A Bunny’s View of a Springtime Woodland

Posted on November 18, 2024 by Mike MacDonald

A Bunny’s View of a Springtime Woodland

An intimate view from underneath a miniature forest of mayapples in the woodland known as Raccoon Grove Nature Preserve in Monee, Illinois.

An intimate view from underneath a miniature forest of mayapples in the woodland known as Raccoon Grove Nature Preserve in Monee, Illinois.

In the woodlands of early May, shy waxy white blossoms of mayapples hide under their umbrella-like foliage. Their parasols obscure our view of the flowers from above. But the bunnies below can see them just fine.Mayapples with one umbrella cannot flower. The plant needs two umbrellas to collect extra light energy to do the job. The flowering mayapple in the center clearly shows the leaves rising from the central stalk.

I’ve been photographing nature for thirty-one years, now. And for much of that time, I’ve been searching for an opportunity to showcase these flowers in the form of a landscape. However, due to the logistical and compositional challenges of setting up a clean shot from ground level, many conditions need to be met, much of which I have no control. Therefore, I don’t waste time actively searching for the unlikely perfect scenario. Rather, I enter the scenario into my brain’s pattern-recognition system with the instruction to subconsciously search for the proper conditions and to sound the alarm when they’re met.

In May of 2008, the alarm went off, and I composed an image that I thought I’d never beat. Then in May, sixteen springs later, the alarm went off again. With this image, I may be able to switch the alarm for good.

—Mike
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It Can Take Decades

Posted on September 22, 2024 by Mike MacDonald

It Can Take Decades

At Lake in the Hills Fen, late-summer flowers decorate the seep of one of its hanging fens.

Late-summer flowers decorate the seep of a hanging fen.

This is an image that I’ve been trying to get for over two decades.

The picture above shows a couple of wetland habitats. The area nearest the camera is the seep of a habitat known as a fen. As the name suggests, the seep is where water seeps from the gravel hill located behind the camera. (You can see a similar hill in the far distance.) This is a hanging fen because the seep is backed up against a hill.

That little stream running out of the seep (near the top) feeds water into another wetland habitat know as a sedge meadow. The term “meadow” can be misleading because, when I think of a meadow, I think of grasses and flowers where people can frolic in the afternoon sun, maybe hold a picnic. But if you tried that here, you’d likely need rescuing after you and your checkered tablecloth get stuck in magnetic mud. And it should come as no surprise that the dominant plant in a sedge meadow is the sedge.

The gravel gives the water a high alkaline content, and not every plant can tolerate that kind of chemistry. Therefore, the flowers can be uncommon or rare. Here we have Ohio goldenrod, sphynx lady tresses orchid (two spikes of white flowers), and Grass-of-Parnassus (whitish flowers sprinkled throughout the seep).

—Mike
Posted in Chicago Nature, Illinois Nature Photography, Landscape Photography, Landscape Photography, McHenry County, Nature, Nature Photography | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Go With the Blow

Posted on February 1, 2024 by Mike MacDonald

Go With the Blow

The wind whips the grasses along the edge of a partially frozen Dead River that empties into Lake Michigan.

The wind whips the grasses along the edge of a partially frozen Dead River that empties into Lake Michigan.

Well, I did my first below-zero photo shoot of the winter season on January 15.  It was one below, so it qualified.
Most of the time, the wind is my nemesis. But on this bitter afternoon, instead of fighting it, I decided to go with the blow. The trick is to slow down the shutter speed to a point where the grass tops render as discernable and sweeping at the same time. Otherwise, you just see a confusing blurry mess leaving viewers to wonder what they’re looking at. (It helps to zoom in to see the effect.)
This scene of Illinois Beach State Park is interesting because it shows the Dead River flowing into Lake Michigan. This isn’t a common occurrence, as its name comes from the fact that it doesn’t seem to flow. But sometimes it does, breaking through the sandbar that separates it from the lake. Here, the water flows beneath a thin layer of ice and emerges around the bend.
—Mike
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Winter Red

Posted on January 31, 2024 by Mike MacDonald

Winter Red

The winter fog added a sense of mystery over the sand savanna of black oak and holly.

The winter fog added a sense of mystery over the sand savanna of black oak and red-berried holly.

So far this winter, the magic of frozen white was nowhere to be found. So, I tried to photograph it, anyway.
With dense fog predicted for the morning of Dec. 24, I visited Illinois Beach Nature Preserve in Zion, Illinois. The fog wasn’t as dense as I had hoped, but nature always has a way of surprising me.
Mired in the mist amidst the lush gold, bronze, and auburn tones of the saturated savanna, I caught sight of a indistinct patch of red. I became confused at such vibrance at this time of year, for displays of crimson blooms are rare even in the growing season. Lured by the mystery, I found myself overlooking a low, damp stretch of savanna, home to phalanxes of long-legged winterberry shrubs topped with red berries, our native holly.
—Mike
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Sometimes You Just Need A Little Distance

Posted on February 11, 2022 by Mike MacDonald

Sometimes You Just Need A Little Distance

Great Blue Heron of species Ardea herodias strikes a pose as it elegantly preens its feathers.

This great blue heron strikes a most graceful pose as it preens its breeding plumage.

The great blue heron is one of Chicago’s most recognizable and elusive birds. Pass by any wetland, and you’ll probably see one off in the distance, hunting motionless, like a statue in the still waters. Yet they are fast to flee, rarely allowing us the propinquity to get to know them and to experience intimate moments like the ones you see here. That’s because these great blues are wading in the waters of southern Florida where the birds don’t seem to mind the company of humans.

When bird photographers fly all the way to Florida, few aim their lenses at the great blues. They’re too common. After all, these birds live in every state, including Hawaii! Travelers want the exotic. And the photographic flock would share its discoveries and rumors. Day after day, there were chirpings about the latest sighting of a rare bird, like the “rosy”—the nickname given to the pink and flamboyant roseate spoonbill. Every day, it was “rosy this” and “rosy that.”

Great Blue Heron of species Ardea herodias strikes a pose as it elegantly preens its feathers.

Great blue herons are effortlessly elegant.

Nevertheless, whenever a great blue would come near, I’d enter a trance, unable to pull myself away from its statuesque beauty. As the only one focused on this everyday bird, clearly I wasn’t a bird of the same feather. Yet I was vindicated, as it struck pose after stunning pose with an elegance that no rosy will ever achieve.

I’ve collected many images of dozens of species: ibises, various egrets and herons, pelicans, coots, gallinules, and rare wood storks. Yet these portraits live amongst my very favorites.

I traveled a thousand miles in search of the exotic, and I unwittingly found myself with a greater appreciation of a shy local species. Sometimes you just need a little distance to discover what’s right in front of you.

—Mike

Posted in Bird Photography, Chicago Nature, Digital Photography, Illinois Nature Photography, Landscape Photography, Nature, Nature Photography, Photography Lessons, Wildlife Photography | Leave a comment

From Dreary to Dreamy

Posted on February 11, 2022 by Mike MacDonald

From Dreary to Dreamy

Just in case you’re unaware, all of my images are available as big, beautiful photographic prints. More than just pretty, they tell elaborate stories that celebrate Chicago’s wondrous habitats and inhabitants. Click here for more information.

Shelves of ice form along the sandy shore of a turquoise Lake Michigan at Illinois Beach Nature Preserve in Zion, Illinois.

Shelves of ice form along the sandy shore of a turquoise Lake Michigan at Illinois Beach Nature Preserve in Zion, Illinois.

On overcast days like this, I usually stay home. Rarely do gray skies help a photograph. This is why magical snow-covered trees on an overcast day will make your heart sing, while a photo of the same scene will come off as depressing. Gray skies kill photographs.

During a recent gloomy afternoon, I visited the Lake Michigan shoreline and was able to transform a dreary situation into this dreamy photograph. This article is about how I puzzled and constructed the image from the worldly elements before me. This artistic collaboration within the glorious constraints of the real world is what makes photography so exciting and rewarding for me. Painters often use a trick that fools the human brain. They eliminate “nonessential details,” which distract from communicating a subject’s essence. However, as a (representational) photographer, I have no choice, which is why I developed a style for making images that convey a subject’s essence amidst the infinite detail.

Just like those breathtaking snow-covered trees, even the wonderful, whimsical ice shelves are no match for a gloomy day. But the turquoise teals from calm waters amidst the late-afternoon blues of distant clouds made all the difference. Yet, the scene remained a bit unimaginative and compositionally trivial. Graphically, it needed something to break up the uniform triangle of brown pebbles between shore and shelf. It needed some magic.

Strolling for a while atop the ice shelf, I found what I was hoping for. A curious length of sandy ice mounds grabbed my attention. The mystery of their formation added that element of magic. And graphically, the warm-colored blobs complemented the green of the lake, while their texture contrasted with the flat uniformity nearby. They act as cairns that keep you fixed to the shore. And their moderate height gives your eye (and the virtual self in your mind) a gentle boost up and onto the ice shelf. (Read more about this in the footnote1 .)

Positioned between mounds and water, you’ll see a strand of crystal filigree. This is an important controlling compositional element—”controlling” because it guides your eye and, like a guardrail, keeps you from wandering. This delicate stretch of white garland, along a waterline of contrasting stones, escorts you into the distance while keeping you from entering the aqua abyss.

Interestingly, the fantastical features of the ice shelf turned out to be the least influential element in composition. And that’s perfect. When collaborating with the world, Mother Nature has a say. It’s rare that my pictures follow my original plan.

—Mike

1  When we look at a picture, we insert the idea of our physical selves into that world. Your eye will not venture into areas that appear blocked, dark, cramped, brambly, or dangerous. You will only travel into open and available spaces while bouncing between obstacles, like a Roomba. I teach about this in my fascinating and fun Make Great Pictures, Now! class in composition. Visit Creative Eye Workshops for more information.

 

Posted in Chicago Nature, Digital Photography, Illinois Nature Photography, Lake County Illinois Nature, Landscape Photography, Nature, Nature Photography, Photography Lessons | 1 Comment

The Extraordinary in the “Ordinary”

Posted on February 3, 2022 by Mike MacDonald

The Extraordinary in the “Ordinary”

The winter sun warms the oak savanna on the kame at Bluff Spring Fen in Elgin, Illinois.

On this “ordinary” January morning at Bluff Spring Fen, a blanket of cold winter white covered the preserve. As I crossed the threshold from windswept prairie to quiet savanna-on-the-kame, I was met by a hug of majestic bur oaks that gently placed me under their protection. (I nominate the word “hug” as the collective noun for a grouping of bur oaks.)

I am both haunted and fascinated by a phrase that’s often used to praise and describe my work.

It all came to a head one day after I performed my one-man show about Chicago nature. Three audience members separately visited me at my book-signing table and said, “Your photographs bring out the extraordinary in the ordinary.” They were enthusiastic and well-meaning. And I was gracious in my response, but in reality I was confused and shocked. Insulted, too—not for myself, but for the prairie and the woodlands that, to me, are immensely beautiful and full of wonderment.

At O'Hara Woods in Romeoville, Illinois, the April sun rises to warm the springtime woodland brimming with Virginia bluebells.

At O’Hara Woods in Romeoville, Illinois, the April sun rises to warm the springtime woodland brimming with fragrant Virginia bluebells. I can best describe this floral, yet fruity, fragrance as a Chanel version of Froot Loops cereal.

How can “ordinary” be used to describe the breathtaking experience of the lush and fragrant woodland scenes of Virginia bluebells in the spring and July’s kaleidoscopic heart-stopping vignettes of purple, orange, ivory, and gold?

Maybe, instead of “ordinary,” people really mean “everyday.” Even so, I still come to the prairie’s defense when people call it “ordinary” simply because it’s not the peaks of the Grand Tetons, Old Faithful erupting at sunset, or the mesmerizing midnight colors of the aurora borealis.

The many flowers of oak savanna at Somme Prairie Grove sparkle brilliantly in the last light of day.

Again, it’s July at Somme Prairie Grove, and the savanna is alive with a kaleidoscope of color.

The answer to why my work is able to convey the extraordinary in the ordinary was hidden in plain sight. When it comes to the habitats and inhabitants of Chicago’s wilderness, I’m blind to the ordinary. I only see the fascinating, the magnificent, and the beautiful. And therefore, I naturally create images that reflect what I experience and feel.

—Mike

Posted in Chicago Nature, Cook County Nature, Digital Photography, Humor, Illinois Nature Photography, Landscape Photography, Nature, Nature Photography, Photography Lessons | Leave a comment

The Boy and the Waterfall: A Photographer’s Story and Message of Hope

Posted on December 31, 2020 by Mike MacDonald

The Boy and the Waterfall:
A Photographer’s Story and Message of Hope

Sunlight forms a rainbow at the base of Multnomah Falls in Corbett, Oregon

A fusion of sunlight and mist forms a rainbow at the base of Multnomah Falls in Corbett, Oregon.

 I’d like to end the year with a message of hope by sharing this inspirational story from my experience in nature as a photographer.

There once was a shy little boy who I met while composing images of Oregon’s famed Multnomah Falls. I was in the zone, just doing my thing, when I noticed his intense interest in my work. It was as clear as the crashing water that sprayed before us.

He was slender and especially lightweight for the age of five. I know this because I lifted him up and held him with ease as he peered through my camera’s viewfinder high on the tripod. This was after I asked him and his approving mother if he wanted to see what I was photographing. He was silent up to that point, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of me.

We talked as he excitedly sat on the side of my forearm that was folded like it was sprained and hanging from a sling. I was surprised by his buoyancy, as if he were supported from above. With one open eye, he took in the falling waters through the viewfinder, and I handed him the shutter release so that he could press the button to record the images onto film.

When the photo session ended, his mother called me over. And that’s when I learned that she wasn’t his mother, after all. “Thank you for doing that,” she said. “I’m his aunt. A week ago, his parents passed away in a car accident. You’re the first person he’s spoken to since.”

Without trying to attract attention, just by doing what I love, I made a difference in the world in a most unexpected way.

I wish you a new year filled with passion, possibility, and wonder! And let your passion be your gift to others.

(This story reminds of the very touching “Dutch girl” scene from the famous Christmas movie “Miracle on 34th Street.” Watch the scene at this YouTube link:. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MSbkHZd7MQE.)

—Mike

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Light in Landscape Photography: A Matter of Life & Depth

Posted on June 25, 2014 by Mike MacDonald

Good light can bring shape and depth to a photograph. In particular, low side-lighting or “glancing light” can be used to transform your landscape photographs and make them come to life.

In Photo A (below), the feathery June grass, yellow flowers of hoary puccoon, and other ground foliage are smothered in the open shade of nearby oak trees. And, though the composition helps to impart a feeling of depth, the picture doesn’t possess that “sparkle of life,” particularly in the lower part, where the subject matter is more discernible and, hence, where our eyes like to go.

PHOTO A: Here, diffused light is cast upon a foreground of June grass, flowers, and foliage, resulting in a flat image that no amount of additional compositional prowess can improve.[/

PHOTO A: Here, diffused light is cast upon a foreground of June grass, flowers, and foliage, resulting in a flat image that no amount of additional compositional prowess can improve.

Now, take a look at Photo B (below). It is essentially the same composition at Photo A, except for a foreground, which is under the magical influence of glancing light coming from the right.

PHOTO B: As you can see, light really matters. As the glancing light kisses the tops of the understory, it leaves exciting highlights mixed with soft shadows, resulting in an immersive image filled of shape and depth.[/

PHOTO B: As you can see, light really matters. As the glancing light kisses the tops of the understory, it leaves exciting highlights mixed with soft shadows, resulting in an immersive image filled of shape and depth.

Side-lighting is known for revealing details and form, but glancing light is special because it only occurs when the sun is no higher than thirty to forty-five minutes above the horizon, at time when the sun’s rays are golden warm and the shadows are soft and blue—a truly yummy combination.

In landscape photography, glancing light can impart sparkle, realism, and drama to a scene—a powerful influence that is truly a matter of life and depth.

To learn about the ideas expressed in this article, take my hands-on landscape photography workshop called Light & The Landscape. And, learn special techniques for composing your landscape photographs in Art of Landscape Photography. Both classes are held during the summer.

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Landscape Photography: Use Your Mind’s Eye

Posted on June 13, 2014 by Mike MacDonald

A photograph is a facsimile of reality and our experience. Sometimes it represents the moment quite accurately; at other times, quite poorly. Landscape photography can be more like the latter. This article is about how to photographically communicate the drama and the magic of the landscape, and the emotion that you feel.

You arrive in the morning at this rare oak savanna, prepared to photograph the hot white glow of June grass reflecting the new day sun.

Photo A is what you see as you look ahead into the distance.

A view into the distance of this black oak savanna, as streaks of morning light filter in to illuminate feathery plumes of June grass.

PHOTO A: A view into the distance of this black oak savanna, as streaks of morning light
filter in to illuminate feathery white plumes of June grass.

Glancing downward towards your feet (Photo B) reveals a larger, more intimate, world of radiating grasses and forbs.

PHOTO B: Now, glance down to see new details that connect you more closely with the individuals that make up the dramatic scene.

PHOTO B: Glancing down reveals new details that connect you more closely
with the individuals that make up the dramatic scene.

Compared to Photo A, the view of June grass in Photo B is significantly more immersive. Yet, viewed through the “optical eye” of the camera or the human, these plants still appear quite small, compared to the mental picture that we form in our “mind’s eye,” where grasses loom much larger and dramatic. Even small subjects that take up an insignificant portion of our optical field of view can be perceived as enormous by our mind’s eye.

Imagine. You’re hiking on a solo backpacking trip through Rocky Mountain National Park and, suddenly, you spot a cougar lurking amidst distant boulders upon the mountainside. It’s possible that you are being stalked and that it will kill you when you go to sleep in your tent. Far off, the predator appears as a tawny dot. Yet, burned into your brain, the mountain lion fills the frame. Your mental viewfinder contains no sign of the fragrant field of flowers that surround you or the deep blue sky and towering mountains, under which you are immersed, just the information contained within that tiny, dangerous dot.

A picture of “a dot in the distance” isn’t going to convey the urgency of the moment. But you can, if you emulate the image burned into your mind’s eye: a tightly-composed shot, using a long lens, of the lion with its piercing eyes. We perceive the world with both our optical eye and our mind’s eye. The optical eye scans for important data. Then, the mind’s eye produces an image comprised of a potent condensation of optical, sensory, and emotional data, undiluted by distractions. It is this tight, concentrated image created by our mind’s eye that we’d like to photographically imitate with our camera’s optical eye.

Combining Photo A and Photo B gives us Photo C, exactly what our optical eye sees from standing position.

PHOTO C: The oak savanna as viewed by the camera's optical eye.

PHOTO C: The black oak savanna as viewed from standing position
with the camera’s optical eye.

Yet, moving in close and low with the camera revealed what was in my mind’s eye (Photo D): a landscape photograph that represented my experience and a magic that still conjures the same emotion as when I was there.

PHOTO D: This photograph accurately reflected what I saw in my mind's eye. And each time I view it, it conjures the same emotion that I felt when I was there. All it took was a close and intimate perspective.[/

PHOTO D: This photograph accurately reflected what I saw in my mind’s eye. Each time I view it, the image conjures up the same emotion that I felt when I was there. All it took was a close and intimate perspective.

What we see with our own two eyes is full of trivia and distractions. No matter what kind of photography you do, trust your mind’s eye and emulate that image to convey the drama, the magic, and the emotion.

Learn about these techniques and more by taking my landscape photography workshops called Light & The Landscape and Art of Landscape Photography, which are held every summer.

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