Leaving

There's something about living near a world-renowned icon: about having access to a place recognized all over the globe as "Canada", and about being able to be there in those photo spreads from the magazines any time you choose. 
And there's something about knowing you'll be leaving it: about knowing you have a deadline to get out there and do that thing, or get that shot, or feel that feeling that those magazine browsers dream about.

Skating in the open air on Lake Louise? 

Yeah. That.

A castle made entirely of ice? 

Sure.

And weather that goes from freezing cold to REALLY SUPER FREEZING COLD at the drop of a hat.

There is no parallel to this place. 

It is truly a marvel of nature, and I am fortunate to have been able to witness it first hand, not only once, but whenever I chose. 

I am also aware of how fortunate I am to have been able to leave it... 

but that's another story for another time.

The Greatest Gift

I spent this Christmas at work: in camp in the north, far from my blood family in the east, and my American family in the south. It was strange and lonely, but I was not forgotten. 

I had received my Christmas jammies in the mail the day before my rotation began, and true to my instructions, opened and wore them on Christmas Eve.
I am beyond grateful to be included in this wonderful family's thoughts and traditions.

But the greatest gift I got this year?

Four simple words that I had not seen together in 35 years.

 

The Cost of Fame

 I found this little guy nestled in the branches of a fir tree.

"You're gonna be on the internet," I said to him, so he turned his little head and gave me his best angle.

When I spotted him next, he was somewhat less enthused. "No more!" he said to me, but I snapped the shot anyway.

"I said NO MORE!"

*click* *click*

And then this: quite possibly the most telling expression I've ever seen on a wild animal, and easily the most telling one I've ever had the luck to capture on camera.

Here it is, little bird. Your privacy has been invaded by the internet, and you couldn't even smile for the camera!

Pixie Dust

 November 6 brought a decent cover of snow to southern Alberta. It was that beautiful hoarfrost sparkly snow that perched on every tip of every branch of every tree and just stayed where it landed: dry enough to balance on the very edge of the coloured leaves still clinging to their hosts in peaceful protest of the onset of winter.

Every edge was covered. It was absolutely magical.

A bit of serendipitous patriotism...

...and roses snuggled under a full white blanket for a few months' sleep.

I've never seen snow like this outside of Alberta. It's so powdery and sparkly: like walking through my own private snow globe, but instead of glass overhead, I'm under cover of a massive dome of blue prairie sky.

Pixie dust.

Winter in November... as it should be.

Northern Flicker

Birds are fast and unpredictable, which makes them tricky to shoot. This little guy was hanging out in my backyard one day, and held still long enough for me to capture this:

He's a Northern Flicker, and this is what allaboutbirds.org has to say about him:

Northern Flickers are large, brown woodpeckers with a gentle expression and handsome black-scalloped plumage. On walks, don’t be surprised if you scare one up from the ground. It’s not where you’d expect to find a woodpecker, but flickers eat mainly ants and beetles, digging for them with their unusual, slightly curved bill. When they fly you’ll see a flash of color in the wings – yellow if you’re in the East, red if you’re in the West – and a bright white flash on the rump.