Blue Ridge Parkway Archives -

Really Right Stuff

By Simone Lipscomb | March 8, 2013

My manfrotto tripod has allowed me to capture images in low light situations as well as images of myself when there's nobody around to squeeze the shutter — My manfrotto tripod has allowed me to capture images in low light situations as well as images of myself when there’s nobody around to squeeze the shutter and I want to remember that I WAS HERE! In Cornwall, Great Britain

My old Manfrotto tripod has been with me in mountain streams, in the Gulf of Mexico, to Bonaire, the Pacific Northwest, Mexico, in Mobile Bay, Cornwall, Glastonbury….and places in between. During my travels it has supported my camera in low light situations and thus supported the work I do.

*Sunset at Gulf of Mexico…the salt water and quartz sand just about finished my poor Manfrotto off….(sigh)*

Last summer nearly destroyed my work-horse tripod. I was using it in the Gulf taking photographs of the sunset. Sand and salt water got into every crevice until the legs sounded like a pepper grinder with glass in it when I attempted to adjust them. I took it apart after rinsing it and cleaned it but it has given notice that its days are numbered. Too much irritation from those pesky granules of white quartz sand. One too many trips in checked luggage handled by gorillas who work in the baggage handling black hole of airports (remember those commercials?).

So after much gnashing of teeth I have invested in a Really Right Stuff ball head carbon fiber tripod. Or I have ordered it. New support system on the way! The thing about these tripods is they are the best support you can purchase for cameras….or so they claim. Strong, durable, made in the USA! And with their support, the Nikon D 800 can almost turn flips panning to get those shots I’ve never been able to get before…just because of the incredible support provided.

A good support system allows a photographer to capture images that she can be in...where she doesn't want to forget the place or company — A good support system allows a photographer to capture images that she can be in…where she doesn’t want to forget the company or the place. This was taken at Observatory Beach on the western peninsula of Washington

Support. Isn’t it amazing to receive. The definition of support includes words like sustain, hold up, bear, serve as foundation for, maintain by supplying necessities. Throughout my life there have been definite supporters–believers in my work, my path. Yes…they have even believed in me when I haven’t. When I doubted.

My mother is such a support…a “tripod” in my life that has witnessed my first breath and lived through my cave diving, solo travel abroad and other exploits that have pushed her fear buttons. I really appreciate her. (And no mom, I don’t think of you as the old Manfrotto…smile).

There have been many others as well. And maybe there are taboos on writing about a former husband but I’ve never been one to follow rules. The support that Ray gave me throughout our time together was solid. He was a foundation for helping me gather myself up from a time, many years ago, when I had lost nearly everything. From the beginning he believed in what I came to the planet to do, even when I felt smothered in self-doubt. When my first book was published he gave me a framed copy with the words Dreams Do Come True printed beneath the book. I keep it hanging over my desk as a reminder.

Without support, this image wouldn't have been possible. Ray gazing into the night sky on the Blue Ridge Parkway — *Without support, this image wouldn’t have been possible. Ray gazing into the night sky on the Blue Ridge Parkway*

While the winds of change blew us apart physically, I know without a doubt that his support over a decade ago, and throughout our relationship, is what made the difference in my life. That is truly the really right stuff. And I remain deeply grateful.

Awakening from the Dream

By Simone Lipscomb | March 6, 2013

View from Blue Ridge Parkway near Cherokee, NC

It was a dark and cloudy night. I was riding my bicycle in the mountains and had followed a friend to a turning point. After he made it to his driveway, I turned to go but mistakenly took a wrong turn and ended up behind a fence and at the bottom of a very steep, winding road. I knew the road would take me home but the danger involved was too great in the darkness.

So I turned around and headed back beside the fence to the main road. But along the way saw huge, fresh bear tracks or scratches where a bear had claimed his territory. I got very frightened and as I pedaled faster, I passed a large, dark shape. I became even more frightened. Then something started chasing me and as I glanced down I saw it was a large coyote. I pedaled faster. Another large coyote appeared and both were attempting to drag me off my bicycle. I tried kicking them and launched my cat off the bed. He wasn’t impressed.

My legs actually ached and I was so shaken that I sat up and wrote notes on the dream and attempted to decipher it. What the heck had I eaten for dinner?

When I went back to sleep I dreamed I helped people speak to large gatherings. In fact, I even helped Bill Moyers speak to a group of students. His chair, for the gathering, was beautifully colored in white with red and purple flowers.

Maybe the answer to my nightmare came in my final dream of the night–Bill Moyers. He worked with Joseph Campbell in a series entitled The Power of Myth. As I started researching on the internet I found an interview Moyers did with Campbell on the journey of the Hero archetype. Within this 51 minute recording I found answers.

Entrance to underwater cave in Akumal, Mexico

Campbell spoke of this journey we undertake–that of slaying the ego–to find our true nature. In this journey there must be courage as we face our darkest, deepest fears. The journey includes a theme of death and resurrection…a dying to a part of us that no longer serves us and being born into a greater version of ourselves.

The journey always begins by going into darkness, our unconscious.This triggered an experience I had in meditation last week where I journeyed into dark water, through a vortex and ended up connecting with a huge whale. Campbell spoke of the whale as being a symbol where all that is unconscious within us is held. He says the unconscious is the edge or interface between what can be known and what can never be discovered. We must learn to live life with knowledge of its Mystery and our own Mystery.

Life is an adventure of being alive. We journey into our own unknown in order to slay the ego so that we can follow the soul’s path. He said the journey to save the self actually saves the world. We bring the world to life by bringing life to the self.

“Follow your bliss,” he reminded as I listened intently. The ego tells us why we can’t follow our bliss, the path of the soul. It’s what keeps us small. The adventure of the Hero is having the courage to do it anyway.

There is within each of us a quiet center and from this center is where all action comes. Unless the center is found, we’re torn apart because we act from outside ourselves. This always leads to ruin in some form, he reminded.

The dream was a reminder for me that I am on a journey into my own life, my own unconscious. I choose this journey willingly and admit it is scary as hell at times. We all have darkness or unknown dragons or coyotes nipping at our heels. And it may indeed feel as if they want to slay us.

Campbell said that as the Hero leaves the realm of light and moves toward the threshold of the unconscious, the monster comes. The Hero is either resurrected after being torn to bits by the animal or kills the animal, tastes the blood and transcends.

I suppose we each have the choice of continuing our slumber or taking the journey of the Hero and risking everything to find our true nature. Ultimately it is a journey we do alone but made sweeter by those who have the courage to shine a light for us as we emerge from the dark waters to welcome us back home.

Grateful for the Small Things

By Simone Lipscomb | November 29, 2011

Okay, so this juvenile bear isn’t exactly small, as the title suggests. Neither are the two others that are part of this family. The mother is huge and healthy and I am overjoyed that I spent time watching this precious family romp on my decks Thanksgiving night and a couple nights after that instead of being in some store getting pepper-sprayed while reaching for a $2 waffle iron.

In preparation for my upcoming move to Coastal Alabama I’ve been sorting through clothes and ‘stuff’ that I have accumulated in the past 5 1/2 years here in Asheville. While I’m grateful to have warm clothes to wear and a nice home in which to live and toys to play with, I find that the most important things can’t be bought…like spending time with my bear friends.

A few years ago I installed a small water garden to provide water for wildlife. One afternoon as the bears were playing around my home, a young one came up to the glass door where I was sitting with my camera and placed her wet paw on the glass where my face was peering out. I pressed my face closer to the glass and she licked the glass. I could almost feel the tickle of her warm, pink tongue on my nose as I giggled. What could be more joy than this? A $2 waffle iron? Hardly.

Last week I helped celebrate Micki Cabaniss Eutsler’s birthday. Micki is a neighbor here on the mountain and she was my first publisher. I met her shortly after moving to the mountain and our connection led to her company, Grateful Steps, publishing their 7th book, my first. I was able to tell Micki, at her party, how much I appreciate her mentoring me in the publishing realm and helping me believe in my abilities as a writer.

As I feel my time in these lovely Blue Ridge Mountains come to a close, I am mindful of the many people, places and animal friends that have enriched my life and blessed me with experiences that are forever woven into the fabric of my life, my soul. The visits from the turkeys, raccoons, flying squirrels, ‘possums, bears, hawks and song birds are gifts that cannot be bought. I consider these wild creatures my family and their well-being and health brings such happiness to me, such celebration!

We live in a time of change. A time when darkness is exposed more and more. Rather than dwell on the horror of it all, let us joyfully celebrate the light that comes and do whatever we can to see that it increases. For baby bears, friends, trees, the snow falling across the valley as I type this….I am grateful.

To learn more about my books and my work please visit Turtle Island Adventures. (No…the snow is light today…the image of Riceville Valley was taken last year…I see this every day as I walk…snow or green, it’s amazing!).

Seasonal Teachings

By Simone Lipscomb | October 30, 2011

This past week I had two perfect days of paddling my SUP board. Lake Lure was surrounded by mountains sprinkled with colorful autumn trees and smooth cliff faces crowned with yellow, orange and red ridges. Blue sky contained it all as I glided on cold lake water, which refreshed my feet if I got sloppy with my paddle.

I marveled at the patterns of light on the water’s surface. My soul slurped up the colors and patterns and beauty of the days like a person dying of thirst. And perhaps I had been starving myself of beauty, cutting myself off from the season and the many gifts it offers, too caught up in distractions. My experiences paddling and another day I spent in the Smokies, made me pause and reflect.

Living in the mountains of Western North Carolina has been such an amazing experience. Over the past five years I have come into harmony with nature’s seasonal rhythms. My home is on the side of a mountain and this time of year offers an opening view with every leaf that falls. Thirty foot windows frame a valley and mountain ridge that come into focus more each day as the season unfolds, as the leaves whirl away with windy gusts.

During every autumn, the curtain of green, then yellow and orange opens to reveal the majesty of the Blue Ridge Mountains. And in the spring the curtain offers green shade and cool days of mountain beauty. By living surrounded by these hardwoods, the full impact of seasonal shifts literally comes into my home and forces me to pay attention to the miracles happening in Nature every day.

And like seasons of Earth, our lives have seasons, too. This home and these magnificent mountains have cradled me for over five years now. My creativity has expanded, my path become more clear and my work has been launched into the world in increasingly bigger ways. For all of these things, I am profoundly grateful. The shedding of leaves from trees here reminds me that I must also let go and move forward, as the wheel of the year moves forward. Now the time has come to release this home, these mountains and trees…wild turkey, bear and all of my wildlife friends here and move to my next home.

While I feel sadness about saying goodbye to this place, this amazing place, I look forward with anticipation of new tree friends…wildlife, river, bay and Gulf friends that crawl, fly, swim and walk on four legs. Already the deep sense of place of Magnolia River calls me to come and commune with Her and be nurtured by fresh, clear water of this sacred place.

And so I wait and listen and let my heart fill with gratitude for this place I say goodbye to and a new place already whispering my name.

Restoration

By Simone Lipscomb | August 18, 2010

The cool dawn called to me this morning. In the gray light, before the sun peeked over the mountains, I gathered my gear and headed up the parkway. Pink-bottomed clouds greeted me as I arrived at the entrance and headed north.

By the time I got to a good sunrise overlook, the pink had disappeared. The blue sky and golden light greeted me with such splendor that I did not feel cheated by the rosy hue’s disappearance.

There is something immensely pleasing about driving along the Blue Ridge Parkway before engaging in my daily routine. My senses are awakened by nature, not email or Facebook, oil spill updates or even coffee. During these times of solitude with the mountains, clouds, wild turkeys and fresh air, I am restored.

Today was the first time I’ve photographed places in nature that weren’t coated in oil since I begin covering the disaster in May. To say that I needed the experience is like saying I needed to breathe this morning. As I watched the sun rise over the ridge line and felt the 58 degree wind whip around me at the top of Mt. Mitchell, a part of me came back, a part that had no choice but to disappear with the horror of what I’ve witnessed over the summer.

Gratitude sparked through me as I recognized the connection between nature from the highest peak east of the Mississippi River to the Gulf Coast. The pristine beauty I experienced this morning connected me back to my coastal birthplace and somewhere within, I knew that eventually, after arguments and payouts and lies and dark times, the Gulf would be restored. In the end, nature will be restored.