The glow from a small porch light defined my coordinates on the globe: A trampled patch of snow, the size of a manhole cover, located between a sliding glass door and an outhouse ‘privacy’ tent.
The glow from a small porch light defined my coordinates on the globe: A trampled patch of snow, the size of a manhole cover, located between a sliding glass door and an outhouse ‘privacy’ tent.
It was 8 PM and I’d been trying all day to photograph snowflakes. But try as I might, the wind was howling and I could only “harvest” bits and pieces blown off the roof.
For over 20 years I’ve photographed snowflakes. Call it a favorite pastime. But global warming is not kind to snowflakes. And the last few years have yielded few snowflakes to photograph. So when we arrived at our friend’s house in
Excited at the prospect of photographing snowflakes (one of my favorite winter activities), Marty and I booked flights to Anchorage, Alaska. Though it’s only a 60-minute flight north
Isn’t it cool how answers show up in the most unusual ways…when we have burning questions, problems that need solving, or lessons to learn? Allow me to share a story with you…
Keys in hand, grocery list in my pocket, I head to the door for a round of errands. While slipping on my gloves, I glance out the office window just long enough to watch several snowflakes make their way earthward.…
I’m Marion Owen. I work, relax, and love life in Kodiak, Alaska. I’ve worked on research ships, created photographs that hang in The Smithsonian, given up cheese and meat, and enjoy watching bumblebees and snowflakes. And somewhere along the line, I co-authored the New York Times bestseller, Chicken Soup for the Gardener’s Soul. I’m learning how to not do too much. To be authentic, embrace joy, and not burn the oatmeal.
Thank you for being here,
