A Year of Grief

2024 was the year that Dad died, on the 7th February, a few days before the new moon. We said our final goodbyes a few days after the new moon on the 13th of February. The view of the moon, that ancient celestial rock as a thin, silvery sliver has always been my favorite, mysterious, barely there, hanging among the stars, tugging at my heart with the hint of a story far bigger than I will ever know. I have gazed up at the night sky for as long as I can remember. My earliest clear memory of this dreamy pursuit is of me as a little sandy haired girl with a freckled face at Kalli in the desert. Sleeping outside on the trampoline to escape the heat.

Me as a young girl at Kalli Station Homestead with my two orphaned lambs. I would hand rear any that lost their Mum during shearing until they were able to survive on their own.

Kalli Homestead photographed from the Windlight tower. The windlight supplied all the electricity before Dad installed a big Lister 42V diesel generator.

Me as a young girl with two of the most important things in my life. My Yamaha 50 Motorbike and my dog Jacko. He loved the motorbike and would come everywhere with me.

Cool night air touching my skin. My eyes and imagination roaming the magnificent arm of the milky way unfurling dramatically through the darkness above. I loved how this beautiful picture was in a constant state of change. Constellations wheeling across the sky at night, changing with the seasons. Phases of the moon, predictable and regular, the silvery orb veiled and revealed again and again. Full moon meant I could wander at night, with the moths and the foxes amongst the silhouettes of Mulga trees. New moon was a time of mystery, darkness and depth where distant stars were revealed, meteors split the sky and night creatures left their tracks unhindered on the red dirt road.

The full Flower Moon captured in May 2024 from Coodanup. Tracking the moon and its phases is something I have done since I was a child. There is something about the moon that calms my soul, its beauty and the thought that every human that has ever lived has probably gazed upward to the moon.

The crescent moon captured at Warroora Station a few years back. In the sand dunes on the beach. The crescent moon is my very favorite. I love that silvery sliver, barely there, mystery and magic and a reminder of the many things that are sensed but hidden.

The full Moon in August 2024 captured at Meerup - my new home. Looking out from the shack to the East through a stand of dead Jarrah trees.

I love foxes even though they are so destructive to our wildlife. A beautiful creature in the wrong place because of us humans! Intelligent and curious with wild eyes, a dramatic tail and very beautiful whiskers. I often see them on my early morning or night photography jaunts but rarely get close enough for a photo.

The full Flower Moon from May 2024 rising through the reeds. Captured at Salter Point along the Swan River.

Wisdom of the Moon

Since Dad died the moon has held even greater meaning. I am drawn to the perfect viewing platform in the forest. A massive granite boulder cleaved in half by a towering Jarrah tree that stands as sentinel to the valley below. Ancient rock beneath me and above the silhouette of gnarly branches and emptiness filled with a billion stars. In the darkness it is safe to feel my broken heart and the tension behind my eyes. Tears well and fall untouched onto the dark rock. Cold air catches my wet cheek. I have joined the night creatures, the geckos, owls, and bats, feral pigs digging in the undergrowth below and foxes that are sensed and not seen. Held in the moonlight by the rocks and stars it is safe to feel. Perhaps the moisture from my tears will help a tiny rock lichen or moss plant grow and survive the summer? A part of me left in connection with this beautiful place?

The ancient Jarrah tree that I visit often. It grows from a cleft in a massive boulder. Split by the tree over time. The boulders are high and overlook a rocky gully and creek line below. I often visit and sit beneath this beautiful giant, it is the perfect viewing platform for the night sky. The sun sets, the air cools and the stars appear one by one. I love using the Thermal scope to track Kangaroos and wild Pigs in the Valley below and Bats and Owls above.

The full moon in September 2024 captured from my rocky viewing platform beneath the ancient Jarrah tree that splits the sky. It is a very special place to me. Even though I am out in the middle of the forest by myself at night I feel safe. It is somewhere that tears can flow and I can sit and watch the stars, listening to the sounds of the night creatures.

The pile of boulders that I love exploring at night. An image captured with my Thermal scope. It creates imagery from the temperature differences in objects. An entirely different way of seeing the world.

Thermal image of an owl sitting in the middle of a gnarly old tree. It is a fascinating to see the world from the perspective of temperature differences. Mammals and Birds are hot, so are termite mounds and trees hold their temperature.

Thermal image with the full moon in the center rising through the trees. I don’t understand the detail of how Thermal imaging works but I find the end result fascinating.

A Southwest Spiny-tailed gecko with a beautiful golden eye. one of my favorite night creatures.

A Barn Owl that sat in the tree above my tent at Mt Budd. Kalli dog and I were camped in a breakaway, photographing the stars (which Kalli hates because dogs should be in their dens after dark). The Owl landed in a bush next to us when we were out photographing stars in the middle of the night and was waiting at my camp when I returned.

A Barking Gecko, common in the Perth Hills and another of my favorite night creatures.

To Live is to Die

I have thought a lot about death this year, although really, I have thought about life because the two are inexorably bound. You cannot die without having lived and you cannot grieve without having loved? I have always been fascinated with nature, with the creatures and plants but more intently with the process and the spectacular extremes of scale. Tiny plants and microscopic creatures to massive blue whales. Atoms to galaxies. Genes that transcend death? My ancestors and the thought that I am somehow a mix of all who lived and loved and laughed and cried before? The dance of life through time and the wonderous story that is woven around us extending into both the past and the future.

Flying Duck Orchids - A Pollination Event

Last year I photographed a tiny wasp pollinating an equally tiny Flying Duck orchid. Western Australia is home to many fascinating plants, particularly in the Orchid family. Harsh environmental conditions and nutrient poor soils have resulted in evolutionary adaptations that defy belief. The Paracaleana is a genus of orchids commonly known as Flying Ducks because the shape of the flower resembles a duck in flight. These are typically tiny plants only a few inches high. The flower does not look like a typical flower. The labellum forms the Duck's Bill and the sepals form the wings. The shape and color of the labellum resemble that of small female Thynnid wasps and Sawflies. These incredible plants have also evolved pheromones which smell like female wasps and consequently unsuspecting male wasps don't stand a chance. They are drawn to the flowers and attempt to mate with the end of the labellum. The weight of the insect triggers a hinge mechanism and the labellum and attached insect are slowly lowered into a pouch created by modified petals. The insect is literally trapped inside the flower for a period of time and touches the pollen sacks and also the female column. The flower gets pollinated, the hinge mechanism resets, the insect is released and flies away to the next flower probably wondering what just happened?

When I first saw the tiny winged creature I didn’t realize it was a pollinator.

The tiny wasp moved from the bud to the flower. A second tiny creature is on the stem beneath.

I was very happy to capture the tiny critter perched on the end of the labellum.

It was at this point that I realized the tiny creature was likely a pollinator.

Mum had taught me about these incredible plants when I was little and we lived on farms in the South West. As a teenager I was part of many camping trips with Mum and Dad and their large group of orchid loving friends. We belonged to the WANOSCG the Western Australian Native Orchid Study and Conservation Group and participated in many field trips. Native Orchids first drew me to photography and I will be forever grateful! In October 2023 I came across a few different populations of Paracaleana nigrita and Paracaleana hortiorum growing together in the Perth Hills. I found them in bud and then happened to visit the morning one of the flowers opened. I was laying on my belly lens trained on the flower when a tiny insect appeared. I didn't realise it was a pollinator at first because it was so tiny, but as it hung off the labellum and was slowly lowered into the flower I realised what was happening. I didn't have time to check the angle or settings but luckily they were Ok and I captured an interesting set of images.

Very, very excited! Hand shaking with excitement because I had wanted to capture a pollination for a long time!

Moments like this are so rare! To be in the right place at the right time doesn’t happen very often.

I watched as the tiny wasp thought it was mating with another wasp only to be drawn downward.

The little fella now trapped in the flower for a period of time before the labellum reset and he was able to fly away.

The encounter fascinated me. I had been trying to photograph Hammer orchid pollinations for several years, literally spending days finding the elusive flowers and days laying on my belly in tick infested sand hoping for some action. No luck and suddenly with no planning or foresight I photographed something equally amazing. It was a one off. I didn't manage to witness or photograph another pollination in 2023 but I remembered the little colony of special plants and returned in 2024. It was a good year. I found over thirty plants in bud in a small area including a few double headers. They were strong and healthy. Western Australian orchids typically have an underground tuber or bulb and so plants will appear in the same place year after year.

The Flying Ducks of Grief

It was spring in 2024 and my mind and heart was still reeling from the loss of Dad in February. Six months had passed. My feelings oscillated between extremes of panic and numbness, my thoughts unsettled and the nights scattered with restless dreams. Over and over I would relive that terrible week, thinking there must be something I can do before reminding myself in a step by step process that he was gone. Replaying it over and over, trying to reassure myself that there was nothing more I could have done. Reminding myself over and over of that tangible sense of love I had always had with Dad. I have always been able to feel Dad’s love and I know he felt mine. I found it hard to believe that I would never again have a physical sense of him, like the touch of his hand or the sound of his laugh and the smell of cut grass, diesel and cigarette smoke. Each month the feelings seemed to intensify, much like the moon and I would find myself wandering the wild, alone in the darkness before dawn. Again and again, I was drawn to the place where the Flying Duck Orchids grew.

The huge Jarrah stump where several Flying Duck orchids grow. Right around the base. It is where one of the double headers that I photographed from bud through to death grew.

The concentric rings of a massive dead giant. I loved to sit on this huge stump and look out into the forest. These old growth trees must have been magnificent.

I found some peace amongst these tiny plants and the surrounding forest. It is a place of dead giants. Many years ago the largest old growth Jarrah trees were felled for timber and milled leaving massive stumps scattered throughout the area. A graveyard of sorts. The little orchids tended to grow in the shadow of these stumps and after several visits the idea of photographing them over the course of their above ground life cycle formed. To visit, observe, photograph and document until the seeds dispersed to the air and the flowers returned to the earth. Hatching, matching and dispatching, from birth through to death. At the beginning of this project I didn’t realise deeper stuff was at play but slowly time revealed it’s hand? Interesting how my mind and heart instinctively knew what would help and found a way to make sense?

Captured early in the morning. The air was heavy with moisture, a gossamer mist. The Flying Duck orchids were all still in bud. Usually I would wait for flowers to be open before I photographed them but that morning I decided to work with what was. I think it was probably thius image that sparked the idea to photograph them from birth through to death. I hadn’t realised how beautiful the tiny buds were. Intricate structure and on this particular morning adorned with so many, tiny tiny sparkling dew drops.

The resulting images are extremely special to me, a sequence that is beautiful from beginning to end. These are just a small selection of several thousand. There is awe and joy and unexpected moments. There is also sadness and loss. Photographing these little orchids and processing the images provoked thought at every stage and created an unexpected anchor. A reminder that to live is to die. A reminder that we never really know what will happen next and that human life is extremely precious. A tiny example of transcendence. Physical form gives way to memories and dreams. A mark is left on those who saw and touched and loved. When two life forms cross paths both are forever changed in some way. My encounter with these tiny plants helped enormously. In many images there are strands of silken web that are only visible in certain light and at certain angles. A reminder that I am woven into the dance of life, connected in some way to all others, past, present and future. Time is the loom, the weave may change pattern or direction, it can tighten or run freeform, but the strands are always there and sometimes they catch the light and shimmer. Perhaps that is love?

I identified around thirty separate plants all in a very small area. Within the thirty were three double headers which becamse the focus of most of my photography.

I loved seeing the growth and changes in the tiny plants with each visit. Conditions differed widely, overcast, raining, bright sun and even mist.

The First Hatching

One morning I arrived before dawn. It was misty, rain so fine that it could only be seen as a silvery swirling veil. It was dark, the sun unable to break through the sky. I waited. The plant I had been watching was in bud. A double header, one bud larger than the other, but both in the same plane which would likely make a strong composition. The fine mist began to congeal into tiny water droplets on the orchids. The sky began to lighten and I was mesmerised by the effect. The tiny buds and flowers were adorned in the most beautiful way. I took a lot of images of plants that were still in bud becasue I found it so beautiful. At one point I went for a walk to see how far the population extend out. After about thirty metres I found no more plants. It seemed the populatation was confined to a relatively small area. I returned to the double headed buds I had been photographing and was astounded to find that one had opened in my absence. It was now even more beautiful and interesting. I took a lot of images of the newly hatched little duck that morning.

This plant was one of two that became my main focus. On this particularr morning it had rained and the buds were heavy with big dew drops.

This flower suprised me by opening. I thought it might but nothing seemed to be happening. I went on a short walk and it was open when I got back.

I took a lot of images of the newly hatched duck. In this image it is brand new, the bill angled steeply downward.

As I watched the bill began to lift higher. Incredibly beautiful, covered in dew drops.

This image about half an hour after the first. The bill lifted high in the air. Presumably for the wind to catch the wasp attracting pheremones?

This double header grew in the shadow of a massive stump. It is the one I called the ‘Mum and Dad’ orchid. One flower opened at least four days before the second one.

Both flowers now open!! Very happy to capture images of this beautiful double header. It took quite a bit of manouevreing to get both the bills in the same plane of focus.

Spring Rain - Color - Sparkles - Abundance

A few days later I returned. It had rained heavily overnight and I wanted to see how the little plants had fared. They were all there, standing strong but weighed down with big heavy droplets of water. The tiny red stalks were stronger than they looked. The sky was overcast and bright and the dew drops were throwing light. The bush sparkled and I spend an hour or so trying to capture the beauty. Sparkling dew drops in the foreground, on the plants and in the background. Refracted light creating tiny colorful rainbows captured in my images by the macro lens as geometric shapes and dreamy, unpredictable bokeh. The quality of light and the sense of joy and awe that I felt that morning was divine. Very pure.

The most magical morning. The tiny Flying Duck flowers were heavy with dew. I was amazed that their stems had not broken under the weight. They must be stronger than they look. This one is the ‘Mum and Dad’ orchid before the second flower opened. You can see the unopened bud in the background.

The dew drops were stunning. So transient and so beautiful! This image was oen of my favorites!

Heavy with dew drops, I love how resiliant these tiny plants are. To survive all sorts of weather.

I loved the detail of the tiny web in this image. The silk had caught the light and also some tiny dew drops.

The forest was full of sparkles and rainbows on this magical morning. The flower not perfectly focussed because I was so mesmerised by the rainbows!!

Tiny tiny tiny dew drops and a little Duck about to hatch. The intricacy and the lines and curves of these flowers are amazing.

There was a feeling of abundance. Verticordia and Leschenaultia were flowering, the Trigger Plants were in bud, the big Bull Banksias above were covered in robust yellow flowers and birds were everywhere. Red Breasted Robins, Fairy Wrens, Red Tailed Cockatoos and Cuckoos calling deeper in the forest. Ants were very busy, bees, hoverflies and butterflies were competing for flowers. The smell of honeyed pollen, eucalyptus leaves and dank wet earth permeated the air. The unexpected beauty sliced deep into my heart and mind. Tears and gratitude spilled into the mix.

Rainbow Bee Eaters were calling toward the end of October! An insect like chirp, similar to a cricket.

Tiny black beetles mating in the Pimelea Flowers. Procuring new life, throwing forward.

A bright orange Ladybug hunting green caterpillars in the everlasting flowers.

An unusual Stylidium Plant - perhaps a mutation?

Boomerang Stylidium Plants - Beautiful Symmetry.

The Mum and Dad Flying Duck!! The first flower open!

Matchings - Seeds - Transcendence - Death

As spring progressed the little Flying Ducks opened and then once pollinated, folded into themselves one by one. The little duck bills tucked deep inside their bellies, curling up in what reminded me of the feotal position. The images changed in tone. There was a vulnerability, a deep and poignant beauty. The colors faded, the tones were more muted, strands of web spoke of tiny spiders finding shelter in the dying flowers. I hoped to see and photograph a spider on a flower but they remained elusive, known only by the silk they left behind. I tended to focus on three plants that were double headers. The compositions were stronger and the two flowers side by side told a story and made me think of the rare human love affairs that last a lifetime. Individuals that truly commit to love in the true sense of the word and stay the distance, learning to accept, understand, tolerate and support until parted by death. The little plant I photographed most always made me think of Mum and Dad. It was not an easy marriage, they had almost polar opposite personalities, but they stayed the distance and they truly loved each other. Toward the end of October, most plants had been pollinated. As the flowers shriveled the ovaries swelled with developing seed. New life, genes throwing to the future. Transendence.

The Mum and Dad orchid. The two flowers were now finished but still very beautiful. Tiny spider webs adorned the stems but I never saw the spider.

The next image of the Mum and Dad orchid - colors had faded a little more.

The Fire

One morning in early November I arrived early at the spot to check on the dying flowers and take a few images. I was utterly shocked that a prescribed burn had occurred in the forest without me realising. Of the thirty plants I knew of, only two survived. Weirdly they were the double headers I had been photographing most? One plant was in the shadow of a huge jarrah stump which must have protected it from the burn while the other was in a tiny area about 1m square that the fire magically skipped over. The entire landscape was blackened. All of the flowering Trigger Plants and Verticordia were gone. The birds were gone, the insects were gone and spiders were gone. The acrid smell of smoke hung in the air and in some places larger logs and the forest floor were still burning. Tears welled up and my mind whirled. Anger and sadness that this little patch of refuge and joy had been destroyed. It took a few days for the feelings to settle and some logical thought. Most WA orchids have an underground tuber so the plants likely survived but this years seeds had been lost. It was a strong reminder that nothing is certain. The two surviving plants now seemed even more precious and I felt determined to continue photographing them until absolutely nothing was left.

The forest after a Government authorised prescribed burn. A regime that attempts to mitigate the threat of wildfire to human life and homes by reducing fuel and clearing the undergrowth. The Australian bush is adapted to fire. First People’s used fire for eons, burning small areas in a mosaic type approach. Done in this way, fire supports ecological diversity. Burning small areas in the cooler seasons allows wildlife to move and escape and also creates a mosaic of land in different stages of recovery and succession. Areas in more advanced stages of succession provide a pool of life that can colonise freshly burnt areas, speeding recovery.

Government prescribed burns are controversial because they often involve huge tracts of land and are done in spring which is breeding time for wildlife, nesting time for birds and flowering time for plants. Department of Biodiversity, Conservation and Attraction decisions are not subject to peer review and often don’t align with science. Burning huge tracts of land in spring means there is no escape for wildlife, a generation is lost and huge areas are decimated and suffer a consequential loss of diversity. There often appears to be little regard for vulnerable areas that contain threatened species and ecological communities.

This double header would be the only one to set seed. Photographed after the fire which somehow skipped over this plant. You can clearly see the swollen ovaries and the blackened earth in the background.

The spider remained a mystery. I hopoed to see him everytime I visited. There was always web but no spider? Maybe he was hiding inside the dying flowers and emerged at night? Photographed after the fire the dark tones are the bottom of thr huge stump freshly burnt.

Paracaleana granitica - A Very Special Duck

In early November I had the opportunity to spend a day hunting orchids with a small group of WA orchid enthusiasts. Five people in a car. Myself, Mum, another lady that loved nature and wildflowers, a man in his 90’s that had studied and photographed orchids throughout his life and our friend and driver a guy that has a wealth of knowledge about these special plants gathered from a lifetime of field trips and photography. I was in very good company. We found our planned species, the Sun Orchid Thelymitra yorkensis. Wonderful to see a small population of plants with perfect flowers and equally wonderful to see the looks of joy and awe on everyone’s faces.

Thelymitra yorkensis - Photographed 4th November 2024

Our expedition ended with a surprise. A visit to a very special population of Flying Duck Orchids. Paracaleana granitica. One of the last of the Flying Ducks to flower in Western Australia and a species I had not seen or photographed for decades. These are tiny plants that live in the moss on and lichen on granite rocks. A tough landscape, hot and dry and very exposed to the elements. This species is classified as Priority 1 meaning it is known from limited locations and is at risk of extinction. Very very precious. This species is extremely vulnerable and each individual plant is extremely vulnerable. Somehow that vulnerability seeped into my images, perhaps because I was feeling it so strongly myself? The images portray what I am trying to convey far more eloquently than words?

Tiny Paracaleana granitica with a dead Sundew plant wrapped around it’s stem. The colors in the background are from the prickly Borya plants which grow on the rocks.

The tiny plants catch the light with a beautiful translucence. The hint of two more plants blurred out in the background.

A vulnerable species, so tiny and living in an extremely harsh environment. Every plant seemed vulnerable.

This one was my favorite. The body had been eaten by something but I thought it magnified the beauty.

A closer version of the previous image to highlight the strands of shimmering silk wrapped around the stem.

Catching the light. I imagine the glow of these plants must assist in attracting insects?

Growing in the moss and the lichens that are already dessicated by the heat. This little guy had a broken wing.

To See The Light

Photography and writing have helped me in many dark times, often in very unexpected ways. I have met many amazing people and made many wonderful friends. In a deeper sense photography has taught me to see, literally by highlighting how much we don't see. To look through the lens is to focus in detail on a tiny slice of life. There is so much going on. Everything is constantly changing. The quality of light can shift in shade, color, tone, intensity and mood a thousand times in a second. Tiny creatures will fly in and out of the frame. At the right angle dew drops will scatter prisms of light in all directions. Photography has taught me to see light and to see beauty. To look for it and to seek it out. It has become a habit. A good one! In a spiritual sense the encounters I have when I am in nature with the camera have helped me make sense of myself and sense of life. Writing comes naturally to me. I think in pictures and translate with words. The process often brings depth and meaning in unexpected ways. Somehow it creates anchors and safety. The things I witness and write about often form metaphors for deeper feelings, thoughts and beliefs within. One thing will relate to another. Ideas are born and excess skin is shed. What I describe doesn't always work. I feel things deeply and have an overactive imagination which often works against a settled mind, but I know where to go when the world turns dark and those creatures and connections have never abandoned me.

The most beautiful web I have ever photographed!! One of my very favorite images. Light, connection, silk, dew drops, transience, life.

Precious Seeds

In late November on my birthday I visited the Flying Duck orchids for the last time. The two double headed plants were still there amidst the blackened landscape. The tiny one in the shadow of the big stump was still standing. The two flowers were still joined. The colors had completely faded and the structure was beginning to decay and had a translucent, parchment like quality. Earlier in the year I thought this plant had been pollinated but perhaps the fire interfered with the process because the ovaries were shriveled and it did not look like any seeds had formed. The second plant took a little while to find. I knew the exact spot but the stem had broken, blown a little way from its birthplace and was laying on the charred earth. The two flowers were still joined. Dessicated and shriveled but the ovaries were swollen and dried. It looked like this one had produced seed which was yet to disperse as the pods were still intact. Soon they would split and the potential for new life would be thrown to the wind. Underground in the hard gravel the little bulbs were likely intact and would survive the extreme summer heat and flower again next year.

The stem had broken and it had blown a little way from where it grew but I think this one is poerhaps the only plant that successfully set seed. Tiny seeds in the swollen ovary, hopefully new Flying Duck orchids in years to come.

The Mum and Dad orchid still so very beautiful. The intricate structure still there and the greens and yellows turned to a rich chestnut browns.

Meerup - Northcliffe - A New Chapter

I will soon be living in the forest deep in the South West corner of Australia. A new chapter in life is about to open. Once settled I want to start little workshops. Teaching photography from a storytelling aspect. As a means to see and make sense of life. To create meaning and committment to seek light and beauty wherever you are.

I photographed this plant at our new place in Meerup in September 2024. It was the only flower out in a population of at least 100 growing on old and disused sandy tracks. The dance of love with these tiny orchids is set to continue into my future. I am very much looking forward to observing and photographing this population in 2025. I feel incredibly grateful to have a wonderful new home in the forest full of opportunity.

Epilogue

I spent a few days at Meerup in early December taking down a caravan that will be my mobile office until we build something more permanent. There are so many orchids on our property. Most of them were finished but it bodes well for a future where I can document, photograph and protect these amazing plants. I visited the Flying Duck Orchids I photographed in September and was so happy to see many of them had set seed. I felt different this time. Meerup is starting to feel more like home and my sense of belonging is growing. I walked the forest and swam in my favorite dam. Connecting to place.