O zi deosebită pentru un om deosebit ...

Putere ... tenacitate ... caracter ... fermitate ... integritate ... – sunt doar câteva virtuți care îmi vin în minte când mă gândesc la mama ...

Mama nu a avut o viață ușoară – spune și ea asta cu orice ocazie care i se ivește...

Nu enumerez aici multele pete negre pe care i le-a aruncat viața în cale încă de când era copil și mai apoi și in anii de adult – cei care o cunosc bine știu povestea ei.

Azi vreau doar sa îmi amintesc de ceea ce ne-a învățat ea pe noi din experiența zilelor ei grele de peste timp, experiență care a format-o în cel mai puternic caracter pe care l-am întâlnit vreodată.

În fiecare moment in care mi-a fost greu in viață, în fiecare clipă când m-am găsit la o răscruce, la o cumpăna, am auzit mereu vocea mamei, aducând-mi mereu aminte să nu mă uit mai departe decât în mine însămi: ca un înțelept budist, mi-aducea mereu aminte că răspunsurile sunt în mine, în sufletul meu, în mintea mea, și nu mai departe ...

Mi-a adus mereu aminte că sunt echipată de la natură (de la ea, mai bine-spus) cu tot ce am nevoie, că sunt puternică și că voi face mereu o alegere bună pentru mine, pentru că sunt înzestrată cu exact ceea ce trebuie să „fac față la tot ce îmi este pus in cale”.

Când o întrebam dacă nu se teme de vreun șef, răspundea cu o seninătate și siguranță de sine de nezdruncinat: “Vai de mine! Dar ce au șefii in plus față de mine? Un titlu? Caracterul, știința și siguranța de sine nu stau într-un titlu! Avem amândoi o facultate, aceeași experiență, un creier, de ce să îmi fie frică?! De un titlu pe care azi îl ai și mâine, nu?”

Astăzi, peste mulți ani, îmi dau seama cât adevăr există în aceste cuvinte!

Ne-a insuflat mereu certitudinea că nu suntem „nici primele și nici ultimele care trec print-o încercare” – și așa prindeam curaj de fiecare dată pentru a merge înainte.

Așa ne-a învățat toată viața: că puterea, siguranța există în noi înșine. Ne-a învățat să credem in autosuficiență mai mult decât in orice,  ne-a învățat că suntem noi înșine in stare să răzbatem prin orice. Nu prin morală a făcut asta, ci prin exemplul ei, prin felul în care a răzbătut ea printr-o viață mult mai grea și amară decât a noastră ar fi putut fi vreodată.

Pe mine, personal, m-a învățat sa mă ascult – să ciulesc urechile la adâncurile ființei mele și să aud ce îmi spune: toate marele alegeri pe care le-am făcut vreodată le-am făcut ascultându-mă pe mine însămi, având siguranța  că  nu exista dilemă pe care să nu o pot rezolva singură.

Orice dram de curaj, orice credință, orice putere pe care le-am găsit vreodată în mine de-a lungul existenței mele le-am moștenit de la ea.

Dintre toate mamele din lume, poate nu a  fost cea mai “mămoasa” în sensul că nu ne-a alintat, și nu ne-a răsfățat la maxim, dar ne-a dat niște calități  infinit mai importante și de mai mare valoare decât alintul: încrederea în noi înșine, reziliența, curajul fără limite de a crede în puterile proprii, duritatea de a rezista în orice situație – toate acestea ne-au înzestrat cu o armură mult mai importantă și mai indispensabilă supraviețuirii unei vieți care s-a dovedit a fi, pentru noi, uneori nedrepte și alteori aspre, dar foarte adesea singure.

Astăzi, în  ziua când o celebrăm pe mama, cel mai important om de pe pământ pentru mine, simt în fiecare mușchi, în fiecare por, în fiecare celulă puterea și tăria pe care mi le-a transmis, și care vor rămâne și in mine cât timp mai exist.

Mom, nu aș fi putut ajunge nicăieri fără încurajările tale, fără sprijinul pe care ni l-ai dat, chiar și in detrimentul bucuriei tale, an de an, zi de zi, in modul tău tăcut, ferm, și nu in ultimul rând, puternic și impetuos de a fi.

O călăuză neclintită, un far luminos si neșovăitor, un exemplu de calm si putere – ne călăuzești mereu, oriunde ne-am afla, si oricâtă distantă fizică ar exista intre noi ... Ești parte din noi; te auzim, te purtăm și te simțim în fiecare bătaie a inimii; în fiecare respirație ...

Tot ce îmi doresc este să  te asculți pe tine însăți și să iți asculți propriul sfat de a continua să răzbați prin orice durere, si orice obstacol. Astfel, mergând mereu înainte ( „că înapoi nu se mai poate”), să continui să fii cu noi multe, multe, toamne de acum înainte, să ne bucuri cu înțelepciunea ta nesfârșită, lucidă și calmă, să te știm aproape mereu și să ne amintești mereu că totul se poate … pentru noi, dar mai ales, pentru tine.

Te iubim, mom!

Cu mulți ani și multe speranțe înainte ...

Această fotografie e în ziua nunții mele (2010). Mă bucur că o zi atât de importantă și scumpă pentru mine i-a putut oferi mamei ocazia unui zâmbet. Se întâmplă mai rar ... 

Where Are We Now? After 20 Years.

Random thoughts on the 20th anniversary of the 9-11 attacks ... 

20 years ago today I was in my parents’ kitchen in Romania, watching with stopped breath and open mouth the horrors of the 9-11 attacks. I lived in the US at the time but I was on vacation for two weeks, visiting my family in Romania. I had climbed to the top of one of the Towers less than two years earlier and when I saw that plane hit it all I could think about was how massive a number of people that meant would be dead! You knew when you saw those sky-scrapers how many thousands of people it housed. I could not imagine what would happen to them now. When the buildings collapsed, the unknown faces of those thousands of people kept playing in front of my eyes like a morbid slideshow. Unstoppable. Horrific.

Another thing hit close to home for me: when I watched the towers collapse, the anchors repeated the names of the flights that had been hijacked and they kept saying that the flights had taken off from the  Dulles airport in DC. I realized that that was the airport where my flight to Europe had taken off only days earlier. I had chills down my spine: I was in the same airport as those terrorists! Oh, God! Could that have been me on those planes? Everyone who has ever flown could have related to that fear but especially those, like me, who were in-between planes at that time, knowing full-well, they’d have to brave another flight to make it home.

Lots of people died that day – at The Pentagon, and in Pennsylvania, too, but for some reason the collapse of those two towers is what stopped the hearts and the breathing of an entire planet! As you watched the images on TV  of people jumping out of the windows of The Twin Towers towards their sure death, repeatedly, ad nauseam, you could feel how every soul of the world was looking for someone else’s hand to clutch, for someone, anyone, to hug, to ensure they are not alone and not abandoned in that vacuum of sheer pain. You could feel that everyone who had any heart left felt the same horror and the same grief, and the same anger as you felt. This was the togetherness people are talking about now, that we should be awaken to … the togetherness that we all need, as humans, as compassionate beings when times get tough.

I remember as if it were yesterday my first two thoughts after watching the events unfold: first, I was thinking that the US will never allow me to get back to my home which at the time was Greensboro, NC. I was not a citizen yet. I had gotten my temporary Green Card just the year before, so I was for sure not going to be allowed in the country – the announcements that the US does not allow anyone but citizens to return to the US was made by many  US Embassies in many countries including in Romania  almost immediately after the attacks. I remember this scared me terribly as moving to America was my life-long dream. My husband was in the US and my new life, the way I had built it. My hopes for the future were all here, in the US. I was terrified this one act of terrorism would kill my future for me, my life-long work and would ground me in Romania.

The second thought was “oh, man, America will first get together and pray after this. That’s what they do: they first, pray. But man, after that, they will be pissed! They will crush whoever did this. I feel sorry for them.” We did not know right from the beginning who had done this. I was sure, though, this was another country, another power, not the US. I knew a war would be coming but never in my worst dreams did I think that war would span for the next 20 years! I knew whatever war was coming would be brutal, given the 20^th century’s advancement in arms, and I feared what that’ll do to the world and to each of us, individually. I was wondering if we would be able to travel freely anymore, if I would be able to come back to Romania and see my family there, in the future, if America was going to wage war on … whoever did this … and involve other powers in this war as well?!

America did pray right after September 11. Country-wide vigils and charity concerts abounded. Charity to 9-11 victims sprouted everywhere. People looked up to the heroes of 9-11. Everyone swore they would never forget.

Giuliani, the Mayor of New York at the time of the attacks, became “America’s Mayor.” For all his faults, lies, and illegalities, for all of his Republicanism, my liberal friends loved him and touted his accomplishments and how he brought the city, the first responders together and what an incredibly great job he did handling the aftermath of this tragedy. How can you handle it, really?! But that, he did. After that, it seemed like we, as a people, were not divided in camps, anymore – albeit very briefly. The lines that separated us because of different political views, different tax views and views on how one should handle the economy and what it means to be patriotic faded. We were all thinking as Americans, together in one common thought: “who did this to us? They would pay dearly. Let’s hold out hands together and pray for those that we lost. Let’s be together. It hurts less when we’re holding hands.” – it looked as if we were saying …

As I was in Romania, my US friends, coworkers, and relatives flooded me with messages of “come back home, safely”, “how are you?”, “what do people say there?” (meaning in Europe, in Romania). I never felt alone. I was with one half of my family, my blood half, but my other half, the one I had chosen for myself, was hailing back, not forgetting me, from across The Pond. For all our differences, we were all one. And I am sure that what brought us together was not our true belief that all of a sudden Giuliani was  a nice guy and Bush stopped being an idiot overnight, but  that need for togetherness in front of horror, that need for holding another’s hand to cross the dark pit left in front of us by those planes going down. That simple, human, vulnerability, unaccounted for by much fanfare or glamor, but our simpleness as humans that needed to be held …

I have always believed that what sets Americans apart from many other nations is their individualism – their obsession with themselves, their lack of awareness that they are not alone in the world, that the consequence of their actions affects others. But during those days, I saw an America where people stopped for just a minute and started to be aware of their neighbor’s pain, of their neighbor’s loss, of their ability to help or be compassionate. All because it could have happened to any of us.

The US did allow me to get back – they opened the borders for US citizens and Green-Card holders alike in the following days. I remember boarding my flight from Germany at the time and military American personnel with automatic guns were supervising the boarding. They made us empty all of our carryon bags, and even questioned whether we were hiding explosives in our (film) cameras, they body-searched us (a first of many, many others to come), and questioned us for hours before they allowed everyone to board. It was terrifying and reassuring at the same time.

But it was then, in Germany, only about 10 days or so from September 11, when the American individualism showed itself again: people were frustrated and angry that they were being searched. How dare they think I’m a terrorist?! Completely missing the point! Although there were American soldiers flanking the departure gate, although a United Airlines flight (the same airline whose planes had been hijacked 10 days earlier!) was waiting at the gate, Americans were upset that they are treated as if they were terrorists. To me, this was reassuring. To everyone else, it was an infringement to their freedom, forgetting that what the military was protecting was precisely that freedom.

Ever since, I wonder: when we do say we come together in times of crisis, do we really come together, or do we say that as some sort of a slogan that just sounds well; as some sort of generic statement that we know sounds good, but which does not truly come from the heart?!

And do we really come ever together, despite all cost to us? Or do we come together when and if it’s convenient to us? When it’s not infringing on our freedom?! Is patriotism not a selfless display of altruism? A complete abandon of the “I” in favor of protecting the “many”?

20 years later today, people all over the internet are saying we need to remember how we came together then. We need to remember how, despite all of our differences, we all have a common goal – that of being free, protected, and that of ensuring we all live in peace. This is all true. But do we even really believe that we can strive for that common goal anymore?

I have felt so defeated and so alone in the past few years, the whole country growing angrier, and more violent, more inconsiderate, more careless, and more disconnected, that I really don’t see how we could ever think of the other selflessly, and purposefully taking our own person from the equation. What’s worse: I don’t think we can even acknowledge another’s merits, when we see them as different in any way than us. I feel like the first thing we do nowadays is look for differences between us and not commonalities.

Some folks are saying today that they pray that we can see again our togetherness from 20 years ago before another tragedy happens to remind us how we can be all one and be there for one another. But has that tragedy not already happened? Have the past 5 and 2 years (and before that, even!) not been anything but an ongoing tragedy, and open wound, bleeding, for all of us, and we still, don’t see one another?! More than 650,000 people died of Covid alone in the past year and a half. Add to those people who died of hate crimes in the past few years, people who died in wildfires and hurricanes, people who died from hunger and lack of medicine because of lack of healthcare, just to name a few … Those are infinitely more (possibly preventable) deaths than the ones we saw at 9-11.

When the cameras are off and the social media sleeps (does it ever?) and we’re not trying to fit in with the rest of the world by saying what everyone says (“we’re in this together”, “we’re one”, etc), when we dive deep into our heart, do we ever really feel like we did then, when we watched the towers collapse for the first time: do we feel in the dark for another hand to clutch on? For another person to be close to us so we can share the grief? Or do we stubbornly believe that “I” is enough in this mad world?

I believe we too often forget that grief hurts the same whether you’re this nationality or another, of this political belief or of another. Grief sees no color, no sex, no culture, no age, no country … Somehow, we have become blind to that.

What elevates us as humans, what we all (should) seek now more than ever is that simple, heartfelt, visceral togetherness of not being alone in the face of grief, horror, and pain. What brings us together is that first instinctual thought of “oh, God, can that be me out there?”  - that is where true compassion springs from (“Do onto others as you would have them do unto you …”): that however dark a tragedy is, it could happen to any of us. So, step with care …

Can we find that now deep, deep into our souls? Not because it sounds good or it looks good under a hashtag, but because we truly filter the tragedies of the world through our hearts and we know how it would feel if it were us?! Can we do it?! Or are we too shallow and clueless in our ivory towers to allow us to even ask these questions anymore?!

I am not trying to belittle the 9-11-2001 attacks. Saying they were horrid, unnatural, and mind-stopping is an understatement. But what I am trying to say is: we should pay attention to our every day and just re-learn to be human again, the very same way we were so painfully reminded that we are human on that dark day in history.

I hope humanity is not completely lost and I hope that one day soon we would wake it before all is lost. Because this is the only thing that might get us through the pain that is here now.

Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

From a place of humility rather than from one of bragging, I can say that I have traveled quite a bit for a girl from a small, Eastern European country. I climbed many a mountain in my day, in several places in Romania, Turkey, all over the American Rockies and Smokies, as well as climbed a few cliffs and rocky Mayan temples in the Central American jungle. I have been hiking and climbing since I was 6 or 7 years old – not the professional, competitive type, I am a home body at heart, but the easy, relaxing type of hiking, where you can take it easy and stop (often) for a break and for pictures. Always stop for pictures. Trails and I are good friends. The best of them, really.

I even climbed a limestone mountain covered by thermal spring water in the heart of the Turkish dessert. I might have slipped here and there in my journeys, but never (that I can remember) fell. No. The fall was going to be on this skinny trail in the middle (not quite) of the Atlantic Ocean. At sea level, surrounded by nothing but water, with all the pelicans and gulls to watch over me and laugh.

I was fed up with the house. We have still been mostly isolating (less than last year, but still not back to our normal travel schedule yet), still being in the house too much this summer. We had to give up weekends and could not go anywhere because one time there was a shortage of gas (we could not venture too far from our town for fear of running out of it and not being able to find a gas station to refill). We had to give up a couple of weekends because of constant rain (tropical storm season!), or health reasons (ah, well, what can you do about that?!). But this weekend, we were going to be out, darn it. Come hell or high water, we were going to drive to the beach and just shoot some birds for a few hours. (Spoiler: nothing ever good will happen when you say “hell or high water”).

We had a lovely seafood meal at Elijah’s on Wilmington’s waterfront of the Cape Fear river, we walked the streets of the city in 108 degree (according to my car’s thermometer) heat, we visited The Bellamy Mansion on Market Street – a gorgeous ante-bellum mansion that speaks volumes about that gone with the wind era, and we finally headed to Carolina/ Kure beach to walk around Fort Fisher, a military fort since the times of the American Civil War.

The Cape Fear Memorial Bridge - Wilmington, NC

I have never seen this boardwalk this empty

Empty streets at Chandler's Warf in downtown Wilmington. The extreme heat at 1 PM sent everyone indoors, no doubt. 

The Bellamy Mansion, 1861

On the map, trying to plan for the trip to The Fort, I had seen these formations in the water that looked like a dam made of rocks piled together. The dam started at Fort Fisher and it kinda disappeared into the ocean, according to Apple Maps. It looked like a great place to shoot some water birds, fishermen’s boats, the Fort Fisher Ferry.

We parked outside The Fort and walked across some sand dunes towards the water. Then, we saw the dam – long, winding through the calm waters, the Cape Fear river on the right, the Atlantic Ocean on the left. Sea gulls, pelicans, cormorants were flying above and we were trying to catch some with our cameras. Crabs were burying in the sand and dragon flies were sunning on reeds. The air was paralyzed with heat. You could not even smell the salt of the ocean, because there was no breeze – everything was sleepy and silent, except for the chatty gulls every now and again.

Various shots around Fort Fisher and from The Rocks

A shot from The Rocks, looking out to their "end" which we did not reach...

I wanted us to walk those rocks as far as we could walk them. And we did. For as far … until bam! I went down like a billion pound sack of potatoes and rattled the world! The dam had not for one second seemed wet or slippery! I personally had not seen any warning signs that it might be. There were people on it, walking and taking in the ocean air, people fishing, kids running around, dogs prancing. The rocks were porous and dry, with the hot early afternoon sun baking them – 108 degrees, remember?!  I did not see one person losing a footing or wobbling in the very least. The fact that my foot all of a sudden slipped like I was walking on ice was a total shock. And down I went – sun glasses flew one way, my camera (around my neck) hit the ground hard, and my left thigh, knee, ankle, wrist, and elbow all served as cushion between the rest of my body and the black, grimy, probably algae-covered rock, where oyster shells were cemented probably for centuries, sharp side up (of course!) … The rock scraped my skin off my thigh in two areas about the size of dollar bills. The shells cut deep into my flesh in so many spots I can’t count. My first thoughts were: “Oh, please don’t let any bacteria run into my blood stream from this sea muck!” and “Ouch! That’s gonna hurt tomorrow!”

My husband was livid with worry, ensuring nothing was broken (nothing seemed broken or not working). We started walking towards the car. I guess this was as far as we could go.

Another couple with a dog saw this and offered help, even chocolate. I politely declined, but during our exchange both the lady and I noticed their dog was bleeding from one foot – the dog, too, had slid earlier, they shared, and probably cut one of the paws in the sharp oyster shells. I was walking just fine, but I could tell my thigh was starting to swell up. Thank goodness I am loaded with hand sanitizer, so, I bathed all the wounds in it even before we got to the car where we had disinfecting alcohol.

Back home, I did a little research on The Rocks, as the dam is called. Almost every site that had a story on them (a long rock jetty built and completed in 1881 to aid navigation by stopping shoaling in the Cape Fear River) warned against walking on them because they are slippery and sharp (who knew?!). They also said they connected Fort Fisher to Zeke’s Island and at high tide they become completely covered leaving tourists who walk them all the way stranded on the island. They mentioned in several spots how the local authorities are called frequently to tend to cuts and cruises from the frequent falls of unassuming foot travelers like us.

I hope you agree from some of the pictures – the walk was all worth it. It’s one of those “end of the world” feeling this place has, where the Cape Fear pours into the ocean. Would I do it again or recommend it: probably, yes to both, but … do your research before you go there, not after like me! Get some good shoes (people were walking in thong flipflops, I had hiking shoes on, and still!) with serious rubber grips and walk slowly! It’s definitely a place I wanted to explore, because it’s like no other I have ever explored. Now, I also have a heck of a tale to tell that will make it even more memorable. My childhood best friend’s grandpa used to tell us all the time that you never want a trip to be eventless, because you’ll never remember it. Well this one, friends, will be remembered for a long while to come …

Missing My Sister. Something Awful ...

COVID sucks!

I have said for a year and a half now that I don’t really miss people. “This Covid separation is doable,” I say often. “There is Zoom, and Skype, and FaceTime. I’m good! What are people complaining about?!,” I say.  But darn it, I miss my sister! For more than two years now, I have walked around broken, incomplete, and empty because there is no prospect of seeing her yet.

I miss my sister in an organic, visceral way, in the sense of her person, with her nerves, and flesh, and sinews.

I miss our chats in person, over a glass of wine (her), bottle of beer (me), a bowl of chips or sunflower seeds. I miss her smell and her smile, her jokes and sass …Her picking on her children and making them laugh. Her children are my only competition at adoring her.

I miss her eye-rolls when I say something too serious and too worrisome. I miss her cooking and her quirkiness when she moves about the room. Her clumsiness when she knocks glasses full of liquid or plates full of food off the table and then shrugs it off with a laugh and her head thrown back … “It’s oohhh kaayyyy,” she pep-talks herself cracking up.

I miss our walks, as no one ever walks like her: this girl does not walk. She runs, rather. She fidgets. She hurries and jumps. She makes your ankles snap and your belly fat jiggle and she does not look behind, so you better keep up!

I miss her hugs – they are the best! I relive my entire life when she hugs me – I see us, children, short, and bony, climbing mountains, feeding farm animals or cats, chasing dogs and making hay or gathering mushrooms and wild berries. Falling asleep in the same bed, so exhausted, we don’t finish our sentences. I miss the sleepovers …

I miss her squeezing a cat or some creature and making funny voices, as if she speaks to babies. I miss her outpouring of love on every thing and every one … The enormous display of affection she has for everyone she loves – human or beast!

I miss her state of being the most: contagiously happy and caring, doing one of the things she does best: loving creatures and life ... 

I miss us painting our nails together and her restlessness, then giggles when she “messes up another nail” because the woman can’t sit still. Not even for a minute.

I miss looking into her deep, coal-black eyes – you can drown in those eyes, lost to the world forever. Those eyes tell my life story, just like her hugs …

I miss us watching Seinfeld on a loop and her laughter, out of control, rich, healthy, contagious. At every scene. Her reciting the lines …

We do FaceTime and Skype, but none of these are possible through those. None of the palpable, blood vessel against blood vessel, smell wrapped into smell, hand touch against skin real-ness – none of these are possible with FaceTime and Skype …

I miss her so much it hurts! It makes me gag and choke up, hopeless!

Two days before her birthday (yesterday), her country (Canada) opened their borders to Americans. This was the best present possible on her birthday for me. America is still not allowing Canadians into our country … I dream of a day, soon, before I whither away with longing, when we can be together again, even if it is for just 24 hours.

Till we make it to that day (and we will. I am sure of it!), happy birthday, sweet child! Happy birthday, my soulmate … I’ll fall asleep tonight with nothing but a head full of memories of times gone by and wishful longing for more, better times to come – soon. Till then, thank you for having shared your whole life with me. You are the biggest part of my life. You hold all the secrets and all the unsaids … I sometimes fail to know where you end and I begin …

I love you …

Ziua Tatei. Amintiri. Fotografii ...

Unele fete, își aduc aminte că atunci când erau mici se jucau cu păpuși. Își aduc aminte de numele lor, de hăinuțele pe care le-au făcut fiecăreia, de mână, cu ajutorul mamei sau a bunicii. Eu nu am astfel de amintiri, și  nu pentru că nu aveam păpuși, ci pentru că nu m-au interesat niciodată. În loc de joc cu păpuși eu mi-aduc aminte de zilele de weekend pe care le petreceam cu tata in “camera obscură”, in studioul nostru foto încropit acasă, in bucătărie ca să „lucrăm” fotografii.

Poze lucrate de tata. Cele din rândul de jos sunt făcute de noi doi

O “alungam” pe mom din bucătărie câte o sâmbătă întreagă (când era ziua ei de făcut mâncare), ca să avem acces la chiuveta și  puneam pături in geam și  in ușă ca sa facem bucătăria cât se poate de întunecată, pentru a nu voala hârtia fotografica. Apoi agăța tata lumina cu filtrul verde (pentru fotografii alb-negru) de perete, scotea aparatul de mărit, tăvile pentru diferitele soluții (pentru developare, revelator și  fixator), hârtia fotografică împachetată in hârtie neagră (anti-voalantă) și  … ne apucam de lucru. Developam poze de dimineață pana seara când ne apucam sa le uscam.

Dintr-o lecție in alta, tata îmi explica toata arta și  tehnica fotografiei: de ce aveam nevoie de filtru verde și  nu roșu (pentru ca noi “lucram” numai cu filme alb-negru și  filtrul roșu e pentru film și  poze color), cum se supra-expune o fotografie (ceea ce vrei sa eviți!), importanța luminii și  pentru film și  pentru hârtia ce va deveni fotografie, cate secunde se expune hârtia fotografica la lumina (le număra in funcție de cât expus fusese filmul), cum se folosește aparatul de mărit ca sa facem prim-planuri, cum se fac colajele, când acoperi o parte a hârtiei foto cu hârtia neagră și  expui doar părțile din hârtie alba pe care vrei să capturezi imaginea.

Apoi filozofa despre ce înseamnă fotografia pentru el: o arta a capturării momentului, o secundă suspendata in timp, pentru eternitate. Iubitor de voie bună, și  un sentimental incurabil, mă încuraja mereu să fac lucruri pentru a sublima in memorie momentele frumoase din viață: fotografia era unul din aceste lucruri, ca și  petrecerile când ai un motiv de bucurie și  îmbrăcarea in haine elegante de Anul Nou când inviți un nou an in în viața ta – trebuie sa îl închei cu bucurie și  sărbătoare pe cel vechi.

Deși un strat considerabil de praf s-a așternut peste amintirile mele din copilărie, lecțiile învățate atunci, mai ales cele sentimentale, despre importanța capturării momentului (pentru că nu se știe ce aduce ziua de mâine, dar vrei să iți amintești de bucuriile de azi), dar și  cele mai “practice” despre lucrarea fotografiilor încă își au un loc de cinste in mintea mea îmbătrânindă …

Fotografia mi se părea o știință ocultă, destăinuită numai unor persoane deosebite și  inițiate, așa cum părea el, și  aveam o anume timiditate de a mă apuca și  eu, “cu mana mea” de a fotografia și  de a lucra fotografii. Eram doar bucuroasa ca puteam sa îl asist și , ca un burete, absorbeam orice bucățică de lecție predata de “dom’ pro ’sor”. El mă încuraja și  prin siguranța lui de sine părea a face ca totul sa fie ușor. Ca atunci când spunea, “ei, un aparat de fotografiat nu e ceva complicat: e o cutie de conserve cu obiectiv. Dar cheia aici este: in obiectiv!”. Peste ani și ani, am prins curaj, pentru că mi-e cumva in sânge aceasta artă.

Pot identifica foarte ușor fotografiile făcute de el (sau de noi) pe care le păstrăm in familie până in ziua de azi au pentru ca au semne concrete ale uneltelor lui: cadrul lui de înrămare a hârtiei înainte de a o expune aparatului de mărire are un defect și  toate imaginile sunt “ciobite” pe una din margini.

Imaginea "ciobită" din cauza defectului de pe cadrul de hârtie

Apoi, câteodată, nu așteptam sa se usuce pozele in aer liber, înainte de a le pune la uscătorul electric și  aveau pete de apă pe ele – un alt defect pe care îl recunosc. Ca o semnătura ascunsă, acestea sunt taine ale artei sale unice. Aceste fotografii au sublimat nu numai momentele și  oamenii din ele dar și  atingerea mâinii tatei. Au valoare sentimentala dublă!

Pată de apă

Până uscam toate pozele lucrate într-o singură ședință se făcea uneori dimineață! Dar tot stăteam treaza, pentru ca examinam cu minuțiozitate fiecare fotografie și  mă minunam cum o hârtie care cu câteva ore mai devreme fusese alba și  atât de fragila că nu putea fi expusă luminii zilei conține acum o imagine, o amintire care va dăinui, peste ani și  ani, cu mult după ce memoria noastră poate ne va părăsi. Defectele acestea recreează astăzi când răsfoiesc albumele de poze ale familiei acele momente in care tata m-a învățat nu numai despre fotografie (de care sunt îndrăgostita pana la obsesie și  azi) zilele acelea de sâmbătă in care tata și  fiica se ascundeau in “camera obscură” să dezvăluie momentele de fericire ale familiei și  prietenilor și  să le cimenteze pentru generațiile de mai târziu. Pentru eternitate.

Când “lucram” poze împreună mereu îl întrebam de ce nu lucrăm și  poze color. Răspunsul era simplu (si tipic pentru tata): soluțiile, hârtia, filmul, și  filtrul pentru fotografii color sunt mai scumpe. Astăzi, când mă uit peste albumele “noastre” (pot spune ca am participat și  eu la crearea unora din ele) mă bucur că nu am făcut deloc fotografii color. Savurez atemporalitatea, clasicitatea și  patina ușor melancolica a pozelor alb-negru. Am citit undeva ca atunci “când fotografiezi oamenii color, le surprinzi hainele. Când îi fotografiezi în alb-negru, le surprinzi sufletele.”

Mulțumesc, tata, că m-ai învățat cum sa surprind ... suflete, inclusiv ale noastre in multe fotografii peste ani. Nu îmi doresc nimic mai mult azi, de ziua ta, decât să surprindem și  sa celebram și  mai multe momente într-un viitor cât mai apropiat, plin de fericire și  sănătate.

Te iubesc! La mulți ani …

The Changing World of Travel. And of Everything Else …

I thought about how I should refer to traveling during the times we live in now. Lots of people I know say “traveling post-pandemic”, but is it truly “post-pandemic” when the daily Covid numbers are doubling from week to week in every state, and worse around the globe? Maybe “post-vaccine” would be more correct.

We finally came out of our shells, fully vaccinated but still cautious, and dared out to travel overnight twice in the past month or so. We stayed at a hotel in Hickory, NC for a night and then we rented an Airbnb cabin for several days over the July 4^th weekend. We tried to avoid busy, crowded cities. Our cabin was virtually in the middle of nowhere, in the small town of Bakersville, NC (population 466), on a mountain slope surrounded by woods which was only accessible by a one-mile, one-lane forest road so steep we would not dare walk on for fear of spraining something. As far as we know, the deer, and bunnies, and many birds we had for companions up there could not share Covid. We felt safe.

I have loved to travel, as many of you know, but I have found even in these two short trips than I am a bit out of practice. Or maybe there is a combination between me being out of practice and the world having changed. Irrelevant. I felt rusty.

Having thought about traveling lately and actually doing it a little bit, I find that the world of travel has changed since merely a year and a half ago, before it all started. There are things I have learned to look for and research that were inexistent before. Things that I do differently. And there are changes in the world of travel and hospitality that might never be reversed. Some of these things I have observed so far  I thought worth jotting down:

• When you’re looking for places to stay now, hotels and other services (like Airbnb or VRBO) will advertise about their cleaning procedures and methods on their booking sites with every chance they get. Before, they either didn’t, or it was so much expected that I never looked for that information. Now, I hardly click “Check rates” or “Book now” if I don’t see their standards listed – but very few sites are missing this information anymore.
  You’ll find sites that tout “committed to cleanliness”, “our deep cleaning procedures are in place for your safety”, “staff is trained on safe food preparation and service practices and are required to wear masks,” again, “for your safety,” they “clean every surface with approved cleaners after every use” - which could be reassuring. But my question is: should these have been standards to begin with? Are these truly any different, any more “in depth” than what you would normally expect hotels and guest houses to practice, pandemic times or not?! And the harder puzzle to crack: how does one know what’s truly “safer” and what is just an advertising gimmick or PR contrivance because they know this is what people look for now?
  We have found that the bartenders don’t wear gloves like advertised in the pictures on the hotel site, nor masks, and that the Airbnb home very clearly does not clean the covers in the bedroom; they clean just the sheets, for example.
• Some hotels also advertise keyless entry and online check-in and checkout for their rooms. We did check in from our phone but our keyless app did not work. Our phone just refused to pair with the door of the hotel room. We had to ask for a key card, which is what we used before Covid. I remember when we were moving from human bank tellers to an ATM (from human to a machine touch), and now we’re even moving away from a machine “touch” to “touchless.” The world has the ability to handle “touchless” services but the pace is still a little slow.
• I find myself looking for hotels that “do not share ducts”. I look for places that have good ventilation or rooms that don’t share ducts so that air won’t travel from room to room. I spend the least amount of time in the hotel lobby’s area (always masked) and only sit on the outdoor patio if I order a drink, for instance, as opposed to the bar area or at an indoor table. This was not a consideration before. I look more and more for individual homes and cabins rather than a hotel because having a whole house to ourselves ensures we won’t breathe anyone else’s air.
• Another new thing to consider now before you go elsewhere is: do I need to bring my vaccine card with me? Is anything I am doing going to require proof of vaccination or proof of a negative test result? One more ID to bring along. We’re flirting with the idea of international travel next; the question there is: where can I go without having to be in a quarantine for 14 days? If I need proof of a negative test, how long in advance do I need to get it? Where do I get it while I am there? These are new necessities that we are just now learning how to research. With family living in three other countries I admit that I don’t even know all the rules for each country and each airline, but I will learn.
• Maybe you’re less paranoid and fearless than me, but when I travel, should I get stuck with strangers in close quarters (as in boutiques, public bathrooms, or a gondola ride up a mountain, perhaps), I am itching to know whether they are vaccinated or not. I am bothered if they are not masked (I always wear a mask indoors, although vaccinated), and I want to come out and just ask “when was your last dose of the vaccine”? Or “are you fully vaccinated”? I do find that this constant, irrational wondering takes away a lot of the fun, but as irrational things are, there is no controlling it. Or at least not yet. I am hoping that over time, with practice, the obsession will fade. (Easier said than done for a control freak).
• Whether a restaurant had a patio or not was irrelevant to me before, whether traveling or just going out to dinner. Now, not knowing the areas, we had to call and ask who had a patio and whether we could make reservations for it. In the mountains of NC in the middle of nothing the options to dine out are limited as it is. With us being there over the July 4^th weekend when half of the places were closed, our options to find a restaurant were that much slimmer. When a place was open but did not have a patio, we took our food out to go. And that worked OK. We ate it on picnic tables or back at the cabin.
• One sad reality of these times is that the restaurant and hospitality industries are truly, truly hurting. Not just in that their customer numbers are not what they used to be, but in that they have extremely limited staff. Virtually every place we went to on our vacation (hotels, restaurants, entertainment venues) had a “Hiring now. All positions.” sign at the door. The wait staff that are working are slow because places are painfully understaffed. This is a fact. We walked into a place in Burnsville, NC and we stood at the door to be seated for 15 minutes. The patrons were looking at us funny but the only two waiters (a waiter and a bartender, and no idea who was cooking the food but they were not visible from the dining room) did not so much as make eye contact with us because they were busy taking orders, giving out food and drinks, paying bills. We ended up leaving and finding another restaurant where you had to order the food at the counter yourself – no wait staff although the restaurant had very clearly been a sit-down kind of place. Again, only two people were working here, just taking the orders and bringing food out. No drink refills and we cleaned our own tables. No, I am not sharing this because it was an imposition, I am sharing this because it’s sad to see an industry that we so willingly love to support hurting so much.  If we did get a sit-down restaurant with waiting staff, the service was always accurate but at least twice as long as anywhere else before the pandemic. If you go out there and try it out, my word of advice is: patience.

And the lessons are, of course, a lot more: traveling with hand sanitizer wherever we are is not new to me, as a permanent mechanical valve patient, but now I see that almost everyone carries sanitizer or wipes and actually uses them before touching food. A welcome relief! Picking up a mask before we leave the house is as important as the keys.

I guess there is nothing more compelling, more acute, more immediate, more dire than an international disaster to make the world change. Whether we were ready for it or not, we’ll find new ways to adapt, new ways to not be scared, new ways to live. And travel. I hope.

It’ll never be the same, but human resilience and adaptability will eventually win. Of that I am sure. I think “adaptability” is the key word here: what is now an imposition (remembering masks, wipes, vaccine, negative tests, proper ventilation, etc) will become routine, just like packing a toothbrush was before. But isn’t this how humanity survived and progressed, anyway?  

Happy travels, all!

The Pandemic, the Road, and the Life In-between …

Some say the pandemic is winding down. That the time of obligatory masks and travel restrictions is close to an end, and we can go back to “normal”. Honestly, I believe that’s a bunch of hog-wash, myself.

What exactly do people understand by “normal”? Which “normal” are we hoping to get back to? The one before everyone actually washed their hands after using the bathrooms in the pub? Or the one after that?

The “normal” before saying “no” to being overly crammed in a restaurant, sardine-style, just so that the place could make the most bang for their buck, or the one after, where people get a little bit of elbow room due to mandatory capacity restrictions?

The “normal” before we shot each other for no particular reason at all, before every other person carried a semi-automatic gun (it seems) and hated everyone enough to start shooting? Or the “normal” after that?

The “normal” before Trump was in the White House, or the “normal” after it?!

I am really not sure if I ever want the “before” times, in most of the cases. One thing I do know for sure: the world of tomorrow won’t get us “back” to anything we know. Normal, or otherwise. Whatever happened in the past year and a half, or four and a half years, or … fill in the blanks … can never take us “back” to anything we ever knew before. It can just move us forward, if we’re lucky …

As for me, I am grateful and happy to be here now, to have survived so far and to be looking forward, in health (fingers crossed), to what’s ahead …

This year, just like the last, we have been just tackling every day as it comes, working, cooking, “socializing” mostly remotely, and heading out for day trips (still no overnight stays yet, although we’ve been vaccinated), sometimes for something as close as a stroll in a new park in a neighboring town. This is when we’re not working, which is most every day from early morning till mid-evening.

We have not left North Carolina this year, but we seem to find new places to visit, or old ones that we check out with new eyes. It’s always refreshing and recharging when it’s possible to get a change of scenery.

We drove to the beach late last year (North Myrtle Beach, SC), and earlier this year (Kure Beach, NC) for a day of shooting (think Canons, not guns) water birds and eating fresh seafood sandwiches on the beach. It’s amazing to me how much I can love the ocean and the beach in the winter, when there are hardly any people and much peace there, almost no crowds, and how much I want to hide away from it in the summer …

Mating water birds in Kure Beach, NC

We discovered a beautiful city park around UNC Charlotte one Saturday where we watched a track competition live – the first time either of us saw athletes compete in the pole vault competition. We went shopping in Charlotte, but to “relax” we grabbed a Mediterranean sandwich at Le Kebab Grill and headed for the park. We stopped at Childress Vineyards on the way back for a relaxing afternoon.

Sipping some sweet sangria wine at Childress Vineyards, outside Greensboro, NC

I lived close to 12 years in Greensboro (which is now about an hour away from us), but I never walked in the Bur-Mill Park. So, we headed that way on a chilly April day to see the first signs of an early spring and to literally get lost (not as a plan, but as a matter of fact) on the trails around the lake. The trails were great, groomed, smooth and easy, even for me; the park deserted and quiet, but this was the worst marked park we have ever experienced – we were never quite sure where we were and where we were headed. The city sounds make you feel safe though and give you the distinct idea what you are never “too-too” lost, and that all the trails will lead to civilization. Eventually.

Remains of last fall (the fragile skeleton of a leaf) on new life - the fresh moss of this spring, bright green in Bur-Mill Park, Greensboro, NC

Also in April, we drove to Wilmington, NC. We oh-ed and ahh-ed over the amazing 400-year-old live oak trees and the camellia gardens, as we welcomed spring, alongside active bees in one of the first truly “hot” weekends of the spring. We then headed to Wilmington’s waterfront for a seafood sandwich and some ice-cream.

Camellia and old live oaks in Airlie Gardens - Wilmington, NC

This past weekend, we headed over to Stone Mountain, in Dobson, NC where we found one of the entrances to the park closed due to Covid restrictions for occupancy. When the whole world is all but doing away with the masks and everyone’s slipping into that “normal” again … Covid is still out there, keeping the world changed, it seemed. One of the entrances was open, but the trails were not overcrowded, despite the holiday weekend. I guess the restrictions helped with something. We hiked the upper falls trail and shot the falls, draping like infinite pools over the edge of the cliffs, and some very active cedar waxwings – such interestingly lively birds!

Cedar waxwing and The Upper Falls in Stone Mountain State Park, NC

On the way back from Stone Mountain, we stopped at Shelton Vineyards where we tasted some wine on their beautiful patio, watched geckos playing peek-a-boo with guests and sunning in the gentle sun while listening to a cover band – the first outdoor concert this year.

The patio at Shelton Vineyards in Dobson, NC

In-between all these one-day road trips, we spent weekends celebrating birthdays, our anniversary, Easter, and getting to know our new cat, Blue – a skittish and fearless (yes, she’s a conundrum!) Siamese mix which has kept us busy since she’s come into our home in early March.

Blue looks pretty much settled in here. We hope it's true ... 

In addition to these outings and our regular walks, we also walked trails and parks in towns all around us – Apex, Hillsborough, Sanford, Fuquay-Varina, to name a few. We’re looking forward to do more and even go on some overnight trips this summer. But the time we’ve had so far has been wonderful to get to visit or revisit places we otherwise would have ignored had we been too busy chasing other states and countries …

During all our outings, we take the time to really pay attention to the world, the earth, mostly, time to observe the seasons, their passing, count our days and hours, learn birds, and frogs, and other creatures. We live slower lives and learn more about nature, its permanence. In other words, invest our time and senses in what’s eternal, rather than ephemeral. 

Maybe it's all a plan of the infinite to slow us down and protect us from ourselves, from our potential and inevitable wreckage. How can we not welcome it?! 

I am welcoming this lull. I am soaking it up, masks, and all. I am seldom in a rush to get into that “normal” again, whatever that might look like … tomorrow.

To My Nephew, on His 13th Birthday …

Dearest Pat,

I wanted to leave these thoughts for you on your 13^th birthday. Here are some things I have learned in my life since I was your age. Some things that helped me get where I am today and be who I am today.

13 is a big step, and I am sure you know this, as feverishly as you have been looking forward to your teen years. You’re entering a new chapter. You’re no longer a child, but not quite a man yet. But you’re about to learn how to be one, one day, and you’ll learn it fast. Of that I am sure.

Be yourself. Always. They say that everyone else is taken, and it’s true. Only you can do you - a person much smarter than me said. So, do it. Be genuine.

Always remember that God put you on this planet because He thought you have something special. Something that no one else had. So, always look for what makes you - you and share it with the world.

Live your dreams. If you can dream it – you can achieve it. If you ever doubt this, always remember me. I am living proof of this statement. There are ways to reach your most hidden thoughts. I never thought when I was 13, in a small, Communist country in Eastern Europe that I would one day live in the USA. own a house, have a job and speak another language fluently. I dreamed it. Then I took every opportunity I had to get me here. And I finally did it. Because I believed it was possible.

When an adult is trying to teach you something, or forbids you from doing something, I know that it’s very tempting to disregard them or disobey them. But I tell you this: they have been as old as you are.  You have not been as old as they are. So, trust that they have seen what you see and they teach you from first-hand experience. They only try to protect you.

I know you will need to have your own experiences and make your own choices – I promise you that you will have every opportunity to do that. But also, listen to the full picture from those older than you that have it. Take the advice, weigh it in and decide what you need to do to stay genuine to you – which is rule number one.

Then, if something doesn’t work out because you did it your way and you disregarded the advice, learn from it. Remember the warning we all gave you and think about it next time you make a choice. This will help you grow and learn. You will be stronger and smarter for it.

Believe in your roots. When you’ll feel lost and alone, they will help you feel less lonely. You are a mutt - between Romania, Canada, Germany, and the US - you are already born and raised on a multi-cultural background. This is a gift. Lots of people don't know where they come from. Your heritage is part of your life. Embrace that! Remember that mutts are the best - they are the most interesting and they live longest. You come from good people. They are strong, they are fighters, and they are smart. You have all that in you – always remember that, when you’re faced with any challenge. You can do it, because it’s in you.

Don’t forget your roots, but make your own branches. Don’t be afraid to move away from them, but always remember what they are – they will support you.

Above all else in the world, be kind. You already are the most thoughtful and empathetic 13 year old I know, but don’t forget to keep that as your most treasured possession, even when among other kids, the wish of being cool in front of others less fortunate is strong. Always remember that there is nothing cool in being thoughtless or rude towards others. On the contrary. Always remember that love and light always win.

Always remember that between darkness and light, light always wins. Be the light. Be the hope for others. Be the shoulder others need to cry on.

Always be curious. Never push away any experience because you will learn from every single one even if in the beginning it doesn’t seem cool. Remember when you were 8 and you came to visit me in Utah and you wanted to learn how to knit? Then, you went to the woodshop with Aa. and helped him make wooden toys for you and your brother? Stay that curious. Always. You will be wise beyond your years before it’s your time to be wise if you soak up every experience that comes your way. The world will only be yours faster and more fully when you’re ready for it.

Your uncle Aa. reminded me to also tell you: it’s not all about the money. Sure, money helps get you further. But don’t do it just for the money. Do it because you love it, because you can learn something just to learn it, because it helps you grow and become a fuller human being. Do it because you can and others need you to do it for them, although they have no money to give you in return.

I have met some pretty miserable people that are stinking rich in my life. And I also met the most happy people that had no running water or toilets in the house, and only two changes of clothes: one for work, during the week, and the other for going to church. But these people made it into their 80’s singing all day long and loving each other and their families, in other words: they grew older being happy. Every day. Money is not everything … There is so much more infinite happiness in hundreds of other things before money.

Share your grief. When things get hard, don’t be afraid to ask for help and ask for compassion from others. It’s not a sign of cowardice, it’s a sign of strength. To know you don’t know everything or to know that you hurt and ask for help – that’s a sign of strength and bravery.

Work hard for what you want. I have not seen much that is of value that has been achieved without hard and focused work. The world is yours to master. But first you need to learn the rules. You’re not born knowing the rules. None of us are. Take the time to learn them and learn them well. This will take work. The rest will come easy. But first, remember the work.

Keep a journal. I don’t care how small and I don’t care whether you even spell correctly in it (for now!). But keep a journal and write in it your observation of the world. Things that people do that drive you nuts, and things that people do that you admire. Read it once a year at the end of the year and realize how fast and how much you have grown. It will give you power and courage to go on and be even more next year.

Forgive your brother. Use every opportunity you have to teach him the good in you and share the knowledge you have. You will find one day that he’s your best friend, the only person in the world who knows you better than anyone else. The only person in the world who loves you totally and unconditionally. I know some days (now) this may sound impossible. Trust me: I am an older sister like you are an older brother and I have been there. These things I am telling you – I know them to be 100% true. When all of us, your grandparents, your parents, your uncles, and aunts, all the older teachers you have now will be gone, your brother will be the only one there, remembering it all with you. It’ll be such comfort to have him around. So learn to love him totally. Now.

Be graceful. When you lose, remember there is nothing in vain: learn from it, and move on. Bend when life wants to bend you, or otherwise you’ll break. Stay flexible and graceful. When the tough times are passed, always, always move on.

Be brave enough to know when you did something wrong and apologize for it. Again, this is no sign of weakness, but of strength and nobility. Be noble. Be gentle. Be respectful.

That brings me to my favorite lesson that I have learned from my own father: always be respectful. People might not remember that you were strong, or rich, or powerful, or talented, but they will always remember that you respected them. People will always remember how you made them feel. Make sure you always make them feel good and important. As we say in Romania: “always leave room for ‘hello’.”

We are not here, on Earth, to get stuck. We are here to thrive, to learn, to grow, to achieve, to conquer. Any loss is nothing but a lesson. Learn it, score it, and move on to the next one, just like you do in math. Or French. Or art …

Never, ever say "no" to travel. Travel opens doors and windows into worlds you can never imagine. Watch how other people live, taste their foods, love their humanity. Accept their differences and grow as you're doing it. If you have to learn just one thing from me, if I can leave you with just one piece of advice is this: travel as often as possible. And don't be choosy. A small village is just as exciting and full of life as New York City or Paris. Take it all in. 

Listen to nature. Love the simple things. The camping, the walks in the woods, listening to birds, the biking, the fishing, playing with your pets. When life gets complicated, later on, you’ll find that nature will relax and revitalize you, charge you back up with good energy. And nature is always free, buddy. Always free.

I hope some of these thoughts resonate with you now. If they don’t, promise yourself to come back to this list when you feel like you forgot it, or you miss me. I would love for you to revisit it from time to time and to know that I have written it for you to find support and love, and trust that you are great and you will be even greater. Of this I am also sure.  

I love you with all my heart. I always have and always will. Never doubt that. I am a “text” away and always, always, and forever here for you.

Have a good celebration of your already amazing existence of 13 years.

Much love,

me …

Where the Trees Float

I remember vividly the picture of Singletary Lake in Our State magazine from 2019, I believe. For some reason, I thought the picture was on the cover but maybe not? Wherever it was, it sat lying flat on my coffee table for about a week, haunting me. It still does, with the magazine long gone.

Earlier this year, on a cold, cold, windy January day, we made the trip to Bladen County towards the Eastern part of North Carolina to visit it. It was windy and so cold my face was stuck in one expression. The sun was trying hard to peer through the overcast sky but although its light was there we hardly felt its heat.

We drove down to the Singletary Lake State Park on an almost empty highway, on a Sunday. Everyone must have been indoors, around the fire – they cannot very well be at church during a pandemic, I reckon. But a fire is what one needed that day.

Research tells you that Singletary Lake is part of a huge chain of what they call bay lakes which were formed simply by precipitation water accumulating in the crevices of the earth. They’re usually round or oval shaped, Singletary Lake being oval. Some of these lakes have dried out over time and were transformed into farmland. If you want to know more, check out this article: https://www.ourstate.com/the-mystery-of-carolina-bays-north-carolina/.

Once at the park, we reviewed a few maps to find a trail. It was easy to find one, because there were not many. There were two of them, connected to one another, making sort of an eight-shaped course – Singletary Loop trail. The trail is flat and super easy, in addition to being very short (maybe a mile all in all).

You walk through a number of terrains along the lake and enormous pine trees and cypress trees are towering over your steps, as if in a cathedral. The walk has a ceremonious, sanctified feel to it. It’s quiet, except for the wind howling through the branches.

The terrains are anywhere from slippery clay to sand, moss, and regular soil. One minute you think you have a good, strong foothold under you, the next minute you’re sinking in moss or sand and you’re wondering if it’s supposed to feel that way or if you’re over a sand trap.

After walking a few yards, we realize the trail is flooded ahead of us. It is just covered by water, like it’s not even a trail anymore, but a river. We advance with caution and hope to find some higher ground around the trail, which we do. We step on branches and leaves and I am thinking: there is no way anyone can pay me enough money to walk this trail in the summer! The thought of the number of snakes in the warm months makes my skin crawl.

As you’re walking along the lake on its benches, you feel like you’re under the sea level … or lake level, as it were … The winds have turned the lake into a sea, with white-capped rushing waves, crashing into its low shores. The wave foam is splashing us and wetting our shoes … At one point, the trail is completely swallowed by water which turned into an ad-hoc stream crossing right across it. There is no going around this one and we had to turn around and go back, taking the opposite direction to see if we can complete the loop.

There are two areas that this trail crosses: one is slightly more remote from the lake (you can still see the lake from it, but the waves are not going to wet your shoes), and one is right on the lake (the longer trek). When we walk right along the shores, we see the cypress trees leaf-less, clad in Spanish moss, swishing in the wind, hundreds of small black birds, or starlings dressing them up like tree ornaments. They are strong and tall, their thick trunks springing right from the water, alone, unattached to the land we’re watching them from. It’s the image that’s been haunting me ever since I saw the pictures.

I normally look at trees as growing organically from the earth, like earth’s babies, their connection un-severed. These trees have no connection to any earth, it seems, they are happy to make it on their own floating on water … It's like the superfluous and everchanging realm of water is what birthed them and not the steady, permanent one of the earth. It defies logic and what we know about trees … You feel suspended between this world and another one, one that is possible (you’re awake and seeing it with your own eyes) but dubious. Although you’re clearly walking on land, the medium that wins here is definitely the water … The lake, the streaming flooded trails, the waves crashing at your feet, the trees surrounded by nothing but water, as if they were floating away … There is an eerie peace about it all, despite the loud wind and the crashing of the waves. The silence is primordial, and so is the rustling …

For some reason I thought these places are accessible only by boat. But you can walk right around them and no amount of beauty or awe is diminished. The lure of the complete silence, the wind, the beauty and magic of floating trees will be beckoning me back still for many more years …

I’ll leave you with some shots of this magical place …

A mossy/ woodsy trail towards Singletary Lake

A sandy trail 

That time when we had to turn around because the trail was completely immersed in water 

The floating trees at Singletary Lake

Waves, and moss, and reeds ... 

The pier of Singletary Lake. Click on the picture to see the whole album.