On This Day...Love
time before time after time now
Hello Dear Reader,
Have you ever felt like it was just yesterday when…?
You stood shaking between your parent’s legs on tiny blades figuring out this thing called ice?1
Or you navigated your first rope tow, going up hill on slippery boards in uncomfortable boots and too many layers?2
That was then. This is now. And now will be “back when” tomorrow.
A double exposure on ice could just as well be that scratched negative you found in your grandmother’s closet…or your first ‘altered’ print in a high school photo class.
And the snow angel, on the side of the path, could have been hers, or yours at another time in another place.
And while I dance in my wedding dress, it’s 15 degrees fahrenheit and sunny.
Time blurs…She, the dress, carries energy from centuries ago and from just yesterday, when we hung out together stitching.
On this day…what, exactly?
A decade ago, a walk.
Red ice-grippers and the moon at sunset.
Is this what it means to be a photographer?3
Show up for a tree. See light. Explore texture.
Repeat.
Cultivate ritual to manage psychic distress.
Will we be able to achieve all that COP15 offered?4
On this day, a shadow.
And on this day a book and some knitting.5
There was still a glimmer of hope, even when Covid struck and we experienced quiet, clean air, and the small pleasures of being home…and finally attention was paid to the social and racial inequalities embedded in the structure of our country.6
Our Covid Puppy was hopeful, but apprehensive too.7
Where is this all going?
Four years later, she stands, resolute: Dare Me.
And earlier today, that young child holding fast to the rope tow in 2006 skated with me on a four mile trail in Fairlee, Vermont.8
Already a memory.
Time before time after time now.
Doesn’t it just feel like yesterday when…?
On this day…love. Again and again and again…these moments, fragile fractals...9
Stitched together, with effort and care.
Time, a composting of sorts.
On this day…love…13 tons of it, and counting.10
With gratitude for you being you,
Lyn
Any thoughts about the way we compost time?
My mother and father taught us how to ski and skate by putting us between their legs and letting us feel what we needed to feel. I remember my mother, especially, with skates and my father with skis.
And when skating with my daughter today, I remembered holding her the same way…and wondered when she would be holding me. She was mighty attentive when I first wobbled my way onto the ice and created this image.
The skiing thing is definitely a privileged kind of memory for someone growing up in New England (or in the Rockies or Alps) and one many may never have experienced because of geography. Depending on where you live, though, you may have been to an ice rink…
In January 2016, a life coach asked: “Lyn, it’s cool to learn about all that you have done, but WHO are you?” Without missing a beat, I’d said that I was a photographer, though I hadn’t sold an image or been paid to create an image since college in the 1980’s. So I started to show up with my camera - - everywhere - - trying to figure out what kind of photographer I actually was…
If you’ve been here for a while, you know that Compost had already become my muse…though in 2016 the concept of a ‘body of work’ was years away. At that time, I had an almost daily practice walking on a loop trail near our house on Balch Hill in Hanover, NH and photographing the maple tree at the top.
Ten years ago was that blissful time between - - when we were still inspired by the Pope’s Encyclical on Climate and all the successes in Paris at COP15. The climate was a global conversation and for at least a few months, anyway, there was hope and a belief that our actions were making a measurable difference.
The books and magazines that surround me were examples of all that I had read between 2006 and 2016 - - about the climate crisis and about ways to create a different future, in the garden and in our lives. The image of the toilet? That’s an example of what I call “My Hybrid Life” - - when you know in your head what you are supposed to do (flush up for 1, down for 2), but your old habits - - like flush down for everything - - prevail.
It was right before the shutdown. I was in Idaho visiting my sister and my aunt. My sister introduced me to her super cool knitting pattern: Somewhat Slanted Sweater and my aunt introduced me to reading and knitting at the same time. I devoured Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass while there.
This is an understatement. In the winter of 2020 I participated in a workshop on economic inequality in the US and was keenly aware of the degree to which our economic system is based on undervaluing the contributions of millions of Americans throughout our history and present.
As a privileged white woman, I share my voice from a place of deep humility…and know that as hard as I try, I will inevitably reveal my ignorance about the realities of the social and economic systems we have created. With all that is going on right now, my only goal is to keep showing up from a place of love and deep caring and hope that some of my reflections will be of use to others.
Lilly joined our family in November 2020 when she was 10 weeks old.
Lake Morey. Sarah wore the hockey skates she used when she played JV puck in high school (she was the class of 2020. I watched her play her final game just a week before the shutdown); I wore the ‘comfort skates’ we bought at about the same time she started to play, back in 2017. I was in my early fifties and needed an upgrade from my childhood figure skates.
The path was uneven and bumpy, with large fissures ready to ensnare us…but we made it around the loop without injury and ready for more.
If you’ve been here recently, you know that I’ve been working with my archive, trying to edit it down to the essential images. It’s hard to go from 150,000 to 10,000, but I’m trying (Curating a Life, 11/6/25). Along the way, I dive into a single day and see what narrative emerges (On This Day - October 23).
This post is what showed up for today (when I’m writing, on February 18, when this is published, February 19, or when you read it, perhaps on February 20 or later).
Going back a decade or two is always interesting. I particularly love this photograph of my father flanked by Sarah and my son, Chanler. My dad skied his whole life, taught me how to make it down the mountain with some level of grace, and gave me the skills and confidence to then introduce this dangerous sport to our children. I love their confidence and joy on this particular day in 2010.
Sadly, this image was created just a few months before my niece died in a ski accident in New Zealand. A heartbreaking example of a time before…and a time after. Now, if I ski at all, I take the easiest, groomed trails, and imagine my careful father leading me down safely. It’s horrible to know we can’t always be there to protect the ones we love.
I could go on and on about the texture of those Sumo Mandarin oranges and avocado peels, and how they look like some of the ice we skated on…and how they reveal the bumpiness of life. But I’ll spare you that for today…
Okay, I'm intrigued to try knitting while reading. The addition to your wedding dress is beautiful.