Janet Brien's photos with the keyword: cold

Summer has ended and the mornings are starting to get chilly. It won't be too long before we begin to get frost again, and I can't wait! This is what a pine needle looks like when it has frost on it! I captured this unusual frost formation back in 2013 when I was working on my 356 Project! :)

Frost on barbed wire is such fun to photograph! The sparkling frost dissolves into starry bokeh, the crisp frost crystals are so sharp and yet "furry" looking, and if you should get lucky, the colorful rust on the barbed wire makes a perfect contrast! And of course, you have a natural leading line of the wire to guide the eye. What's not to love?! :) Explored on 5/25/16. Highest placement #24.

It's the third week of February and this morning we woke up to a world of frost! What a perfect opportunity to share a frosty image from my archives! On this extremely cold December morning in 2013, the frost formed wonderful crystals, and this rusty screw was positively covered with it!

One of the wonderful things about living in southern Oregon is experiencing four distinct seasons. I was born and raised in San Francisco, and it's about the same temperature year-round. So for me, frost and snow are amazing to see and naturally, frost is a favorite subject to photograph. This is a close-up of the tines on a strand of rusted barbed wire that I captured in November 2013.

2 more pictures in notes above ! :) Looking outside this morning, I saw our meadow Oak tree cloaked in frosty mist, and I just had to get out there and take a picture! And since I was out there, I took my time and looked around for some other pretty frost pictures. This leaf is a tree that was planted next to the house, though I'm not sure what kind it is. The leaves are very pretty though, and I had a nice time trying to get a nice image of the frost covering them like a coating of sugar! Today I have two other pictures, our meadow Oak tree in the mist with snow on the branches, and some wild grass with fancy, frosty hair! :D ENJOY! (Sorry for the short posts and lack of comments, I'm buried in a project!) Marie Skłodowska-Curie (7 November 1867 – 4 July 1934) was a Polish and naturalized-French physicist and chemist, famous for her pioneering research on radioactivity. She was the first woman to win a Nobel Prize, the only woman to win in two fields, and the only person to win in multiple sciences. She was also the first female professor at the University of Paris, and in 1995 became the first woman to be entombed on her own merits in the Panthéon in Paris. Wikipedia: Marie Curie

1 picture above in a note! :) I looked out into the meadow this morning and saw the frosty mist rising up around the lone Oak there. Even though I have taken pictures of this tree in the mist before, I thought it would be wonderful to have a picture where it has snow on its branches and very few leaves! :) (roll your mouse over the image above to see the other misty Oak picture I posted a while ago!)

Something about this frosted grass caught my attention. Maybe it's the fancy hair?! :D

2 more pictures in notes above ! :) Yesterday when I braved the cold to look around and take pictures, I discovered some really cool icicles adorning our shop's eaves. They are an interesting shape, being very broad and thick. Though I took pictures yesterday, I came back today so I could make this my Picture of the Day! :) Today I have two other pictures, one shows blackberry thorns with frost crystals, and the other shows icicles dripping down blackberry leaves! :D ENJOY! (Sorry for the short posts and lack of comments, I'm buried in a project!) Joseph Addison (1 May 1672 – 17 June 1719) was an English essayist, poet, playwright, and politician. He was the eldest son of The Reverend Lancelot Addison. His name is usually remembered alongside that of his long-standing friend, Richard Steele, with whom he founded The Spectator magazine Wikipedia: Joseph Addison Explored on December 12, 2013. Highest placement, page 4.

This was a really cool find! I saw all the icicles on the eaves above the blackberry bushes, so I looked to see if any icicles had formed on the bushes too...and they had! So much fun!!

This picture shows a close up of a blackberry vine, complete with frosted thorns. Crazy, isn't it? I've never seen such well-defined crystals before! Explored on December 12, 2013. Highest placement, page 7.

2 more pictures in notes above ! :) First of all, thank you EVERYONE for all of your wonderful comments!! You don't know how wonderful it feels to read the nice things you have to say! :) Also, I have to giggle because I knew you guys would be teasing me about the temperature and I absolutely love it! I don't know how those of you who've mentioned can LIVE in sub-zero climates, HOLY COW!! You're all crazy! :D *big hugs* Also, I wanted to say that I'm in the middle of a project right now and haven't been able to comment, which is making me nuts, but I'm hoping to get some time soon so I can come and visit each of you. :) As for me, I decided to take pictures inside today!! It was actually warm and balmy at 17 to 25 degrees today, but I saw my pink double-walled water cup on the counter with tiny bubbles sticking to the sides and thought, PICTURE OF THE DAY!! I had a great time taking pictures...sometimes there's nothing more enjoyable than a good abstract! After playing with the plastic cup, I saw a glass vase nearby with tiny bubbles too, and had more fun with that one. (Later I did go out and I got a bunch of very cool frost pictures but I didn't want to process them today. Something for another day! :) Jean Toomer (December 26, 1894 – March 30, 1967) was an American poet and novelist and an important figure of the Harlem Renaissance. His first book Cane, published in 1923, is considered by many his most significant. Wikipedia: Jean Toomer

2 more pictures in notes above ! :) Today marks the coldest day that I've ever experienced in a place where I live: 7°F degrees!!! That is so incredibly cold it's hard for me to understand...so I went outside because I needed to fill the bird feeders and in so doing, I had to lift the feeder off the metal pole...and I held the pole for just about 5 seconds. After about two seconds it felt like I was touching a hot iron!! WOW!! We have two bird feeders, so I used one hand for each pole, and then I shook my tail back into the house, yike-yiking all the way to the hot water to warm my freezing hands! :D :D HOLY COW THAT'S COLD!!! Always the glutton for punishment, I noticed that the frost formations were just AMAZING, so...once my fingers warmed up, I got my camera, put on my boots again, and out I went to capture frost crystals! :D This one is my favorite because it was a mistake. I was taking a picture of a different area and the flash illuminated this frost flake beautifully, showing how it grew out of the vinyl cover we have on our spa. I didn't realize they can form this way, isn't it fascinating?! (By the way, this is the same surface as the next picture...instead of being medium brown, it's burgundy, which I pushed closer to black to help pop the "frost-flake" out :) Robert Mapplethorpe (November 4, 1946 New York City;– March 9, 1989 Boston, Massachusetts) was an American photographer, known for his large-scale, highly stylized black and white photography. His work featured an array of subjects, including celebrity portraits, male and female nudes, and stills of flowers. His most controversial work is that of the underground BDSM scene in the late 1960s and early 1970s of New York. The homoeroticism of this work fuelled a national debate over the public funding of controversial artworks. Wikipedia: Robert Mapplethorpe

2 more pictures in notes above ! :) Today's surprise was waiting for me when I looked out our bedroom back door, which opens up onto our tiny upstairs deck. The eves were bristling with icicles and they were brilliant with the sun shining on them! I was so excited I ran in to tell Steve so he could see too. Both of us had a lot of fun taking pictures! James Grover Thurber (December 8, 1894 – November 2, 1961) was an American author, journalist, cartoonist, and celebrated wit. Thurber was best known for his cartoons and short stories, published mainly in The New Yorker magazine and collected in his numerous books. One of the most popular humorists of his time, Thurber celebrated the comic frustrations and eccentricities of ordinary people. Wikipedia: James Thurber

This image shows some of the cool details of an icicle up close and personal!

This is only a few of zillions of icicles that were hanging from our eaves, and I like this angle because it's a bit different than what I've usually seen! :)

3 more pictures in notes above ! :) The forecast last night said it would be cold this morning...they weren't kidding! When I went down to the gate at 7am to open and close the gate for Steve as he left for work, it was 27°F (-2.8°C)!! We stepped outside and the cold just hit me in the face. WOW, take a step back, Jack Frost, you're freezing my face with that frosty breath of yours!! I was bristling with sweaters and a coat, warm socks, hat, boots, gloves, and I had my camera with me too as I waved goodbye to Steve. I wanted to get some images of frost while I was down by the fence that borders the main road. However, I also knew I didn't have much time, because no matter how bundled up I was, that cold would find its way in through my worst defenses: my gloves and rubber boots. Knowing the clock was ticking, I quickly went to the fence and started snapping away, admiring the amazing crystals on the barbed wire along the top of the fence as I moved this way and that. Soon, my fingers started to tell me they were cold. Then I noticed the frosty pine needles on the Ponderosa Pine tree nearby and challenged myself to try for some good dof images. (Fail!) Looking down I saw pine cones with frosty edges and managed to get some nice pictures (I'll share that picture in the next few days!). At that point, my fingers were really beginning to hurt and my toes were beginning to yell. Making my way back up the drive way I stopped to take pictures of frosted gravel (I got a really great picture but...the gravel looks too much like...frosted doggy doo...*cackle*...so I can't use it! :D), and on the way I couldn't resist a few more pictures of frosted barbed wire, and then I couldn't stand it anymore and rushed up the hill and into the house, and got my hands under hot water to warm them up again...I can't believe it. I was out there for TEN MINUTES and my body was screaming from the cold!! Unbelievable!! It took a long, hot shower to completely warm up again. Totally crazy cold out there!!! Robert William Service (January 16, 1874 – September 11, 1958) was a poet and writer who has often been called "the Bard of the Yukon". Service is best known for his poems "The Shooting of Dan McGrew" and "The Cremation of Sam McGee", from his first book, Songs of a Sourdough (1907; also published as The Spell of the Yukon and Other Verses). "These humorous tales in verse were considered doggerel by the literary set, yet remain extremely popular to this day." Wikipedia: Robert Service Explored on November 25, 2013. Highest placement, page 2 (#41).

Originally painted green, this fence post is slowly rusting all the paint off of it! I love the texture and adding frost makes it even prettier! This is the first stanza from my favorite poem, The Cremation of Sam McGee" by Robert W. Service : The Cremation of Sam McGee There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee. The rest of the poem is on the next picture!

This was a long piece of smooth wire, covered in frost! I hope you'll take a few moments to read this poem, it's fantastic and so visual, you'll need to put on a coat by the time you're done! :D My 9th grade English teacher introduced poetry to me and this was the one that made me love poetry! :) The Cremation of Sam McGee by Robert W. Service There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee. Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows. Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows. He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell; Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell." On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail. Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail. If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see; It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee. And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow, And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe, He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess; And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request." Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan: "It's the cursèd cold, and it's got right hold, till I'm chilled clean through to the bone. Yet 'tain't being dead — it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains; So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains." A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail; And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale. He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee; And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee. There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven, With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given; It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains, But you promised true, and it's up to you, to cremate those last remains." Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code. In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load. In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring, Howled out their woes to the homeless snows — Oh God! how I loathed the thing. And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow; And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low; The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in; And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin. Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay; It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May." And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum; Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum." Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire; Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher; The flames just soared, and the furnace roared — such a blaze you seldom see; And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee. Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so; And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow. It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why; And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky. I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear; But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near; I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside. I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide. And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar; And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and said: "Please close that door. It's fine in here, but I greatly fear, you'll let in the cold and storm — Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm." There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee.