Fort Edmonton Wedding: Cindy and Ryan
I have been to a few weddings in my lifetime and, for one reason or another, some are more enjoyable than others. To me, what makes a wedding memorable is when the intimacy of the whole affair is palpable. As a photographer, when I am able to feel the genuine outpouring of love and affection, not only between the bride and groom, but more specifically between the guests and the wedding couple. It’s that one, abstract detail that defines a wedding for me. When I can share in that, the wedding goes from good to great.
That is the feeling I got from Cindy and Ryan’s wedding. I won’t say that this wedding was perfect, as no wedding is, but this one, in my eyes, was very close. I would give it a higher ranking then a nine out of ten, but there was this one little incident involving myself destroying one of the decorations at the church during the ceremony–and not in a very quiet manner either. See, while decorating the church prior to the wedding day, Cindy closed off one of the doors leading to the sanctuary, wrapping the door handles with a decoration as a clear indicator that guests were to use the other door. Well, during the ceremony, I was shooting from the cordoned off area of the church. It was then that I realized the exchange of rings was coming and I had a long way to go to get in position for this moment. How best to cover a great distance in a short amount of time? Running, of course. So I decide that instead of sneaking around the front of the church I would go out the back doors, run, nay sprint, through the foyer, and come back through the second set of doors and arrive, cool as a cucumber, ready to snap some pics of the rings being exchanged.
Well, that one little decoration had other plans. As I tried to open the door, much to my chagrin, it is tied shut, a neat little flower-like decoration hanging from the handles on the other side. At this point, I’m committed to this course of action so I take a deep breath, push the door open and rip the ornament apart, and make good on my escape. In my humble opinion the photographer should be like the grey man–not very noticeable in any way, so as to get all the shots needed but not interfere or be memorable to the guests when recalling the event. With that in mind, I’m pretty sure that just for good measure, I stepped on the decoration before letting the door bang noisily shut behind me, making my efforts during the ceremony to remain “hidden in plain sight” pretty foolish and disruptive.
Sigh.
Besides that I was annoying, this was also the first wedding that Lisa was my second shooter. Before the wedding she asked,
“Can I second for you?”
“Sure?” I replied, in exactly that manner–with a question mark hanging at the end.
“Okay, cool. But, just so you know, I don’t know what I am doing behind a camera. At all.”
Having a second shooter that has no experience using a camera is not an ideal situation, let me tell you, unless that second shooter is my wife, Lisa. After being there for every photo shoot I have ever done, having been through the pre-planning and been involved in critiquing almost every image I have ever taken; and, being my premier research assistant extraordinaire, she knows how my mind works, probably better than I do–so having her along was probably the best thing I could have ever done for myself while shooting a wedding. I felt immediately that I had a photographing partner, someone I could talk to and bounce ideas off and, more importantly, someone to remember things that I may forget. ”Remember that one pose you were thinking of the other day…” was all she needed to say in order to spark my memory of a recollection of something that, if on my own, I most likely would have forgotten.
So to say Lisa is an unskilled second shooter would be a grave misrepresentation because she was very valuable, even with her lack of experience with a camera.
All that said, I was talking about Cindy and Ryan’s wedding, which, as I was saying was a beautiful affair. The reception was held at Fort Edmonton Park, the day before it opened officially for the summer, meaning we had the entire park to ourselves. Other than the handful of staff wandering the grounds, there was not a soul in sight. It even gave us opportunity to break into the building housing the carousel where we had some amazing photos.
I think I inadvertently wore them out as there were so many great places to shoot we ended up walking the entire length and breadth of the place, during which we ended up time travelling from 1846 up to 1920–and you know my thoughts on time travel.
I will end by saying that this was my first wedding of the year and a very memorable way for me to kick off the wedding season; and, a big thank you to Cindy and Ryan, as well. I hope you are having a great honeymoon–where ever you are at this very moment! Your wedding was beautiful and it was over way to fast; in the words of Ron Pope, “ beautiful things never last, That’s why fireflies flash.”
Now, time for a photographic intermission to let you know that this wedding also had Lindt chocolates, pushing it back up to a nine-point-five out of 10. Awesome.
Resume photos.
I will end with what maybe a stereotypical ending shot, but a beautiful one, none the less.
**** Special note to the groomsmen, but especially David: your photograph with the leading lines will have to wait for another day unless you email me a special request to view it. I will tell you this, however–it is most awesome and the lines just lead your eye.
Its About Time, Riley Jacob!
No, Riley is not walking yet. Sigh. That would be cool, if he were; but, alas, he is not.
I don’t know if it means that I am more of a bad parent then a bad photographer, but I finally got around to shooting Riley’s headshot. I do recall that last year at approximately this time, Lisa asked me to shoot a nice headshot of each of the kids so she could fill some frames she had bought. Well, as a testimony to how fast time goes by, Riley is suddenly a year old and he finally got his own, dedicated session for the sole purpose of getting a nice picture to hang of him along side those of our girls. Like the lawyer with a 15-year-old Will or a landscaper with a disinterested, weed infested yard, I am the photographer with outdated pictures of all his kids.
But it was not for lack of trying that I have not had a picture to hang of Riley. I shift the blame one hundred percent onto Riley himself. I’ve tried, but Riley is an uncooperative sort, prone to all kinds of misery, and every time Lisa and I set something up for him, Riley would have other plans–whether it be getting sick, getting angry, or just plain getting bored and falling asleep, it never seemed to work. And if it seemed that Riley was going to cooperate, mother-nature had her own ideas.
Through all this, I learned something very important. In the past I was placing far too much emphasis on the location of the shoot than anything else, trying to force things into what I wanted. I mean, a great photographer can find amazing light in any location, but I am not a great photographer; through trial and error I have learned that it makes things go much smoother when I first look for great light, which, incidentally, has the odd effect of making the location look that much better.
So, the other night, Riley was in the best mood of his life (which is also truly a key ingredient in this equation, lets not under play that fact); and so at that moment, Lisa and I scooped him up, rustled up the softest, most excellent light I could, and had at it.
I am happy to say that Riley had his shoot, be it over due as it was. And since Riley just turned one, I will say that this is his birthday present–even though he is too young to know or care what he gets for his birthday.
Since I mentioned it, I guess I will post a few pics from his birthday celebration we held for him while on vacation in California. There is no better way to turn one then in Cali!
Okay, now you saw his one year old birthday, here are the photos from his shoot, shortly thereafter.
Its Not Often I Find Myself Humbled By a Book
I will admit that the vast majority of my best reading is done in the bathroom. Besides the time spent with a book in my bed before I go to sleep, the peace and solitude that comes with reading behind a locked door is unmatched; and, I know for a fact, I am not alone in this. Bathroom readers abound throughout the globe. Of this I am convinced. In fact I am also quite sure that bathroom reading, like the lineup, is a globally recognized social norm, the type of activity common to almost all humanity, no matter your place or station, and no matter what your culture.
Everyone does it.
I figure that, over the course of my life, I have spent many, many long hours locked in the bathroom, the hustle of daily life drowned out by the white noise of the fan, with either a book on hand; or failing that, leafing idly through one of the reams of magazines and catalogues that call the bathroom their home. Between the reading tastes of Lisa and I the bathroom has quite the eclectic ensemble of magazines and catalogues, ranging anywhere from Anthropologie and J. Crew, all the way up to Martha Stewart Weddings, Popular Mechanics and Photoshop magazines; and, all this seasoned liberally with iconic reads such as The Potty Book for girls, and Dora the Explorer. The reading choices for my family and for the comfort and entertainment of my guests during their visits to my throne room are vast.
Of late, the subject of my reading (both bathroom and otherwise) has diverged from a Charles Dickens centred library to focusing on a series of books lent to me by my friend, Dan. I am not exactly sure where he finds such great reads all the time; but, if I ever am in want of an interesting read and am stuck for ideas, he will have twenty-five suggestions that leave me stuck again, merely for over abundance of great suggestions. It is not my habit to book-review something I have not quite finished but I am going to review this series anyway, because after reading the first three books, I can safely say I have sufficient a taste to accurately give account of the flavour of the books proceeding.
The series is called, The Christians: Their First Two Thousand Years, which gives historical and factual accounts of the people, places and things that revolve around the birth and spread of Christianity, starting from Jesus Christ and working through to the present age. As I am only on the third book, encompassing the third century A.D., I have a ways yet to go but, as I mentioned, these three have given me enough of a taste to formulate a solid impression. As a history junkie (and especially a Roman history junkie) these books are perfectly suited for me–you can’t talk early Christianity without talking about the Roman Empire, a fact which delights me to no end, making this a very interesting read.
Besides appealing to the historian within, there were two substantial things that struck me while reading these books. The first being how completely lacking my knowledge of the specific details concerning Christianity’s formative years was. Outside of the accounts given in the Bible and what I learned in school, I really had no knowledge of the specifics surrounding the spread of Christianity. The more I read the more I came to see that anything I knew about Christian history was so very shallow. I feel, now, kind of awed that I would not desire to know more, being that this history is, in essence, my history; but, at the same time, seeing now how rich and storied a history it is, I am glad I came to discover it, regardless of how late it was coming.
The second thing, and most important to me, was that I learned exactly what persecutions Christians suffered at the hands of the Romans during the first several hundred years after Christ’s death. Before now, I knew that Christians were killed in a variety of horrific ways; but that knowledge seemed so abstract and distant. To see how steadfast so many were during torture and while facing execution in grotesque ways, does to me now what it did to so many Christians who were witness to it then as well: it gives me encouragement. I feel, almost ashamed that I would consider any inconvenience I suffer as part of being a Christian today as worthy of a second thought in the light of what Christianity has been through in the past.
The impact of learning the things portrayed in these books was immense. It’s rare that I read a book that changes the way I see the world, but this one has–putting my life into better perspective.
All said, the books for me could be simply described as humbling.
Time To Get Reacquainted With the CBC
It happened–my vacation is over. Before I leave on a holiday I always do one thing: I stand in a certain spot in my house and try to imagine what it will be like standing in that same spot after I get back. It is a weird thing to do, I know, but I always do it; and a few moments ago I just finished my traditional post holiday routine and I can hardly believe a month’s worth of vacation is done and gone.
We decided to end our holiday in fine fashion by taking the 26 odd hours of driving and cramming that into two days. Bad idea. Not for me–I have no problem driving that long and could do it all in one shot if it were just me in the vehicle–but for Riley, the trip home was a pretty hard pill to swallow. The older kids did well with the long, forced marches each day, but Riley was just too small to stomach it and now he is sick. So, lesson learned.
But, I got back just in time to vote, if that is any consolation. I tell you, of all the great things about California I will miss, there are two specific things I will not miss: firstly, their bizarre drug advertisements they have on television and secondly, the drawn out election campaigns they run for months and months before the election.
The drug commercials they have on t.v. always get under my skin because they are literally five minutes long, four and a half minutes of that being devoted to delivering a list of side effects by unusually cheery looking actors in calm, Martha Stewart-like voices, talking about how, in three percent of clinical trial, their drug has caused vomiting, drop in blood pressure, and, how simple blood tests are needed to check for liver problems before and twelve weeks after start of therapy or change of dose, and semi-annually thereafter.
I’m glad we have a distinct lack of drug advertisement in Canada.
And now, as I am headed out the door on my way to vote, I am glad of the one month electoral campaign we have had here as opposed to the 18 month one that has begun in the States. In November 2012 the next presidential election will be held and already the public is being exposed to the annoying campaign ads that signal the start of election season–only this one is a year and a half away. I could not put up with that, especially because most of the platforms consist of candidate A saying that candidate B is a liar and the worst human in history next to Hitler; then candidate B will come on and in rebuttal claim that Candidate A is liar and evil incarnate–so at the end of a year and a half, you have no idea what people stand for other than that they stand against the other people running in the election. Which is pretty obvious to me since they are running against each other anyway.
Well, this diatribe has led me to the conclusion that it seems pretty apparent that I do not like the American media.
Bring on the CBC.
I can’t believe I just said that.
Ava’s Fish Story
I had to add this video of Ava telling the story of how she caught her big fish. It is pretty cute and hilarious, I think.
A River (or in Our Case, a Lake) Runs Through It
In the middle of the community in which we are staying, a lake winds its way between the rows of houses. Upon arriving here, we went for a walk, exploring our surroundings where I discovered a sign on the lake shore, which informed me that this lake was for the use of the community residents and their guests and that all fish caught in this lake were to be released.
Whaaaaaaat? There are fish here?
I have a problem, you see. If I am near fish I have to catch them. I love fishing and having a lake with strange breeds of fish a minute’s walk from my door was too much to handle–the problem being I did not have a rod with which to scratch my angling itch, a problem I immediately made plans to remedy. I did not have to scheme long because my neighbour here happened to be outside one evening and we got to talking. During the course of our conversation he asked if I had opportunity yet to go fishing, which I replied, woefully, the I did not have a rod. Well, being the superb neighbour he is (to my extreme delight) he straightaway lent me his.
Now, fast forward to this past Saturday. My brother-in-law Gord is visiting and, after finding out that he had never gone fishing in his life before, I decide he needed to give it t a try since Ava had more experience angling then he did and she is seven. Quick as a wink, I took on the persona of Rev. Maclean and began Gord’s slow gentle introduction to the ways of the fisherman. It took no more than five minutes for Gord to catch his first fish (mostly due to my fine instruction), after which his exact words were,
“This is awesome! I never knew you actually caught fish when you went fishing.”
But, the moral of this story is not how well I was able to coach Gord into catching his first fish, though it was a fine display of mentoring (it is like the rollup the rim paradox–does the prize belong to the one who buys the coffee or to the one who rolls up the rim?). No matter, the real moral is this: no matter how hard you try to outsmart the fish, sometimes it takes a seven-year old to show you how dumb the fish actually are and at the same time, how little outsmarting they really need.
You see, in order to stop the incessant begging by the girls for a turn to use the fishing rod, I tied a short length of line to their walking sticks, attached a bobber and a hook and gave one to Zoe and one to Ava, allowing them to monkey around with these while Gord and I did some real fishing. You can probably see where this story is going, but I am committed to telling it so now I will finish it. About ten minutes after getting our hooks wet, Gord had caught a little smallmouth bass and was bugging me that I had not caught anything yet, when Ava suddenly started screaming with delight.
“I got one, I got one!” she yelled, over and over in a delirious and excited, high-pitched voice. I looked over to see what all the commotion was all about, expecting to see her with a fish on, don’t get me wrong, but, in a very patronizing way I fully expected her have only caught a little blue gill and that all her yelling was going to be much ado about nothing. What I saw, however, was far from what I had initially anticipated. I saw Ava standing on the shore gripping her make shift fishing pole in both hands, wrestling with all her might and main against a behemoth bass, trying her hardest to drag this flopping beast out of the water and onto the shore line. Wide-eyed, I dropped my rod and scurried over to help her hoist this sea monster onto the grass.
As fishing is, invariably, a contest between all anglers to see who can catch the biggest fish, I was amazed at how handily Ava dominated in this one, where she was by far the underdog with her inferior strength, size, knowhow, and, most amazingly, with the substandard equipment I had given her. I mean, all she had was about three feet of line, a bobber, hook and a piece of hotdog all attached to the end of her walking stick.
In our neighbourhood, a lake runs through it.
Gord’s long overdue picture of him with his first fish.
Ava’s first fish–a tiny smallmouth bass
Gord, fishing for the first time–ever.
Deglet Noor: the Date De Resistance
Whoa, its been a week since I last posted. Time is so cruel…
This morning, as I was sitting down eating my breakfast, it struck me. As I examined my food I thought to myself that I have never eaten a breakfast like the one I was eating right then. No, I don’t mean that I was experiencing some kind of philosophical awakening about living in the moment and I am not going to share my feelings on ontology or some other confusing and equally esoteric branch of metaphysics.
Nope. You are over thinking my statement if you thought this.
What I mean is, simply, that this morning’s breakfast consisted of a combination of certain foods that before today, I would never have considered. Like a Roman nobleman, lounging at breakfast in his villa, what I was eating was this: a tree ripened, white grapefruit interspersed with the most succulent bunch of deglet noor dates in the world.
Like a Roman circa 45 B.C. minus the pool and air conditioning.
Don’t get me wrong, I have tasted dates before but my experience with them has been only in the way that a person who lives in a place like Edmonton, Alberta–thousands of kilometres away from the nearest active date palm–can experience; and in the same way I have tasted grapefruit before (in fact I eat at least one every day), but now those grapefruit all seem just so bland as to be cardboard in comparison.
It is unfair of me to compare like this however, being that the Shields Date Garden is a five-minute drive from my front door step, where, after sampling the half-dozen different variety of dates grown there, I selected as my date de resistance, the most ridiculously delicious batch of deglet noors (the medjools were a close, close second). And, on my way out the door, picked up a big bag of tree ripened, white grapefruit so juicy that you need a bath when you are done eating.
Being So Near Sea Level Has its Perks
There is something about the change of scenery that has rejuvenated and inspired me to take pictures. I am taking photos of everything, snapping pictures like a crazed tourist, wielding my lens like a weapon; and it is not just me that this vacation has changed either–oh no. Something has come over Lisa as well. I was doing my thing this morning, wandering around with my camera and had decided that my 70-200mm lens needed its portrait updated (of all things), and while in the process of updating its headshot, Lisa comes up to me and asks me if I would rather have a human model, instead. Of course I have no want for models around here with all my girls, but something I do lack is models with an attention span of greater or equal to three seconds, so when Lisa, a living breathing adult, offered to pose for me, it was too much to resist.
At that time of the morning, I was still walking around in my PJ’s and after committing herself to modelling, Lisa asked if I wanted to put some other clothes on first–of course I immediately declined. I thought to myself, “How often does Lisa volunteer to be my model?” The answer to that question should not be that hard to figure out for anyone who has read my blog for any length of time, a fact which made me reject her offer flat-out. You can’t just kill the momentum of this once in a lifetime session by taking time to do crazy things like getting dressed. By the time I finished, the kids could be swarming and Lisa could find herself covered head to toe in a mixture of baby food, Cheerios and vomit (which, oddly enough, sometimes happens) so there was no way I was going to let things get out of control by leaving the room for a minute. This photo shoot was happening now, whether Lisa liked what I was wearing or not!
I did have to take a moment to figure out why this was happening, and I attribute her willingness to model for me to the low altitude in which we are currently residing: we are quite near sea level (and in fact on the way to Joshua Tree National Park, there is a sign not far down the road from where we are living that says, “Sea Level” indicating that very thing), and being so near to sea level, the atmosphere is quite heavy here, thick with oxygen which, I can only assume, has supersaturated her blood and addled her brain, uncovering in her a talent for modelling heretofore unseen. With that, I like to consider this my first international photo shoot, for which I could not have found a better model to share it with. I will just let you see for yourself what a beautiful model and wife I have at my disposal. Even if she only likes to pose for me once in a blue moon.
San Diego and Joshua Trees
I have to get this down; the vacation is piling up already and I wanted my bog to be a journal of it, if nothing more.
After Ben and Ashley joined us last Thursday afternoon (March 31, 2011) we spent the rest of that day lounging about the pool, enjoying our first true “day-off” of driving and our first full day of California, 2011. That evening we officially christened the start of the vacation with a celebratory dinner, which in this case happened to be a variation of the roasted chicken that I did a few weeks ago. It was so simple and tasted so good I had to give it a second try. (Side bar: the recipe comes from my favourite cooking website blog the Seaside Kitchen, which is, without a doubt, my favourite cooking blog for several reasons–not the least of which is because the Seaside Kitchen happens to be based out of Newport Beach, California, and because it features Paleo inspired recipes.
I start out cooking with intentions of taking pictures; but then I get some culinary momentum and and forget to take a picture of the end result. Like with this chicken for example. I did not even get a single photo of the finished product and a picture of an onion and a lemon is all we are left with. It tasted good regardless.
The next day (Friday, April 1st, 2011) we tried to get an early start and head for San Diego; but, with four kids in tow, the early start became a normal start, so finally, by mid morning, we were winding our way up Highway 74, negotiating the impressive switchbacks that offered us a commanding view of the Coachella Valley below.
After hitting the I-15 we headed south, arriving at SeaWorld a few hours later. I have said before that there is something about driving the big Interstate highways in California that I can’t seem to get enough of; but there was something awesome about the drive in San Diego–and not just for the car pool lane, either, I will refrain from beating that dead horse. Again. What I will say, however, is that compared to each of the several places I have driven during my time in California, the short commute through San Diego (driving along the 15, 8 and the 5) was the most beautiful. The rolling hills, the palm lined highways, the harbours, the surfing–gorgeous. I loved it so much, that we are going back. The weather was perfect at around 29 degrees, while back around Palm Springs they hit 40, which is a bit uncomfortable, if you ask me.
Abby is a huge fan of penguins, so the arctic exhibit was a smashing success with her.
On Saturday (April 2nd, 2011), we had to say farewell to Ben and Ashley and spent the rest of the day mourning their departure in the pool, trying our best not to enjoy the sun for their sakes.
Sunday, we went to church in Redlands and were blessed enough to have planned out vacation to coincide with the farewell of Rev. Vanderwal. He had just accepted a call to Wingham, Ontario, and this Sunday happened to be his last with the Redlands congregation. I had been looking forward to attending church in Redlands for some time and was more then a little disappointed to learn that Rev. Vanderwal was leaving just as we were arriving. From the first time I heard him preach I have always felt a connection with him; I grew to like him on a more personal level when I found out he is an aquarium enthusiast, like myself, and the thought of missing out on his preaching for the rest of our vacation is disheartening.
But, regardless, our family is very, very thankful at least we were able to have the one, farewell service before he left.
Monday, April 4th, 2011, was another pool day. In the morning Lisa and I alternated turns going for a jog, and already at 9:00 am we knew it was going to be a scorcher, so we just spent the day perfecting our canon ball technique and drinking a Corona or two.
Which brings us up to Tuesday, April 5th, 2011, which also happens to be yesterday, where we went to have a look at Joshua Tree National Park and see what all the fuss was about. As it turns out the park was much ado about something, because we all found it to be absolutely fabulous. The park’s namesake did not let us down either, and seeing the sparse Joshua Tree forests was an awesome sight to behold. The landscape was so alien to anything I had ever seen before.
There was actually so much to see in the park it was overwhelming–with the history of gold mines, ranching and cattle rustling. We ended up driving in on the south entrance so we could go see the ocatilos and chola cactus gardens before hiking the small, one mile loop around Hidden Valley and ending with the breath-taking Keys View.
I’m normally not much of a flower kind of guy in my photography but the amount of flowers that bloom during the spring in the desert caught me off guard. Everywhere you looked, flowers coloured the landscape, with blankets of yellow and white carpeting the ground and every tree and cactus seemed to be in bloom as well.
The park is definitely a multiple day kind of experience–which means it got put on the list of “do-over’s”, right next San Diego.
Now you, and my holiday journal, are up to date.
Give Me the Car Pool Lane, or Give Me Death!
I gotta tell you, I love California.
Coming down on the I-15 through San Bernardino I cannot express the excitement I felt. There are so many things about this place that I absolutely adore; and tops on that list, strangely enough, is the car pool lane. Imagine the far left lane of any highway dedicated only to vehicles containing two or more passengers–and almost no one is driving in it. Where ever we go while in California, if a car pool lane exists, I own it.
At 2:00 pm today, we celebrated the completion of our three journey by doing a group cannon ball into the pool; at 2:30 pm we had our first near drowning; and at 3:00 pm we had our first bee sting–Ava being the unfortunate victim of the now dead bee.
All told, from doorstep to doorstep, our trip took us 26 hours and 39 minutes over a distance of 2913 km, all split over the course of three days.
So, as you can see, we made it and I just wanted to say “hi” from our whole family down in California!
