Our family had a camp on a pond; for generations, the place was another member of the family.  In 2021, the property was sold to a nice neighbor who is now renovating the old place.   The other day, he dropped off some photos to my mother that he’d found tucked away under the television at the old camp; pictures of me and my big brother on some of our many hiking adventures.    How, when and why they ended up there, no one knows.   

My brother and I were quite close; he was 12 years older than me, but didn’t mind my tagging along to go fishing, water skiing, snowmobiling, 4-wheeling, etc.  He enthusiastically shared his love of photography, nature and hiking.  He taught me how to drive and swim.  We laughed a lot.  We talked about everything.  He was one of my closest friends.   

One year ago this weekend, my life changed dramatically when my dear brother’s secret struggles and pain ended suddenly, on his own terms.  This past year, emptying his home and reconciling his life has been an agonizing process, and I’ve been angry with him for putting me through it.    

Seeing those photos reminded me of the big brother who was such a huge and positive influence on my life.  I remembered the man who never pushed, but always encouraged me to take just a few more steps because the top of the mountain was always just "five minutes" away. 

Grief is a lot like a hike: there are difficult hurdles, it can get cold, there’s a lot of pain, you’re never fully prepared, sometimes you feel lost.  But, when you least expect it, you can find a wonderful view to remind you that there can be beauty even on a difficult journey.   

Photos evoke memories that show you where you’ve been, but maybe they’re also signposts that point you in the right direction?  Maybe someday, I’ll find a reason why he put me on this grueling path?  Maybe, someday, the view will surprise me?

Autumn has arrived in northern New Hampshire.  The leaves have hit their tipping point and are beginning to drift down.  Over the past few days, I've walked, climbed a tower, and kayaked, to get the most from Mother Nature's last colorful hurrah. 

Life is what happens while you're making other plans, right?

I'd been preparing for months to have a booth at a local outdoor market, but unfortunately, that event was cancelled.  What to do with all this inventory?!

This is about the one-year anniversary of the creation of DLB Images, and it's time to celebrate that.  So, with all that in mind, Garden Gallery was born!  On Saturday, September 25th from 12-4(ish), I'll haul all of my creations to my back yard and have an exhibit/sale.  Hope the weather cooperates!

Finding wild animals can be challenging.  Finding wild babies is a rare and precious gift. 

Animals need to grow up fast if they're going to survive.  So, I get very excited on those rare occasions where I can capture a baby on camera.  Yesterday was one of those days--on a walk in Berlin, I looked down and saw an itty bitty snapping turtle, coated in sand.  A quick Google search confirmed that snappers do, in fact, hatch between August and October and I'd observed a large snapping turtle in that very area years ago.   

As the circle of life continues to turn in this crazy world, there's something about seeing a new and innocent little baby that gives one hope.  

Many years ago, a dear friend with a generous heart introduced me to the joys of kayaking.  A brilliant and talented woman, she mentored me as I began to take digital photos while on the water.  The photo below is one of those photos from those early days, in August 2007.  

Unfortunately, my friend is no longer with us, but every time I'm kayaking in her favorite places, I remember those kayaking trips, great conversations, laughter, and know that the world was a better place with her in it.   

Capturing fire, for heat, light, or even to contain its fury, has been an ongoing struggle for humankind since we discovered it was even possible.  Used in war, in celebration, to kill and to cleanse, fire is a powerful element.  To capture that magic with a camera is something else entirely; some of us struggle in that endeavor as well. 

All of the images below were taken in my own back yard: an ember that I thought looked heart-shaped; holding my wine glass before the flame; framing the flame with a thin sheet of lacy ice; and the many colors of a hot fire.

Every day, in the wilds, I have to wonder how many eyes are watching me?  How many critters can see me, yet remain hidden?   Too many to count, I'm sure.

Yesterday, on a rainy day dirt-road drive through a section of the White Mountain National Forest, we got lucky and saw a buck run into the woods ahead of us.  I figured he was long gone, but Jimmy stopped the truck anyway and although it was dark and he was in the woods, he hung around and stared straight at my camera.  It was such a pleasant surprise and lovely gift.  

One of my favorite photographers is Joel Sartore.  Mr. Sartore has worked for National Geographic for decades, and has devoted his life to his passion-project, creating The Photo Ark, a photographic record of all of the world's species in human care.   While this renowned photographer has taken images of creatures in all corners of the world, his photos for the Photo Ark are taken in zoos and wildlife sanctuaries (more information on that can be found HERE).  

In 2018 I took the opportunity to photograph non-domesticated animals in captivity.   The Maine Wildlife Park, in Gray, has over 30 species of animals who, for various reasons, cannot be returned to the wild.  Where else could I get a photo of two cougars cuddling in a cave, a shy peacock, or a gray fox?  

If its good enough for Joel Sartore and for National Geographic, it works for me!  

Along with photography, another favorite hobby of mine is reading.  Once in a while a book comes along and blows the reader away.  One of those books for me is Finding the Mother Tree by Suzanne Simard: part biography, part memoir, part 30+ years of intense research data, but mostly what came through the most to me was the author's fierce love of the forest, her immense respect for the complex beings that live there, and their direct impact on the health of the planet.  Simply, we need healthy trees.

I grew up playing in the woods, and the forest is where I go to recharge my batteries.  I freely admit that I was a tree hugger before it was the cool thing to do.  Suzanne Simard's lovely wordsmithing has taught me to focus even more closely at the precious lives silently growing in my own back yard.