I know it has taken me a few months to get this whole story out. More often than not I write things in my head and then edit, edit, edit them down until they are appropriate for the general publics' eyes. I won't lie, Bali took an emotional toll on me. I felt grief, anger, despair, hopelessness, and more anger. It wasn't until our second to last day on the island that I started to see a grain of hope.

The end of our journey took us to the Green School. The Green School is literally just as it sounds. Situated in the middle of the forest, the school is built from bamboo and other natural materials. In addition to standard school subjects, the students garden, compost, save seeds, create things with their own hands, learn about their surroundings and organize and implement programs to help with the trash problem on the island. It is a community lead by brilliant, driven, enthusiastic people.

After nearly two weeks in the depths of despair, disgust and loathing of our insatiable plastic consumption, this little oasis of conservation, education and action was like a cool breeze in a hot desert. We had a tour of the campus and I was blown away. The bamboo buildings weren't quaint huts, they were architectural feats. Each structure was built thoughtfully, functionally and gracefully to mirror the jungle around them. Students are international and local which means that kids from the island will actually be able to help heal their own land. These kids are learning how to solve some very serious problems and are probably the best hope the island (and the rest of the world) has.

When I mentioned that we were going to Bali, people told me I was going to fall in love with this "amazing, magical, spiritual, life changing" place. I might have a different selection of adjectives to describe the island but I do agree with the "life changing" part. It is hard to imagine what the island was like as little as 20 years ago. I'm afraid the amazing magical isle my predecessors spoke of it now buried under mountains of trash. While I honestly believe that things will never be the same, I truly hope that the island has a chance to heal and move forward.

How has Bali changed me? Before our trip I tried, to the best of my ability, to cut plastic and unnecessary waste out of my daily life. Now, I try harder. It isn't easy in this era of safety and sterility but I try to remind myself that every little bit helps. No plastic bags at the store. I shop in the bulk section as much as possible. Mike and I hit up the farmers market for everything from veggies to soap so that we can avoid as much extra packaging as possible. Biodegradable poop bags for our dog. I will reuse or recycle the plastic containers I do have and suppress the urge to throw out things in my car at the gas station if I can recycle them when I get home. 

This is the part where I am tempted to get really preachy but a wise friend once told me that in order for people to make a change they need a reason not a lecture. So find a reason. Get out of your comfort zone. Do some research. Make a change. Make a difference.

Every once in a while I still dream about the ocean. I dream about hovering in the still, peaceful blue, surrounded by reef with sharks and mantas gliding silently past me. The dreams are less frequent now than they were when I worked on, in and around the water. I love VT but I do get homesick for the ocean.

After my disappointing sunrise photo session, Mike and I ate breakfast and prepared for our first day in the water. We walked over to the dive center and, to our surprise, were loaded into a van that took us down the road to the traditional marina (aka one hundred charming, rickety, traditional outboard boats). We loaded up and puttered out across the little channel toward Menjangan Island. Luckily it was a beautiful day and the water was calm. We passed mangroves, skimmed over deep blue water and set our sights on the beautiful turquoise patches of reef in the distance. As we neared the island my heart sank. Our divemaster directed the captain toward a floating mat of garbage and smiled eagerly as he explained that this was one of his favorite dive sites. A wave of disgust washed over me as I looked around us at the floating refuse. The thought of snorkeling through garbage was repulsive. (Later in the day we would pass below a temple high up on the cliff above us, partially obstructed by a massive trash midden, spilling over the cliff directly into the water.)

I set up my camera and we bailed out over the side of the boat. I hit the water and pushed aside a chip bag and a travel shampoo bottle. Then I looked down and was astounded. We floated above a wall that dropped off into the dark blue depths. There were hundreds of reef fish, beautiful, bright corals, glowing sponges and clams. The ocean was alive! For the first time I felt happiness and hope. We drifted along the coast for a little over an hour. I had used up most of my camera battery by the time we met our boat for a brief rest and some lunch.

Our second snorkel was even better. Cuttlefish camouflaged in the shallows, huge schools of silver fish cruised the deeper areas of the wall, pursued by several large iridescent bluefin trevally, clownfish nestled in giant anemonies. We saw more diversity in that one day than we did the entire 3 years we lived in Hawaii. Somehow, amidst the garbage and pollution, the reef still flourished.

Can you spot the cuttlefish....

So, perhaps hope lies below the surface. 

The question is, what can we do about it?

Imagine you are cozy at home in your cute little two bedroom house when suddenly the doorbell rings. You get up and answer it to find college kids as far as the eye can see. You don't want to be rude so you invite them in and they enter like a tidal wave with pizzas, cases of beer and of course, those red cups. You let yourself have a little fun, eventually they all leave, and in the morning you wake up to a disaster. Your favorite antique lamp is on the floor, the whole house smells like stale beer and there is trash everywhere. You don't even know where to begin so you sit down for a minute and just cry.  This is what Bali felt like to me. 

The other side of the mountain lead to the north shore of the island; the place we would have our first aquatic adventure. We bumped down the narrow road and turned into our hotel. We were greeted with cool towels, delicious smoothies and the gentle hospitality I had been craving since our arrival. We were guided to our villa, which was built in the traditional style, out of wood, with a thatched roof, gorgeous carved furniture, a beautiful walled in outdoor bathroom and an open air sleeping platform. I felt like I was in heaven. That evening we had a delicious meal, next to a beautiful beach where the last of the days adventurers were enjoying a crepuscular snorkel. We polished off our deliciously cold Bintangs and made our way back to our villa to fall asleep under the mosquito netting on our gigantic bed. It felt like we had finally made it to the real Bali.

I woke up before dawn, happy and refreshed. I grabbed my camera and made my way down to the beach to capture the sunrise. It looked exactly the way I hoped. The tiny crescent bay was dotted with small boats and canoes. The air was still and silent. The first, deepest reds were just starting to illuminate the horizon. I crouched down and braced my camera against my body to compensate for the lack of tripod in the slow shuttered light. I tried not to breathe and squeezed the shutter, again and again as the light changed with each passing minute. As the sun rose higher I saw glimmers on the sand. In another heartbeat I realized that those beautiful glimmers were plastic bags and bottles, washed up with the lazy morning swell. 

In 3 minutes my sunrise session went from perfect to horrific. The higher the sun rose the more trash I could see. Two men from the hotel were coming down the beach, picking up trash as fast as they could before the rest of the guests stirred and started their day. I slunk back to the villa, my briefly elevated hopes squashed.

It was our second day on the island. We left the temple on the lake and continued up and over the mountain. I had expected to see charming houses built in the traditional style, from wood and bamboo with thatched roofs and beautiful carvings. Instead we drove past town after town constructed entirely of cement boxes. Unfortunately cement is cheaper, easier and quicker to build with, an ideal material for a densely populated island in the throes of a major transition from agriculture to tourism. 

We reached the highest point of the mountain and stopped at an overlook with an incredible view of two freshwater lakes at the base of a series of old volcanoes. A man stood to the side of the pullout, offering tourists the opportunity to have their photo taken with a snake for a small fee.  We looked out over the misty mountain jungle and then got back in the car for the descent. By this point it was apparent that the island had an undeniable refuse problem. Wrappers, cans, bags, and other plastic trash littered every inch of roadside. 

One of our local drivers explained, heartbreakingly, that 20 years ago the rivers were the source of life on the island. People bathed, swam, played and drank from the river. In the blink of an eye the island's sacred source of life has become toxic. Rivers and streams are choked with plastic bags and styrofoam containers. Some of the more densely populated areas of the island feel like they have been constructed in the middle of a landfill. Shopkeepers sweep trash away from their doorstep and when they go inside the neighboring shopkeeper sweeps it right back. It is a futile, endless cycle.

People used to have compost piles behind their houses because the hot humid weather was capable of degrading their organic waste quickly and efficiently. Now people pile trash behind their houses because they have nothing else to do with it. Plastic came to the tiny island before it was ready. How can a culture that has been self sufficient with organic materials for hundreds of years possibly even grasp the concept of a material that simply doesn't break down. Ever.

Now for the conundrum...

What do you do with millions of pounds of trash on a tiny island without the infrastructure to deal with it? What do you do when, even if there were a place to bring your trash on the far side of the island, you only have a scooter and no way to get it there? 

Answer: you throw it on the ground and go on about your business. The responsible folks on the island burn their trash, creating sticky, melted piles and leaving the air heavy and noxious. 

It was halfway through day two on the island that I began to realize this was going to be a very different trip than I had planned. I was angry and frustrated but sympathetic. I wanted to do something but there was nothing to be done. I couldn't even curb my own plastic consumption because the only drinkable water on the island comes from plastic bottles. Even the islanders don't drink the water, it's that unsafe. For the next week and a half, plastic would be my savior, the only barrier between dehydration and crippling intestinal illness. Let the moral wrestling match begin.

I realize that in all of the holiday madness I haven't put out a new blog post in awhile. There are two reasons. One, holiday craziness. Good craziness - the busy, happy kind where I got to see a whole lot of family and friends in a short amount of time. The other reason...I have been working over a post from our trip to Bali in my head for weeks now, trying to figure out how to say the things I want to say without being overly preachy and obnoxious. I finally figured that it is January, the time of year when everyone is making some sort of resolution, hoping to be healthier and happier in the coming year. Is there a more symbolic time for life changes? I think not. 

I have also decided to put this bad boy out in installations. No one wants to read pages and pages when they click on a blog post. When I read a blog I want a short, sweet paragraph or two along with some pretty pictures. It will be more than a paragraph, but I'll do my best to make it as captivating as possible.

Here we go.

Part 1. Journey to the other side of the world.

On the evening of November 16 I found myself straining to see the polar ice through the inky darkness below. No luck. The little airplane icon on the seatback screen taunted me as it slowly moved across the very top of a global map. The extreme cold and polar regions of the world have occupied a fascination in the back of my mind since I was old enough to have read Never Cry Wolf and White Fang and it was torturous to know that the north pole loomed just below us, invisible in the darkness of the endless night.

I was nearly finished with the book I had toted along and we were only halfway through our 16 hour flight from JFK to Hong Kong. Mike and the rest of the plane slumbered as I wiggled impatiently, ready to land and connect on our final flight to Bali.

My husband Mike was headed to Bali to scout and put together a trip for high school age students this summer for National Geographic Student Travel. The objective was to find lodging, safe dive outfitters and interesting activities to occupy the group for the duration of their stay. His wonderful boss was allowing me to accompany him as a belated honeymoon of sorts.

For years I have heard about Bali, the most magical, spiritual, wonderful place on earth. I have always pictured lush, green jungle creeping up to pristine beaches and vibrant coral reef, fishermen up at dawn, casting their nets in the red glow of first light, children frolicking in the surf and women selling handcrafted fabrics and exotic produce at village markets. Those thoughts retreated the moment we stepped outside the airport and were assaulted by a cacophony of people, motorbikes, cars and trucks.

I was aware that Indonesian countries are famous for their scooter culture but this was beyond what I ever could have imagined. We saw entire families stacked on one moped. There were mothers and fathers with newborn babies just resting on their laps while they careened in and out of traffic. We saw people riding with chickens, televisions, speakers, and ladders tied to the back. We even saw one man driving while his friend dragged a wheelbarrow behind them. My greatest regret might be the fact that I didn't get a good scooter photo due to the fear of losing my camera had I been brave enough to stick it out the car window.

(Photos - Beautiful day in Kuta and my trip planning, traveling, dreamboat partner in crime of a husband Mike)

Our driver took us up the coast to Kuta, one of the coastal towns close to the airport. The beaches were gorgeous, the surf was perfect and the streets were crowded with tattoo parlors, convenience stores and cheesy boardwalk shops. It was as if we had flown for two days and landed smack in the middle of the Jersey Shore. One night was enough to see what there was to see so we packed up, met our driver and moved on. I had assumed that once we left the crowded coast life would slow down and I would catch a glimpse of the island I was so excited to see. We wound our way up the side of a mountain, behind scooters and trucks full of watermelon, cement and dozens of people. Produce stands lined the roadsides but the prospect of pulling over seemed impossible. We were like salmon fighting our way upstream. It was a tight squeeze on small roads and after 2 hours of winding, beeping, honking, we arrived at our first stop, the temple on the lake.

(Photo - In past years a larger temple has been constructed to accommodate the masses that come to visit and worship at the temple each year. The old temple still stands at the edge of the lake offering visitors a stunning glimpse of old Bali.)

(Photos - meticulously crafted bamboo and palm decorations prepared for an upcoming ceremony)

Oh my, I just realized this blog has been hanging out as a draft and that I never published it! Well here it is. Still topical as we are about to head back into winter wedding season. Winter weddings are so much fun!

Elizabeth and Jake are amazing. They kicked off my 2014 wedding season with style, grace, and an epic reception.

I first met this lovely couple last summer at another wedding. Elizabeth was part of a 12 woman bridal party and Jake was part of a 12 man team. It was a big, boisterous, fun wedding. Needless to say, in the midst of a wedding that large and charismatic, I regretfully did not get to know Elizabeth and Jake on a very personal level. The fun surprise came when I received an email asking if I would photograph their wedding in February.

I met the two of them in a small, quiet coffee shop in a town where I was working that week and that they coincidentally had to pass through on their way home from a weekend up north. When I arrived at the aforementioned cafe I was delighted to find that it was nearly empty, had great coffee, a very friendly barista, ...and then my heart plummeted down toward my ankles when I realized that the entire place was covered in Red Sox photos, gear, and other paraphernalia. There was no time to move the meeting and I assumed that, being from CT, Jake and Elizabeth might just be Yankee fans. The meeting could have gone many different ways but Jake looked around at the walls and said, "Wow, this place is great". That was the moment I knew they were going to be great to work with.

...and this is why Elizabeth and Jake are amazing....

They are truly great together. Their vows were handwritten and from the heart. Every touch, glance, and smile they exchanged throughout the day conveyed their excitement and appreciation for each other.

Jake gave his groomsmen the coolest "man crates" I have ever seen.

They looked stunning, like a couple straight out of Old Hollywood.

They love their families so much and included them in every part of their weekend. So many hugs and so much dancing.

Their families are amazing.

Three days of wedding fun.

I feel like you can tell a lot about a couple by the way they interact with their guests and by the way their guests interact with each other. These guys had a rowdy crew (and I mean that in the very best way) who mixed, mingled, laughed, drank and danced together all weekend. It was an epic event in a beautiful setting. 

I'm extremely happy for these two and wish them the very best!

Cheers to Elizabeth and Jake!

This one goes out to all the ladies - over 50!

Last week I had a very interesting conversation with a client about the lack of older women in photographs. My client made the point that it is hard to look at a photo of yourself as an older woman and be ok with it because everything you have to compare it to is so drastically different - so much younger. It is discouraging. It is hard to accept that we just don't look the same as we used to and the media isn't helping.

Any woman who has rounded the corner on her 30s knows what I am talking about. Things just change. It is hard to look in the mirror and suddenly see little lines, wrinkles, spots and gray hairs where, perhaps just yesterday, there were none. We lose our our baby faces and smooth skin. Evidence of days spent in the sun and years of laughing and smiling appears and we suddenly realize our dresses are too short and our pants are too tight.

I see those self-acceptance articles on Facebook; empowering women, telling us that we have earned our wrinkles and gray hairs and it is ok to accept that we are aging. These articles are wonderful, true and inspiring - until we open a magazine and see the beautiful 20-30 somethings frolicking in bathing suits or lounging around, perfectly lit and groomed, not a hair out of place.

Where are the older women? I'm not talking about the "how to look fabulous at 40" women, or photos of Hilary and her "hair faux pas of the week". Where are the beautiful older women living normal lives? We all crave someone to look up to. We want to know that we are doing things right. We need to see our demographic in the headlines so that we feel validated. If we don't see it, it can be hard to feel accepted (and acceptable). 

In honor or my client and women everywhere, I have decided to post a few images of beautiful, extraordinary women I have met over the past year. They aren't in their 20s or 30s but they are real, amazing women who have led wonderful, interesting, complex lives. These are the women we need to look up to and, in all honesty, we should all be hoping that someday we look this good.

Mistral is amazing. She and her husband are directors at New England Science and Sailing (NESS) in Stonington, CT and keep hours that I could barely have kept up with when I was in college. They have an island rescue mutt, Ninga, who is about as high up on my list of favorite pups as one can be without being my own dog. They are also expecting a new human member of the family very soon.

In addition to being one of the hardest working women I know, Mistral is beautiful, talented, creative, a great cook, surfer, fire spinner, and has a really cool Australian accent.

About a month ago I had a wonderful maternity session with Mistral a family session with Mistral, Mike and Ninga. I have been bouncing around the globe and slacking on my blog posts since then and realized it was high time for a new photo feature.

Here it is. Pure radiance.