement.
I thought about all the photographs that have ever been taken. Photographs taken by masters of photography, like those of Ansel Adam’s photographs of the American wilderness or Clyde Butcher’s photographs capturing the beauty of the Florida Everglades.
I thought about all the photos snapped a millions of times by traveling tourists.
I thought about all the sunrise and sunset photos on Instagram.
Why do we continue to photograph when it’s all been done before?
But I believe this thought hinges purely on the perspective of the viewer.
I believe the sunrise and sunset, the flowers, the clouds, the oceans, and the mountains we continue to photograph are because of a deep response within us to the awe and beauty of God’s creation. Each time we see, we bear witness to these displays of beauty in nature. We are captivated.
“For ever since the world was created, people have seen the earth and sky. Through everything God made, they can clearly see his invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature. So they have no excuse for not knowing God.” ~Romans 1:20
If we believe a sunrise or sunset is commonplace than maybe we have lost our vision or sense of wonder.
Walt Whitman wrote about wonder and beauty in the everyday and commonplace in his poem called Miracles
“Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan…
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water…” ~Walt Whitman
Annie Leibovitz, with her masterful career, has photographed notable people from rock stars to the Queen of England. And yet she has gone on to photograph for herself the places that capture the wonder in all of us. It seems her desire for some of these places (in part) started with a visit to Niagara Falls with her daughters. A photograph of Niagara Falls (not the celebrities she’s famously photographed) is on the cover of her book Pilgrimage.
Imagine your own trip to Niagara Falls. Imagine the feel of the cool mist spraying your face, the sound of the water rushing loud as you take in the power and beauty of the waterfall. Then you take out your camera to try and preserve some part of this majesty to carry back home. Someone walks up and says, “No photos allowed. It’s already been done. These falls have been photographed too many times, by too many people. They’ve been seen and visited since 1678. Niagara Falls has been written about and photographed by famous authors and photographers. Please put your camera away.”
We know its been done. All you would have to do is look to your right or left and you’d see hundreds of cameras all taking it in, recording memory.
But we come and we see and we feel and we capture these moments in our own photographs.
I recently attended a seminar given by a National Geographic photographer. His career has spanned more than forty years. He’s traveled the world from America to Antarctica and there are still countries he would like to visit. The funny thing is, he qualified this with the fact that friends and colleagues in the field have been to these places he’d like to visit. Masters in their own specialty of photography, sometimes spending months photographing these places. He doesn’t want to go to these places to compete with their work, but to see and experience the place for himself. And when he goes he’ll still take his own photographs.
And wherever I might go, I’ll keep taking mine.
I’ve seen the sunrise and the sunset, but it makes me pause and I can’t help but take in the beauty of this world. It’s a gift. I stop and notice. My photographs are a response. A thank you.
For the men and women who looked up at the sky, beyond the clouds and beyond the stars, and imagined it was possible to live in the heavens.
This month, December 2013, marked the 15th anniversary of the International Space Station.
Today’s book is perfect for such a celebration.
A Book of Satellites For You by Franklyn M. Branley | Illustrated by Leonard Kessler
Copyright 1958 | A 1962 edition of the Weekly Reader Children’s Book Club
The cover on this book is in delicate condition, but what’s on the inside is pretty great.
A Book of Satellites For You shares the launch of the first four satellites to orbit the earth, Sputnik I, Sputnik II, Explorer I, and Vanguard I.
My kids and I love the illustration of the little dog inside the top of Sputnik II. Laika the dog was the first space traveler. Just imagine! She was launched into space on Sputnik II, but died a few days later. Poor puppy.
The launch of Explorer I, January 31, 1958, was the first satellite launched by the U.S.
“We do not know how long Explorer I will stay up. But we expect it to circle the earth for three or four years because it is so far away. The farther a satellite is from the earth, the longer it stays up.”
This is why I find this book truly amazing. A Book of Satellites For You was published in 1958. One year after Sputnik I was launched and the same year the U.S. began to launch their very first satellites. It was all brand new and truly awe-inspiring. What guessing and dreaming!
“Explorer 1 made its final transmission on May 23, 1958. It entered Earth’s atmosphere and burned up on March 31, 1970, after more than 58,000 orbits.”
Amazing! Instead of three or four years, Explorer I stayed in outer space for almost 12 years.
My favorite part of the book is the prediction of men and women in space travel. Isn’t it amazing that this travel was dreamed up and accomplished? Wouldn’t it be grand if we could all travel to space?
“A few years from now satellites will have men inside them. Then satellites will look quite different… Satellites of the future will take off from a space station circling the earth.
Men who live in space stations will put together other satellites… Men will continue to use satellites to study outer space. There are many worlds to be explored.”
Illustrations from 1958 on what the space stations may look like.
The International Space Station became a reality 40 years later in 1998. The first crew began living aboard the ISS on November 2, 2000.
Views from the ISS -The images in this video gave me goosebumps.
When I first bought the book, I thought some of the stories may be too scary for my little girl. Now that she and her brother are a bit older the stories will be a fun read together. I’m sure they’ll spark interesting conversations.
There is a letter in the back of the book by Eric Carle about Hans Christian Andersen and thoughts about making this book and the art to go along with the stories. In it he states:
“I wanted to retell and illustrate Andersen’s stories in order to make them accessible to young children…”
This is an illustration from the story, The Traveling Companion
My favorite story from the seven stories is, The Magic Boots.
“A well-known judge loved to talk about the good old times. Whether he was visiting someone else or someone was visiting him, it wasn’t long before he began talking about the olden days and how much better they had been…”
Here’s to the good old days and to all the little pumpkins born on Halloween…
My Very Hungry Caterpillar inspired pumpkin -created with tissue paper, Mod Podge, and Sharpie