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I've always been a little dense when it comes to recognizing patterns that show up around us. The spiritual side of yoga has always been the hardest for me to access, as it is - I think - for a lot of people. But there are opportunities for even the most skeptical yogi to learn to listen to whatever it is that might be guiding us.

All week I have had the concept of opening stuck in my head. It started on Tuesday, when I built my practice around heart openers, mostly because my shoulders have been so tight from all of the baby carrying that goes on around here. That said, I have found it impossible to ignore the clarity and space that I experience after that kind of practice, even if my focus was primarily physical. There is something exhilarating in the inherent vulnerability of heart-openers. It wakes you up. Eyes wide open, you just feel more receptive to things. It felt so good that I tried to incorporate that openness into the rest of my week - breathing deeply and standing tall. In a class I took yesterday we were prompted to chose a mantra. In advance of the "Sunday Scaries", I chose CALM. But before the opening centering was over it had inadvertently switched to inhaling O and exhaling PEN. I spent an hour and fifteen minutes breathing myself open. 

Without any of this in mind, last night at dinner, we were talking about how roses are really going wild in our town this year. Looking at the bushes in my yard blooming in unprecedented numbers, something dawned on me. Maybe there really was some greater force putting the message to OPEN into my head.

We move with the seasons. Consciously or not, we take our cues from the same force that drives the natural world around us. We're all stardust. And this week it was as though nature was calling to the roses, signaling to them that it was their time to unfurl, and I had been hearing the message along with them, subconsciously integrating it into my daily life until it was impossible to ignore.

I am so excited to announce this solo show! Now through October 31, 2017 there are fourteen pieces on display at the Fairfield University Bookstore - Downtown.

 Since 1873, when John Muir penned “the mountains are calling, and I must go…” in a letter to his sister, the phrase has been repurposed by expert adventurers and daydreamers alike to express the undeniable pull and majesty of the outdoors. But Muir’s words were more than a response to a siren song. He felt great responsibility to observe, understand, and preserve our natural world.

In May 2017 I visited Glacier National Park and, while I grew uphiking and skiing around White Mountains and the Appalachians, the enormity of the Rocky Mountains was like nothing I had ever witnessed. The scale alone made it easy for me to find deeper appreciation for Muir’s experience - we hardly dipped a toe into the park and I felt a deep compulsion to see more, to learn more, to understand more, and to do more.

This summer, Glacier National Park was scorched by wildfires, including a twenty-square-mile blaze that claimed wildlife, acreage, and historic structures within the park - a harsh reminder of the fragility and impermanence of our natural resources.

The experience led to a shift in how I perceived the world around me, and I paid closer attention not only when I visited Lake Winnipesaukee later that summer, but also in my own backyard. In the quintessential suburb we call home, there is a small park that I visit with my daughter. In the park is a small, polluted pond that, despite being slicked with runoff, is home to ducks and geese that my daughter loves to visit. On one visit in early June, I saw a bird we hadn’t seen before - a green heron. We saw another, and quickly realized that the pair had nested and were sitting on eggs. It’s rare to see a pair of green heron in this area, especially in such a populated and busy park. We watched the heron family grow all summer, picking up the garbage we found in the park, telling curious passers-by about the birds, and feeling same sense of appreciation that we found in Glacier. And so, yes, the mountains are calling and I must go. But also, I must go to the lakes to our north and the sound to our south, and to the little park in our neighborhood - to observe, to learn, and to preserve the world around us.

We dipped our toes into Glacier National Park, and I returned conspiring ways to see more of it. Could I lead photo tours for a year? Host camp weekend excursions? Just... camp? It is expansive, diverse, and breathtaking in ways you can't be prepared for. Our short visit included Trail of the Cedars, a boat ride on Lake McDonald, a secluded hike up to Fish Lake, and a more popular hike up to Avalanche Lake. Nights were spent in an Airbnb in Bigfork, MT. I could have spent several days photographing each of the trails we walked, and then months on the trails we didn't.

Banding purple martin chicks at the Connecticut Audubon Society
Coastal Center at Milford Point.