“It surprises me that there are still places, not too far away, that offer quiet solitude” – Ed Lehming
I got a bit introspective on this one. You see, it’s summer here in “The County,” which means that thousands of people pour into the area to enjoy its world-renowned beaches, wineries, breweries, and dining. The summers here are overrun with people looking to enjoy all that the County has to offer. So, it’s pleasantly surprising to find places that are, for lack of a better word, empty. I’ve lived here for close to six years and have not, till this day, driven in search of this spot. It’s in a rather obscure location, and there is no parking without a special permit. I have such a permit, so I parked my car and headed on the short hike toward the shore. When I crested the small ridge that bounds the beach, I saw this: as far as the eye can see, this stretch of beach was “empty,” empty and serene. I simply sat for a while, slowed my breathing, and drank in the view—the shimmering waters of Lake Ontario stretching along the beach in front of me.
The water of Lake Ontario, in some of the bays, has an almost tropical turquoise tone, which those who have not witnessed it often accuse me of doctoring, but that is not the case. There is something about the minerals (limestone) in the bedrock, which you can see as slabs of rock in this image, and the quality of the light, that creates this effect. However, this is Lake Ontario, one of the largest freshwater lakes in the world, and it is deep, with an average depth of 283 ft / 86 m. The deepest part of the lake, the Rochester Basin, at 802 ft / 244 m, is just a few miles away, just around the bend behind me. The summer water temperature ranges from 21°C to 25.5°C (70°F to 78°F). It was at the low end that day, with summer storms churning up deeper, colder water. It’s a brisk and refreshing swim, but it’s not the tropics.
And while it is tranquil, this area is known for its undertows, so swimming is not encouraged.
So, there are all the facts about the water. Getting back to this day of quiet solitude, it was unusual, as locals are often found seeking the same quiet that I was, and there are often people out for a stroll or walking their dogs. Not today; I had it all to myself, and I simply enjoyed it, wandered the shore, and took some photos. It made me think that all the beaches and shorelines around here were once like this. It would have been a sight to behold.
Of note as well, the beach here is quite steep and rocky for a long stretch, and it does not turn to a sandy beach until well past the center of this image, so it’s a bit of a walk if you want a traditional sandy beach.
iPhone 17 Pro Max
Main Camera — 24 mm
1/914 sec, ƒ/1,78 ISO 64
“There are times, when looking at my world, that I see a painting just waiting to be created. Then I realize that nature already has.” – Ed Lehming
This is a return to a previously shared image, though presented here as a portrait composition. I think I prefer the portrait version because it shows more sky and is a bit brighter overall.
I also have to say that this was a memorable day for me. I had not been out making landscape shots for some time and got re-inspired by some stunning sunsets, which led to the series I have recently shared. The sky this evening really looked like it had been painted, and I’ve had some artist friends comment back with words like “That sky!” I would agree. Every sunset is a bit different, and some are jaw-droppers. This one just makes me smile in its simple beauty.
As well, it has reignited the desire to get outside to enjoy the beauty that surrounds me, create engaging photos and share them here.
iPhone 17 Pro Max
Main Camera — 14 mm
1/121sec, ƒ/2.2, ISO 50
“Year after year, nature bears witness to constant change.” – Ed Lehming
Another, though probably not final, view of this beautiful shoreline, taken at the same time as my previous post, but framed slightly differently. I spend quite a bit of time working on different compositions of the same scene. Some may appeal to me at the time, while others evolve during my editing process. That said, I am very deliberate in framing my compositions in the field and rarely modify in post-processing.
For this shot, I waited until a larger wave crested in the cove in order to give a different dynamic to the image. In order to get it all in, I had to frame the shot differently, including switching to a landscape orientation.
iPhone 17 Pro Max
Main Camera — 14 mm
1/40 sec, ƒ/2.2, ISO 50
“Hark now, hear the sailors cry; smell the sea and feel the sky.” – Van Morrison (Into the Mystic)
Every now and then, a photo captures the dynamic nature of our world—times when the true moment is documented so well that I can sense the very air and feel of that moment in time when looking back at the photo.
That is the case with this image, taken once more along the shores of Lakeshore Lodge Point in Ontario’s Prince Edward County. It looks back to locations where I made my previous photos and features the large oak that hangs over the bluff. In this image, the movement of the wind against the gap at my feet is quite obvious. I can still hear the sound of the waves and smell the unmistakable scent of the lake water as it crashes on the shore below. It immediately reminded me of one of my favorite Van Morrison songs.
The image was made looking southwest, as I tried to capture all the elements that I was experiencing, including a narrow wedge of the sunset across the lake.
iPhone 17 Pro Max
Main Camera — 14 mm
1/53 sec, ƒ/2.2, ISO 50
“Winding down the day, at waters edge, the breeze in my face, there is not much better to end the day in peace.” – Ed Lehming
As a continuation from yesterday’s “Standing in Awe” post, here’s the same vantage point but looking to my right. I had nearly forgotten that we were just emerging from a few days of wildfire smoke from northern Ontario, which can be seen lingering on the horizon, subtly altering the colors of the landscape.
The beach, which stretches off to the right, had largely emptied out by this time of day, with only a few stragglers enjoying the last moments of sunlight. There was a slight breeze that kept the grasses in the foreground (also from yesterday’s image) swaying gently, complemented the tranquil atmosphere. The oak tree on the shore evidences years of enduring shore breezes as it leans over the bluff below, its branches reaching out towards the lake as if trying to embrace it. There are days when it seems like the wind is all that prevents it from tumbling into the water below, giving the tree a precarious presence. It was this tree that inspired the title for this image, as it embodies the beauty and struggle of nature.
Once more, the skies offered beautiful wispy textures and a wide range of tones, from soft pastels to deeper hues as the day transitioned to dusk. It was a nice way to end another beautiful summer day in the County, a moment to reflect on the simple yet profound beauty that surrounds us.
iPhone 17 Pro Max
Main Camera — 16 mm
1/100 sec, ƒ/2.2, ISO 50
“There are times when a composition is just automatic. Often the simplest things align to create beauty without effort” – Ed Lehming
I’m jumping ahead just a few days from the “Pink Sunsets” series that I just posted. I was looking for something a bit different than the open farmland I’d recently photographed, and I have a spectacular waterfront/beach view only a 20-minute drive from home. The sky was starting to show some interesting clouds, so I headed to one of my favorite lookouts, Lakeshore Lodge Point in the renowned Sandbanks Provincial Park. It’s a huge draw for thousands of summer tourists and I get to enjoy it whenever I want.
I’ve been to this spot hundreds of times. In fact, it was my first vantage point of Lake Ontario from the County, as this area is refered to, just prior to moving here six years ago. I still find myself returning, in all seasons and all kinds of weather. It’s one of those places that always shows me some new aspect of itself.
As I walked the short distance from my car to the water’s edge, this composition presented itself to me immediately. I simply squatted and took the shot. That simple, not a lot of fuss trying to balance the elements or angles; it simply was.
Beyond the grasses and the lake itself, the sky presented an awesome show of pastel colors and textures, so different from the previous week. I’ve looked at it many times, and every time my eyes see this as a painting. The amazing thing that evening was that the show had just started. There is more to follow.
iPhone 17 Pro Max
Main Camera — 13 mm
1/105 sec, ƒ/2.2, ISO 50
“There is not much more soothing that looking across beautiful vistas and remebering that this is home” – Ed Lehming
This is the final image from my early July sunset series. This image was made on the same day as Pink Wave and Candy-Floss Skies. I simply traveled north a bit further up the road. By then, the bright pink billows had subsided and a more typical sunset took their place.
Once more, I realized that this is scenery that I drive through on a regular basis, catching glimpses of the details of the countryside. It’s not until I stop and compose a photo that I truly realize just how wonderful this area is. Looking beyond the hay bales that first caught my interest, as well as the beautiful sky, the distant details of local farm buildings emerge near the horizon, as well as yet another field filled with hay bales.
The title for the image comes from a bend in the road, not visible in the image, but directly between the cornfield and hay bale field behind it. I’ve driven this road hundreds of times and never fully appreciated just how beautiful the scenery is. In fact, I just drove this stretch of road yesterday and had trouble piecing this scene together. What a difference a few steps off the road can make.
iPhone 17 Pro Max
Main Camera — 24 mm
1/121 sec, ƒ/1.78, ISO 64
“We look to the sky for wonders” – Ed Lehming
This will be my second to final entry from the early July post-storm series. It’s been fun looking back at these recent memories and reflecting on the wonderful, almost surreal skies.
The image, aptly named “Pink Wave,” shows a local farm field and a stunning pink cloud formation. This image was made only a short distance from my prior images. It’s a field I often drive by and see photographic potential. In this case, the stunning pink sky, with just a hint of blue, was too good to pass up.
It’s a simple composition, looking across the wheat fields with a few trees for interest. I recall parking my car at the side of the road and looking up in awe at the bright sky. I focused on the tree in the foreground as I composed the shot. I clicked the shutter and looked at the result on my screen. One shot captured it exactly as I had seen it and preserved a great memory that is not likely to repeat itself anytime soon.
iPhone 17 Pro Max
Main Camera — 24 mm
1/87 sec, ƒ/1.78, ISO 100
“If joy had a colour, I think it would be pink” – Ed Lehming
Another storm passing, unsettled and angry gray clouds give way to joyful pinks and lavenders. The summer evenings continue in contrasts, and I’m back to what has become a regular spot for me as the day fades to night.
Here’s another shot, another day, from the same location that I have been sharing photos from over the past few days, this time looking northeast, or just to my right. The farm driveway has been a great place to pull off the road so that I don’t have to worry about passing cars.
On this day, storms had once again passed over in the afternoon, but rather than offering wispy multicolored clouds, there was a high pink mist in the sky interspersed with waves of purple. This pink filled the sky, except to the far west, where the clouds had started to break up. This intense pink reminded me of candy floss, thus the image name. Though the overwhelming pink felt a bit sureal, I also felt a joyful calm as it bathed the landscape in its glow.
I do have a few more images from this evening which I will share over the next few days.
iPhone 17 Pro Max
Main Camera — 24 mm
1/121 sec, ƒ/1.78, ISO 50
“Sometimes there is promise, a hopeful potential, the ‘almost’ hangs just out of reach” – Ed Lehming
After a few days of stunning sunsets, this day was a bit of a letdown, and my thoughts were that this was “almost” as nice as the prior days. So I titled it the “Almost Sky.” Yet I look at it now, a few weeks later, and wonder how I could have been disappointed in this beautiful mid-summer evening.
The wheat, at the time, was golden and only a few days from harvest; the thistles added a pop of color to the composition, and the sky is still quite interesting. That wheat is now gone, as are the thistles. It’s just a flat field of stubble.
I suppose that is the contrast we often face when we have had all that we want for a time and then are faced with something that feels “lesser.” At any other time, like now, when we have had clear skies and no interesting clouds, I would be happy with an “almost” sky. It’s better than nothing at all.
One of the things I like best about blogging about my photos is that actually sitting down with the photo and reflecting back on that past moment, with the perspective of today, makes me more appreciative of what is in front of me then and today. It’s also the process of writing that slow me down, chosing the words that best reflect my thoughts, both then and now. In the end, even moments that we are less appreciative of at the time become fond memories in our future. I’m just happy that I have the ability to keep so many documented.
iPhone 17 Pro Max
Main Camera — 24 mm
1/121 sec, ƒ/1.78, ISO 100
“There are days where we simply need to pause and wait for the noise to clear” – Ed Lehming
The title of this image came from a song by The Eagles. It’s a bit of a theme song for me, not because of the lyrics but because of the title of the song itself. There are times where, as some of the lyrics say, I’m “biding time with the crows and sparrows.” Times when life gets hectic and I know that I need to slow down, often not in a place of comfort, but among the weeds that I am in.
The image was made along the same stretch of county road where I captured the previous two images. The sky is not quite as spectacular, but still captivating for me. I got down low at the roadside to include the grasses, mullion, and wild parsnip, which seems to be everywhere lately.
Something about the composition resonated with me, and it was not until I got to doing my edits that I noticed the outstretched arms of the one wild parsnip plant. It seemed to be worshiping or celebrating the colors offered by the last light of day. I look at it now with a combined sense of joy and calm. If I need to wait in the weeds, I may as well enjoy the view!
iPhone 17 Pro Max
Main Camera — 24 mm
1/498 sec, ƒ/1.78, ISO 64
“The storms of life come and go and remind us to enjoy the beauty of good times” – Ed Lehming
I need to remind myself constantly that bad times, the “storms” of our lives, are temporary. Time moves on, and better times often follow. This applies to a lot of things, including my creative work. As I noted in my earlier post “After the Storms”, I had gone through yet another creative lull— not a storm, but more plain old dullness. Then the clouds eased up, and I was presented with wonder once again.
The image above was made from the same spot, about 30 seconds later, just looking to my left, along the road where I was parked. That same golden light from the wheat and the bold purple clouds are a significant part of the composition as well. The scene, and being able to capture it effectively, did wonders to jump-start my creative practice once more. It did take me a full month to start writing again, but here I am.
There are many more photos that I have made since that day, and I plan to write about them on a daily basis. I find it’s a healthy, often neglected practice for me to pause and reflect on the things I have seen, as well as talk about the emotions and reflections of what has made these moments significant to me.
You will see a lot more iPhone images from me since I have my device with me more often than I have my heavy professional kit, and frankly, I’m impressed with how well my iPhone captures what I see, when I see it.
iPhone 17 Pro Max
Main Camera — 24 mm
1/60 sec, ƒ/1.78, ISO 125
“Summer rolls on, like the constant waves break on the shore, in a rhythm older than time” – Ed Lehming
It was early July; the skies had begun to offer some variety, displaying a blend of soft pastels and deeper hues as the day transitioned into evening. So, I headed to one of my favorite spots to see what the late afternoon had to offer. The image above was made just as the sun was about to dip below the horizon, casting a soft glow across the landscape. Another storm had passed earlier in the day, and there was still a good chop on the water, due to the post-storm winds, creating a dynamic scene that seemed to pulse with life.
I love the way this beach curves, an elegant arc that guides the eye along the shore. The waves conform to that shape as they roll in, like an endless heartbeat, measuring out the moments of the day. Each crest and trough seems to tell a story, whispering secrets to the sand beneath. They also seem to push the last vestiges of cloud off to the east, clearing the sky for the vibrant display that a summer sunset promises. There is something magical in the color of the water here; it reminds me of the turquoise waters of the Caribbean, yet it’s right at my doorstep in Ontario, highlighting the beauty that often goes unnoticed in our own backyards.
As I look at the photo and remember back to that moment when I snapped the shutter, I can still feel the wind blowing off the lake, crisp and refreshing, caressing my skin. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore creates a soothing melody, perfectly complemented by the aroma of the water mingling with the scent of dstill wet grasses. The warmth of the setting sun on my face envelops me in a comforting embrace, making the fleeting moment linger a little longer. Yet another moment of another beautiful summer day coming to a close, reminding me of the simple joys found in nature and the passage of time. Each sunset feels like a gentle farewell, promising that the light will return another day, just as summer always does.
iPhone 17 Pro Max
Main Camera — 24 mm
1/351 sec, ƒ/1.78, ISO 64
“Everyday offers new beauty, just give it time, keep your eyes open, and be ready.” – Ed Lehming
There are days, as a photographer, where days seem to hold little promise. The skies are dull and dreary, and the forecast is not promising. But then, out of nowhere, a spectacle emerges.
Such was this evening in early July. I’ve been a bit off my game photographically, as many creatives can probably relate to. Too many days, lacking inspiration or motivation, had gone by and I was experiencing a bit of a lull. I live in a beautiful area that people flock to by the thousands every summer, and yet, I did not find inspiration. It was a long weekend here in Canada, but the clouds and rain had rolled in, and nothing inspired.
But, near the end of the day, the clouds unexpectantly shifted and the sun shone through the remaining tatters. And what a show it provided! Not for a long time had I seen such a display of colors and textures. The good thing was, I was ready for it. I know my gear and I know where to be to capture these rare moments. I got in my car at that first sign of color and drove the five minutes north of my house to a field that offered a clear view of the horizon. The field was still filled with unharvested, ripe wheat, providing a golden glow. In the foreground, a few conveniently placed boulders and some wildflowers added interest to the shot. The clouds and the colors were the real stars of the show, but this composition laid itself out nicely for this singular image. I did shoot the same scene as a landscape, but I fell in love with this orientation.
This single, successful, image inspired me again, and I have been out almost every day looking for something new. I’ll share those images over the next few days. I am so happy to be reinspired and now wonder how I got into my previous state in the first place. Maybe that will reveal itself as I undertake writing over the next few days and weeks.
iPhone 17 Pro Max
Main Camera — 200 mm
1/423 sec, ƒ/2.8, ISO 50
“The everyday, mundane paths can lead to new wonders, if we chose to take them” – Ed Lehming
There are many times when I simply look around for things of interest. Sometimes I have no idea what, specifically, I am looking for, but a scene will catch my eye. At the time, nothing particular jumps out, but subconsciously, I know that there is some element worth pursuing.
On this instance, I was at the beach with my grandson at the end of the day. He wanted the beach to play on, and I wanted new material to photograph. The sun was setting by this time, but the sunset itself was unremarkable. I’ve been to this beach many times and have learned to just look around at the scenes I’ve seen over and over, looking for “something” out of the ordinary, something that makes me look twice. That day, the path up into the dunes and past a half-dead cottonwood caught my eye.
The curved path into the dunes, the contrast of the half-dead tree, and the wispy clouds drew my attention. It took a bit of work to frame it without interference from some overhanging branches. I finally composed a pleasing shot and snapped the photo. It looked “OK” as a color image but really popped when I stripped it down into mono and adjusted the tones.
I can still see the original scene in my mind’s eye and am really pleased with how this one turned out. The well-trodden path leads toward what may lie over the dune, the grasses offer nice shadows, and the clouds add just a hint of mystery to the scene. What began as a simple exploration turned into what I think is a really nice image that captures the mood of the day.
iPhone 17 Pro Max
Main Camera — 14 mm
1/121 sec, ƒ/2.2, ISO 40
“After a long and gloomy winter, there is an unspeakable joy that comes with seeing the first blooms of spring; the world is waking from its winter slumber, and spring is on its way.” – Ed Lehming
Early last week, I took a look at my calendar and noted that this is usually the time when the first flowers, the spring ephemerals, begin to bloom. Each year is a bit different, but the signs of spring are ever present: the longer days of sunshine, the warming air, and the gradual “greening” of trees and grasses. It’s inevitable, but when?
This year, it felt like winter was holding its grip just a bit longer. The days felt cooler, rainier, and darker than in the past few years. But my calendar told me to ignore those characteristics and head out in search of signs of spring. On the first fairly mild day, I took a drive to Sandbanks Provincial Park, which is a twenty-minute drive from my home. It’s usually the first place around here that offers blossoms. As I drove, I scanned the roadside ditches for signs of life; usually, the bright yellow Coltsfoot is the first to bloom, but I did not see any on my journey.
I parked my car and headed along the trail to where a large patch of Bloodroot usually blooms. Again, no promising signs of flora along the way. And then, between the winter-weary trees, I saw a patch of white flashing. They were in bloom and in profusion! A feeling of joy filled me at the sight; the whole patch was in full bloom! It’s difficult to put into words the delight in seeing this—there is no turning back: spring has arrived in the County, as we refer to our region at the east end of Lake Ontario.
I also had the whole place to myself and took the time to fully enjoy it and capture several nice photos to keep the feeling with me.
iPhone 17 Pro Max
Main Camera — 109 mm
1/2415 sec, ƒ/1.78, ISO 80
“Sunrises bring me not only their breathtaking beauty but also serve as gentle reminders of new beginnings and fresh starts. In these challenging times, filled with an overwhelming amount of bad news, I find myself seeking comfort in the cherished memories of those beautiful February beach days.” – Ed Lehming
I’ve been away from my blog for far too long. It was my son who reminded me of the personal value of journaling my journey through life through my photos. It’s strange, and this happened during COVID as well, that at times when it is probably more important than ever to spend some time in introspection, that is the same time when I drift away from my practice.
During a recent conversation, he asked me if I was planning on taking up blogging again, and I knew right away that the answer was, “Yes.” After all, over the past several months, I have not been idle and have many new images that have brought me a lot of joy—photos of travel, family, friends, events, and the world I live in—so why not start this endeavor once more? So here we are. Like the photo that I chose, a new start, a blank canvas, informed by the past but looking forward.
The image I chose was made a mere few weeks ago on the beach of our resort in Cancun, Mexico. I made a point of getting up with the sun every day and simply sitting with the day as it revealed itself to me. Every morning was just a bit different, and even when clouds covered the eastern horizon, the sun seemed to send a few welcoming rays into the sky anyway.
There is also a rhythm to these mornings. Just before the sun breaks on the horizon, there is a fairly long period of soft dawn light and a handful of fellow dawn welcomers. All is quiet except for the constant swooshing of waves on the shore. As the sun peeks over the horizon, the sky begins to fill with life; pelicans and gulls start to circle overhead, seeking their morning meal, and the day begins anew for all of us. And I just sat in quiet meditation, taking in the sights, the sounds, and the feel of the sun on my skin; bliss. No thought of anything except what was before my eyes, in the moment.
It’s that very moment that I want to carry with me to help me endure the world in its current state. I have printed this photo, and it sits on my desk as I write this. Through my work week, I look at it and recall a snippet of that moment and remind myself that this serenity is possible even in a chaotic world; I just need to recall it to sustain myself.
So, here we go. I’ll be going over many such moments, experienced in the recent past, considering the photos I have made of these “moments,” and realizing just how blessed I truly am to have experienced them along the way. And, hopefully, the inspiration to keep writing stays with me for more than a few days.
iPhone 17 Pro Max
Main Camera — 24 mm
1/1582 sec, ƒ/1.8, ISO 100
“There are days that, at first seem brooding and filled with dread. Let them unfold as they will. Those storm clouds may pass and the worry was for naught” – Ed Lehming
I made this photo a few weeks ago while vacationing in Cancun. While I made a point of capturing sunrises every day, this shot was taken around 9:45 am on February 8th. We had beautiful weather for the past few days, each day gradually warming after a chilly 17°C on our first day. This particular morning, dark clouds rolled in from the north, and we figured we were in for it.
Not a drop of rain landed on us; the storm remained well offshore, likely heading to Cozumel to spoil someone else’s morning. This experience was a poignant reminder that many of the worries we hold on to are often unfounded, much like the storm that threatened to disrupt our day but ultimately never reached us.
I tend to worry about things on the horizon—things that I can see or imagine. I’m not sure if this is something learned or simply part of me. Every event like this that passes reminds me that nothing is imminent. Forces beyond our control can just as easily change the outcome, often for the better.
As I reflect on this, I find it crucial to remember that worrying can cloud our perspective, much like those dark clouds that seemed so foreboding. Instead of fretting about what might happen, we should embrace the uncertainty of life and trust that not every looming threat will come to pass.
So, as I consider the world events around us right now, I’m hopeful that, like these dark and threatening clouds, the challenges we see are merely passing shadows that may not be as dire as they appear. Choosing not to worry allows us to appreciate the brightness that often follows the storm, finding peace in the knowledge that sometimes, things are not as bad as they seem, or might be.
iPhone 17 Pro Max
Main Camera — 14 mm
1/1522 sec, ƒ/2.2, ISO 20
“Our lives are made of moments, all are on a scale from rapturous to devastating. There is a resilience that can come be built by holding up those moments to the light, carefully considering their place and meaning in time, and sorting them accordingly. It’s up to us to chose what to do with those moments.” – Ed Lehming
Memories of January 17, 2025. The day my mother left this life. A time of complex feelings, yet life also provided me such beauty at the time of this loss.
The memory of the moment she passed over will always linger with me. I’m so happy for this particular image because it was made at the same time she passed. I can look back on it and reflect on that singular moment, sometimes with sadness, but more often with joy for all the memories of the times I got to spend with her. The significance of that moment varies with whe I look at it.
I had time to myself on that Lake Okanagan shore, knowing what was about to happen in her hospice room and trying to come to terms with the permanence of it all. During that time, I purposely made photos of the world around me, primarily as points of reflection to recall those moments, as I’m doing today.
I rendered this image in a bit of a different way here. The dominant theme for me, today, represents a crossing over.
“Endings are beginnings and beginnings are endings. The cycle of time and nature continues, bringing both the sorrow of loss and joy of fresh starts.” – Ed Lehming
This is one of the final colourful autumn images I was able to capture this year. I had a “feeling” when I set out this day that it might be finale of sorts. The fall seemed too good to be true and the forcast of an early snowfall compelled me to get outside for some potentially final images.
I’m glad that I did, because the forecast heald true and we got a heavy early November snowfall the next day, effectively ending the colour, and blanketing the County with heavy wet snow. That same wet snow pulled down the last remaining leaves.
It was an important reminder to follow my gut on days like this. The conditions were perfect, with mild temperatures and lovely, soft sunlight. Not so much the following day.
I was just in the midst of preparing for my first solo photo exhibit and going through the images that I was showing inspired me to return once more to my intentional camera movement style, since the lighting was nicely balanced and the colors were still vibrant, with a nice mix of yellows, oranges, and greens in this narrow finger of Carolinian forest. In the background, some notes of turquoise from Lake Ontario peek through.I focussed my attention on a small Maple tree that still had its dry, golden leaves mostly intact. One “final flourish” before a long winter rest.
Nikon D800
Tamron SP 24-70 mm f/2.8 Di VC USD @ 52 mm
1/4 sec, f/22, ISO 100
“The forest is alive, it’s a living thing. See it and feel it. As the cold sets in, it may feel more dormant, but there is still more going on that may not be so obvious.” – Ed Lehming
This may be a final nod to the season of leaves and color for a few months, but it seemed worth the post.
As those who have known me over the years know, I love the forest and am constantly trying to present it in a way that communicates what I am feeling when I’m in the forest. For me, Intentional Camera Movement or ICM brings some of the feeling to the image.
The movement, something that I have learned and developed over time to be my own style, brings forth an energy that is not present in static images. I think that the slight movement adds confusion to the image that makes you look at it again, trying to figure it out. That second look brings forth elements that you may not have noticed at first; at least that is my theory on why this seems to work.
When I consider this image I made just a week ago, there are layers of color and texture that a still image would not present effectively. There are, of course, the bright yellow and orange leaves of the canopy that you notice at first, but look again and subtle layers of greens become visible, just above ground level. Then, as your vision pulls back, all the fine branches and undergrowth in the foreground show themselves. And then there is the bright blue of the early November sky peeking out behind it all.
I had set out this day with the sole purpose of capturing a few ICM shots to round out the season. I was challenged by a thinning canopy and bright skies, making it more difficult to capture images that pleased me. This is one of about five that I kept after culling all the trials. I think it works, given the conditions.
Nikon D800
Tamron SP 24-70 mm f/2.8 Di VC USD @ 62 mm
1/4 sec, f/22, ISO 400
“The final sunny fall day before the snow arrives and the lake pulses in anticipation, as if aware of the coming change, filling the bay with echoes of its life” – Ed Lehming
This image was made yesterday. The forecasts called for snow today and I wanted one final day among the remaining colours of autumn. Many of the leaves had already fallen but pockets of colour remained along this point. Copper-tones oaks and a few sugar maples still held their leaves.
The inevitable outcome of early season snows is that the last leaves finally get pulled down by the weight of wet snow, and the feel of winter finally takes hold.
I’m truly blessed to live in a region with forests and lakeshore and this particular area has become on eof my favourite places to hike, make photos’ and just relax.
I’ve spent many years in the area around my old home hiking the vast tracts of forests and had little exposure to lakeshores, especially one as vast as Lake Ontario. Just as I became aware of the pulse and life of the forests, I’m beginning to understand and appreciate that the same is true of bodies of water. As seasons change and weather systems roll across, the very character of the water changes in response.
As I looked across the bay, the waves formed to the shoreline creating what appeared to me as a “pulse”, thus the tile of this photo. It summed it all up in one word.
For those wondering, yes, the water really is this colour, enhanced by the deep blue autumn sky. There are days where it becomes bright emerald, ar and angry gray. But on this day, deep blue was the tone.
Far in the distance and sweeping to the right is Outlet Beach, as vast freshwater beach which is part of Ontario’s fames Sandbanks Provincial Park. The park also features a lot of flat, rocky limestone ledges, which are also visible in the image and I’m sure will be featured in future posts.
iPhone 14 Pro Max back triple camera 24 mm
1/4900 sec, f/1.8, ISO 100
“Winter’s teeth bite deep into the shoreline and the familiar becomes alien and unknown” – Ed Lehming
I could spend hours with my recent images from the shores of Lake Ontario at Sandbanks Provincial Park. It’s a quick 20 minute drive from home and seems to offer me something new every time I go there.
I’m new to living this close to Lake Ontario (though I grew up in Scarborough but did not venture to the lake in winter) and the features created by this massive body of water. Until recently, I had never used terms like ice shelf, cryovolcano, or break-offs, yet they are all in this image. The photo also allows me more time to look deep into the structures.
For example, the cryovolcano to the center-left can now be seen in detail, and I can observe the structures that form it. Larger chunks of ice have solidified with snow to form a solid mass that makes up the main structure. To the right, you can see a larger mass of shelf ice that has a similar composition. It’s not pure ice, but rather a blend of ice and snow, frozen together to form a thick shelf.
Offshore, in a blend of thinner and newly formed ice and patches of open water, pieces of shelf ice that have broken free from shore are locked in place as the lake continues to freeze in the chilly -12 degree temperatures.
What the photo does not communicate, but is ever-present, is the deep rumble and constant clicking and popping of the ice as it shifts and settles, even with no wind to speak of. It’s ever-changing, ever-adjusting as it floats above the frigid waters below. It’s important to remember that this mass of ice could shift or break away to join its companions further offshore.
As I was making this image, another photographer ventured out on the shelf ice, a big no-no for those who understand the nature of the ice. Eventually, he ended up way out on the large structure to the right. I should also note that this image was made safely from shore, and I was some 50 meters back using my telephoto. Even close to the shore, the ice can shift and heave unexpectedly, so it’s not worth the risk for a photo. I lost track of the other photographer until later in the afternoon.
The last time I checked, Lake Ontario was 18% iced over. For perspective, the far shore in this image is some 80 kilometers distant. The lake is roughly 310 kilometers long and has an average depth of 85 meters. It’s a BIG body of water and rarely freezes over completely due to its depth, volume, and the insulating properties of the ice shelves. The last recorded freeze-over was in 1934. But there is still lots of winter left, so time will tell.
Nikon D800
Nikkor 70-300mm f/4.5-5.6 G I AF-S VR Zoom @ 116 mm
1/800 sec, f14, ISO 400
“The freeze is on, winter has us firmly in its grip, and the world is transformed from liquid to solid, seemingly overnight. The horizon is filled with ice and illusions” – Ed Lehming
The title for the scene seemed fairly obvious to me, looking across Lake Ontario, particularly, Athol Bay in Ontario’s Prince Edward County. This bay is bounded by Lakeshore Lodge Point to the north and Salmon Point to the south. It’s a large almost square bay that is responsible for the formation of Outlet Beach to the east, a very popular destination for summer beach goers. The winter, is a different story.
The lake in front of me had been transformed from what had only been a few weeks before open water with ducks swimming and had now became a vast frozen sea of sheer ice, with a few patches of open water; the frozen landscape punctuated by large masses of floating ice and snow that had broken free from shore during a recent storm.
What really stood out for me was the brilliant blues of the fresh ice. Clearly visible because of the lack of significant snow. I suspect that the snow which had fallen last weeks had combined with pieces of fractured lake ice to form a frozen conglomerate that formed these large frozen rafts, now trapped in ice.
I spent about an hour walking along the shore mesmerized by the scene in front of me. It felt like it was somewhere in the Arctic and not in my South-East Ontario neighbourhood. Since moving here, I’ve begun to make the shift from wooded trails to endless shorelines and water, and I’m learning about all the new features that the lake presents. This scene took me by surprise. I was expecting ice, but I wasn’t expecting these large rafts of snow and ice floating as far as the horizon. And then, there is the optical illusion of the pieces seemingly floating high above the water. It just looks well, odd. Given the distance, I suspect they are larger than the pieces in the foreground. The whole thing reminded me of the D-Day flotillas of boats approaching the shores for France.
To get this shot, I stood on shore and zoomed fully to 300 mm to crop past the vast shelf of sheet ice that filled the east end of the bay. This is a long way out!
Nikon D800
Nikkor 70-300mm f/4.5-5.6 G I AF-S VR Zoom @ 300 mm
1/250 sec, f29, ISO 400
“Life changes in a heartbeat, what was once so close and familiar can change and become distant, seemingly out of reach, like a distant horizon. We know it’s out there, but it takes trust and time to get there.” – Ed Lehming
Today was a tough day. This is the day my mother’s life ended. I look out the window of my hotel room, and the mountains of the Okanagan that have been her daily view for most of her life are bright with sunshine. I can’t help but lock this image in my memory. Despite this beauty, a little more of this world’s beauty has left us.
Right now, the feelings are pretty raw. This is not the first family death that I have experienced, but this time there are a lot of unresolved family dynamics that will take me a long time to unpack and process.
For now, I will hold the memories of my mother dear. We had some very beautiful times and memories; individually and with my siblings, aunts, and uncles. We spent summer days on the beach of her Lake Okanagan home, shared family genealogy with family in Ontario, and connected with distant cousins in Cabo San Lucas. All these times are indelibly etched in my memory of her.
We also shared times of sadness and grief at the loss of close family members, particularly the passing of my sister Carrie just over two years ago, in the same hospice. That was a profound loss for all of us, and I wonder if the sky was as bright on that day. I like to think so. There are so many of these overlapping moments in my family, and I suppose that offers me some comfort too.
I also made a point to be somewhere meaningful when she passed. So I drove to the shores of Lake Okanagan, across from where she lived for many years. From the shore, I could see her house. Around the time that she passed, the sun burst through the clouds, yielding the photo above. At the same time, a magpie landed on the tree above me. I knew she was gone, and for me, the magpie was not just a signal of her passing but a symbol of reciprocity. Not something instant, but something that will require patience and learning on my part. It brings me hope for healing.
iPhone 14 Pro Max back triple camera 14 mm
1/1473 sec, f/2.2, ISO 50
“The summer beach has transformed, even though the beach sand is still exposed, the shoreline has now transformed into the ice and snow of winter. Where I stand, the worlds seem to meet.” – Ed Lehming
I made this image over a week ago and had titled it at that time. Since that time life has thrown me a few curve balls. So, I expect my upcoming theme will be about transitions. The transitions in life that parallel my experiences as a photographer. These parallels resonate with me more and more, and I’ve begun to consider what life events will tie back to my images next.
This past week I found out that my mother’s cancer had accelerated and we expect she will part this world tomorrow, another transition. So, tying back to the image, what seems today as a bleak and harsh time does show promise on the horizon. I am hopeful for good outcomes.
Back to the image, the tall ice structure in the foreground is another cryovolcano. These things absolutely fascinate me, because they are so otherworldly, and this one had such nice structure against the shelf ice. The storm clouds over the lake simply enhance the alien appearance of the landscape.
Nikon D800
Nikkor 70-300mm f/4.5-5.6 G I AF-S VR Zoom @ 140 mm
1/640 sec, f13, ISO 400
“The view was surreal, there were mountains where the water was, only a few days before. The world had transformed fully to winter” – Ed Lehming
As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, these lake mountains, or cryo-volcanoes, are something that’s unique to the Great Lakes, as far as I know. They probably occur in any cold weather, fresh water lake that is big enough to generate the wave force to create them.
The photo I chose for today was taken minutes after the photo that I shared yesterday. However, this photo really appeals to me because the sky had opened up a little bit above me, and bright rays of sunshine beamed down on top of the open ice and the water on the horizon. I just thought it was a nicer composition.
I do have to say that I struggled a little bit trying to name this image, and calling it the Lake Mountains just seemed a bit obvious. However, I really had nothing else that came to mind, so here it is.
Nikon D800
Nikkor 70-300mm f/4.5-5.6 G I AF-S VR Zoom @ 70 mm
1/500 sec, f11, ISO 400
“Water, in its many forms, continues to amaze me. From warm gentle streams in summer to the surprising frozen cryovolcanoes of the shelf-ice of the Great Lakes, water is ever changing” – Ed Lehming
Today, I went for a walk along the shores of Lake Ontario. My destination, once more, was Lakeshore Beach in Sandbanks Provincial Park, which I have written about quite a bit lately. Just a few weeks ago, the water was wide open, and people were enjoying a leisurely winter stroll along the beach, the waves rolling into the shore.
As I descended the narrow path towards the beach, I noticed a significant change in the landscape. The once open water was now covered in mountains of snow and ice. And a feature that I believe is unique to large bodies of fresh-water; cryovolcanoes.
Cryovolcanoes are formed in the colder days of winter, once ice has formed a thick crust. When storms force water to shore and under the ice shelf, the force of the wind presses the water beneath the shelf ice, forcing it through a crack or a hole. The water sprays through this opening and freezes on contact with the ice and cold air, forming a cone, much like a typical volcano. Except here, it is water cooling, not lava. The water continues to flow and freeze, eventually forming the tall, distinct mountain shapes.
When the shallower water closer to shore freezes, the water is cut off, and the whole process begins again, just further out. This creates even bigger volcanoes since the water below is deeper and takes longer to freeze. It’s a fascinating process.
Today, there were several people walking on the beach, taking in the sights and reminiscing about what the shoreline looked like a week ago.
Most people around here are actually quite water-savvy and avoid the shelf ice, which, while beautiful and interesting, can be extremely fragile and dangerous. The temptation is to venture out to these mountains of ice and cryovolcanoes to get a closer look. However, it’s extremely dangerous, and I was glad I had my long lens with me today to capture a few stunning photographs of these unique features from the safety of shore.
Nikon D800
Nikkor 70-300mm f/4.5-5.6 G I AF-S VR Zoom @ 185 mm
1/800 sec, f14, ISO 400
“Even on the coldest winter days, time spent outdoors and be a joy” – Ed Lehming
This photo resonates with me for some reason. I was wrapping up my photography of the raging waters at Prince Edward County’s Lakeshore Beach, and I took a final look across the beach. The beach stood empty. Then, a few minutes later, two people came across the dunes and proceeded with their stroll along the beach. It really struck me that this place, which is usually filled with sun, bathers, and tourists, can be a place where people can find some comfort and serenity, even in the exposed solitude of the winter dunes, the waves crashing fiercely against the shore. You can see the shores have been eroded by the recent storms, but they will recover over the next few days. It’s not like this is the first storm they have faced. Despite the cold and howling winds, these people will have spent their afternoon enjoying some quiet walking along the beach together. It was just the moment that felt good to capture.
It’s also a bit of a strange picture for me because I usually don’t like to have people in my photos, but they complemented the shot and gave it a sense of scale. It just felt right to have this couple in the photograph on this particular day.
Nikon D800
Nikkor 70-300mm f/4.5-5.6 G I AF-S VR Zoom @ 220 mm
1/320 sec, f9, ISO 400
“Floating strangely above the ground, it soon becomes apparent why these tree roots look like they do. In nature, nothing happens by chance.” – Ed Lehming
A few weeks ago, I visited Outlet Beach in Sandbanks Provincial Park. I had been there before on several occasions, but this day I walked along the edge of the sand dunes with the intention of photographing them and trying to see them in more detail. I often do this: visit an area that is fairly familiar but really immerse myself in the environment.
I honestly don’t recall seeing this phenomenon on previous visits. Perhaps the roots were not exposed during previous visits, or I had simply missed them. As far as I know, this is the only place along the beach where this effect is so pronounced. The trees hover above the sand on roots that have grown bark to protect them, making the roots look more like branches. It looks very odd, but I see the purpose behind the adaptation. Since these cottonwood trees grow within the sand dunes, they have adapted to the ever-changing sand levels. As you can see, some of them are nearly two feet above the current sand levels.
On my next visit, I’ll have to check if the sand has once again filled the void below the trees, since the sand is forever on the move.
Nikon D800
Tamron SP 24-70 mm f/2.8 Di VC USD @ 31 mm
1/320 sec, f/9, ISO 400
Ed Lehming Photography 
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