On the first day of spring, my family and I explored Gibbs Garden in Ball Ground, GA. A wintery mix of rain, sleet, and snow had passed through only days before.
The daffodils were already nearing the end of their bloom. The tulips were still at their peak.
I brought my camera, unsure of what I would find. I had never tried photographing landscapes or portraits outside at midday.
It is often considered the worst light. Nothing hidden, everything rendered in contrasting shadow and highlight, sharp and defined.
It was a very bright day. There had been high solar activity for about a week, and the amplified UV from the G3 event could easily be felt. The light was intense, making an already challenging time of day even more demanding.
I went into the day thinking that whether I came home with any usable photos or not, it would still teach me something about light. That lesson would be enough.
We slowly climbed up the hill to the mountain overlook, winding along a path cut through the daffodils.
At the summit, the mood shifted. Trees along the outer edges filtered the light, softening it in places. Pockets of shadows moved across the daffodils.
Large swaths of flowers were pushed down. It looked as though several animals had bedded down there overnight. A group with a large footprint, deer perhaps? Dew drops caught the light on the matted blades, catching and scattering the light.
Some daffodils remained intact. Others collapsed under the weight of the storm.
The flies zipped from bloom to bloom. Mosquitoes searched for their next meal.
At the edge of the daffodils, Purple Deadnettle grew in their shadows. A member of the mint family, a vital early-season food source. Unplanned, persistent. A reminder that nature has a will all its own.
We ended at the Japanese garden. Extremes in light and dark were fractured through the canopy above. The cherry trees were shedding the last of their blossoms their season already passing.
Magnolia and Holly Trees formed dense walls, the division between them a dramatic spotlight on the path. Our daughter, keeper of the map, led the way.
Near the pond edge, Christmas ferns were unfurling their crosiers in their fiddlehead stage. Alien creatures, sculptural and primordial.
What began as discomfort in the light shifted into understanding.
Light, dark, contrast, texture.
And like any other lighting, it has its own specific ambiance. A high energy, that can only be experienced when the sun has reached its zenith.
