Photoshoot | Family is a wonderful thing

Posted on July 3, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under People, Photography, Writing

Friendship and fellowship are two of God’s greatest blessings, and they go hand in hand with the command to love. Over and over throughout the New Testament, the church is commanded to love. Christians are called to love everyone – Friends and enemies, widows and orphans, rich and poor, old and young. But special attention is given to command Christians to love their brethren, those with whom they share the bond of faith. The bond of faith is a blood relationship of a different sort – We weren’t all born to the same parents, but we were washed in the blood of Christ, cleansed by His sacrifice, and the bond of Christian faith is a bond that is eternal. If we aren’t able to love our Christian brethren with genuine love, then whom will we be able to love?
IMG_7239 - Boardwalk What a delight it was, then, to spend the evening with my pastor’s family, fellowshipping over a meal and then heading over to Stockade Lake as the sun was setting. They had graciously agreed to let me practice family portraits on them, muddling through posing and lighting and everything else that comes with a photo shoot. And it was a joy!
IMG_7397 - Sage IMG_7378 - Boardwalk IMG_7412 -- Clyde IMG_7442 - Clyde This family is truly characterized by their love of their Savior, which manifests itself in their love for each other and their love for others. J.O. and Dana have a beautiful, Christ-centered marriage, and they love and honor one another so wholly. And their children are a testament to that, thriving and growing as children in their parents’ Gospel-driven home. IMG_7387 - Focus/Blur with Arizona After finishing up by Stockade Lake and enjoying the pleasure of God’s Creation, we went back to their place for hot chocolate and tea and more good conversation.

Family is a wonderful thing.

Laura Elizabeth

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Happiness is…

Posted on June 4, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Pets/Domestic/Farm Animals, Photography, wildflowers, Writing

To each his own, of course. Some prefer the bustle (chaos) of city living, or even the quiet bustle of town life. Some prefer the opportunities that come with living in the city, the close grocery stores, coffee shops, entertainment, the arts, etc. Some would be bored by what I consider to be the perfect pace of living. I recently had someone ask me what I do for fun. I kind of realized that just about all I do for fun is hiking. That, and photography and writing. I suppose some would be extremely bored by this.
The Hills are in a state of perfection at sunset. Kashka followed me around as I snapped pictures of the cattle that Jack brought out for the summer, of the glowing poppies finally blooming in the overgrown garden, and of the chives which were neglected and left to head out. We’ve had a busy spring, and the garden unfortunately doesn’t weed or plant or prune itself.
The cows contentedly grazed and watched me back as I watched them, and one of the cows headed straight towards me, like she wanted to say hello. The little bull calves, like this one, were skittish but curious. The cows are in the pasture closest to the cabin, so we can hear them calling to each other, and can smell the warm, sweet odor, which I love.
The Kashka-Cat is a darling. She loves to be underfoot, in the way, and around “her people.” She and Luna make themselves scarce when we have company, but she and her brother are quite the life of the party when it is just the family. I worked on my Bible reading in the Miner’s Cabin before I went to get Anna from work and, true to form, Kashka roamed around the cabin for a good little while, finally ending up on the sofa with me. There is nothing quite like the company of a cat.
Happiness is a cabin, a camera, and the company of a cat. Perfection.

Laura Elizabeth

Hiking | Hell Canyon

Posted on May 28, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Photography, Scenic, wildflowers, Writing

Armed with plenty of water, bug spray, and a dog, Hannah and I set off up the steep initial climb of the Hell Canyon trail. There was only one other vehicle at the trail head parking lot, so it would be a quiet hike.
The Hell Canyon loop is a little under 6 miles and we took it at an enjoyable pace, stopping aplenty to revel in the beauty of the trail. Within ten minutes of setting out, I spotted a cutleaf anemone, which I had never seen before except in pictures, and a little further ahead we started seeing rock clematis, another new one for me. A cluster of pasqueflowers caught the light, blooming later in the higher elevations west of Custer.
I pointed our a few more flowers, thrilled to be seeing such different flowers from my hikes on our ranch. “Those are some great flower names you’re making up,” Hannah teased. So the next new flower I saw, I asked, “Do you want to know what this one is called?”
The remoteness of Hell Canyon is exhilarating. Hiking along the rim, we enjoyed the soaring vistas and plummeting slopes into the canyon’s center, the towering rock formations and the narrow trail, the silence and tranquility of the middle of nowhere. Remnants of once-great ponderosa pine trees evidenced the former thriving forest of Hell Canyon, stripped and desolate from past fires.
The dead and denuded ponderosa trunks still towered high, and the hillsides and canyon walls were covered with deadfall. Stumps were still black with soot. But Hannah pointed out an old burned-out tree stump, where last year there had been a black-eyed Susan growing out of the center. Deep and steep ravines were growing back full of of aspens, their pale green leaves bright in the sunlight. The wildflowers thrived, bearberry and phlox and prairie goldenpea, rock clematis and anemone and longspur violets, Nuttall’s violets and white milkwort and prairie smoke, and a single early stem of wild blue flax. Life from death.
Ezekiel 36:26 says: “And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh.” God takes our hearts of corruption and death and He renews them, breathes life into them. He takes our souls destined for the fires of Hell and cleanses them, purifies them, sanctifies us. Life from death.
The trail traced along the rim of Hell Canyon, and then gradually dropped down into the greenness of the canyon itself. Down in the cool and shade, with carpets of longspur violets and Canada violets and rich, tall grass, it was hard to believe a fire had ever desolated the canyon. The ability God gives to His wonderful Creation to rejuvenate and regrow is astounding.
Chokecherry trees, larger than I had ever seen, lined a portion of the trail. A spring-fed ephemeral stream crisscrossed the trail a handful of times, eventually disappearing underground. The peace was sweet. It was like walking through a garden where God alone is the caretaker, undisturbed except for the faint foot-worn trail. Seeing the untouched, undefiled reaches of Creation, the sorrow and turmoil and suspense and violence of the world fade into the background – It is just about impossible to worry when deep in the woods, with trees and cliffs and blue sky soaring overhead, with the silence and joy bursts of birdsong, the chuckle of the creek, a soft breeze, and the companionship of a sister in Christ. Perhaps it is because I’m constantly being reminded of Someone far greater than myself, and being drawn out of my own selfish thoughts into the light of God’s goodness and majesty, revealed in His Creation.
Rocky Mountain Iris In Luke 12:25-28, Jesus exhorted His disciples: “And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? ²⁶If then you are not able to do as small a thing as that, why are you anxious about the rest? ²⁷Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. ²⁸But if God so clothes the grass, which is alive in the field today, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith!”

Golden Afternoon

Posted on May 19, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Photography, wildflowers, Wildlife, Writing

Everything was golden. The honeyed air was rich and fragrant, sweet with pine and warm earth. The afternoon sunlight filtering through the trees had that mystic quality of springtime, painting everything in vivid color, gilding the greens, the reds, the pinks, the browns, glinting from the gravel and garnets along the jeep trail, sparkling in spiders’ webs, shimmering on the wings of the swallowtails and bees and moths busy drinking the flowers of the golden currant.
The busyness and life of these industrious pollinators was mesmerizing – In and out and around and about they went, back and forth through the golden glow of the currant bush. Moths, like tiny hummingbirds, sipped daintily. Bees bumbled from flower to flower. Swallowtails hung like jeweled pendants from the drooping branches. The lazy droning of the bees blended with the chirruping of crickets and the whir and whiz of grasshoppers in their haphazard flight. Birds twiddled their tunes, trying to keep out of sight in the thick trees and undergrowth.
The path was abundantly scattered with wildflowers. Hardy larkspur violets and longspur violets and low larkspur and wild strawberry, and finally the columbine, the belle of the flowering woods. Fleabane, like an innocent child with smiling face, grew saucily in the sunny trail.
Around one of my favorite bends in the trail stands a grove of aspen and birch, tall and pale under the shadow of a steep pine- and moss-covered hillside. As I came down the hill into that hollow, the trees were a brilliant, luminous green, the smooth leaves winking and twinkling a golden green.

It was a golden afternoon.

At Evening

Posted on May 18, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Photography, Scenic, wildflowers, Writing

While the sun was still high above the horizon, I fled to the outdoors, drinking in the evening coolness and the warmth of the slanting light. There was a delightful sense of apprehension or urgency – Light is the life of the wildflower hunt, and every day is a hunt when wildflowers are in bloom. So I chased the light.
From shadowed hollow with golden pools of sunlight, to warm and brilliant hillside, I followed the sun. It streamed through the slender trunks of pine trees, sparkling on threads of spider silk, casting long shadows, illuminating like glass the transparent greens of young grasses, the fiery fuchsia of shootingstar, the milky white of deathcamas, the sapphire of bluebells.
Tucked deep into the taller grasses in a sheltered place, larkspur violets spread themselves out in the evening light, some of them the palest of lavenders, others a deeper purple. Pussytoes grew like groves of tiny trees. Clusters of ballhead gilia caught the light in their tiny white flowers and on their velvety stems.
Catching sight of grazing deer ahead of me and over a little rise, I stopped suddenly and sat down quietly. Hastily and silently I changed my lens, and slipped the camera bag to the ground. I crawled closer, hoping to sneak up on them, but I got over-eager and they hightailed it into a ravine, their white tails waving like flags. Every time I see a herd of whitetails, their white tails bouncing and waving, I can’t help but think of the sense of humor of our Creator!
The sun disappeared behind the hills, and a dusky cool settled into the trees and over the hills. Grandma’s house was just over the next hill. When I walked home from visiting with her, it was dark, with the faintest turquoise still tinting the horizon. Lonely birds called and echoed. The stars were dim in the light from a brilliant moon. I opened my arms to the moonlight, as it trickled through the trees and silvered the whole landscape like a heavy frost. Perhaps it would freeze, but the warmth of the day still lingered in the air.

Evening disappeared with the sun. Night had come.

Hunting the Larkspur Violet

Posted on May 11, 2016 by Laura Lindblom under Photography, Writing

Wildflower hunting is as good as a treasure hunt. Actually, better. Wildflowers aren’t yet taxed. For years, I’ve been fascinated by wildflowers, particularly by the violet family. The intricacies of the violet family, the variety, the color. I find them enchanting. Back in Illinois, I was thrilled to discover that we had three different species of violets in our backyard, and I looked for others when we went hiking. Now in the Black Hills, there are yet new ones to discover and marvel at! A few days ago, I stumbled across a larkspur violet – I had never found one before, and wasn’t sure I’d see another this spring, so I snapped away with my long lens, even though I knew it was pointless – I was right. It was pointless. Half an hour later, I found another cluster and made a mental note to come back on my next day off with my shorter lens.
This morning, Dad and I went on a walk along the Hole-in-the-Wall trail, and there along the path was a larkspur violet couple. Of course, I’d left my camera at home, since it was cloudy. Flowers really do photograph the best in bright sunlight, so that the transparency of their petals is captured. Once again, I made a mental note. When it warmed up a little later in the day, I headed out again, armed with my camera and correct lens, intent on photographing my larkspur violet, starting with the one along Hole-in-the-Wall trail. It had been cloudy all day, and rather windy. But no sooner had I started on the trail than the cloud cover broke, illuminating little families of darkthroat shootingstar, not-yet-bloomed columbine, and the delicate cups of the lanceleaf bluebell.
My larkspur violet was waiting where I left it. The delicate striping of the throat, the satiny hairs, the shimmering petals are all typical of violets, but the leaves are what set this violet apart. Most violets have solid heart-shaped leaves, while the larkspur violet, also known as the prairie violet or birdfoot violet, has divided leaves. Because of that characteristic, this little beauty can’t be misidentified.
Satisfied with the proof of my find, I headed back down the trail. It was warm, in spite of the breeze. A gorgeous day. The whole landscape was afire with the colors brought by the recent rain. The emerald greens, the deep fuchsia of shootingstars, the blues and pinks and purples of bluebells, the glinting white and gold of wild strawberries and starry false Solomon’s seal. I was almost home when a flicker of purple caught my eye. Almost back at home, growing unobtrusively on a pineneedle-covered bank was another larkspur violet. And there was another. And another. A whole little colony of them.