An early spring walk around a mountain pond is a walk around nature’s womb.
This pool of water at the forest’s edge appears to be the genesis of everything alive and wild. It gives birth not only to woodland creatures but, more importantly, gives birth to fresh thoughts and ideas.

Standing on the pond’s edge, a shimmering pearlescent glow caught my eye. Barely noticeable, minuscule in size, I was inexplicably drawn to this mysterious object. Hesitant at first, I became a curious big fish being reeled in by this glistening lure.
I slouched through spring's saturated soil bringing me to my object of desire, a delicate white feather. A plume so small and fluffy it could only be a down feather. It was a beauty, floating effortlessly on the pond’s surface.

This gossamer-like feather seemed to say to me, “ Aren’t I pretty.” I had to agree, responding “Most definitely, dear feather.”

​It’s hollow shaft was translucent, with each downy barb separate and unique. Down feathers rarely see the light of day, however on this brilliant morning a feather escaped from a bird's insulation and was languishing on the water's edge. Bitsy beads of morning dew were being served up on the vane of the feather. Each droplet a microscope to what lay below.

On closer examination there were several other down feathers gliding, and communing with one another. One was more beautiful than the next. One revealing its beauty within the pool's discord, one floating in carefree solitude, and the last two feathers in conversation.

The feathers seemed to temporarily surrender to the swirl of life. It was in their surrender their brilliance was amplified, becoming a found jewel in the chaos of nature.

Could I reveal my grace and fragility if I were to surrender to the rush of life? What if I let go of control, to relax into the moment, and to accept the here and now?

​My single, frayed feather, demonstrated the importance of relinquishing the need to always manage. At times there is nothing more to do than to just float.

My incubator of a pond gives birth to more than salamanders and frogs. It becomes the birthplace of deep thought and reflection, even at the wisp of a feather.

​Live in color,
Abby

She was bathed in golden light.

Within the labyrinth of Angkor Wat’s temple complex, I turned a corner and there she was. The multitude of passing tourists probably just saw an old, tired Cambodian nun, but I saw a Goddess.

Her hands were bronzed and gnarled like the boughs of an ancient Bodhi tree. Her aged, yet delicate features radiated. Her focus was intense and undeniable. Silently, she waited for the occasional tourist to approach her for a traditional Buddhist blessing cord.

A young girl stopped, crouched before the nun, and extended her wrist. From a basket of colored strings a blessed strand was selected. The dexterity of the nuns gnarled fingers equaled that of someone decades younger. She wrapped the young girl’s porcelain wrist with a scarlet cord and began to knot. The first knot was tightened with a prayer of protection, the second knot secured with a prayer of compassion, and the third knot blessed her journey.

A glow emanated from the young girls face. She knew this was a sacred moment.

A sweet smile from the nun concluded this informal ceremony. The impressionable girl rose to her feet and seemed to float away. Her brief encounter with this angelic being momentarily elevated her to a mystical realm.

This old nun, sitting in the hushed recesses of Angkor Wat was simply divine. Without fanfare or pageantry she exemplified quiet beauty and supreme wisdom.

​For a moment I thought, “When I grow up I want to be just like her.”

Live in color,
Abby

​You can sense their presence in the tangled jungle. The ground trembles. Branches crack. Snorts and grunts vibrate through the air. Then across the riverbank three majestic beasts appear with grace and ease.

All creatures are magnificent, however the elephant is simply awesome. Beyond their sheer size, intelligence, and social structure, their capacity to experience a range of interwoven human-like emotions is extraordinary. Humans do not corner the market on emotions. We could learn a thing or two about empathy, sympathy and compassion from these noble creatures.

​While staying in Luang Prabang a day trip took me north, along the banks of the Nam Khan River, to MandaLao Elephant Conservation. MandaLao is a 200 acre park promoting the humane and ethical treatment of elephants across Laos and beyond. There are no elephant tricks preformed here, no rides or exploitation of any kind, only education and loving care are offered.

MandaLao came into being last year by an enterprising American, Michael Vogler. The day to day operation is run by an elegant Thai gentleman named Prasop. His thirty years of experience working with elephants was apparent during his morning talk.

​Prasop explained the plight of modern elephants and the efforts that are being made to protect them. He discussed their social structure and that elephants are highly social creatures, needing much attention and care. Each elephant at MandaLao is assigned a keeper, called a Mahout. These young boys bond with their elephants, gaining a deep, almost spiritual relationship like no other. The mahout become the eyes and ears of the elephant, detecting illness or injury.

After a brief orientation I slipped on a pair of lightweight, deep tread boots, ready for the day’s muddy hike. I was accompanied by husband Robert, and a mother and daughter from Wyoming. We crossed the river on a long-tail boat, to meet our jumbo companions for the day: Grandma, mom and baby Kit, a bouncing, inquisitive and willful 2 year old male.

Our trio of pachyderms led us into the jungle, through rice fields and along a river’s edge. Kit splashed and frolicked through the water, wrestled with logs, scratched himself on boulders, and he mimicked what mom and granny did. I felt so insignificant next to these imposing creatures. They seem to carry the wisdom of the ages within their soulful, deep-set eyes.

With ears flapping, Kit made his presence known. Somehow he knew he would one day grow into an impressive male, carrying on his noble lineage. But first, he needed to stop and nurse.

Lao people have always had a deep connection with the elephants that roamed their land. Laos became known as “Land of One Million Elephants” but sadly their population has dwindled to only 3000.

The good news is the population is no longer in decline. Conservation efforts towards elephants are increasing across Southeast Asia. The exploitation of these beasts is finally being addressed. Animals are being liberated from logging camps, taken off the streets of Bangkok as tourist attractions, and rescued from the wild when orphaned. Some are even being prepared to go back into the wild, while others stay in sanctuaries with their mahouts.

Can you imagine a world without elephants? I can’t. I want my grandson to see these awe-inspiring animals in person. I want him to feel their magnificence, and be humbled by them. I will support organizations like MandaLao Elephant Conservation, www.mandalaotours.com and continue to spread the word about the humanitarian efforts that still need to be implemented.

There is so much in our world that needs to change. Where does one begin? If one wants change start with educating yourself, followed by setting an intention, then putting that intention into action.

​If we all took a little action, change would follow.

Live in color,
Abby

Is life nothing more than a game of roulette?

Is one’s destiny determined by a serendipitous spin of the wheel? Who decides where the bouncing ball of life will land? Will it come to rest in the pocket of privilege, hardship, health or sickness?

Returning home from Southeast Asia, questions arose for me, like steam off a morning’s pond.

This past month I stepped out of my comfortable bubble once again, onto the exotic soils of Thailand, Laos and Cambodia. The change in culture is jarring, but my past excursions readied me for this sensory jolt. An acute awareness of my surroundings was heightened upon my arrival. The auto-pilot I habitually run on was switched off; I instead opted for the fully engaged manual mode.

When traveling, I usually head to one of two places to get a sense of my surroundings: the countryside, or the water. For my first outing I chose to explore the countryside of Laos.

​My starting point was Luang Prabang, a World Heritage site located in Northern Laos on the banks of the Mekong River. At the break of dawn I headed out of town, due west, on a busy, barely paved road. My route meandered through both grassy fields and depleted rice paddies. Being the dry season, rice paddies lie dormant. The rains begin in May flooding the paddy fields, which remain saturated until September.

I left a cloud of dust in my wake as my drive took me through rural terrain, a route few tourists consider. I was in my happy place, the odd woman in a marvelous and alluring culture. I passed lanky, sun-kissed fisherman as they dotted the shallow river bank casting their handmade nets into murky water. I stopped for a closer examination and found barely a handful of bait-size fish wiggling in a leaky bucket, the haul for the day. The beaming smile of the fisherman said it all, he was proud of his catch.
​

Further down the road I encountered a typical Lao village. Wooden houses, what we may call shacks, sat on stilts that lined the road. Hammocks attached to the underside of the main floor, swung between the stilts, offering cool shelter from the dry season’s sun. Children played without a care while a mother looked on, tending to a bubbling pot, resting on an open flame.

I passed a Buddhist temple where the community gathered for some sort of festival. A strange non-metered melody filled the air. The elders sat in a cluster, while women showed off their intricately designed weavings. Over a loudspeaker a greeting was directed to me, “Hello,” I nodded my head in respect and responded, “Sabaidi” the local greeting. A smile and a sabaidi became my calling card.

​My Western eyes saw a humble and meager existence, yet the residents seemed rich. Not rich in a material sense but the rich in spirit. Giggling children ran barefoot with sticks, creating games as they went along. Not one child was crying, or seemed fussy, neglected, or lacking attention. Oh, do we have something to learn from them.

Continuing on my journey I passed women in the fields tending to their crops wearing conical shaped straw hats. Fun fact: Did you know the conical shape is designed so the hat may be dipped in water, then worn to keep cool. I stopped at a plot of ripe eggplants, the exotic variety, the ones I can only find in Chinatown. These bulbous, green eggplants were carefully being picked by hand. Once again I was greeted with radiant smiles.

I found life in this region to be modest, yet not without challenges. Intermittent power light the villages, a long dry season makes farming arduous, while the wet season brings floods. It is a land both of wealth and need — a land of contradictions.

This is where my questions arose.

When a new being is born to this earth, who decides what soul lands where?

​I guess I won the lottery in being born in one of the richest countries, to loving parents that could indulge me. But what about the children that are born in a rice paddy, or in a war torn country? Is it by chance or divine plan their lives begin with such hardship? I suppose that is one of those unanswerable questions. My koan for the day.

It is through travel that my veil of privilege is drawn back. Standing on unfamiliar ground I realize how fortunate I am, and how I have an obligation to share my experiences. It is my task to document these encounters for others to consider. There is some insight to be gained from every person that crosses your path, the Lao people are no exception. The resilience of the gentle people of Laos was apparent, the acceptance to their fate was admirable. They became my teachers, I was their student.

Remember that game of roulette? As the ball of life spins on the revolving wheel, bouncing from one pocket to the next, where one’s destiny lands will forever remain a mystery. Acceptance of that destiny, whatever it may be, was my lesson.

As the sun sank into the hazy horizon my days excursion came to an end.  I returned to Luang Prabang thinking, take nothing for granted. Be grateful for where you are, and for what you have, for what you have is exactly what you need.

And this was just my first day in Laos!

Sabaidi

​Live in color,
Abby

What makes us, us?

A new year, a new project. In 2018, in Perspectives, I delve into what makes us truly unique. I will look well beyond the material, the “stuff” that may define us, to what really makes us distinct individuals. For me it all comes down to spirit. Spirit, that unique energy that embodies who we are. That force that allows us to move within this material world, immersed in the human experience.

Everyone has seen the spirit of a child in the twinkle of its eye, but what about finding the spirit of an autumnal leaf within its decaying form, or, as illustrated, the spirit of winter’s wind, whipping forcefully across the fridge landscape. Spirit isn’t exclusive to humans, it can also be found in the plant, animal and even the mineral world. To reveal spirit in each of these realms is my goal.

It takes a keen eye to detect this mysterious, yet dynamic life force. I’m up for the challenge: are you?

If this has tickled your curiosity, break free your anchor. Hoist your sails, and join me as I cast off on this uncharted journey into spirit.

Live in color,
Abby

Live in color,
Abby

After being home from Tanzania for a few weeks I thought I would cleverly craft a compelling story about life in Central Africa. But instead, the words never came.

There are dire struggles across the globe, no country is immune. Want proof? Just pick up The New York Times any morning. Some regions are plagued with greater obstacles than others. I could easily rant against the powers that be, condemning lack of aid or interest. But, do we really need any more ranting? I think not.

​So I have changed my perspective.

Now when I review my images from Ipalamwa, Tanzania, instead of seeing adversity, I find cause to celebrate. Yes, this hamlet, unknown to many Americans, has its share of pressing issues. There could be cause for much despair, however, what I found instead was the grace and fortitude of its people. I found dignity in their smiles, and light in their eyes. With what seems to be insurmountable problems, the residents of this community have risen above their challenges. They embrace the hope of a new and better day.

So instead of more words, sit back, and let my pictures say what I cannot. Come with me on a journey back to Tanzania, experience the intoxicating scenery, infectious grins and witness, first-hand, what resilience and strength look like.

With every situation we have a choice on how it may be perceived. I chose to view Ipalamwa with light and love.

​Live in color,
Abby

As summer began to fade, I stepped out of my comfortable home in the Green Mountains of Vermont. I ventured way out of my comfort zone, and traveled to Tanzania. I was asked to take part in an ambitious project based in a remote corner of this African country. When confronted with a challenge I usually dive in head first, then hope for the best.

An eighteen-hour plane ride out of Boston took me to Dar es Salaam, a sprawling metropolis. This rapidly developing capital is located on the east coast of Africa, on the Indian Ocean.

There, I boarded a single-engine bush plane for a two hour flight to the inland city of Iringa. Not quite there yet, my final leg was a two-hour Jeep ride, on a barely navigable dirt track, up a hill, to the literal end of the road. I arrived in the village of Ipalamwa, an almost forgotten part of the world, where people struggle to scratch out a modest existence.

​The Iringa region of central Africa does not represent the Africa most Americans normally think of. This is not the vast oatmeal colored savannah with lions and tigers. This is the the lush highland, hypotonic in nature.

Day-to-day life in Ipalamwa is hard. Many conveniences Americans take for granted; and when there is a momentary disruption, panic; do not exist here. Purified water is scarce. Ground water is available only at central collecting stations in each hamlet. The risk of contamination is real. For women, their day begins by walking to a central water spigot to fill large plastic jugs for their family’s needs.

Lack of sanitation and inadequate nutrition are the pressing concerns in this region. The health of mothers-to-be is especially critical. They carry the future of this community. Insufficient prenatal nutrition causes stunted growth to 40% the region’s children under five years of age. This affects not only the size of the children, but also their cognitive ability.

For one week, this past September, I joined Global Volunteers, https://globalvolunteers.org, to document, through photography, the pervasive problems of this area. Global Volunteers has a wide-ranging project planned for Ipalamwa. Volunteers are the essential component of this project.

I was part of Global’s second team that arrived in Ipalamwa. Fourteen hardy volunteers from across the US, including one from England, took part in this noble cause. Four goals were established.

​The first goal was to install primitive, yet highly effective, hand washing stations. These hand washing stations signified the first time locals were able to wash their hands with both soap and water. Proper hand washing is imperative to curtail the spread of disease.

The second goal, the centerpiece program of Global’s work in Ipalamwa is called, Reaching Children's Potential (RCP). Working in partnership with local leaders, young Tanzanian girls are trained in healthcare. Home visits are scheduled in which RCP representatives, accompanied by volunteers, address the health concerns of mothers and their children. RCP lends support to the most critical first 1000 days of the child's life. Additional support is offered in the form of instructional workshops.

The third goal is to build garden box containers. A Global staff member, Makarios, designed, manufactures and assembles these boxes, on site. Once distributed, mothers grow nutrient-rich vegetables, in these convenient boxes. The added nutrition from these vegetables supplements her family’s meager diet, typically one that contains only flour and water.

The fourth goal is to conduct an English language camp for the community’s children. Pre-schoolers through 6th grade are the target audience. All these projects are staffed by eager volunteers.

After two days of orientation, the volunteer tasks are assigned and work commences. My assignment was to photograph the work that Global is heroically doing while capturing the human experience of both volunteers and residents.

Nine am: Monday morning, Global’s home base is bustling. Children gather in the ball field for English camp. Mothers converge in a meeting room in Global’s newly built, well constructed central hub. This building also houses the volunteers. There are ten double rooms, designed with private baths, for the volunteer’s comfort. In the building’s front courtyard, we assemble our first hand washing station, and the RCP reps, along with volunteers set off on their first home visits.

As a photographer I spend my time observing the world. I try make photographs that best convey, not only what I see, but more importantly, what my emotions were when I clicked the shutter. I try to make compelling photographs, tugging at the heartstrings of the viewer.

To chronicle my adventure in Ipalamwa in one sitting is nearly impossible. The magnitude of my experience will take days, if not weeks, to settle. I know the Abby that left Vermont at the end of August is a different Abby then the one that has returned home. My heart has been cracked open by the sweet smiles and penetrating eyes of the people of Ipalamwa.

I seem to have more questions now than answers. The questions that surfaced were those that asked, Why? Why isn't purified water a given for the villagers? Why aren't proper sanitation practices preformed in all households? Questions are good, they can be the beginning of change. My time spent in Tanzania was emotional, eye-opening and unforgettable. I now have a unique perspective on life in Tanzania. The adventure has enriched me.

Another question that keeps replaying in my mind is, “What does it mean to be human?”

​It is probably easier to define what it means to be inhuman. To see someone struggle and not offer help feels inhuman.

Yes, Global Volunteers do offer help, and do provide assistance where needed. However, beyond the programmed support, volunteers have many opportunities to connect with these gentle, soft-spoken people. We shared a sympathetic ear, a tender touch, and a warm smile. We were compassionate. We were human.

I chose to dive in head first to this adventure. I wanted to help where I could, and make a difference. I did.

Live in color,
Abby

Nothing is more mysterious than a chance encounter. Such an experience for me confirms the existence of some force, greater than myself, providing guidance.

It was a balmy summer’s morning at the shore, my yearly jaunt to Fire Island with the girls. Never wanting to miss a sunrise, I crawled out of bed at the crack of dawn and staggered to the beach. Everything is a little slower on Fire Island. The walk to the shoreline was about 300 steps, each being intentional and deliberate. With each step I noticed the light, shadows, morning dew, the splendor of it all. I could see the boardwalk ahead, a gleaming golden stairway to bliss.

As I approached the walkway I could see someone sitting at the top of the stairs, staring out to the vast blue horizon. I quickly recognized the deflated slump of a teenager, the hunched shoulders, and hanging head, the telltale signs of an unhappy camper. But, how can that be on a glorious summer’s day!

This someone was a girl, probably about 18 years old. What stood out to me was she was covered from head to toe. Her ivory headscarf told me she was Muslim and probably feeling a bit out of place on the beach where nearly naked bodies are the norm.

As I passed I offered a big hello and an acknowledgment of the exceptional day. Her response, a soft grunt. I flashed her a smile and continued to the shoreline.

Only feet from the water I planted myself in the sand and joined darting sandpipers and hermit crabs celebrating the miracle of morning. With one full yogic breath after another I attempted to bank all the energizing beach mojo into my lungs, for future withdrawals, especially during the long, cold Vermont winters. My meditative state was immediately interrupted by the reappearance of the teenager I passed on the boardwalk. On a sweeping beach with maybe only two people within site, this moping teenager walked right up to me and plopped herself down.

A polite conversation began.

I started…

“Is this your first visit to Fire Island?”

“Yes”, she said. “I am here with my parents. We are visiting from Egypt, staying in my uncle’s home.”

The usual niceties followed. Mia, was her name, she explained how she was about to start college outside Cario. Then the flood gates opened…

“I hate my father!” She lamented. “He wants me to attend medical school so he can show me off like a prized pony, but I don’t want to go to medical school, I want to become an engineer.”

Mia went on to say she always did what her father wanted, but this time was different. She was sure she didn’t want to go into medicine, but felt trapped. Her mother wasn’t very supportive, she just told her to be a good girl and do what she is told.

It was a story that was all too familiar to me. Fifty years ago, straight out of a New England college, I was offered a job in Palm Beach. I was so excited about the opportunity. I enthusiastically told my father. With his piercing blue eyes and stern demeanor my father told me I would fail at the job, and when I did, not to bother to look to him for help. Ouch! No matter how disheartened I was with his response, I abandoned the job offer and stayed home, like a good girl.

To this day I think of that pivotal moment in my life. If I had defied my father, would my life have been different?

I looked at this young girl and understood her angst.

I explained to Mia that I believed her parents loved her very much and they just wanted what they thought was best for her.

As she wiped her tears, I asked, “Do you feel the energy from the sea?”

She replied, “Yes.”

I said, “Let’s sit here together, with arms outstretched and take it all in.” We giggled at the site of the two of us. For the moment we were two cormorants drying our outstretched wings. We then proceeded to sit in silence.

As we watched the sun rise into the cloudless sky, I gently placed my hand on her back, she didn’t recoil, but instead melted into my palm.

I got up from my seated position, knelt in front of her, and cradled her face in my hands and said…

“First, you are beautiful, and that alone will take you far. Second, it is obvious you are very intelligent, that will take you farther. This, my dear, is your first big test. You must now decide if you want to live your father’s life, or your own. You must lovingly explain to your father medicine is not in your future, then take an unwavering stance for the career that is meaningful to you.”

I asked, “Can you do that?”

Her face lit up as the tears cascaded from her checks. I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a hug as if she were my own child.

She said, “Thank you. I will talk to my father when I get back. I will be strong. I will be strong for you.”

We said our good-byes and with one final hug, I slipped out of her life.

As I walked down the beach I began to cry. How does one explain an encounter of this kind? The connection between two perfect strangers, from two different worlds? The serendipity of a shared predicament? Hearing the exact words I wished to hear so long ago? Questioning whether I gave Mia sound advise, did I empower her or put her in harm’s way?

I don’t have the answers, but I do know it is the mystery, that makes life an ever-fascinating journey.
It’s in the moments we share a kind word, a soft touch, an attentive ear and a warm smile that give life texture and meaning.

Was this just a chance encounter? Unsolicited cosmic guidance? Or just this grand life reminding us both of the wonder and awe of it all.

Live in color,
Abby

The forest floor is home to a variety of unusual creatures. This morning, I had an encounter with the most elusive resident of them all.

A flash from the corner of my eye caught my attention. It was early morning, and the forest was thick with dew, perfumed by the scent of pine. I felt I was walking into a cool cathedral, my Sagrada Família of the Green Mountains.

The flash came from under the spiky bough of a 50 year-old stately pine. I pulled back the bough and found a troop of mushrooms. They were tightly clustered, well out of sight, and off the beaten path. On closer examination I realized, I stumbled upon a kingdom of woodland fairies.

​Some people actually think fairies are nothing more than a whimsical flight of fancy. Nonsense! For someone who regularly slinks along nature’s floor, I have had many mysterious encounters with sprites. I am convinced of their existence. How else would you explain this finely designed housing complex, disguised as a benign group of mushrooms?

Fairies are very clever architects. When picking a house-site some fairies prefer the security of terra firma. They scout out dwellings that can house an entire communities of nymphs, such as this fine clump of fungi. For fairies, mushrooms made a premier residence. The caps create excellent, well detailed roofs, sheltering them from the unexpected shower, and the broad and towering stems create grand entrances for each family.

Being ultimate gardeners, fairies plant either clover or blooming grass near their front doors so guests don’t accidentally pass by. They also take great care in keeping their residences tidy, so it is not unusual to find a twig propped up against the front door ー a broom in the ready.

By the time I lowered my camera, resting it on a mound of moss, the fairies silently fluttered away, but the evidence of their presence was indisputable.

So the next time you enter the forest, tread softly and speak in whispers for if you believe you may also stumble upon a magical kingdom.

​Live in color,
Abby