My camera clicks as I take yet another picture, a feeble attempt to capture some of the details and beauty of this place I am currently visiting. I note that I have already taken 359 images and we are only on day 5 of our vacation! What is it that I am trying to preserve? Is it a memory, a smell, the details of architecture? Is it the people that are sharing this journey with me? Is it perhaps the amazing tastes that I am experiencing for the first time? Are there other memories that this place is evoking? Is it perhaps all of these things at the same time? What is it that is important for me to remember?
I look up from my camera, considering these questions. Knowing these photos will not stand on their own, I also pick up my pen.
In days past, my journal entry for this photo might have looked something like this:
“Day 5-Sept 21, 2015. We traveled by train, up Mt. Snowden in Wales.” Pretty boring indeed!
If I utilize my 5 senses; touch, taste, sound, smell and hearing, I am able to document this image much differently. Here is the journal entry as it was actually made.
“Day 5-Sept 21, 2015. My camera clicks incessantly, as I sit with my nose pressed against the glass window of the train. The window drips heavy with condensation, permanently fogged by the warm breath of the 69 passengers who have joined me on this journey. There is a quiet peace among us, as each person strains to see the beautiful views. We are stacked 6 people to a bench, with 2 benches facing each other. Knowing I will be taking the pictures, Alan has kindly given me the window seat and my mother in law sits across from me. How different are our views, as I look uphill and she looks down? I am pleased that we have chosen the right side of the train to sit on. Our experience might have felt differently, had we chosen the opposite side and only been able to view the mountain wall. But then, I think this limited view is often how people go through their lives. Slowly we climb the 3,000 feet to the peak of Mt. Snowden. The conductor must maintain a good visual of the ascending tracks, never sure if there will be rocks or sheep blocking our path. This gives the one hour, uphill journey, a sense of adventure. The sun is playing with me, as it peeks in and out of the low lying clouds. Earlier in the day, as we were getting drenched by the rain, we feared that this “must do” trip would not be possible during our time in Wales. What would be the point of having our heads in a permanent cloud? Hoping for a brief break, we took a chance that the clouds would clear and booked our tickets anyway. As the scenery now unfolds, we are told these are the best views of the day. Finally I give up clearing the window, with the single tissue I had in my purse. It is now too burdened by the water to be of much value. I lower the top pane of glass on the window and point my camera toward the valley floor. In doing so, I sense myself opening fully to this experience. I’m sure people think I am crazy, as I seem to be snapping the same image, only seconds apart. The sun is playing with me, highlighting first a lake, then a craggy cliff, or a lone sheep grazing in the field beside the tracks. I do not want to miss any of it! The brisk, fall air is cold and refreshing. This seems to awaken many of the passengers. Conversations and laughter now also fill the air. People begin interacting, asking “where are you from” and listening with interest as stories and shared. The smell of the diesel engine mixes with the damp, earthy fragrance emanating from this unspoiled land. Memories of my father-in-law quickly ignite. In his younger years, he had been a fireman on the trains. I linger on the edge of these memories, imagining how much he would have enjoyed this trip we are taking. He so loved his trains. I share this thought with a fellow passenger as I reach for my mother-in-laws hand. It is in this way, that he journeys everywhere with us. Will the other passenger remember this conversation days from now? I am not sure. Perhaps if they are a journaller like myself, this trip will have triggered a deeper emotion or personal memory for them. Perhaps they will just recall me in their own notes as an outgoing, friendly, American girl, who shared a glimpse of her past and seemed to be taking pictures of everything. Perhaps, like me, they will simply be grateful for this place, this time and these new memories that we are all making. These are all the true gifts of this day. “