To succeed, we must fall in love, take the pictures, and then slowly take deep breaths, realizing who we are, and walk slowly away from the edge.

– an excerpt from Rodney Smith’s “May I Feel, Said He”.

The first was when I moved to Maine during the summer of 2006. I was settling into managing the digital services at the Maine Media Workshops (then the Maine Photographic Workshops) and meeting news friends, photographers, and film makers. It was an exciting time as I had just left college and was about to begin a new chapter of my life. One beautiful, sunny, Saturday afternoon a bunch of friends and I went to Megunticook Lake. We dropped our inflatable tubes in the water, paddled away from shore, and moments later a bald eagle flew maybe 15 feet above our heads, so close we could hear the wind against it’s wings.

(Photo by Juli Lowe from that day)

The second was when I was living in a rustic trailer along the St. George River in Cushing, Maine from September 1 – December 24, 2008. It was both romantic and brutal at times; the former because it was very private and literally next to the tidal river, and the latter because there was no insulation. I was fortunate, though, as a landlord friend, Colin, was letting me stay in the trailer free of charge, minus electricity.

In the morning I would walk next door to another house Colin owned, a summer vacation rental. The house had a walkout basement and Colin had given me a key to use the downstairs toilet and tub anytime no one was renting the property. One morning I was walking next door through a small path in the woods that connected my trailer to the house. Above my head I heard a loud tree branch break. At first I had no idea what was happening. Then I saw an enormous bird flying away with a large branch in it’s talons. It was a bald eagle. It flew a hundred feet or so to a tall pine tree that stretched out across the river where it was construction a beautiful nest.

Realizing the nest was there, I started paying closer attention and discovered there was not one bald eagle but two nesting bald eagles. After this discovery I would often see them soaring above the river, spreading their wings and looking for food. I visited the trailer again this summer and had lunch with Colin. He told me the nesting pair went onto have fledglings (baby bald eagles). I still find it wild to think about.

(the trailer after a large snow storm a few days before Christmas, 2009)

The third was just now while riding the Mega Bus back to Syracuse to finalize a book we’re creating for my upcoming Uganda: A River Blue exhibition at Anastasia Photo. We’re driving on Route 17 and crisscrossing the Beaverkill River as the driver navigates bumps, uneven pavement, and everything else needing to be done to keep us, his passengers, safe.

Moments ago I received news from friend I worked with the same summer I saw my first memorable bald eagle in Maine. Right after receiving this news, the bus crested a hill and at the top was a bald eagle sitting on a branch hanging over the road, taking in the landscape on this cloudy but beautiful winter day.

Strathmore Park, Syracuse, New York, 2009

There were many times when I wondered about the direction I was heading in and whether the path I was choosing was the right path, but through time, hard work, assistance from a few close friends and family, and luck many great things came together in 2009.

I have many personal and career goals for 2010, so here’s to working hard, a little luck, and striving for all we allow ourselves to achieve!

Winter Grass, Syracuse, New York, 2009

My family’s dog, Tahoe, always sits near the stove when I start making eggs.

She watches my every move and waits for a hand out. I’m easy and always give her a small piece or two.

Tonight I looked at her and said, “You know, Tahoe, you know nothing about these eggs; only that they taste good.”

Realizing what I had just said, I silently asked myself, “What else is there to know?”

Tahoe, Syracuse, New York, 2009

before the snow
he looks at me silent
moving

his dappled breast reflecting
tragic winter
thoughts of my love my own

“The Woodthrush” by William Carlos Williams

First Snow, Syracuse, New York, 2009

-Willie Gilmore

Love, Portland, Oregon, 2008