Spring Greening

Spring Greening, University of Wisconsin - Madison Arboretum

Spring Greening © 2011 Bo Mackison

The material of the artist lies not within himself nor in the fabrications of his imagination, but in the world around him . . . The artist’s world is limitless. It can be found anywhere, far from where he lives or a few feet away. It is always on his doorstep.” ~ Paul Strand

Year after year, spring returns. Perhaps in a given year we say “Spring is early,” or “Spring is late this year,” or “It was a cold, dreary Spring.” But never once have we said, “Spring didn’t come this year.”

When I returned to Wisconsin from my long Arizona visit, I was anxious for spring to show its pretty face. Instead I arrived in the middle of one of the cloudiest, grayest Aprils on record. Not since the late 1800s had there been a spring with less sunlight.

I found the transition difficult, moving from a desert clime where the sun shines brightly nearly every day with only a bit of cloud cover to Wisconsin where day after day was gray.

I was cranky. I was restless. I was depressed.

I have Seasonal Affective Disorder and without a certain amount of sunshine, I can easily slip into a low mood. And so, I slipped right into the person I gave myself permission to be — crabby, impatient, moody. (Hey, I had an excuse, right?) And then I took it a step farther, and convinced myself that whenever  the weather prediction was sunny, I would have a good day. Conversely, when it was cloudy, cool, and gray, I just knew my day was going to be a downer.

It didn’t take me long to realize that this was not a good game plan–giving myself permission to be “less than my best” on cloudy days–especially when Madison statistically has 89 sunny days a year (0% to 30% cloud cover during daylight areas) and 96 partly sunny days (clouds cover from 40% to 70% of the sky during the day). That is a grand total of 185 days with some sun visible or, said another way, the sun shines 54% of our daylight time.

No, that is not a good plan at all. I am NOT giving myself permission to expect that almost half of my days will be sub-par because of cloudy weather.

I needed a new plan. Quickly!

I borrowed some inspiration from Robin who posts at Life in the Bogs. She committed to spending time outside each day, and she began this winter. She has explored her outside environment in all sorts of weather–sunny, windy, snowy, sleety, rainy. And has lived to blog about it–in a positive way, too.

And as I read about Robin on her adventures, I considered what she was doing. And I realized that when I connect with nature, I too experience a boost in my mood, and that this happens in almost any kind of weather. (Not so much when it’s below zero and the wind chill is frigid, but I don’t have to worry about those conditions until December!)

So I have no good reason to stay indoors when it is cloudy or rainy, no reason to give myself permission to feel cranky or low, and blame it on cloud cover. When I go outside and explore my natural settings, I feel more positive, no matter the weather. So, time outdoors is now on the top of my to-do list–every day!

This is my first step. The next part of my new plan will be in my next post.

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and the owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. Bo is thankful that spring has arrived. But she is working on a new adventure at home–one where she embarks on a daily outdoor experience, no matter the weather or season.

 

 

 

 

A Mother’s Day Bouquet

Candy Colored Tulip, Allen Centennial Garden at Madison Wisconsin

Candy Colored Tulip © 2011 Bo Mackison

Happy Day!

Celebrating spring, sunshine, flowering gardens, and . . . Mother’s Day!

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and the owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC.  She is taking the day off and enjoying Mother’s Day.

Red in the Rock Garden

Red in the Rock Garden

Red in the Rock Garden © 2011 Bo Mackison

A visit to one of my favorite urban gardens, Allen Centennial Garden in the heart of the University of Wisconsin campus, not only gives me the opportunity to photograph lovely spring flowers and blossoming trees, but also the gift of getting close to the earth and discovering small delights in an intricate series of rock gardens.

This is an example of hens and chicks in its red variety. One of my favorite (and most popular photographs at the art fairs I attend) is another photo I took of hens and chicks, the green variety.  I love both versions–they seem to play off each other. This red one has more composition, the red succulents playing off the light background of small pastel pebbles and large white rocks. The older photo has an overall pattern of the hens and chicks in varying sizes, and the rocky background has more blue tones. Together I think they make an attractive display.

I love the different stories associated with hens and chicks. I heard the first, a passed down family tale, from my great-grandmother, my Grandma Prudie. She was in her eighties when I was nearing ten and given the job of garden assistant by my grandfather. Prudie would often drag a yard chair out onto the lawn near the long strip of garden on the far side of the property and chat about a variety of topics as I hand pulled the weeds.

One day she told me the story of the hens and chicks plant, her version. The story made a big impression on me. I wrote the story in a black and white composition notebook–my diary–but that notebook long ago disappeared. This is the version that my memory remembers:

“Now these plants, the hens and chicks, these are a “sucky-lent” plant. The little plants “suck” all the life from the mother plants–those are the big center plants. The mothers send out roots and then the little chicks grow. The chicks grow and eventually take over the plant. Then eventually the mother plant dies and the chicks become the mothers. And the growing pattern gets repeated over and over, until the hens and chicks spread throughout the  rock garden.” ~Prudence Mackison Willliams

My great-grandmother wasn’t afraid to talk about any topic. I remember conversations about war, jealousy between siblings, religion, marriage and divorce, life and death. She wasn’t a judgmental woman. She thought people did the best they could with what life offered them, and often defended the under dogs of the world.

Grandma Prudie had a hard life, she did many things in her day that weren’t considered womanly things to do, but she was kind-hearted and she was giving; she was an optimist and she lived her life fully. She also loved flowers, and her favorite time of year was when it was flower blooming season.

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Bo Mackison is a photographer and the owner of Seeded Earth Studio LLC. Bo is thankful to see the spring flowers blooming and the sun shining. She is also recalling the many garden talks she had with her grandparents when she was a child.

Sitting on a Blue Bench Amidst Powder Puff Magnolias

"Powder Puff" Loebner Magnolia, Olbrich Botanical Gardens in Madison, Wisconsin II

“Powder Puff” Magnolia © 2011 Bo Mackison

Ask yourself, “Why am I seeing and feeling this? How am I growing? What am I learning?” Remember, every coincidence is potentially meaningful. How high your awareness level is determines how much meaning you get from your world. ~  Ansel Adams

On my visit to the Olbrich Botanical Gardens in Madison early this week, it was a pleasure to see so many of the trees and plants in bloom. I let my imagination soar a bit while I was sitting on a bright blue bench, taking in the blooming beauty of a nearby magnolia tree. (If you follow my blog, you may recall I try to take at least 10 minutes out of each shooting hour to sit and capture the atmosphere in my body and mind, not only with my lens.)

I think it is making me a more aware photographer, perhaps it will eventually make me a better photographer. But today, this quiet time interludes give me many gifts not associated with photography at all.

Perhaps it is a plot, I thought as I sat quietly — a benevolent plot arranged by nature to cheer the many humans who are running around on this planet feeling over-worked, overwhelmed, unfulfilled. Those who are thinking, hopelessly, “I will never reach my goals, I will never find true happiness.”

Perhaps for the last month–this record-breaking cloudy, cool April–nature held back her beauty, anticipating a great unveiling. For it does seem that many of the flowers–whole gardens of flowers–popped open, bloomed, spilled their bright colors, all timed perfectly.

One week it was cloudy, rainy, icy. And then–poof–it was spring.

As I sat on the bright blue bench (of which I have grown very fond–everyone should have a bright blue bench to sit upon) I watched two cardinals darting about the magnolia. I don’t recall ever seeing cardinals interacting in such a way before, but they were swooping into the dense flowers and swooping out again, circling the trees, up and down–like a game of follow the leader or a spontaneous dance. When they stopped to rest on a branch, they began a back and forth chirping contest, louder and louder, calls were startlingly clear, cheerful. I laughed to hear them, it was so spontaneously beautiful.

It was as  if the two cardinals were calling to everyone in the gardens–and there were many of us walking the garden paths. And they were saying,

“Here. Look. Here is this gift for you. Take this experience and hold on to it. Enjoy it now. Enjoy the sun casting colorful shadows on the pink magnolia blossoms. Enjoy the orange tulips nodding into the ir yellow neighbors. Enjoy the fresh air and the cheerful callings of the birds. Be open to the joy of these myriad gifts, take that joy home, and tuck it in your heart. Keep it safe. Then, when the clouds and storms return, pull out this memory, this sunny day feeling of the garden filled with glad tidings of spring, and be thankful.”

 

Dutchman’s Breeches

Dutchmans' Breeches, Ephemeral Wildflower in Owen Conservation Park, Madison, Wisconsin

Dutchman’s Breeches © 2011 Bo Mackison

I finally discovered a few ephemeral wildflowers in the woods near my home. These tiny white flowers, hanging on a bright red stem, look a bit like the britches worn by men, so the story goes. I do not personally know any man who would be caught dead wearing this type of white and yellow breeches, but then again, the names of many wildflowers show a lot of creativity on the part of the people who named them.

The ephemerals–early spring flowers that bloom on the woodland floor before the trees leaf out and shade the ground–are finally blooming. I saw only bloodroot a week ago when I walked the forest trails. On my last walk in the woods, two days ago, quite a few other species were in bloom–hepatica, violets, and Dutchman’s breeches were in abundance.

Nice to see the earth coming alive with greenery and flowers.

The spring flowers are blooming and the sun is finally shining after the last days of April faded into May. Last month went on record as the cloudiest April in Wisconsin since the late 1800s.