End of an Era
Photography has been a part of my life since I received my first camera as an elementary kid. I took photos of everything… family, friends, annual fishing trips to British Columbia, cows in our fields, historic buildings of Fort Vancouver, and landscapes of the Oregon Coast were my favorite things to capture. If you were my friend, you usually had a photoshoot by Multnomah Falls, up in the scenic foothills and reservoirs found around Mount St. Helens, or at the beach. Since this was the time before cell phones and selfies, that was a big deal. My sister and cousins were constantly photographed as we explored the hay fields and surrounding forest of our family property. Photography and Lisa were intermixed, there was no separating us!
I proceeded with my passion for photography as I began my degree in journalism in college, and was even hired by the local newspaper to document the lives and story of a summer camp for foster kids. That assignment was quite inspirational for me, and it was fun to get paid for something that I love. It also led me to volunteer in a preschool that facilitated visits between foster children and their estranged biological parents. Eventually I changed my degree to education because of my love for kids, but kept photography as a hobby as I transitioned my identity to become a wife, mother, and teacher.
Eight years ago when my divorce my finalized, my camera was packed into a box during moving. I didn’t unpack it. My love for photography died that day. Why photograph life when all that I lived for was gone? My identity was stripped from me and I was lost. It’s ironic that when depression hits you (for the first time) like a Mac truck in your soul, sometimes you can’t consciously identify it at first. I didn’t have the mental energy for sleeping, eating, laughing, doing anything creative, and I spent my days in depression and anxiety. Hiking wasn’t even a joyful activity for me anymore. I was living in a fog of despair.
I eventually owned my depression and sought out help. After years of counseling, I started appreciating and consistently practicing self-care. I unpacked my camera and started snapping pics of my boys’ milestones in life- 8th grade graduations, driving their first cars, prom, first jobs, and high school graduations. As I worked a restaurant job to supplement my teaching salary, I started saving up tips for a semi-professional camera with high megapixels. I was finally able to pay cash for it this last fall. I quit my restaurant gig to fully focus on photography on the weekends, and I don’t regret that decision one day!
With all my free time on the weekends, I have been traveling throughout the state of Arizona to hike new areas and trails. I have been fascinated with the “secret caves” of Sedona and spent months researching how to reach them. I knew of one along the Boynton Canyon trail, and I decided in February to go hike the trail and see what happens from there. But to be honest, my self-confidence was still pretty low, and I figured that I couldn’t find the secret trail to the secret cave, and there wasn’t any way I could climb it!
Hiking along the Boynton Canyon trail was serene with the lingering snow from the last week’s winter storm, and I was one of the only people on the trail. I found the marker which indicated the secret path, and I had a decision to make. Should I try to find the cave? I decided not to- it was a remnant of my “I can’t” mindset from many years of recovering from rejection: I can’t hike it. I can’t climb a cliff. I can’t climb down (a huge fear of mine since childhood). So I continued up the easy trail to Boynton Canyon. When I reached the canyon, I stopped at the end of the trail to catch my breath and enjoy the view.
As I was resting on a large red rock and enjoying the scenic views, a group of hikers joined me. They were all discussing how to find the secret cave and where the turn-off was. There was a lot of puzzlement and predictions, and I was intrigued again. Did I make a mistake in not trying it? I headed back down the trail to think it over.
As I was heading down the trail back to the car, I ran into one of the hikers who was discussing how to find the secret cave. He was stopping every few yards to look for the marker. I knew he wasn’t even close to that marker, so I decided to step out of my comfort zone and approach him. I told him I knew where it was, and I gave him directions of where to find it. He looked me up and down, and I could tell he didn’t believe me. I shrugged and went down the trail, and left him to his investigation of every tree and bush for “the clues.” As I walked quickly down the trail, I thought over his attitude and microagressions that indicated what he thought of my hiking ability and experience. I was becoming more infuriated with every passing step. I reached the marker (which is really in plain sight of anyone who does the research) and thought it over one more time. Do I turn off and try something new?
Suddenly my hiking buddy stepped out of the brush, and I swallowed my anger and shared with him how to get to the cave from there. No thank you or acknowledgement; he just started walking down the Native American trail. That was rude and frustrating, so I decided to walk with him, whether he liked it or not. He actually ran ahead and tried to lose me. So I decided to sever that negative relationship (ha ha) and pause to take photos of the gorgeous landscape that was emerging off the beaten path.
I took several photos and then continued down the path, eventually reaching the vortex that leads to the Subway Cave. When you’re at the base of the rock formation, you can make a choice- climb up a steep cliff and visit the Native American cliff dwellings or walk along a rocky ledge to enter into the Subway Cave.
The red rocks were either smooth and slippery or crushed and unpredictable to walk on. Either situation they posed called for great determination, balance, focus, and knowing which bushes and trees to hold on to while your feet gave way.
I reached the precarious ledge in which the cliff dwellings were created by red rock bricks. It was exciting to attempt to capture the surreal beauty of the setting of the ancient architecture, bathed in a red glow, complimented by the surrounding rock formations and trees.
After spending some time absorbing the thrill of experiencing another culture’s way of life, I knew it was time to face my “I can’t” mindset when it comes to climbing ledges. It was time to see the Subway Cave. Ironically I don’t have a fear of heights. I have a fear of falling from ledges. So when I reached the ledge (pictured below), I had to swallow that fear and just walk as quickly as I could across the crumbly red rock, praying not to fall to my death. I took a deep breath and went for it. And moving into the Subway Cave and seeing the views was incredible!
I spent some time in the cave, but it was cut short by my hiking buddy. I actually could not get a full photo of the length of the Subway Cave because he never moved from his spot to let me edge past him. I did the best I could with what I had. Then I left and walked back around the ledge to see the view of the cliff dwellings that I explored earlier.
Getting back to solid ground with the trees and bushes beside me was glorious, and I was also ecstatic about crossing off some big items from my “I Can’t” list. I climbed up a cliff. I walked along a narrow ledge. I explored a cave. I proved myself capable. And I can do anything I set my mind to!! It’s the end of the “I Can’t” era, and time to live my life.
