Fezziwig Press & Photography by Stu Jenks

"Bozette's Bluff"

"Bozette's Bluff, South of Cathy's Fault, Arizona" (c) 2009 Stu Jenks

[Bozette, herself, is visible in this photograph. She is in color. The mountains and cactus are obviously, in black and white.]

"In The Methuselah Grove"

"In The Methuselah Grove, White Mountains, California" & "Bristlecone Flower" (c) 2009 Stu Jenks

[My new favorite flower. Already my favorite tree.]

"Cathy's Fault, Arizona"

Cathy’s Fault,
Arizona
Spring 2009

    April snow on the Catalinas. More snow on the Pinal Mountains. Weird.
    They’re playing the 3rd round of the Masters right now. I shake my head as I drive. My mother isn’t even watching it on TV. With her dementia, it just too hard for her to track things on television. First year she hasn’t watched it since they started televising Augusta in the 1960’s. She loves Tiger. Now, she barely knows he exists. “I’m not well, and I don’t know what to do,” she says over and over when I visit her. I swear I wish Death would just come and take her.
    Gave her car a name. Actually it’s my car now. She hasn’t driven in months. Never will again. Named her car, Martha Ball, after our first president’s wife and his mother, Martha Custis and Mary Ball, respectively. Some of the Balls rest in the same rural Virginia cemetery where my family’s plot is. Fits a 2003 blue Buick La Sabre to a tee. I call her Martha for short.
    Should be there soon. May continue to rain or snow today. Either would be fine with me.
    There it is, the pull-off I’ve been look for. I park Martha. Not many cars on the highway today. I put on my new Boo-Boo hat with its knitted bill, wrap Cathy’s scarf around my neck, zip up the polar fleece and grab the Canon. No water. I’m not going to be gone that long.
    Up the old mining road, toward the top of Cathy’s Fault.
    [Note to readers: If you think I’m going to tell you where Cathy’s Fault specifically is, you have lost your mind. However, if you’re ever in Tucson, and the wind’s right, I’ll take you there myself.]
    Halfway up. Really hope I see him again. No telling.
    Suddenly I see a half dozen mule deer fifty feet straight ahead of me. All of us stop and stare at each other for a while. I pop a couple images with the Canon. The lead buck snorts at me. Stomps the ground with his foot. What the hell? You going to charge me, buckaroo? That would be hard to explain.
    ‘How’d you hurt yourself, Stu?’
    ‘A deer charged me, knocked me down.’
    I can think of at least three friends who would never let me live that down.
    Eventually, the buck and his brood bounce away to the west.
    Well, that was pretty swell. I’ll take that if I don’t see the old boy.
    Hardly had those words drifted out of my mind when I see him. Fifty yards ahead. Looks like the same Big Horn I saw in January. Well, I’ll be god-damned.
    I shoot a bunch of shots. I creep through the ocotillos to get a better angle. I softly walk closer to him. He shifts his weight from side to side, turns his head as if he’s posing but shows little concern. But he knows I’m there.
    After a dozen exposures, I lower the lens and just gaze at him. He looks back at me. Neither of us are afraid. Calm all around. The rain’s stopped. No snow. I cradle my camera. I almost cry. I relate to him. Makes sense I suppose. Both he and I are sure-footed creatures, somewhat aloof, keen-eyed.
    Then I smile when I think of the obvious. The spiral horns.
    You wear your spirals on top of your head. I carry mine inside of me.

"Bowie Steer and Calf"

 
"Bowie Steer and Calf" (c) 2009 Stu Jenks

"Gringo Gulch: Bull Moon"

"Gringo Gulch: Bull Moon" (c) 2009 Stu Jenks

 

"Twenty Four Years"

"Twenty Four Years: A Storm, North of Elgin, Arizona" (c) 2009 Stu Jenks

"Mule Deer in Coalmine Canyon"

"Mule Deer in Coalmine Canyon, Arizona" (c) 2009 Stu Jenks

"Ewe're near the edge"

"Ewe're near the edge, Dripping Springs, Arizona" (c) 2009 Stu Jenks

"Big Horns near Dripping Springs, Arizona"

 

“Big Horns at Cindy’s Fault, near Dripping Springs, Arizona” © 2009 Stu Jenks

It’s a joke in her family. “It’s Cindy’s Fault. She did it,” they would laugh as they drove up the hill to their cabin in the White Mountains (even though I winced a little, when I first heard her tell the story, knowing the subtle shaming that nuclear families can do.) It did look pretty in her photo though, so on New Year’s Day, I went looking for Cindy’s Fault.

To my wondrous surprise, as I neared the top after a brief but strenuous bushwhack, I saw a family of Big Horn Sheep, one ram and two ewes. I quietly pulled out the 70 by 200 and shot them through the tall Ocotillos. I walked quietly closer to them. I took at least twenty images and then made my way to the top of the western fault. I shot the eastern fault (the true Cindy’s Fault) and then popped a few images toward the south. Lastly, I shot a few trees deep in the canyon. Then I realized the Big Horns had gotten used to me. (They were only couple hundred feet below me, continuing to feed on the grasses and scrubs of the plateau.) I walked back toward them and this time, I crept to within thirty feet or so. The ewes raised their heads from grazing once or twice and the ram stood guard over his brood, but mostly they relaxed around me. Not only did they get back to their routine of grazing, but I saw something in their eyes. Their eyes had softened.

And then I relearned a lesson: They know me now. They know I’m not going to hurt them. They trust me a little. Their eyes relaxed and their faces opened up to me. Just like when I’ve shot those portraits of the Tucson Roller Derby Girls last year at Old Trail Town. They know me. They know I’m not going to exploit them. They trust me a little.

Sheep. Humans. We are all mammals. And most mammals need to feel safe in order to open up and be vulnerable to the camera, or to each other.

And I swear, at one point, that ram knew what I was doing and struck a majestic pose.

I finished with the camera, laid it on my lap and then simply watched their grazing for a good long while. I then blew them a kiss and made my way back to my truck, at the bottom of the hill.

 

 

 

 
 

Christmas Haiku #23

"Christmas Haiku #23" (c) 2008 Stu Jenks

Female Winter Rain:
Owl's Head Saguaro drinks deep,
Singing with the wind.