Back in a previous life, I led photo workshops in the eastern Sierra. I conducted them on weekends so that people who worked full-time might have a better chance to attend.
It got too crowded on weekends, so I switched to mid-week.
But then it got too crowded on weekdays, so I stopped altogether.
There were easily 20+ workshops every week being held in and around Bishop, California. I saw one with maybe 30 participants at the beaver ponds.
Can you imagine?
Leaders with walkie-talkies hanging off vehicles as they zoomed up and down narrow, narrow dirt roads.
And if there was a full moon at Mono Lake at the same time? Fuhgeddaboudit.
But this same time each year I find I miss it. A lot.
Not only the color spectacle, but the camaraderie, the joy of bumping into someone on the trail I knew, or who knew me, or who used my little guides to find some good spots. And who thanked me for showing them something that maybe they wouldn't have seen otherwise.
I'm a gregarious recluse. I need my alone-time, but I also love being out there among 'em.
So this morning I took a look at a few photos I shot one fall on the other side of the hill from Lake Tahoe.
And I fondly recall the cool crisp air of the eastern Sierra, the glorious aspens, the boulders that look blue if you photograph them in the shade, and the complementary yellow/orange leaves and buckwheat that offer a lovely warmth.
And I remember one of my workshop attendees, when I said, "Give me a few minutes to get my act together." And he said, "Uh, Carol, you're gonna need more time..."
Or another one who said, "Carol, why can't you offer these fall foliage workshops in the summer, when it's warmer?"
See? That's the kind of thing I miss!
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