what the light was like

straight into the sunrise, a surge of burning turning the

whole ocean iridescent

fool's-gold over molten emerald, into the core of that

day-after-day amazement --

from "What the Light Was Like" by Amy Clampitt

This past weekend, a three day weekend for us, we headed north.  To Acadia National Park to camp and bike.  If you look at the photos that we have to remember the weekend by, we were, apparently, chasing the light.  This is the thing to do this time of year it seems, when the leaves are changing, and the light is shifting its angle in the sky just enough that you can't help but notice how it falls upon water, leaves, and earth differently.

photo by Jonathan, out the window of the car as we first drove onto Mount Desert Island

I am struck by our photos of the weekend.  The kids were taking pictures, too, from time to time, enough cameras and iPhones between us to have several going at the same time. 

There is the picture taking that happens, and then there is the sharing, which is very entertaining.  Especially if someone has taken a movie of me playing cribbage in slow motion.  Hilarious.

Elliott

Julia

Elliott

 me

Julia

Julia capturing Elliott and the light, while Elliott also captures the light

Julia

and simultaneously, Elliott

Elliott experimenting with shadows, taken by Julia

 Elliott, of his shadow

Speaking of chasing the light, we headed up Cadillac Mountain, by car, to watch the sunset.  And pretty soon everyone was using their cameras again.  Not all of them were pointed toward the coloring sky.

Elliott's photo of sunset on Cadillac Mountain

 and Julia's picture of Jonathan taking a picture of the sunset

Jonathan's photo of sunset

and mine

Even Jonathan and I do it, he and I taking pictures of our picture taking.  Often accidentally.  

Jonathan, of me, taking pictures of seaweed, Nicholas approaching

 me

then, my picture of Nicholas' shadow

Our last morning, we emerged from the shade of the evergreen woods and out onto the floating docks of our campground.  Into the full, warm sun.   Such a contrast to the coolness of the air beneath the canopy of the campground.

Enjoying the sun's warmth, Jonathan laid down on the dock, out at its very end.

Jonathan, taking pictures of the kids running toward him on the floating dock

 and mine, of them all laying together in the sun for a few moments

It's interesting what everyone chooses to photograph.  It is likely a window into what they thought was important, what they were enjoying most, and what they will remember. 

While I am snapping pictures like these:

Elliott is taking these:

 the circle Elliott rode around and around

 on his bike, newly riding on only two wheels

So proud of himself he was.  Why would he photograph anything else?

Well, his dogs too, of course.

Nicholas seemed to be seeking out the funny.  Like when Julia was pretending to be a tree with arms.

 Nicholas

He likes to try different effects and special features.

Nicholas, experimenting with panoramas

And I think I know this, and respond by taking pictures of him being silly, or trying something slightly risky.  Because I think he will enjoy these pictures later.

Nicholas playing buoy obstacle racing in his kayak

And my pictures of Julia seem to have a girls who climb rocks... theme to them.

And girls who can keep up with their big brothers...

Jonathan, of me taking pictures of Julia's struggle to get in her kayak

(rather than helping her, apparently)

me, it's ok, she got in.

We are all likely documenting different parts of the same experience.  With different perspectives.  And likely, we will all remember our weekend a little bit differently from each other.

 we took a selfie, of course.

But I think, based on what we did, and what we all were looking at and feeling, we are all going to remember the light.  And the drastic changes between day and night.  And warm and cold.  And what it felt like to put our bare feet into the frigidly cold ocean waters and then onto the sun warmed rocks. 

Yes.  That is something we will all remember.