When inspiration arrives in your own backyard
by tracey clark of shutter sisters
Inspiration
can come to visit at any- time. There’s no telling when some- thing wonderful
might fl y in and land right in front of our lenses, setting our photographic
souls soaring. As for this past spring, inspiration was, in- deed, something
that flapped, flew and quite literally landed, or perhaps a better word might be
nested, in the bird- house that hung from a low peach tree branch in our yard.
The “decorative” birdhouse, a wed- ding gift, has been unoccupied since my
husband and I were married nearly 20 years ago, until suddenly and un-
expectedly, a Western bluebird couple decided to move in. Not ever noticing
bluebirds in our yard before, I was delighted with the possibility of getting
to watch and wit- ness the raising of a bluebird family right from my kitchen
window. Having a similar bird encounter before, I was giddy with another
opportunity like it.
The “decorative” birdhouse, a wed-
ding gift, has been unoccupied since my husband and I were married nearly 20
years ago
A
year prior, I discovered a hummingbird nest quite by accident, when one day,
while gardening, I found my- self face to face with a very insistent mama
hummingbird. After a slow scan of the area, I realized I was standing about two
feet from her nest. The weeks that followed were inspiring both on a
photographic level and on a parental level as I documented the process of life
from egg to fledgling. And, now, a year later, I was getting another chance,
only with an entirely new species of birds. The day I heard the new baby birds
chirping from the birdhouse, I knew what I had to do. I had to get my hands on
the right lens. I’m not much of a gear girl. I’ve had the same modest arsenal of camera
equipment for over 10 years, never adding or subtracting from it, never com-
plaining or wanting for much more. My gear has, for the most part, been the
only gear I’ve needed—until I wanted to shoot out of my norm. And, birds, up
until the hummingbird experience, were never the norm.
A year prior, I discovered a hummingbird
nest quite by accident, when one day, while gardening, I found my- self face to
face with a very insistent mama hummingbird
Here
I was again. A new subject, a new setting, a new focal distance, a new creative
objective, all inspired by a family of bluebirds. I rented a lens for the
hummingbirds, and that went so well, I called my local camera shop and reserved
the amazing Canon EF 100- 400mm lens for a week. With my new- found love of
bird-watching and nature photography—the kind you can only really capture with
a great telephoto lens—I wish I could just buy one, but because really amazing
nature photography lenses can be quite an investment, the weeklong rental
suited me fi ne. Plus, renting gives me the chance to test and try any lens I’m
interested in eventually buying as research development, all the while
capturing awesome shots of my muse of the day. Win-win. What happened for the next week or so
was thrilling, tender, heart-wrenching, worrisome, sometimes even annoying and
inconvenient—such is life, raising a family. Day in and day out, I awoke in the
morning in anticipation to see the family’s progression as things seemed to
transpire at warp speed. The handsome, tireless and fierce Papa and the sweet,
steadfast and patient Mama constantly in and out of that house doing what
needed to be done, giving everything they had until all five of their baby birds got big enough and brave
enough to leap from the safety of their little home to then begin the next chapter
of their journey, navigating the world outside the nest.
I rented a lens for the hummingbirds,
and that went so well, I called my local camera shop and reserved the amazing
Canon EF 100- 400mm lens for a week
While
bouncing around in our yard one after the other, still unable to fl y on their
own, my husband and I worked vigilantly with the Papa and the Mama to keep
those little fledglings safe. And as I clicked and captured the miracles unfold
from first chirp to first flight, I couldn’t help but be grateful that inspiration,
once again, chose my shoulder to perch on.
