Living in Iowa and trying to become a photographer specializing in landscape (风景) can be quite a challenge, mainly because the corn state lacks geographical variation.
Although landscapes in the Midwest tend to be quite similar, either farm fields or highways, sometimes I find distinctive character in the hills or lakes. To make some of my landscape shots, I have traveled up to four hours away to shoot within a 10-minute time frame. I tend to travel with a few of my friends to state parks or to the countryside to go on adventures and take photos along the way.
Being at the right place at the right time is decisive in any style of photography. I often leave early to seek the right destinations so I can set up early to avoid missing the moment I am attempting to photograph. I have missed plenty of beautiful sunsets/sunrises due to being on the spot only five minutes before the best moment.
One time my friends and I drove three hours to Devil's Lake, Wisconsin, to climb the purple quartz (石英) rock around the lake. After we found a crazy-looking road that hung over a bunch of rocks, we decided to photograph the scene at sunset. The position enabled us to look over the lake with the sunset in the background. We managed to leave this spot to climb higher because of the spare time until sunset. However, we did not mark the route (路线) so we ended up almost missing the sunset entirely. Once we found the place, it was stressful getting lights and cameras set up in the limited time. Still, looking back on the photos, they are some of my best shots though they could have been so much better if I would have been prepared and managed my time wisely.
Last summer, I was assigned to take photos that could communicate the urgency of climate change in northern Canada. When I arrived at an abandoned village on Resolute Bay, I scanned the shore with my camera. Suddenly, I spotted a bear lying on the ground. It didn't move for almost an hour. But when it finally stood up, I had to catch my breath. The bear's once strong body was just skin and bones; every step that it took was painfully slow.
When I posted the photos on social media, I wrote, "This is what starvation may look like. I wonder whether the global population of 25,000 polar bears would die the way this bear is dying."
I did not say that this particular bear was killed by climate change. But news organizations around the world focused on it. The first line of the story published in National Geographic read, "This is what climate change looks like"—with "climate change" highlighted in yellow. Other news agencies even adopted more dramatic headlines.
It was estimated that my photos had been read by about 2.5 billion people around the world. But there was a problem: Most people and the news agencies didn't pick up or misunderstood the real message I tried to send with them. Many people expressed gratitude that I'd provided shocking evidence on climate change, while others who are still trying to deny the existence of climate change accused me of spreading false information.
Perhaps I had made a mistake in not telling the full story—that I was looking for pictures that might foretell the future and that I didn't know what had happened to this particular polar bear.
I can't say that this bear was starving because of climate change, but I am happy that my photos have moved the conversation about climate change to the forefront, where it must remain until this problem is solved.
Until then, when I come across a scene like this one, I will again share with the world—and take pains to be sure that my intention is clear.
It was a dream born in fire. Andrea Peterson was five when she and her mother were trapped on the ledge (窗台) of a burning building.
"Throw the kid down!" said one of the firemen below, and little Andrea leaped into lifesaving arms and a life-long ambition: She wanted to fight fires like her rescuers did.
She told that to the men who had saved her, and they laughed good-naturedly the way grown-ups do when a kid says they want to be an astronaut or a sports star. But this was back in a time when little girls weren't even allowed to fantasize about such grand goals.
"You'll be a good mommy," the firemen told her, "you'll be a good teacher, maybe you'll be a nurse, but you can never be a fireman."
And then, as it tends to do, life sidelined her dreams. She was studying for a degree in aviation (航空) technology — the only female in her class — and that's where she met her husband, Dennis.
Later, Dennis was diagnosed with cancer, and Peterson spent 31 years caring for him. At 61, she went on an ambulance ride-along. It turned out to be a life-and-death situation, and Peterson felt that long-ago childhood calling. She earned her emergency medical technician license and responded to fire calls with the ambulance. She found that her years of tending to Dennis had prepared her for dealing with various hurts and ills.
After a year, she told her boss she wanted to be a firefighter.
The fact that everyone else in her training unit was between 18 and 21 didn't stop her. She passed the written test, she cleared the physical and, finally, that little girl's dream became a reality.
When I was about six years old, my mother came home one day and found that I had collected half a dozen babies of the neighbourhood-all of them too young to walk-and had them sitting before me on the floor while I was teaching them to wave their arms. When she asked the explanation of this, I informed her that it was my school of dance. She was amused and placed herself at the piano. She began to play for me. This school continued and became very popular. Later on, little girls of the neighbourhood came and their parents paid me a small sum to teach them. This was the beginning of what afterwards proved a very profitable occupation.
My mother took me to a famous ballet teacher, but his lessons did not please me. When the teacher told me to stand on my toes I asked him why, and when he replied "Because it is beautiful, " I said that it was ugly. and against nature and after the third lesson I left his class, never to return. This stiff （僵硬） and commonplace gymnastics which he called dancing only disturbed my dream. I dreamed of a different dance. I did not know just what it would be, but I was feeling out towards an invisible world into which I guessed I might enter if I found the key.
My art was already in me when I was a little girl, and it was owing to the heroic and adventurous spirit of my mother that it was not prevented, I believe that whatever the child is going to do in life should be begun when it is very young. I wonder how many parents realize that by the so-called education they are giving their children, they are only driving them into the commonplace, and taking away from them any chance of doing anything beautiful or original.
Today, I've been recording an audiobook. I am excited that I have realized my life-long dream.
I will never forget at primary school I used to wait with breathless anticipation to take my turn reading out a paragraph of great works in front. At my secondary school, when students were encouraged to select and present a reading at "morning talk", I often added my name to the list.
This was all handy background for my career in broadcasting. But, much as I enjoy hosting shows and interviewing people, I often find myself missing the simple pleasures of reading out loud. I'd thought about putting myself forward as a narrator (朗读者) for audiobooks. But I'm not an actor. I can't do regional accents or play female voice. Non-fiction, then, seemed the obvious target, but I felt that such books were best read by their authors. If it were authors' own voice, their stories would touch me.
Recently, delivering my son's nightly bedtime story has reawakened my love for reading out loud—highlights so far have included Charlotte's Web. But I never thought I'd get the opportunity to do it professionally.
Then, last month, I was contacted by James Plunkett, author of End State, a forthcoming book about political ideas. He had no desire to read his book out loud, but as a fan of my program, he thought I might do a reasonable job.
So, I've spent this week in a studio, simply reading stuff out loud. And I'm LOVING IT!
Mind you, it's an entirely unexpected experience. It's disheartening when the recording needs to be stopped because I've just carelessly skipped over a 'the', or had to clear my throat, or catch my breath. I've also learned how many words I've been mispronouncing my entire life: behavioural is BE-HAYVE-YOU-RAL, not BE-HAYVE-EE-AH-RUL.
Though tackling this 339-page book doesn't turn out to be that easy, I've found the whole process awesome, and hope this becomes the first of many.
I look forward to my half hour train ride to work every morning. I can look out of the window as it twists and turns itself through neighborhoods with the sun casting its strong lighting on the floor of the train car. I sometimes get lost in thought while following the light. But the reason I love this ride is that it's a reminder of how neighborhoods can change from block to block.
For almost a year now I have been riding this train as I head into the office where I work as a reporter for a local magazine. I am one of 13 journalists who help report community news in areas that are often forgotten. And for me, that means covering areas like the one I grew up in.
Last week, as I was on the way to my office, I started wondering how neighborhoods have changed since the 2008 housing crisis. I searched addresses on the city's southwest side, a neighborhood that has seen a significant number of residential homes pulled down, I scanned the street views recorded on my phone and saw how the neighborhood looked in 2007. Then I set out to visit the city block, and that's when I met 3-year-old Harmony.
Harmony loved collecting rocks for me to hold as I walked down the street with her mother, Marquita. I already knew what the neighborhood looked like in the past, but Marquita shared more details of the people who once lived on her block, who were really friendly to each other. However, people today in the neighborhood are busy with life and seldom say hello to each other. Marquita has lived on this block her entire life, and Harmony has for most of her short life as well. But the neighborhood that Marquita grew up in will be one obviously different than the one Harmony will grow to know.
In the end, they smiled at my camera. And then I got back on the train and headed'back to the office to tell their stories.
