Traci White Photo

Well, we have had nearly two proper weeks of winter, and despite the hopes of an Elfstedentocht being dashed, taking photos of the ice, snow and light is still irresistible.

It is finally properly winter! Ice and snow! These are photos from a field trip to one of the Wadden islands, Schiemoonikoog, where I was last in 2010 with my mom in June. The sun shined just as brightly, but it was much, much, MUCH colder. The eastern wind from Russia brings Siberian-esque temperatures, and with it whispers of skating on natural ice and treacherous biking through the snow. But above all else, it is beautiful.

this is a video for the winter:

A year ago today, it was snowing in Washington, D.C. It was snowing A LOT. I was there to see it, along with thousands of other passengers who watched despondantly as it came down onto the tarmac at Washington Dulles airport, being assuaged by airline employees that flights were delayed for hours due to the flight crews being stuck in traffic. I was trying to fly to the Netherlands for a frantic three day trip in the name of eventually being able to live here, which I am so happy to say came to pass last summer. But, last winter, it seemed very far away, and the floor seemed really hard. It was a strange bonding experience with my fellow Amsterdam-bound passengers, and it made the sleepless night a little less dark.

I loved my mother-in-law. She was a wonderful, thoughtful, patient, strong and generous woman whom I was so glad to have in my life, to whom I was happy to be a daughter for any length of time. Throughout most of our relationship, while Elger and I lived an ocean apart, she had fought through cancer and entered remission twice, defying odds with grace, humor and fierceness. During her last remission, this summer, she and Elger's father and brother brought us a "Welkom in Nederland" cake, and we had coffee, and everything was finally exactly the way we had all been hoping for so long. Everyone was here, everyone was healthy. She saw that Elger and I had finally won the right to live together, which is a comfort, and in turn it meant that I was here to comfort them as they lost her. Two months after that coffee, she was given the news that her cancer had come back, and within a month she was back in the hospital, fighting her way out of a coma to live and smile at us and jokingly tell us to "go away" so she could sleep. In December, she faded away, in peace. All anyone can do when someone is lost is offer a hug, and remember them at their realest and most vibrant. Anke was so vibrant and real, and we love her, and she is, and will always be, missed.

These are photos from the past month since her passing, during a winter that, while bleak, is suited to long walks for thoughts to fall into place.

This photo is one that I took during the summer of 2010, when my mom came to the Netherlands for the first time to meet Anke during her previous bout of cancer. It is a photograph that I value so highly, knowing they were also able to meet.

This final photo was taken by Elger's father of Anke on the beach at Terschelling, where Hans and Anke first started dating, and the island where Elger and I had our first true date. This was the photograph used for her funeral announcement, and it says everything better than I would dare try.

Mmmm, I just love all those Dutch vowels.

While three long-term projects are still in the planning phases, I am trying to make sure I don't get rusty, and I am challenging myself to try street photography. The light, shadows, textures, character and mystery of it when done well, by people like Scott Strazzante and the SPF series for the Chicago Tribune, really intrigues me. I have been realizing lately that, while many people in the U.S. whom I photographed before were skeptical of having their picture taken, Dutch people are equally suspicious, but much more openly stare at you if your camera is aloft. Groningen is no Chicago, and the streets can be just vacant enough that attempts to blend in are not perfectly seamless. I have to relearn how to be inconspicuous and accept that I am not suspicious. I promise, Dutch people!

Observing the changing from summer to fall is new to me, although the contrast between the two has been minimal. To be totally honest, I had come to assume that yellows and reds so vibrant they make you wonder if the trees are actually on fire are the colors of fall around the world, but fall here is more subtle and gradual, with moments of vibrancy to be found if you seek them. Oddly, the most vibrant trees I had found before today were some relatively young ones outside of the FC Groningen football stadium, a distinctly un-idyllic setting. Over the past week, I have biked around in search of my crazy, eye-popping color fix.