As Often As You Can

Escape as often as you can.

Drive.

Find a place where it is quiet. Turn off your music. Turn off your phone.

Talk to God. Empty your heart. Return to square one.

Ask Him what is most important in your life. He will show you.

Stay there. Stay there.

Start walking. Find a path. Make yourself work a little.

You will find something interesting. Take a picture of it.

Put it on your wall at home. Put it on your computer's desktop.

Keep the memory of your escape nearby. Let it take you away. Let it remind you what you learned when you were there.

What is most important in your life?

In Keeping With Tradition...

Taken on 35mm film with a Canon AE-1 Program.

To keep going with my theme, here's another picture from Vantage Pointe. This was the first time I had ever been up there. Clouds were heavy, winds were chilly, and it added up to feel quite far away from the city, though we were quite stuck in the middle of miles of concrete. It is a small section of hilly escape. I think I've come here over 10 times since I discovered it.

The West

This is what I thought California would look like.

When I first moved here, I was a little surprised. Orange County was much more city-like than I expected. One night during my first summer, I was on top of a hill at dusk, and saw the mountains and sky bathed in purple light and wrote something like this:

California, I've searched for you but couldn't find you. You have deceived me. But for this one night, you are exactly what I expected.

Well tonight was another night like that. I was driving at dusk, and I saw the purple sky, the mountains glowing, and the moon was rising just over them. It was just too perfect. This is the west. Away from all the concrete is a land of grand mystery and wilderness. It's that land that I dreamt of seeing in California. I'm grateful for the chance to see it some nights even when I don't seek it out.

This pic was taken from Vantage Pointe, one of my favorite spots that I know of.

The Next-Door Neighbors

It looks like this right now.

I moved away from Pennsylvania for the first time in 2005. I came home for the whole summer, then went back to Chicago for the fall semester.

In the summer of 2006, I lived in Chicago. I came home in May and in August.

In 2007, I moved to California. I was home in May, September, and October.

In 2008, I surprised the family by showing up at the 4th of July party at my parent's house.

In 2009, I made it home at the end of July.

It is 2010. I have not been home since December.

Every year, getting to go to Southwestern PA in the summer is refreshing. It's a break from busyness. It is quiet, it is beautiful. The air is fresh. The stars light up the night sky. The paths in the woods are all overgrown. Usually I have a bonfire in the yard with friends. It is country living, and it's perfect. I miss it right now.

This picture was near the end of one of my walks through the woods. Being that the paths truly are overgrown in the summer, I tend to find my way back differently every time. This time I emerged in the field next to our house.

This was taken with a generic wide angle/macro/zoom lens on my Canon AE-1 film SLR. The extreme vignetting on the edges is completely real, not added digitally. Just a few steps after taking this picture, I changed lenses again and put this one in my pocket. A few minutes later I put my foot up on a rock, and this lens fell out of my pocket and bounced off a rock. After a lot of fiddling with it, it finally works again. But I've moved on to other lenses. :)

And one more to complete the trifecta...

And so I went on a return trip to Evanston in the spring of that year. This time I took my buddy Tony, who is also a photographer. We got more great shots on this trip, but I knew I had to revisit the bridge to see the difference a few months makes. Behold!

I promise tomorrow I will resume posting pictures from somewhere else.

More from Evanston

As promised in the previous post, here is another photo from Evanston. This was the bridge that I crossed on the L before getting off at the final stop on the great Chicago train system. This one does have a little color left, to show you just how bleak it was that day.

Evanston

Note: the picture is at the bottom of this entry. I feel the story lends itself to showing it at the end.

This was one of my favorite adventures ever. Why is it that the cold makes such a memory?

We're back to 2007. My last semester in Chicago. A Thursday with one morning class, chapel, and the rest of the day left for exploring. And explore I did.

The U-Pass was one of the best parts about living in Chicago. It was included in my room & board for the semester. It allowed me to ride public transportation as often as I wanted. This includes the buses and the "EL" elevated train/subway system.

So this Thursday, I decided I wanted out of the city. I wanted to see if it was un-city-like way at the far end of the L. This took an hour by train, though it was just 12 miles. But Chicago is so dense that 12 miles makes a big difference. 

So I went from downtown (A) to Evanston (B).

Or from the loop to the far north, the end of the Purple Line.

So I got way out of the city. Before the last stop, out the window I noticed that the train crossed on a bridge over a river, which looked like solid ice at this time of year.

I stepped off the train, and while it was still a populated area, now it felt like a town, not a city. I felt the rush of adventure, and started walking.

This was one of those walks where I got so many good pictures that I will inevitably post more from the same day. As I was wandering aimlessly, I decided to go east and see what the beach looked like in this area during winter.

I finally got to Lake Michigan, and this is what it looked like. Bleak, cold, gray and beautiful. The cold Chicago wind was blowing. The sand was snow. From the sand/snow to the water to the sky, it was quite a monochromatic scene.

Look for another picture from this walk tomorrow.

The woods of Pennsylvania.

This is something I wrote when I still lived in Chicago. I was longing for the quiet of Pennsylvania (like I still do oftentimes). This picture was taken on a walk just about a minute into the woods beyond our yard. It is also one of the first pictures I took with my Canon point & shoot that I got that Christmas '06.

I've been there so many times that I can almost see it. I can almost smell it, feel it, hear it, sense it. The reward of 10 minutes of walking through rustic forest. Why do I long for it so much? Because I am sick of all the noise. The never-ending rush. Take me back to that place where nothing seems to matter, nothing seems to move. All is so silent and the air is so clear. The bed of dried leaves makes each step soft. The faint sound of trickling water in a small stream clears away my concerns and my worries. There I can meet with God.

Everything here is so convoluted.

Ice Skating in the City

This is "the bean." It's a sculpture in Millennium Park in Chicago. Quite the landmark.

This night was pretty memorable. It was a "double date" with some friends. There was a couple named Heidi and Matt (mentioned in the previous post about California), and I'm Matt, and we had another friend named Heidi. So I asked Heidi if she'd be in for a Matts & Heidis night, and she was. There is an outdoor ice skating rink just a few blocks from this structure. On the way back to the train after our fun night, we stopped here for a few pictures.

If you look closely in the reflections, you can see quite a few things:

• On the left side, there is the building with a steeply sloped roof. You can see it in the wide city shots of "Gotham" in the newer Batman movies.
• Another ice rink just below where I'm standing for this picture
• My reflection against the railing, silhouetted against the rink
• The lights of Michigan Ave. endlessly in both directions
• On the right, the tall LCD screens that show a human face, then spit water out of the mouth.
• Also on the right, various vague footprints in the snow.

Tens of thousands of other people have taken photos of this object, but I think I was fortunate enough to capture it at a somewhat unique moment.

Sunset Beach

Could there be a more appropriate name for this beach?

The first summer I moved to California, I had a few friends that I knew from Moody in Chicago who were from Southern California. One evening I drove down to hang out with Heidi & Matt. We got in Heidi's dad's BMW convertible and started driving up the PCH (Pacific Coast Highway). This is always a good idea. If you have never been on the PCH, I can summarize it pretty quickly: you are driving alongside the ocean.

We got to this beach town and parked, and walked out onto the sand. As is usually the case with photography, if you look the opposite direction of the obvious subject, you can usually find some pretty interesting pictures. I thought it was perfect how the windows of these amazing houses were all the same color as the sunset.

That night we drove all the way to Long Beach with the top down. This memory still has a warm place in my heart. I was now living in California, driving up the coast with the top down, and with good friends. Can't beat it.

Winter in Orange County

Taken with Canon AE-1 Program on Fuji 200 ISO film.

Winter in Orange County is the best. Having grown up in Pennsylvania, I got used to snow & cold weather from late October through March. If we had a 50 degree day somewhere in those months, it was a nice surprise.

"Winter" in Orange County is like September or early October anywhere else. Some days it doesn't get up to 70, it gets cloudy more than usual, and (my favorite part) the days are very clear. You can see the snowy mountains on the horizon any day the clouds don't take over. The mountains might be my favorite thing about living down here.

This picture was taken from Vantage Pointe, a hilltop with a 360 degree view. My roommate and I came up here at sunrise one day in February, and it was absolutely beautiful (and cold!).

Photo credit: Trevor Dyck

Some Things Just Make Sense

Taken with a Canon AE-1 Program on Kodak 200 ISO film.

Steven stayed at my house this weekend.

A few posts down, you'll read about Kyle moving up to the Central Coast. When I drove him up the coast, I met Steven. Steven and Kyle were in a band. I played two shows with that band.

I love Steven's musical spirit. Every musician has one; some are casual about it and some are serious. With the serious ones, it doesn't take long to feel it. His voice is absolutely full of feeling. He's not precise and he's not calculated, that's for sure. But as soon as he begins to sing, I'm hooked. There is something about his voice that is so real and so honest. I know he's missing the exact notes...I don't care. I want to hear more of it.

We recorded a song over the last two nights. I can't stop listening to it.

This picture was taken in Cambria, California. It was 95 degrees 20 miles inland, and we came to Cambria and it looked like this. Overcast and cool. We needed hoodies. They took me to this beach, with rocks and cliffs jutting into the water. I could hear Steven's voice, distant over the crashing waves and wind. Being that it was taken on film, I had limited chances to capture the perfect shot. I remember pointing the camera at him and waiting for a wave to crash. One did, and I snapped. This picture wasn't developed/printed for 6 months after I took it. When I looked at the prints, I was in awe of how this turned out. Gotta love film.

The End of an Era

This picture was taken within hours of me moving out of the city of Chicago. My last 2 days there are filled with memory, and this night I stayed up all night until sunrise. I looked out my window, and there was this spider in front of the colored sky. Picture-worthy, I knew it.

Here is also a poem I wrote a few days before leaving. Looking back 3 years later, it still makes sense, and I've fulfilled the parts about making new memories in the next phase of my life. Hope you can relate to it.

I could go into the stairwell
and scream
21 floors of echo
and it would fit.

Bare walls
tall concrete
I am leaving this world
hard and barren to see, to touch, to smell
but the memories are warm
pleasant
cozy.

What will I find in the next world?
Different to the eyes, the fingers, the nose
but there too, in my heart
it will be a lush palace
a heaven
a history of mine.

It is the memory
that makes all the difference.

Wonderland.

This is wonderland.

This was taken on the Devil's Backbone Trail on the way to the peak of Mount Baldy. The view from this picture is on the way back from the peak.

They call it Baldy for a reason. Where many mountains are covered in trees or even brush, this mountain is, well, bald. This area of the hike is right before you round a corner and see the massive peak staring you down, challenging you to conquer it at 10,064 feet above sea level. This is the last wooded area before it all turns to dust and rocks.

Notice how all the trees are bent in the same direction. Their branches come mostly out from the uphill side of the tree. This is because in the harsh winter months, the cold icy wind blows up the side of the ridge causing these trees to bend. Then it snows and the weight of the snow compounds the problem further.

But I don't see it as a problem. I've called it Wonderland ever since the first time I took this hike (which this picture is from). It makes me feel like I'm some place far, far away. In some ways, being on the mountain ridge is already a stark contrast to the concrete world of Orange County. But Wonderland is bizarre and unique, even to the wild mountains. I can day dream about being here on those days I feel trapped by the smog and traffic.

Wonderland.