In the midst of a pandemic, we drove across the country and back - twice - to say two goodbyes to my Dad. The first was a soft farewell to his personhood, the second a final and firm farewell to his being. The road trips were fitting for this sacred journey. He and my Mom took me on Western road trips when I was very little, before my other siblings were born, from New Mexico to Utah and back. Growing up, my Dad spent more than half of his life on the road as a truck driver. Through the roads, our journeys, and my father's daily journeys, our family felt deeply tied to Western American nature. And I further feel all of these things in the little Native blood that I retain from the history of European and Native intermingling. 

Saying goodbye wasn't goodbye when the open road and land awaits adventures ahead. I will open this post with the images from childhood (more to come later). The photos that follow begin with those of the sunset I captured, unbeknownst to me at the time, the evening before my Dad's passing, when I climbed up the rocky ridge overlooking Boise, Idaho. I went on that adventure alone, much as he did the next day.

Goodbye is not a goodbye when the universe, past present and future, is everywhere. We end with new faces of God from the experience.

Dad's Sunset

The road trip













 

God / mother nature / all of existence

Some moments are more primed for silence and introspection, and others are liveliness embodied. All require observation. In this particular time of our culture, introspection and observation are thrust upon us. We must critically think, seek to uncover irony, drive compassion through perspective. What nuances can be explored when choosing between your internal stillness or liveliness, and the setting's stillness or liveliness? Each is dependent upon the other - birthing a spectrum. Where is our culture on the spectrum of stillness -> liveliness? STILLNESS. Here are some photos from the last 8 months that take the liveliness of our environment and derive stillness, much like we all are now.

Our latest adventure took us up to Point Reyes - a home of the snowy plover. While I did ultimately find a grove of plovers (and cried upon doing so), I achingly forgot to bring my zoom lens. Gratefully, that moment with the plovers was just for me. Here are other images from that day, which also don't feature the otters, cranes, and sandpiper close-ups I wish I had captured. Sometimes, it's ok to miss out. The 85mm did what it could, softening the landscape and sands and bringing a sense of vastness and distance.