“Yurt,” I correct her, smiling.  “In a few minutes, we’re almost there.  Can you smell the salt air?”

And then we are there.  There being Cape Disappointment State Park, a wild outcropping of land where the mouth of the mighty Columbia River yawns into the even mightier Pacific Ocean.

We cruise the large campground to the rhythmic beat of the windshield wipers, noting the trailers and camper vans and large recreation vehicles with satellite dishes.  Where are the yurts?  We pass little dome tents with rain shields and feel sorry for the tent-dwellers and glad for ourselves, because We Are Camping in a Yurt.

And then we see it.  Number 66.  Our little green domicile for the next three nights, replete with covered front porch, skylight, window, an outdoor fire pit and best of all: electricity and heat.

Hunching our shoulders against the pelting rain, the four of us quickly unload the van and make our little home cozy.  For the next three days, whenever the rain stops, we walk the beach, search for sea treasures, play in the wet sand, read, watch movies, eat like royalty, roast marshmallows and stare into the fire.  During the really rainy times, we set off in the van to explore the tiny towns and harbors that dot the coast.

Our final night in the yurt, the rain finally stops and the night sky is free of clouds. I stretch out on the bunk, next to Ellie, and glancing up at the skylight, am surprised to see twinkling lights.  Stars.

We gaze at them and make wishes. “I really like this yacht,” my sleepy girl murmurs.

I kiss her softly on the head, inhaling her warm, sweet scent.

“Me too, sweetie,” I whisper. “Me, too.”

“You won’t be taking them. I will.”  I joke.  “Besides, you know the autumn leaves are SO your colors,” I remind her cheerfully.

Bingo. She sighs and a few seconds later I see a barely perceptible shrug of her shoulders – reluctant consent.  “You better delete the ones I don’t like,” she growls. Her unbridled enthusiasm is contagious and I skip off to get my camera.

We get to the park in the late afternoon.  Just when I was wishing I had plied her with alcohol (I’m kidding!), she loses her self-consciousness and begins to relax and play a little for my camera.  We have so much fun we decide to celebrate over burgers and root beer floats.

“You know,” she says, munching a fry, “I actually had a great time.  It sounds goofy, but it felt like you saw into who I am and somehow captured my essence or something.”  She hesitates, looking a little embarrassed.  “You made me feel pretty,” she adds sheepishly.

And that’s why I’m a photographer.  Because I have this compelling desire to show people how incredibly amazing they are from MY side of the camera.

It was a perfect day. The late afternoon sun filled the sky with golden light as we sipped silky red wine and ate chunks of smoked salmon and fig-raspberry jam on blue cheese shortbread. And thus began the ‘Epicurean Feast’, which translated means ‘really good food and drink’.  (And, yes, I just heard the collective groans of all you foodies).

Undeniably, the event was extraordinarily yummy.  If I were Latin American, I would say the culinary fare made my taste buds dance the salsa.  If I were French, I would punctuate each delicate bite with sensual murmurs of appreciation. But being an ignorant American, as I sampled the Pâté Grand-Mère, I merely thought, Wow. This is really good. I wonder what I’m eating.

Along with the aforementioned Fromage de Tête and Pâté Grand-Mère, there were “porky platters of deliciousness” (my favorite description from the menu), sliced heirloom tomatoes drizzled with olive oil and fresh herbs, gourmet olives, chewy artisan breads and a variety of creamy, OMG cheeses.

The burlap covered dining tables were visual delights in themselves: herb scented water bottles, bright floral arrangements and charming mason jars full of colorful, crunchy vegetables nestled in buttermilk blue cheese dip.  Little jars of local honey adorned each place setting, gifts for the guests.

Yes, the food was decadent, the wine wonderful, the details delightful…the giant chocolate chip cookies Absolutely Amazing.  And yet, for me, the food and drink were not the best part of the evening.

My favorite part was watching Shannon and Kirby through the lens of my Canon. (And it is here I must pause and offer my sincere apologies to the Official Photographer who surely wondered Who the heck is that crazed camera-wielding woman?)

While others feasted on smoke roasted pork loin, I feasted on The Way He Looked at Her. While cheese lovers savored the smooth texture of the parmigiano reggiano, I savored The Way She Smiled at Him. And while many drank in the fragrant bouquet of the fruit of the vine, I drank in The Deep Affection She Holds for Her Son.

And then there was Shannon and Kirby’s love for one another…so luminous that, at times, everyone else simply disappeared in the shadows.  You knew they were glad you were there but if you hadn’t been…well, that would have been okay, too.  Because They Had Each Other.

Thank you, Shannon and Kirby, for sharing your Special Day. Thank you for sharing your food, your wine and your love. It was truly a great feast.   In every way.

Oh, I know many who favor the delicate, fragrant buds of spring…while others relish the long, warm days of summer and even a few hardy souls, the stark beauty of winter.  But for me, the stunning array of Mother Nature’s last dance is why autumn reigns supreme.

]]> http://www.katdelacruzphoto.com/posts/personal/autumns-song/feed/ 0 http://www.katdelacruzphoto.com/posts/photo-shoots/portrait-session-h-family/ http://www.katdelacruzphoto.com/posts/photo-shoots/portrait-session-h-family/#comments Tue, 27 Sep 2011 21:03:48 +0000 Kat Dela Cruz http://www.katdelacruzphoto.com/?p=693 The first time I met 4-year old Charlie was in the swimming pool.  He smiled at me with sparkly blue eyes and I swam over to get to know him better. My girls and I played with him while I chatted with his mom, Katie, who stood poolside holding a little pink bundle named Chloe.

Later, as Katie entered my number in her phone, she joked maybe I should get some waterproof business cards.  Hmmmm…

Our Saturday morning photo shoot dawned gray and drizzly but we didn’t care.  This special family more than made up for the weather with their sunny smiles, warm affection for one another, and willingness to go with the flow.  (Really, how many people do you know who will let you climb on their coffee table AND hold the light reflector to get that perfect shot? Thanks, Maggie.)

We had a terrific time and after our session ended, and I was en route to the printer to pick up my new waterproof business cards (kidding), I was still feelin’ the glow.

There ain’t nuthin’ like a baby!

Baby Aliya was just 11 days old when I had the privilege of photographing her and her beautiful mommy, Laura, in my studio.  Laura is a natural mother and her relaxed style made her easy to photograph.  We had a great session and I look forward to doing a family portrait (with Dad included) in the near future!

She routinely processes details most of us miss: patterns on walkways, mosaics on ceilings, color variances on walls.  Shapes and textures, shadows and reflections. Her medium are many and come from nature as often as the art store: Magnets and markers, spoons and string, flowers and foam. Oh, yes…and tape. Lots of tape.

She creates confidently, without fanfare. She seldom seeks approval, believes strongly that staying in the lines is overrated, and almost never criticizes her own work. She is a prolific artist and mounts her finished work wherever it pleases her.

She wakes up in the morning and I hear the stairs squeak as she pads downstairs. She finds me, drinking coffee at the dining table, and the first words out of her mouth are: “I want to paint.”

Her name is Ellie. She is five years old.

The Artist Herself…

Right now my mind is spinning with a thousand thoughts: Curriculum development for a class I’m teaching at our homeschool co-op. My friend’s battle with prescription drug addiction. Is the loose tile in the bathroom from a leaky commode or did someone spill water on the floor? Why am I getting duplicate emails since updating my Mac operating system? Can I lose twenty pounds by Friday? Who let the dogs out? Woof, woof, woof.

I take a deep breath and slow the spinning until it stops. Arriving at my studio, I sit down at my desk and get down to business. My Photography Business. I look at my list of priorities and feel a sudden intense desire to check email, order a new bathing suit online and call my friend on Maui. Simultaneously.

I look at my to do list again. It’s long and I’m overwhelmed thinking of all I have to do. Another deep breath. A little pep talk: One thing at a time. Focus. Feel the fear and do it anyway!

Okay. Number one: backup computer files. I attach my external hard drive and drag my folders over. They begin copying. A single step.

Today I encourage you to take one small step toward your goals and dreams. And as you walk along your life path, remember to hold hands.

“Three quarters for three minutes,” she replied matter-of-factly, her nose in a book.

After a few minutes of rummaging in wallets and bags, we managed to scrape up six quarters. We did the math: three females, one male. Six minutes of shower-time.  No mixed-gender bathing allowed in the separate bathroom facilities. It was getting late and no one wanted to drive several miles to the nearest store for change. It was a no-brainer. Darryl magnanimously proclaimed he would shower the next day.

We cheerfully gathered our toiletries and the three of us headed into the night, clutching our six quarters.  I may have imagined it, but I’m pretty sure I saw a fleeting look of envy in Darryl’s eyes as he watched us go.

The girls undressed and stood shivering as I put three quarters in the slot of the rusty box and waited for the water to warm. We thought it most unfair that almost 15% of our first session time was consumed in waiting and wondered if six minutes would be enough for the three of us. I quickly lathered the girls and they rinsed under the steamy water, giggling with pleasure at the simple luxury of a hot shower.  It felt like a little siesta…must be those negative ions. I thought of Darryl, and felt sorry my beloved was missing out.

The water stopped abruptly and I fed the meter our last three quarters and finished washing the girls.  I figured there was about a minute of water left so I bent my head under the spray and washed and conditioned my hair.  Heaven.  As I towel dried my hair, I looked at the paint-chipped water meter and froze.  My brain finally registered what had been before me the entire time: a three minute shower didn’t cost three quarters, it only cost two.

The mind is a tricky thing.  You clearly remember bringing your wallet in from the car yet find it on the backseat where you left it.  You reach for that can of tomato soup on the grocery shelf and yet somehow arrive home with a can of french onion instead.  Your glasses are on your head while you spend five minutes looking for them.

So here’s what I thought as I dried my hair:

1. The signs are there, but we don’t always see them; our assumptions and presumptions get in the way.

2. The thing we’re looking for (or need) is often right in front of us and we pass it by, busy and distracted.

3. I wonder if Darryl’s going to be bummed when he finds out he could’ve had a shower after all.