When the news of what happened to the geese hit me tonight, I didn’t feel it at first. This was the end, the conclusion to a long-expected outcome. Like the bereaved planning a funeral, I methodically set about taking the next steps: writing a statement and passing it along to the people who needed to know, our supporters and the media. I had a focus, at least for a little while.
I have always been the kind of person who does not dwell on what is happening now but rather is always asking what is next. This fight has been no different. We’re at point A -- what’s point B? Where do we go from here? What is the next step? What do we do now? I have always been a person of action, which I think is why this stillness feels so strange to me; now that everyone has been notified, the information is starting to percolate out, I am sitting alone in my empty apartment thinking, how could this have happened?
As children, we’re taught that we can do anything, at least I was. I was told that I could achieve anything I set my mind to, and for the most part, I have with few exceptions. Bit by bit, things unravel, and those “truths” of childhood resonate in my mind: You can do anything you set your mind to. Right will always win. Your representatives will listen to you. Adulthood complicates things that shouldn’t be complicated, clouds things that should be clear. Can I, really? Will they, really?
There were many times in this fight that I threw my hands up and said, I don’t have time for this. I don’t want to deal with this. Why is this happening again? I don’t want to do this. A friend of mine finally asked me, “Then why are you doing it?”
I have to. And if not now, when? This isn’t something that can be added to a to-do list. No one wakes up in the morning and thinks to themselves, maybe now I’ll work on that goose problem. It is never going to be convenient to stand up for what’s right. And if I don’t, who will?
The city of Madison has fufilled its end of the promise to use “any means necessary -- including killing” to curb its goose problem. Two days ago, hundreds of geese were rounded up and executed. Sitting here tonight in stunned silence, I may not know what the next step will be. But I know without a shadow of a doubt that this is far from over.
The photo above was taken last year at Warner Park with one of the Indy cameras, which is why the shot came out so grainy. It was the end of April, and at the time we were all talking about the Warner Park flock's proximity to the airport. I used a telephoto to snap a few photos of the birds just as the sun was setting.
6.30.2011
6.23.2011
Beneath a Hayfield
I know I love my job but once in awhile, I have the opportunity to cover a story that reminds me exactly why. Last week was one of those opportunities. The photo above isn't me, by the way. It's a candid of the Reedsburg Independent's intern, Nate, who had the distinction of being the last person to stand in this hole before it and the equipment inside were sealed for two years. But more on that later.
Leon's enthusiasm was infectious the first time he called to tell me about the EarthScope project, an ambitious endeavor to bury seismometers every 60 kilometers across the United States in order to create a 3-D model of the Earth's mantle. They had just poured concrete beneath his hayfield outside Loganville, Wisconsin, and they were set to bury the equipment in four weeks or so. Leon called again last week and said, weather permitting, they were all set to finish the project.
I could go on and on about the project itself, but I did that at length in my article for the Indy this week. What I aim to document on this blog is the experience of takin' pictures, what I did, how it felt, what I learned and what I can do better. The behind-the-scenes kind of stuff, which is why I chose the photo above. In it, Nate looks how I felt that day - absorbed in a project, on the scene and in the moment.
The weather was gorgeous that afternoon on the Statz's farm, a bit overcast, the bluffs sprawling as far as the eye could see. Everything was green and growing, reaching toward a blue sky and early summer sunlight. The EarthScope equipment was alien in the middle of that hayfield, a deep hole with tools strewn within arms reach of the man standing inside. Adjacent to that was a solar panel, metal and glass but like the scenery around it, also stretching toward the sky.
We absorbed the scene, all of us - friends, family, and neighbors of the Statzs, my intern and I. Nate and I circled around, taking pictures, taking notes. We were there about two hours and on the way back, we agreed that there was no way it could have been that long. Four kids were running around, peering into the hole, asking dozens of questions. I envied them; I have always been intimidated talking to expert-y people, afraid I'm going to annoy them with my ordinary, non-genius person questions. But those kids held nothing back, making my job infinitely easier.
It is rare and exciting to meet people so engaged in their work. The two field engineers who showed up that day spend two months on the road, almost every day in a different place, two weeks at home or what counts for home, then back on the road. Bob told us that he had maintained that routine for most of his life. But you could tell that, standing in a hole in the middle of a hayfield in Wisconsin, there was nowhere else he'd rather be. I felt the same way.
It's been over a week since we were on site. I finished my article and edited photos that same day, accidently losing track of time and staying late to get it done. It was easy then to report back on the story, but I am still finding it difficult to put into words what I felt that day. Maybe no words suffice, but it was one of my favorite experiences I've had as a reporter, and I feel privileged to have been asked to cover it.
Head to my Flickr for more photos from this story.
Leon's enthusiasm was infectious the first time he called to tell me about the EarthScope project, an ambitious endeavor to bury seismometers every 60 kilometers across the United States in order to create a 3-D model of the Earth's mantle. They had just poured concrete beneath his hayfield outside Loganville, Wisconsin, and they were set to bury the equipment in four weeks or so. Leon called again last week and said, weather permitting, they were all set to finish the project.
I could go on and on about the project itself, but I did that at length in my article for the Indy this week. What I aim to document on this blog is the experience of takin' pictures, what I did, how it felt, what I learned and what I can do better. The behind-the-scenes kind of stuff, which is why I chose the photo above. In it, Nate looks how I felt that day - absorbed in a project, on the scene and in the moment.
Despite having done a few hours research, looking at charts and mission statements, I had no idea what to expect that day when we headed out there. I had little clue how to prepare myself or my intern for it; as we drove out to the farm on hilly and windy country roads, all I was able to tell him was, "This is going to be so cool. No, really, this is so cool."
We absorbed the scene, all of us - friends, family, and neighbors of the Statzs, my intern and I. Nate and I circled around, taking pictures, taking notes. We were there about two hours and on the way back, we agreed that there was no way it could have been that long. Four kids were running around, peering into the hole, asking dozens of questions. I envied them; I have always been intimidated talking to expert-y people, afraid I'm going to annoy them with my ordinary, non-genius person questions. But those kids held nothing back, making my job infinitely easier.
It is rare and exciting to meet people so engaged in their work. The two field engineers who showed up that day spend two months on the road, almost every day in a different place, two weeks at home or what counts for home, then back on the road. Bob told us that he had maintained that routine for most of his life. But you could tell that, standing in a hole in the middle of a hayfield in Wisconsin, there was nowhere else he'd rather be. I felt the same way.
It's been over a week since we were on site. I finished my article and edited photos that same day, accidently losing track of time and staying late to get it done. It was easy then to report back on the story, but I am still finding it difficult to put into words what I felt that day. Maybe no words suffice, but it was one of my favorite experiences I've had as a reporter, and I feel privileged to have been asked to cover it.
Head to my Flickr for more photos from this story.
6.15.2011
I Do
Wedding Stationary Photoshoot, attempt number one.
I'm bound and determined to make my own wedding stationary for our upcoming nuptials. It's not because I'm cheap, although that part is pretty persuasive ($800 for 100 invites? I don't think so). I'm embarking on this project for two reasons: first, it will give me a chance to experiment with new techniques and figuring out how to do lighting and secondly, I honestly don't think that anyone can carryout my vision as well as I can.
Let's start with the latter. After spending the last six or seven months receiving wedding magazines, wedding junk mail, wedding spam, and other litter courtesy of the wedding industrial complex, I really feel like, more than anything else, mass produced invites are impersonal. Sure, you can get super fancy ones but they also have a super fancy price. I would rather personally carry out my vision than try to communicate it to someone else and run the risk of being disappointed. This way, the only person I can be upset with is myself if something doesn't go as planned. And not to brag, but I'm typically a genius at making things work.
My Christmas Card Photo Shoot was a dry run for what I wanted our invites to look like. Simple, meaningful, gorgeous lighting. John and I met because of our mutual love of Scrabble, so I knew that our wedding stationary had to incorporate that in some way. I've uploaded three other decent photos to Flickr that may or may not be used in save the dates, invites, wedding programs, etc.
As far as the former goal with this project (learning new techniques and lighting), I have to say that I failed miserably on my first attempt. I did the shoot in about an hour (actually while John and I were waiting for Obama to tell us why he was interrupting Celebrity Apprentice) with similar lighting to the set up I used for my Engagement Ring Photo Shoot. I was basically just dinking around, to be perfectly honest. I have no formal training; I read half an article on the Internet about lighting, thought it sounded like it would work, and set to it. I used a few lamps I had laying around the apartment and some tracing paper, again, not interested in investing any money into making this work. I also used the ambient light in our apartment, which comes from hanging track lighting bouncing off brick walls, giving it an orangey color. With little idea as to what I was doing, I pretty much stood there for an hour rearranging lights, watching how light hit what I was trying to capture, swatting away the occasional cat, rinse and repeat.
I say that I failed in my first goal because the only photos I ended up liking were taken with the Hipstamatic app on my iPhone. This accomplishes goal number two in that it achieves the look I want, but it fails at goal number one as I feel like the Hipstamatic is doing all the work in this situation, not me. Anyone can use a cool app or do a cool effect in Photoshop. How do I achieve the look I want in the field with my dSLR? That's what I need to be working toward and hopefully in accomplishing that goal, I can further refine the look that I want.
More to come. For now, check out the rest of the set.
I'm bound and determined to make my own wedding stationary for our upcoming nuptials. It's not because I'm cheap, although that part is pretty persuasive ($800 for 100 invites? I don't think so). I'm embarking on this project for two reasons: first, it will give me a chance to experiment with new techniques and figuring out how to do lighting and secondly, I honestly don't think that anyone can carryout my vision as well as I can.
Let's start with the latter. After spending the last six or seven months receiving wedding magazines, wedding junk mail, wedding spam, and other litter courtesy of the wedding industrial complex, I really feel like, more than anything else, mass produced invites are impersonal. Sure, you can get super fancy ones but they also have a super fancy price. I would rather personally carry out my vision than try to communicate it to someone else and run the risk of being disappointed. This way, the only person I can be upset with is myself if something doesn't go as planned. And not to brag, but I'm typically a genius at making things work.
My Christmas Card Photo Shoot was a dry run for what I wanted our invites to look like. Simple, meaningful, gorgeous lighting. John and I met because of our mutual love of Scrabble, so I knew that our wedding stationary had to incorporate that in some way. I've uploaded three other decent photos to Flickr that may or may not be used in save the dates, invites, wedding programs, etc.
As far as the former goal with this project (learning new techniques and lighting), I have to say that I failed miserably on my first attempt. I did the shoot in about an hour (actually while John and I were waiting for Obama to tell us why he was interrupting Celebrity Apprentice) with similar lighting to the set up I used for my Engagement Ring Photo Shoot. I was basically just dinking around, to be perfectly honest. I have no formal training; I read half an article on the Internet about lighting, thought it sounded like it would work, and set to it. I used a few lamps I had laying around the apartment and some tracing paper, again, not interested in investing any money into making this work. I also used the ambient light in our apartment, which comes from hanging track lighting bouncing off brick walls, giving it an orangey color. With little idea as to what I was doing, I pretty much stood there for an hour rearranging lights, watching how light hit what I was trying to capture, swatting away the occasional cat, rinse and repeat.
I say that I failed in my first goal because the only photos I ended up liking were taken with the Hipstamatic app on my iPhone. This accomplishes goal number two in that it achieves the look I want, but it fails at goal number one as I feel like the Hipstamatic is doing all the work in this situation, not me. Anyone can use a cool app or do a cool effect in Photoshop. How do I achieve the look I want in the field with my dSLR? That's what I need to be working toward and hopefully in accomplishing that goal, I can further refine the look that I want.
More to come. For now, check out the rest of the set.
6.09.2011
Talking it Over
These ducks were seriously hesitant about whether or not to jump in Monona Bay. John and I walked through Brittingham Park this evening on our way to dinner on Park Street. Even though we've lived in this neighborhood for nearly a year, we hadn't yet visited the beautiful park only a block from our house. It was cool and breezy, more April weather than June, a far cry from the over 90 degrees it was yesterday. We walked along the bike path and came across this rickety dock holding its own against the choppy waves. I think there were six ducks relaxing on it when we walked up; two jumped in right away and four seriously thought it over before plunging into the cold water.
I love the photo above because it looks like the duck all the way on the left is trying to convince the other three, "Hey guys, come on. It's not going to be that bad." And the Hipstamatic makes everything look epic.
I love the photo above because it looks like the duck all the way on the left is trying to convince the other three, "Hey guys, come on. It's not going to be that bad." And the Hipstamatic makes everything look epic.
6.07.2011
Waiting for Dinner
Near dusk last night at my parents' house, the pizza delivery guy pointed out this treefrog perched on their house number under their front door light, waiting for the bugs to come. He didn't act particularly thrilled to have a camera shoved in his face, but he put up with it. It was probably a long climb up the siding on those tiny pads in hungry anticipation of the dinner soon to flock to him.
When I was a kid, we used to catch dozens of these things. Tiny fingernail-sized toads and slimy bullfrogs were common, but treefrogs were the money. The pet shop that used to be on Main Street paid two dollars each for them, no lie. My neighbors and I scoured the backyard, the swamp and woods . If we were lucky enough to spot them, the challenge then was in catching them; they were fast, just in sheer velocity and jumping power. We mere human children scrambled after them, disappointed every time one disappeared into the tall brush.
After so many months of cold, it's finally summer in Wisconsin. :)
When I was a kid, we used to catch dozens of these things. Tiny fingernail-sized toads and slimy bullfrogs were common, but treefrogs were the money. The pet shop that used to be on Main Street paid two dollars each for them, no lie. My neighbors and I scoured the backyard, the swamp and woods . If we were lucky enough to spot them, the challenge then was in catching them; they were fast, just in sheer velocity and jumping power. We mere human children scrambled after them, disappointed every time one disappeared into the tall brush.
After so many months of cold, it's finally summer in Wisconsin. :)
6.05.2011
Capitol Bokeh
My editor has been to the Capitol a few times in the last few months to visit legislators, but I haven't been inside since last February, on my epic photo excursion with Reedsburg teachers and other protestors. Jeff was taken aback at the addition of metal detectors to only two open entrances to the building, tables where you place your belongings to be searched by several guards. I shrugged it off at first, having visited Washington DC several times where that kind of security is the norm, expected. My visit Sunday was the first time I encountered it in my own backyard, in the city I call home, in the building in which I will get married next year.
The entrance to each wing of the Capitol building has always been in darkness; coming in from the bright sunlight outside bouncing off that white stone, it takes awhile for eyes to adjust to those dim lanterns bleakly illuminating tunnels cased in orange marble. It's part of the experience - the hallway opens up into that spectacular rotunda, an explosion of space and light. I am sure that the architect who designed it never imagined those hulking metal detectors, crammed and menacing in that small space.
In DC, heavy security is expected. People line up, open their bags, walk through those metal skeletons - a formality as routine as putting your shoes on before you leave the house. I've never thought twice about it, but Sunday in Madison was vastly different. My fiance and I decided on a whim to visit the nearly empty building, excited to show our five friends the space where we plan to get married next year. We were searched and wanded by three or four officers, who were nice enough and jovial, but I walked away from the experience shaken and upset.
It should not be taken lightly that John and I chose that building to host our ceremony. I grew up thinking of it as a beacon, that all roads in Madison led to it. It's the first piece of Madison I spot near the end of my regular commutes home, shining on the horizon like Emerald City in the Wizard of Oz. And it is, after all, where he proposed. The Capitol building is familiar, it's Madison, it feels so mine.
And I think that's where the metal detectors and searches finally got personal for me. It was a trespass, not only on my person, my belongings and my friends, but on my city. My building. My home. It was a "Halt! Who goes there?" by strangers in a building that used to be so familiar, so inviting, so much a part of myself and my history, my past and my future. I can't shake that feeling.
No matter what your politics, I don't think anyone likes to see young school children and white-haired grandmas lined up like cattle and funneled through metal detectors, searched and wanded by officers in uniform.
The entrance to each wing of the Capitol building has always been in darkness; coming in from the bright sunlight outside bouncing off that white stone, it takes awhile for eyes to adjust to those dim lanterns bleakly illuminating tunnels cased in orange marble. It's part of the experience - the hallway opens up into that spectacular rotunda, an explosion of space and light. I am sure that the architect who designed it never imagined those hulking metal detectors, crammed and menacing in that small space.
In DC, heavy security is expected. People line up, open their bags, walk through those metal skeletons - a formality as routine as putting your shoes on before you leave the house. I've never thought twice about it, but Sunday in Madison was vastly different. My fiance and I decided on a whim to visit the nearly empty building, excited to show our five friends the space where we plan to get married next year. We were searched and wanded by three or four officers, who were nice enough and jovial, but I walked away from the experience shaken and upset.
It should not be taken lightly that John and I chose that building to host our ceremony. I grew up thinking of it as a beacon, that all roads in Madison led to it. It's the first piece of Madison I spot near the end of my regular commutes home, shining on the horizon like Emerald City in the Wizard of Oz. And it is, after all, where he proposed. The Capitol building is familiar, it's Madison, it feels so mine.
And I think that's where the metal detectors and searches finally got personal for me. It was a trespass, not only on my person, my belongings and my friends, but on my city. My building. My home. It was a "Halt! Who goes there?" by strangers in a building that used to be so familiar, so inviting, so much a part of myself and my history, my past and my future. I can't shake that feeling.
No matter what your politics, I don't think anyone likes to see young school children and white-haired grandmas lined up like cattle and funneled through metal detectors, searched and wanded by officers in uniform.
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