Little Things
The following is from Issue 6:1 of my newsletter, released to subscribers January 12, 2025...
Greetings friends- and welcome to 2025! I hope the new year is off to a great start for everyone, and that you’re feeling optimistic for the stories, lessons and experiences that will fill the blank pages before you.
As those who have followed this newsletter for a while might remember, each year around this time I write about my latest renditions of a pair of personal traditions. The first is a practice I’ve followed every January 1st since 2017- photographing the initial sunrise of the new year. Some of those scenes have been breathtaking, some mornings magical, and one year I was sick and the sky was socked in by a winter storm, so the best I could manage was to stumble out and snap a few shots of fresh snow on tree branches at dawn. But each time around I do so with pure sentiment and intention, and view it as an act of both hope and reflection.
This year was unique in that it was the first time I returned to a location very close to that I shot the year before. In 2024 I hiked part way up the Wind Cave Trail, about ten miles outside of Logan, Utah, and photographed a view of the sun cresting over the mountains above Logan Canyon. That was a drab, grey morning, and after the fact I kind of wished I’d continued the mile and a half further up to the cave to find a more interesting scene (or at least one not so dependent on a colorful sky to create a compelling image.)
I’d hoped to travel somewhere a bit farther this time- I suppose that’s always the case- and I usually have a few prospective destinations on my wish list. But my current job won’t allow me to take time off during the holidays, so I’m unable to get back to Iowa; and while I’d hoped to make it to Yellowstone, or maybe one of the parks in southern Utah for this annual shoot, my vehicle and my bank account are both scoffing at that notion right now. I needed to stick fairly close, so returning to Wind Cave seemed a good fit.
It was still dark when I arrived at the trailhead, and I was surprised to find another vehicle already there. As I loaded my pack and slipped into my snowpants, a woman crossed from the other side of the highway, hesitated, then started up the trail. I stalled for a few minutes to give her some space, but then closing my door saw her coming back my way.
“It’s just too icy,” she said. “I don’t want to fall and get hurt.”
We spoke for a minute, and I learned that this had been her second attempt of the morning. She’d also gone across the road to try a different path, but even wearing traction devices over her boots, she was sliding all over the place. This was concerning. I’d spent an hour the previous afternoon unsuccessfully searching for my micro spikes, and without them would be carrying a pack heavy with photo gear and have nothing but my trekking poles to help keep me up. I briefly considered going somewhere else, but also knew the trail was more likely to be iced over in these lower stretches, so I decided to see for myself.
The woman was right- the trail was an absolute skating rink, and I took a few spills- but after about a mile and a few hundred feet of elevation gain, the tread turned to crunchy snow and all was fine. The sky was overcast, much like last year, but I was more at peace with it. I’m trying to do a better job of accepting whatever conditions I’m presented with, and not internalizing so much pressure to capture stunning photos every time I go out. The temperature was mild with only a light breeze as I climbed higher into the mountains, and it was really a pleasant morning to be out there.
I had the hike almost completely to myself. One couple passed me with their three dogs, stopped to say hello and reported having seen a cow moose back near the road. (They were wearing spikes, so had the luxury of occasionally taking their eyes off their feet. I must have stumbled right past her!) After a brief friendly chat they pushed on toward the cave, but fifteen minutes later returned with only one dog in tow. The two others had caught wind of something and ran off route across the open slope.
“They do this all the time,” said the man, casually declining my offer to help in the search.
“But if you find them, you can have them!” he joked.
I didn’t see a soul- dog or human- for the next couple hours and enjoyed a quiet morning alone with natures beauty and my thoughts. I got to the cave about twenty minutes before the sun finally peeked over the opposing ridge, and was waiting to take my shot composed through some icicles the moment that it did. The photo won’t win any awards and has some flaws from a technical standpoint (it’s pretty challenging to cover such a vast dynamic range between the dark cave, the canyon in shadow and the glaring sun, all in a single exposure) but it did capture the moment, which is what this shoot is all about. And most importantly, I kept the tradition alive for another year.
My other New Year’s tradition was introduced to me a few years ago by my friend Barb Cary (someone who many of you from Tipton know and have undoubtedly also been inspired by!) It’s the act of choosing a word or phrase to define a theme of focus for the year, as an alternative to a traditional resolution. The concept really appeals to me in its open ended character (according to statistics, the majority of this year's resolutions have already been abandoned as of last Friday ) and in how it invites you to keep coming back to it, allowing continual opportunity for growth. There’s no set point of achievement or failure, it’s just something you keep in mind- perhaps a mental cue used to recenter yourself and maintain focus on what you feel is an important lesson, ethos or ambition in your life.
Usually I’ll come up with ideas for this in December, and pretty much know what my term is going to be ahead of time. This year though, that wasn’t the case. I had a couple of themes in mind, but they felt forced- almost like something I’d pick just to have something to say. I decided to give it more thought until I could land on a concept more meaningful.
It was actually on the trek to Wind Cave that morning when it hit me. I’d gained elevation and come to an area where many of the small trailside maples still held dried leaves from last autumn, but recent winds must have finally caused many to drop. The result was a menagerie of mixed seasons, with these pretty little leaves, curled and faded orange, scattered all along the path in beautiful contrast against the bright white snow. It was really a gorgeous scene, and I found myself mesmerized by it when I happened to glance at the sky above.
There’d been some clearing between the clouds when I left that morning, and with that, hope for a colorful dawn. But it had grown really overcast since. I thought back again on the New Year’s before and how conditions had been almost identical, but now I wasn’t as disappointed. Sure, as a photographer I always hope to find a stunning view to capture, but in a personal sense I was really enjoying this moment- and simply pondering the more intimate scene before me. That felt pretty special too. It reminded me that you always need to take time to appreciate the little things- and I immediately recognized this as the mindset I want to prioritize this year.
Focusing on little things can have different connotations; and certainly all are worth our effort.
It can be paying greater attention to the world around you, and noticing the subtle details that are often overlooked.
It can be small gestures, as simple as holding a door for somebody or asking about their day, that might inspire a ripple of kindness, or even help them to not feel so alone in this life.
It can be committing yourself to detailed consistency in routines as you work toward personal goals or better health.
And it can be appreciating all the little moments that are sacred and fleeting. This can be found in individual experiences, or in time with family and friends.
I think about that last one a lot, both in being far away from nearly everyone I love and having very limited time together; but also in watching my son quickly grow. I feel that one of the advantages to being an older parent is having the perspective to really know how fast things change, and not take that time for granted.
Caden will turn eight later this month. He’s in second grade. He still calls me to say “I love you” every night before bed. He still instinctively reaches for my hand when crossing a busy parking lot. On the mornings that I drop him off at school, he still turns back to give one last wave and shouts “Bye Dad!” before disappearing through the doors.
I know it won’t be this way forever. I smile and wave back; and my eyes well up every time.
It really is the little things that matter most in life. I want to always be mindful of this, and let these be the moments that define my 2025.
I do have a few other things I'd like to discuss as we venture further into this new year, specifically pertaining to photography and other ambitions. However, I've been trying to get this finished up and sent out for the past couple of weeks, I've been pecking away at it most of the day, and I still have a little ways to go.
I also want to start being more cognizant of the length of these newsletters- you shouldn't feel like you're committing to a novel just to get through one- so I'm going to try to write more frequently, but send them out in shorter, bite sized chunks. With that I think I'll end this one here for now, and send the rest out as "Part 2" in a couple of days.
Take care, everyone. All my best for the week ahead, and I'll have more to come soon...
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