Living Room (a lachesis)

They say I’m wily as a fox.
I am one hiding in the phlox
Bordering a black mailbox.

Long gone are the fertile fields and wood
My parents hunted.  This is no good.

I’m forced to hunt a vast suburbs.
Instead of leaping streams, it’s curbs—
Yes me, the subject of proverbs.

But where else can I possibly go?
I cannot fly off like a crow.

Those humans work with machine speed
Bulldozing land to gorge their greed.
They never ask us what we need.

I hear a mousy squeak up there
Under the hosta.  Do I dare?

I see a chipmunk scratching seed.
I smell a road-killed skunk’s last deed.
There are so many of us in need.

Red Fox
by Jan Haffley

Misfit Bird

Fluttering frantically, circling high,
racing, chasing, going nowhere.
Lost.  Trapped.  Separated from her nest.
Lost.  Alone.  No mate to be found.
Misfit bird, what are you doing in here
inside this place where
winds are driven by fans,
sunlight suffused by glass,
concrete fouled by shoes?

Fluttering frantically, circling high,
racing, chasing, going nowhere.
Fear.  Panic.  Caged by prison walls.
Fear.  Fatigue.  Driven by needs.
Misfit bird, you cannot fly forever.
Freedom is through those doors where
winds are forged by fronts,
sunlight filtered by clouds,
concrete scrubbed by storms.

Fluttering frantically, circling high,
racing, chasing, going nowhere.
Wings.  Wings so powerful.
Wings to do what I cannot.
Misfit bird, over there is the exit.
Come, follow me.
I have learned the way
out of this manmade world
into the natural one.

Chipping Sparrows
by Jan Haffley 

8-Travel Days Times Two

Phil was happy.  He had good tiger pictures and so did I, especially those of a 5 year old male cooling off in a wildlife swimming pool (man-made).  Phil and I had different angles on the same pose because we were in different vehicles.  The big male tiger who rules the territory was 8 years old.  We didn’t see him, but another photographer did.

We left the local airport for Delhi and the Radisson.  There the Haffleys and the McDonalds said “Goodbye” to our traveling companions, and later we said “Hi” to two new photographers, each with an endless sense-of-humor.  I wish I had taken better notes so that I could illustrate that last statement.

The next morning, the six of us boarded a flight to Mumbai, and from there a second flight to Diu.  On the first flight I was thinking that I should be reading more, thinking more, processing more photos, and then there was this blog which was why I was making notes when I could.

I intended to write about our travels and the wildlife we photographed on the blog.  But I could also write more about people and cultures.  Except to write about people and cultures, as interesting as they are, I would need to do more note-taking than I seem to have energy for.

For the second leg of this travel day, we boarded a Jet Airline plane with one overhead wing and two propeller (not jet) engines.  Phil and I hadn’t been on a prop since Alaska.

 

Bengal Tiger
by Phil Haffley

5-Mini Tiger Safari

The gravel roads were so bumpy that my neck and back were jarred almost continuously.  On the second day of this mini-safari, we stopped for few pictures.  I was not sure that I should be doing this type of photography given the physical effort it required of me.  People had to carry my gear for me, push/pull me into and out of jeeps, and strap me down with bungee cords.

Yet, my helpers and I were having fun.  No matter our nationalities, I’ve discovered that people like to help others—and I really do need the help.  Why not make a game of it instead of being embarrassed because a stranger has to push my behind up into a jeep?  Still, I can’t help but wish I were younger and healthier.

Dry leaves fallen from trees made the landscape look like it was autumn, but the afternoon felt like summer (34°C/93°F).  The vehicles kicked up a lot of dust.  I discovered that the same scent I smelled in the forest was in the hand soap in our room.  (I was probably just smelling myself.)

I like the travel aspects of wildlife photography—seeing new places and meeting people.   But I wasn’t making the notes I thought I would for a travel journal.  Rarely did I find the time and energy to write because I was acting like a photographer.  I’m not sure if I want to be a writer or a photographer—or just pretend to be both.  Or, maybe I should just be a travel blogger.  I can’t seem to make up my mind.

And now several weeks later, I can’t remember the type of program we saw that second evening. It was some kind of dance that those of us who were able joined in.  On the last night we heard music from a wedding ceremony.  Happy sounds to soothe an aching body.

Sloth Bear (as seen through dust)
by Phil Haffley

4. Bandhavgarh

A  knock on the door.  A man with a flashlight waited to escort us to the dining hall.  He carried my camera gear.  We walked around a Mehndi painted on the sidewalk.  Cups of hot tea and biscuits awaited us in the dining hall.  A more substantial breakfast would be served mid-morning.

Soon we were off to the parking lot where the 4x4 jeeps were parked.  Who was going with whom?  We were told which photographer we would go with, but not in which of the four vehicles? We knew the first in line would be the first into the park.

Bandhavgarh National Park is set among the Vindhya Hills and consists of 168 square miles of Sal and a mix of bamboo, grasslands, and a complex of deciduous forests. There were 21 different kinds of vines in those woods.  The park is divided in two—two entrances and two series of trails in each section.

I had some bad memories from the trip four years ago because of our struggles with the bureaucracy.  Eight single trails and one-way traffic.  For example, one of our drivers parked his jeep off the road once because he knew no tigers were around there.  He played with his new cell-phone and conversed in Hindi with the guide.  We, who were paying for their services, could take only photos of skinny trees and a langur tail that morning.  Thankfully, some major improvements were made during those four years.  Now after starting out according to plan, we would be free to change trails and reverse direction as needed.

At the control center we picked up our local guides who would change with each trip.  Previously those guides were trash police more than our guides—as if we wildlife photographers would litter any animal’s habitat.  This time, our drivers did most of the guiding with fewer restrictions about where they could go.

Barking Deer, a small deer
by Phil Haffley

3-Déjà Vu

The next morning we were bussed back to the airport for a flight from Delhi to Khajuraho.  Vans then picked us up at that airport for a five hour drive to the Bandhavgarh Jungle Lodge—a time to do nothing more than stare out windows.  When we arrived, we were assigned rooms, settled in, and then met in a separate building for dinner.

I recognized the dining hall.  We had served ourselves at a buffet four years ago.   My husband usually fills my plate and then goes back to fill his own.  This time young men brought bowls around and served each of us.  I wondered why the change.

In the throes of fibro fog and self-consciousness, my imagined reason for the change became my physical limitations.  Maybe that thought was too far-fetched, yet I wouldn’t put it past Mary Ann to make such arrangements.

I remembered the last time we were in India four years ago.  Joe was relaxing in a conversation lounge, and I accused him of the ultimate sin—of teaching me to love photography as much as he did.  That’s why I couldn’t give up and give in to the twin trolls of rheumatoid arthritis and fibromyalgia.  It was Joe’s fault
I was there.  It was his fault that I was there for the second time.

Langur Monkeys
by Phil Haffley

2-Arrival

We arrived in Delhi around 9:30 pm local time, a day early to help us adjust to jetlag.  We were rushed through customs and the airport by the young man who pushed me in a wheelchair.  After we collected our checked-in luggage, a representative from the Radisson Blu met us at the exit.

The Radisson is an upper-crust facility surrounded by a 20-ft security fence.  At the gate, a guard checked our van out, even raised the hood looking for a bomb.  Yes, everywhere seems to have become more dangerous.  A staff member greeted us at the door with praying hands—fingertips up, palms pressed together—and a nod.

We were assigned room 434, and breakfast was a buffet of American and Indian food.  Because of the 10.5-hr difference, I had a problem deciding which pills I should take when.  Did it make any difference?  <Shrug>  I didn’t know.

I practiced with my new camera by shooting pigeons and flowers.  The pictures were nothing to brag about, but I learned which buttons to push.  That afternoon, we meet three fellow photographers (all men) who joined us and the McDonalds.  Joe and Mary Ann were leading these safaris (McDonald Wildlife Photography info@hoothollow.com).

Oriental Magpie Robin
by Phil Haffley

1-Ashes

I wasn’t as excited about going to India as I might have been.

Our son, our middle child, passed away the previous month.  We’d been taking care of details and putting our home back into some sense of order.  Dan had lived with us the last several years and became a central focus of our daily lives because of his health issues.

Phil and I came on this trip to get beyond our grief.  In a way, it honored Dan.  He  had studied photography in college and had helped us both improve our efforts.  My dream had been that he and Phil could go on photo-shoots together when I was physically unable to because of my RA.  Now, I guess, it’s up to me.

In India my senses will turn outward.  I can’t seem to write about Dan right now.  I need to turn inward to do that.

“Photography and writing deepen and widen and expand our sense of life: they feed the soul,” according to the novelist Anne Lamott.  I’m counting on these kinds of soul food to revive me from my lassitude.

Jungle Cat Stalking Prey
by Phil Haffley

USA

From Ghost Trees to young Cypress (sans knobby knees) to Alligator Junipers—from India to Baton Rouge to Madera Canyon—our travels have been extensive so far this year.  Yet they seem to be coming to an end for 2016.

We are home again after two short photo-shoots separated by only five days.  That was time enough to wash clothes, download photos, and repack camera gear.  In Arizona I was going to need my heavy SLR Canon camera and gear because we would be working from tripods.

On the boats in the bayous of Louisiana and the jeeps in India however, I needed to handhold cameras which meant lighter gear.  Yes, I’m jealous of all the new professional cameras and lenses I’m no longer able to handle.  Their pictures are superb at 20-plus mega-pixels which I interpret to mean lots of cropping room.

What I’ve learned is that India may be unique, but our own country can be just as magical with Spanish Moss flowing from cypress limbs and Sycamores of the desert southwest seeming to be the American version of India’s Giant Ghost Trees.

Phil and I have many photos to process—thousands of them.  It’s going to take time to get them ready for this blog and for me to write a story or two about our encounters in nature.  We never did get photos of nesting trogons, but they are there as close as the Madera Canyon of Arizona.

Namaste

A f;lirting peacock from Bandhavgarh National Park, India
Photo by Phil Haffley

One of Them

Cinnamon-sugar sand—
light on the cinnamon—
corrugated sand
sculpted by waves
spills into my shoes.
I wade toward the surf-wetted interface
where strolling will be easier.

My visit will be brief hosted by the
heartbeat of surf
spicy scent of seawater
feathers of a breeze.

I reach down for a scallop shell.
I feel the smoothness of its pearl
and the roughness of  its surface—
gentleness inside
toughness outside
like most of us.

I stop to watch
black-bellied plovers
glean the surf
Bonaparte’s gulls
                sunbathe on a sand spit
brown pelicans
                dive-bomb for dinner
Forester’s terns
                frolic on air
and I am at one with them
until the tour bus leaves.

Hermit Crab
by Jan Haffley

Godzilla Rises

Godzilla rises from the sea

To put a scare in you and me

Until we look at pixels and see

An enchanting ghost of what could be.

Marine Iguana
by Jan Haffley

Huddling

We are going on a couple more photo shoots during May and early June.  I haven't finished all the India posts yet, so it will be a couple of months until I get back to them.  In the meantime, I'm going to post some piece from earlier trips.  This is the first:

 

 Huddling

Mousy mousebirds

with long feathered tails

cling to woody twigs,

huddled like football players

learning the next play

for blocking the evening chill.

Mousebirds
by Jan Haffley

Stones and Pebbles

Being a former chemistry teacher, I used demonstrations to teach and inspire imaginations.  During one of four regional flights in India, I read a description of one such demo I found in a magazine.  The problem is that—unlike a real professional—
I didn’t write down the name of the professor who created the demonstration.  I’d like to describe it for you anyway.  I just hope he will forgive my inadvertent plagiarism.

Imagine a large canning jar with a wide lid that screws down tight.  I’m going to take the lid off and add stones.  As one of the stones slides off the top, I’ll ask, “Is the jar full?”

I expect the class to say, “Yes.”

But I am able to add several smaller pebbles, so I ask if the jar is full now?

The class will again say, “Yes.”

From under the demonstration table, I’ll fetch a bag of sand.   I pour it on top of all the rocks.  With sand sliding over the side all over the table, I say, “Is the jar full yet?”

Though suspicious, they might say, “Yes, definitely yes.”

From my water pitcher, I pour myself a fresh glass of water and then add it to the stones and sand.  I let them stare at the canning jar for a long moment.

This jar represents my life.  The largest stones are the most important things.  For example, my heath matters a great deal to me.  I value being mobile even though arthritis threatens my freedom.  My family is also special.  My husband likes to take pictures of wildlife, but he doesn’t like to travel alone.  I like to sit in front of my laptop at a café, but I will fly away with him whenever he is ready to go.

Of slightly lesser importance are the pebbles.  My pebbles involve creativity.  I love to write stories and poetry, and when I take a picture, the zebra stripes are likely to go every which way.

Sand is not as important as rocks.  For me, doing laundry is a grain of sand and so is re-organizing my nests, a constant battle with entropy.  I’m old fashioned and use computers as separate tools—one for photographs, another for my blog, and my laptop for writing.  Each device is at the center of a nest.  (My problem is that I can’t figure out if this blog is a pebble or sand.)

Finally comes the trivial, those minuscule molecules of water.  For me, the most minuscule thing that fills too many hours of my days is playing solitaire games on my i-Pad (my fourth computer).

The point is to spend a proportional amount time on each task relative according to the level of its importance: Stone, Pebble, Sand, or Water.  (I’m off to play Free Cell now that I’ve finished this post?)

Namaste  

Plains Zebra, photo by Jan Haffley