The medicine of ethereal light, for the long nights of winter

Some dates I don’t have to write down. One is whatever day it is in early spring that I get my first glimpse of a wild balsamroot bud about to burst open, like an exploding kernel of popcorn. From the inception of erupting balsamroot, spring in the inland Northwest unfolds, operatically, as green replaces brown, and yellows, purples, and cremes come into bloom, often in riots of color. All other things being equal, it’s a happier time to be here, all the more so if you’re a photographer.

On the back end, another date I don’t write down is November 1st, a day that (at least for me) brings an icy gust announcing the coming darkness of winter, with mats of fallen leaves damming the storm drains. The outdoor swimmer in me has to leave the water to avert hypothermia, the cook in me turns to soups, the writer to wistful messages like this one, and the photographer sulks, cleans the refrigerator and tries to catch up on his reading.

But.

There are antidotes and among them are the images that follow—the dances of solar light on the Ice Age-deposited cobbles and boulders strewn on the bed of the Spokane River. Honestly, they’re not just in the river. They’re all around us in Spokane. It’s just that most are hidden beneath a thin blanket of Holocene topsoil. In some places, the current of the river cleans both the grit and the algae—exposing the colors of the ancient mudstones, gneisses, schists, and granites that originate in the mountains of British Columbia, Idaho, and Montana. To be sure, there are lumps of home-grown, black basalt in the mix—but not as many as you’d expect. The epic imports of great flood cobbles dominate. Add sunlight and a camera and, voila!— an over-the-counter antidote to the long, dark nights ahead. (For purchase inquiries, send inquiries to me through the comment panel or at tjconnor56@gmail.com)