The Life in My Years

This old man has a hard time figuring out what inspires writers, poets and artists to gush sentimentally about the time of year when darkness, dampness and cold hold sway over light, comfort and warmth.

Take Andrew Wyeth who came up with this ode to the frosty seasons. “I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape. Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn’t show.”

I have to believe that Andrew must have been deep into his hot toddies when he came up with that one, because the only bone structure that I feel on a winter morning is my own groaning skeleton and the chill that creeps up my spine when my feet hit the cold floor in the morning.

It’s December 23rd, and yesterday was my favorite day of winter. The 22nd is when the days grow longer. Oh sure, it’s imperceptible but just the knowledge that we’re hitting the back side of winter is a benediction from the weather gods.

All of that said, like it’s seasonal siblings, winter does present its own unique photo opportunities; some dour and others chilly and at the same time bright.

Snow

It’s fun to watch dogs and kids romp in it.

I love watching (American) football games being played in a blizzard where the markings on the field have been reduced to guess work. To be clear I love watching from the comfort of my living room, wrapped in a comforter and holding a steaming bowl of soup. Is there something perverse about my enjoyment over watching the steam coming from the nostrils of fans as they huddle in their multi-layers of winter gear? Nah, they choose to be their and they probably arrived in their seats well oiled from multiple shots of their favorite adult beverage.

For someone from the San Francisco Bay Area snow is a nice little novelty that makes the home feel all the more comforting and warm. But it doesn’t take long for snow to wear out its welcome with the first fishtail on an icy street or a bruised bottom after an unexpected skate on a frozen sidewalk.

All of that said, for the photographer, winter, like its seasonal siblings, provides its own unique photo opportunities.

There’s a little secret about the following set of pictures of wintry wonderlands.

There is a bit of a hoax (to use a word popular with the current resident of the now partially demolished White House) going on with the preceding photos. The Tahoe set was taken in November after an early dumping of snow.

The Wyoming set was taken in June along the Bear Tooth Highway, a magnificent road that joins Montana and Wyoming. Near the 11,000 foot summit people were skiing. Unless you go overland you really can’t photograph much of this part of the Absaroka Range as the Bear Tooth is closes in early October and reopens when Mother Nature says it can open.

Winter Trees

There is some truth to Wyeth’s idea of the “bone structure of the landscape” There are skeletons to be found on the hills above the Carquinez Strait, a narrow passage that connects the Sacramento and San Joaquin Rivers with San Pablo Bay and on into San Francisco Bay.

Three years ago, following a winter storm I took a muddy walk through the hills above the strait where the narrows regularly channel the high winds that punish the trees.

It isn’t as if winter is bereft of pleasures. There is something to be said for a good book in front of a fire in the fireplace, and a dog at your feet. After Cora and I were married we lived in San Francisco near an area called Land’s End. During a winter storm when the Pacific was raging and the gales lashed the cypress trees I would put on my rain jacket, and leave a perfectly warm dry home so that I could stand on a cliff to watch the Pacific Ocean’s fury.

“My favorite fall or winter lunch is big steaming bowls of soup. I usually invite people for around 12:30 and have two hearty soups like shrimp corn chowder and lentil sausage soup, which can be made a day or two ahead.” ~ Ina Garten

Let’s give winter its culinary due. There’s no better season for a pot of thick minestrone, a stew, a pot roast, tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, and steaming mug of hot cocoa.

None of these rare pleasures mollifies the dog. She’s bored. She sits in front of the back door and when I open it she sticks her knows out and looks up at me as if to say, “piss on it.”

Yep.