Not the kind of jam I like.

After a week’s absence (sorry! I’m still here!), I’m back with a few shots of the water. Well, frozen water – an ice jam choking the Grand River in downtown Cambridge, Ontario. Here’s how it looked for a few weeks – these photos were taken near the end of January:

 

 

Yesterday, after a couple of mild, rainy days, the ice jam released, sending a sudden surge of water and massive chunks of ice downstream to Brantford. There, the river clogged up again and resulted in flooded roads and the evacuation of 2000 households located in the floodplain. (There’s also a heartbreaking report of a toddler swept away in another region near the flooded Grand). This afternoon, the Brantford ice jam began to loosen and water levels are receding. Ice and debris are now making their way further downstream… here’s hoping that other communities aren’t affected by flooding.

I didn’t get dramatic shots of all this excitement, but I was able to get out today to make a few pictures of the remaining ice along the banks in Cambridge.

I’ve much gratitude for the quick and tireless actions of all the staff and volunteers in our communities. Stay safe, everyone!

 

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Today’s math equation.

Dead weeds (๐Ÿคจ) + Rain (๐Ÿ˜ฉ) + Freezing temperatures (๐Ÿ˜ฐ) + Sunshine (๐Ÿ˜Š) =

Sparkly goodness (๐Ÿ˜)

Alternatives.

Despite rambling on during my last post about the joy of being outdoors, I didn’t feel like making pictures outside today because the air was cold enough to hurt my face. So I bought myself a flower instead. And my face feels great.

 

On being present.

You’ve walked alone in the snow for nearly two hours this morning with your camera bag slung over your shoulder but you haven’t even made a single shot, though it doesn’t matter because you are just being right now, just listening to the swish of your snow pants with every step and just watching the dense downward drift of the snowflakes that look like a bazillion tiny white stars, and when you stop moving there’s only silence so you tip your face to the whiteness of the sky and close your eyes and concentrate on the snowflakes coming to an end on your skin, the feathery tickles as they pool in freezing droplets on your cheeks and your chin and your glasses… so, in honour of your kids, and indeed of childhood itself, you open your mouth wide and catch the falling snowflakes with your tongue and you don’t even care if you look ridiculous, there’s no one here to see in any case; only the trees and they really don’t seem to mind, and then you finally pull out the camera and make the only photo of the day as you stand among the stoic trunks of the conifers, an unremarkable picture except for the fact that when you look at it you’re reminded that you are very small and the world is very big, that there is beauty in silence and solitude and in the crisp, cold taste of a bazillion falling stars.

Tree canopy (1 of 1)

Snow white, p.4.

I discovered that I’m less afraid of winter if I’m armed with my camera.