Tuesday
Jan262010
Fireweed
January 26, 2010 * * * * * Posted by: guest blogger 
After my mother died a few years ago, my world fell apart and knew I needed to find a new normal. The fountainhead for my writing had suddenly passed away along with my mother. After a long period of feeling aimless, a creative outlet from my young-self re-emerged.
My camera became an outlet for expression from the pain, and in a very positive uplifting way. There was a transition period between my mourning and the re-emergence or renewal. My camera had become a tool for my self-therapy. I didn’t find a new normal; I created a new normal.
My mother was a woman of few words but she was a master at showing by example. She had lived a life of adversity yet she never complained, ever. Instead she would buckle down and forge ahead, silently and diligently. It was a lifetime of observing her ever-hopeful manner that began to unfurl inside me prodding at my inner self to hunker down and chip away my own strength, digging out from the grief. Hope didn’t seem possible but through the lens my camera was showing me glimpses of hope.
There was a momentum building. It was palpable and full of light and new growth. A new normal had truly emerged. I’ve often marvelled at how, after a massive forest fire, the beautiful fireweed (Chamerion angustifolium) is the first sign of life to emerge from the ashes. It’s tall spires and brilliant pink to mauve flowers carpet the fields. The fireweed waves in the breeze, seeming to smile upon those who acknowledge it’s magic.
I have collected seeds from the wild fireweed and it now grows in my modest flowerbeds. It represents my realization that it sometimes takes the tragedy of grief to find pure and absolute truth. I take simple snapshots of its wild beauty and resilience.
Like the resilient fireweed, with my camera I’ve emerged from the ashes alive with creativity and excitement. With my camera I’m attracted to the light, capturing life, love, and reality. Through my lens there is a world of fireweed to be sought and embraced.
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Reader Comments (20)
I so get this, and find it wonderful that you have found a token, a symbol, something visual, something tactile, something REAL, as it were, out there in the real world, something that says to you not only will you survive, you will thrive. How fabulous that from a fire comes beauty.
Beauty from ashes, the Phoenix rises. I suddenly want to sob, Diane. My mom died of Alzheimer's in 1977. We "lost" her for two years prior, but the last time I saw her, two weeks before she died, I found her...not in words, because she did not speak, but in her eyes. She clasped her eyes on me and wouldn't let me go. It embarrassed me; I turned away. Then suddenly I got it. She was trying to tell me something. Our eyes locked and suddenly, all the fear and hurt and anger and loss of all the years dissipated. It all flew away and in that moment I was the one who was found. She loved me; I loved her. There was nothing more to say.
Thank you for reminding me of what is so powerful about the connection we have with our mothers. I'm so glad you found your outlet from the pain. It is an inspiration to us all.
So beautiful..and such a poignant reminder of the power of life's force and its ability to constantly renew. I'm sure your mother would be proud to see you forging ahead..following in her ever hopeful manner of finding her strength in your adversity.
I like your message of resilience and renewal in this piece; an important one for many of life's circumstances. And, your fireweed image is a wonderful illustration of nature's resilience.
This is a lovely tribute to your mother. One of the most beautiful things I've ever seen was on a boat trip from Whitehorse to Dawson City, Yukon, we went for a walk, ever mindful of bears and over a hill was the biggest field of fireweed you can imagine. I didn't own a camera then but the scene remains as vivid in my mind many years later. The idea that you collected the seeds and now grow a wild flower makes me mindful of the fact that everything starts small.
Thank you for this, Diane.
my mother died when i was 16. looking back now, i see that it sent me off on a tangent that i might not otherwise have journeyed on and it's been an interesting path. i think i've lived my life in an unconscious attempt to follow her path; she was a pioneer and an adventurer, she did amazing things - from cowboy to 'bond girl'. i know that she would love the life i have now, and that makes me very happy. thank you diane, i think this post has touched many of us.
Thank you for honoring the memory of your mother.
The glorious world of nature has many life lessons for us if we open our eyes and hearts. Isn't it amazing that a little fireweed plant has so much to say?
Such a lovely tribute to your mother, Diane. I'm sure she would be happy to know that through your grief you've managed to find something to nourish your inner self.
a beautiful tribute to your mother, diane.
after a very traumatic family circumstance, it was my camera that helped me through and reawakened the creativity within my soul.
your images are beautiful... always... happy to have found you here as well.
take care, kim
Lovely post about your mother Diane. Kind of reminds me of my own Mom ... taking each day as it comes, making something out of nothing ... only my mother is 95 and slipping a little ... not quite the person she was. Mine is a slow loss.
Lovely to see you featured here. The fireweed is an amazing flower in all of its stages. It grows wild in a patch in our own yard
Beautiful post and photo...they are well matched
Thank you for sharing the story of your mother. I know you must miss her every day. The fireweed is a perfect analogy for us women of a certain age. Resilient and beautiful.
A heartfelt post which I can certainly relate to as my mother was very much like yours!
Over here in the UK we call this plant Rosebay Willowherb
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fireweed
and many gardeners here consider it to be a weed as it grows anywhere
http://www.londondailynaturephoto.co.uk/index.php?showimage=521
I don't as I like it and let some grow on my allotment around the wildlife wood pile.
my own mother always encouraged me to create. she did not see herself as imaginative and so wished it for me. i see things very similarly as you do. my own experience tell me that it is from those very things we fear we may not survive comes unforeseen gifts. this is a beautiful post!
Thank you for this lovely post. It reminds me of my mum, she died. she was my best friend.
What a beautiful healing process.
Diane, this is so beautiful.
What a beautiful reminder of our capacity to not only survive loss but to bloom and grow through it.
It sounds like your mother left you a lasting gift in her hope and her strength. I am sure that she would be proud and happy to see you using your creative talents to help yourself grieve.
beautiful post
Your photo is absolutely stunning.
Lovely, bittersweet post, Diane. And you certainly have used your creative outlet well.