Story Behind the Picture: Sing a Little Song

This was just a little creation that came from bits and pieces of other photographs - a collage in its truest form. I made it because I'd like to think that birds take a moment to enjoy each other's company, that their lives aren't solely about scurrying after worms and avoiding the cat sitting in the garden below.

My husband finds this piece very funny, as I'm always begging him to stop singing (if you've heard him, you would know why). I wonder if any birds out there have less-than-perfect voices, and if their mates ever ask them to stop? In any case, these two seemed quite happy with one another, and I'm grateful for their inspiration.

Story Behind the Picture: Fledgling

Our backyard is a virtual aviary – the songs of jays, robins, doves, sparrows (and a myriad of other birds I can’t identify) happily drown out the noisy city traffic. I was surprised, however, when a robin family chose to deposit their newest fledgling in our yard. We have two dogs and two boys – not really a tranquil setting for baby birds – but perhaps they thought he’d fit in with us. He wandered about, hopping onto a deflated soccer ball (favorite dog toy), perching on the little slide (usually inhabited by Lucas), investigating the wiffle ball that went sailing past him (Danny’s home run for the day). He let the boys come within three feet before he’d lift his fluffy body and use his impossibly long legs to scurry for cover under the ivy that adorns our fence. He was, however, a true toddler: three second later he’d come back, braver than one his size ought to be. I watched his mom and dad perch high above on the power lines that connect the garage to the main house. When he called out in his cranky “hungry voice,” they’d swoop down with worms, and occasionally make a fighter-plane-style pass over a dog’s head if they thought one wandered too close. We said goodnight as the sun set and I watched him wander about, enjoying his first evening out of the nest.

This morning he let the boys come within inches of his tiny yellow beak and he seemed oddly calm. A few hours later he was still in the same position: fluffy little body snuggled down into a patch of long green grass, his eyes barely open. I looked around for mom and dad, but did not see either one, which made me terribly sad: they would never have left a healthy fledgling unattended. “Mommy,” said Danny with a frown, “the baby bird seems really sleepy.” I found a pair of gardening gloves and gently picked him up, checking to see if he’d been injured. He seemed to be fine, other than the fact that he settled down into my gloved hands and closed his eyes. The boys gathered around and we watched him sleep, Lucas’ breath so close that it ruffled the baby down still peeking out from under the new adult feathers.

I came back out to the yard as the boys napped and stayed with him until he stopped breathing. I buried him in our flower bed and hoped, as I patted the damp earth back into place, that he enjoyed his day of freedom in our little yard.

Story Behind the Picture: "Two Little Birds"

I took this photo during a glorious morning row, a day where I brought my camera (and the patience of my teammates) out at sunrise to capture the sights we tend to overlook on a daily basis. They promised to hold the boat steady and not to splash water on my equipment. They promised to help me find things, ordinary things, that they thought to be lovely. I nearly missed these little birds, perched atop the wire that spans the river from Kelly Drive to Peter’s Island and holds the lane markers that help to guide racing crews. I’ve passed under that wire countless times, both as a rower and a coach in accompanying launch boat. I’ve even touched the large yellow lane markers that swing freely from the wire: the river was high enough one day in practice that I could stand on the foot-stretchers of my boat, reach overhead, and tap the metal marker for good luck. But I’ve never paid attention to the little birds that regularly perch atop the wire and bear witness to the rising sun and the sparking water below. Until this particular morning, that is. We passed under the wire just as the sun crested the tops of the trees and one of my teammates pointed them out to me. I caught these two little birds in their morning reverie, enjoying the dawning of another clear, spring morning: each time I see this image, I think just how nice it is to have company while watching the sun rise.

Story behind the Pictures: "Awakening" and "Hope is the Thing With Feathers"

I went off in search of a colorful photo to discuss today in order to lift my spirits in the midst of this dire cold snap we're suffering. Of course, since I usually gravitate to shades of grey, "colorful" is not usually in my repertoire...but then I remembered the day in November when I went out trolling cemeteries (yes, again) with my camera and my father in tow.

My parents live in VA, just outside Washington D.C., and I when I asked my dad to be my chauffeur for a sunrise field trip through the city's graveyards, he agreed (bizarre, as he is not exactly a "cheerful morning person," shall we say). But, armed with buckets of coffee and all my equipment, we trundled off to Rock Creek Cemetery. It's not in the worst location, but I was still happy to have dad along for the ride. After a few wrong turns (has anyone every tried to navigate the roads of DC? Seriously, it's insane), we found our way to the wrought iron gates. The sun was starting to rise and I spotted my statue as soon as we entered the grounds.

Me: "There! Go that way! I see a beautiful one!"

Dad: *sips coffee, takes foot off gas pedal, looks around*

Me: "On the right! Over there - quick! The sun's exactly where I want it!"

Dad: "Hmm? Did you say something?"

I unpacked my viewfinder and took a few shots, including this first one ("Awakening"), as the sun slowly crept over the tops of the trees. I was too busy to notice that my dad had disappeared. Until, that is, I heard a shutter clicking behind me...

Me: "What are you DOING?"

Dad: "Taking pictures of the photographer at work!"

Me: "Seriously? You're standing behind me and I really do not want a photograph of my toosh, thank you very much. Is that a video camera over your shoulder?"

Dad: *laughs* "Oh, you don't want me to take movies?"

(In case anyone wonders, yes, I am an only child and yes, every second of my entire life has been documented on slide, film, video, Polaroid and every other medium available).

After we agreed on a one-camera-only arrangement, my father then decided to give himself the title "Location Scout:"

"Oh, that's nice! What about here? How about there? Did you see that? This? There? That one?"

I appreciated his enthusiasm. Really, I did *she says, knowing her father will be reading this at some point*.

We moved on to Arlington Cemetery at nine o'clock. The morning light was lovely - clear and bright - and the day was warming up nicely. We took some time to walk the hill, striding past tour groups, my father making snide comments about how I should be walking faster than him (I reminded him I was carrying an insanely heavy camera bag). I shot rows of bright white headstones, stretching out like sad white pickets in an endless fence. I photographed the memorials of JFK and RFK, fire and water, nestled in the vibrant green hillside. We walked to the memorial to women in the military and gazed across the immense white stone amphitheater to the city that lay sprawling out beyond. I thought of all the men and women lying under those silent white stones. I thought of the presidential election that was coming in three days. I took this second photograph and thought of Ms. Dickenson's beautiful poem, "Hope is the Thing With Feathers." So, during these dull winter days, I wish each of you a bit of sunshine, warmth, and hope.