- Jean Maher
- Apr 28
- 5 min read
Updated: May 3
I woke up this morning another year older, grateful to be here and full of hope for this day. This morning, I’m giving myself permission to have fun and be curious. To not let anything stop me from what I want to do today. True to form, my next thought is, is there anything else I need to do first? I avoid asking this “what do I want?” question ad-nauseum. What I want might be bad (selfish!) so maybe I don’t go. OK. So what? Does it matter? At least I recognize it. Where will I be if I give in to that again? Right. Nowhere at all. A good reminder that I am full of the should’s and the have to’s that keep me from my true self. Stop.
In my heart, I want to GO SEE. I want to take photos that tell stories. I want to see what shows up.
I felt the pull early today, to get to the woods nearer to sunrise. Still, a doubt I have that begs the question, am I running to something or running away from answering "what do I want?" The truth? Both.
Yet, something compelled me to hurry to the woods, to the water, where I feel free and light – my companion George the Airedale feels it, too. We walked swiftly and silently, the sun rising through fog and the promise of a beautiful day.
Being present in the woods is easy for me. Listening for Canada Geese…would they be on the lookout for interlopers in their space? Not today. I cut over on a deer path, ducking branches, the ground devoid of dry crackling leaves that would warn wildlife of our presence thanks to last night’s rain. We reached a hilltop that kept us hidden where I can glimpse what might be in the widened-out marsh and lake. Recent visits were devoid of activity… one can hope… I scan. Wait - I see whiteness on the water… Trumpeters? Pelicans maybe? The timing is right for migrations.
I open my pack and pull out my camera. Too often, I’ve failed to have it in my hand – timing matters. Kind of a metaphor for life – be ready for anything, but don't overthink it. If I miss the moment, I miss life that is right in front of me. A damn shame that I fall into this more than I care to admit. The weight of the camera helps ground me. We slip quietly down the hill, back a bit from the marsh. Hear a rustle and call of a pair of Wood Ducks just to our right in the trees. We wait. Perhaps they are finding the perfect hollow in a tree to build their nest? As we are the interlopers, the last thing I want is to disturb those who call this place home. Eventually the ducks settled down and flew off over the water, and I imagine them illuminated in the rising sun as they fly off.
We continue. George is curious like me. I keep him close, his collar a simple chain with no tags to jingle, the leash in my hand. He stays just behind me, walking on silent fur paws. We reach the shore, and I creep forward low to the ground to sit on a log at the edge of the marsh among the grasses, my hood up, camera at ready. Check. George quiet and sitting. Check. Waterfowl very near are watchful but slowly paddle a short distance away. I know we're OK to stay as they don’t fly. We did well to arrive silently. I point my camera at the whiteness on a spit of land that runs into the bay. Pelicans. A perfect birthday gift. I smile and wait.
I begin taking photos, adjusting the aperture and exposure, applying what I have learned about this new camera. The zoom lens almost feels like cheating – I’m confident there will be detail in my photos now. White birds have been a challenge, but I’ve learned to underexpose the image to keep the bright whiteness of the birds in check. Got it. There is so much going on this morning – Shovelers, Green-winged Teals, Blue-winged Teals, a male Mallard. A newbie - Pied-bill Grebe – a small bobber in the water, diving and popping back up. I watch for the circles in the water, as it appears to be simply playing, coming up near to where it dove, and the sun just right to put him in the spotlight.
Two Wood Ducks swing in and land just below me, the water disturbed by their splash. They are in deep shadow. I’m thankful they do not see us. George is patient and quiet.
The Pelicans are waking up, stretching their wings, and slipping into the water in 2’s and 3’s, so graceful.
I recalled the first time I saw Pelicans a few years ago. My eyes played tricks with my brain filling in details - the illusion of snow in the channel blended into the snow at the shoreline, still melting in early spring. But then the snow began to MOVE. I didn’t realize until they swam upstream nearer to me, that what I was seeing was a huge number of birds. My brain had filled in details that didn't exist - the illusion of snow, and like snow, Pelicans are so silent. They do not speak in ways we can hear.
As they swim today, they begin to gather. They often work together to herd small fish toward the shore where they are easier to catch, using their wings and dipping their long beaks into the water. The effect is like seeing a pumping oil rig, up and down, up and down. In a line together, it is magical to see.
I snap photos as they approach the near shore, the sun at a perfect angle. Others fly to join them from their resting place. Sometimes they lift their heads up to drain the water from the large pouch on their lower beak. Some pull up seaweed to eat. I take many photos, grateful for their calming presence and thank them silently. George and I back away carefully so as to not disturb their breakfast gathering. I will look at the photos later.
My birthday – this day is a gift! While I think I’m observant, I am often surprised when I study the photos captured. What did I miss? What did the camera capture? In this case, it was a Pelican that was tossing a fish up as the water drained out of his bill. I totally did not see THAT. I recalled this Pelican was actively raising his head back several times; likely to drain out the water so the fish could be swallowed.
My Lessons
I’m reminded that the best moments are those where I have no expectations of an outcome. I struggle with that – from words that stuck with me over many years, making ruts in my brain: “you only get one chance to do a good job.” Perfectionist pressure that leads to no good. How often have I hesitated to do something that I wanted for fear of failure? But now I’m hopefully proving to myself that any experience allows me to learn. What I might view as a failure now, may, in hindsight, be meant for me to learn something, like learning how to underexpose a photo and raise the shutter speed for a white bird so I don't blow out the details.
The pictures I capture now are getting closer to representing the beauty I’ve observed. Through failure, I’ve learned I need to be still - sit on that log and just relax into the experience of taking photos of the nonhumans I see. Through failure and letting go of my preconceived plan, the more relaxed I am. The more comfortable I am in my surroundings, the animals just KNOW to relax, too. I am learning to trust that what I am to see and learn will reveal itself to me, even after the sun sets on this beautiful day.
![Wild Carrot on the prairie in the clouds [copyright JeanMaher 2025]](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/0f2ced_e227c9212a5341d78b0aee6d44cfb16a~mv2.jpeg/v1/fill/w_980,h_1025,al_c,q_85,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01,enc_avif,quality_auto/0f2ced_e227c9212a5341d78b0aee6d44cfb16a~mv2.jpeg)
