View allAll Photos Tagged pineforest
Model: Viktoria
Photo: Thomas Ohlsson Photography
www.thomasohlsson.com | 500px | Facebook | Flickr | Instagram
Il centro storico di Tortora ripreso dalla pineta di Aieta. Qualche anno fa la pineta è stata colpita da un incendio e, purtroppo, ne porta ancora i segni.
The historic center of Tortora, taken from the pine forest of Aieta. Some years ago, the park was hit by a fire and, unfortunately, it still bears the signs.
You don't want to get the oils from the peppers on your hands. It's hard to wash off, and if you get it in your eyes - ouch. Just breathing the fumes makes you cough.
Anna and her dog in the foreground and Simon in the background smiling to the lens.
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The story:
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A memorable day back in September, 2017, for very specific, reasons explained briefly here, having been given permission by the island's authorities, we fenced an area of 8.000 sq.m. around the old mountain shelter «Spitaki tis Mamis» 1) to protect this historical building from being ruined completely by roaming goats and, 2) to give nature the chance to regenerate and bring new life in this barren land.
Indeed, in the months to follow, we were pleasantly surprised to see plantlife growing much faster than expected behind our wire mesh panels. Having ourselves done no more than planting a few dozens of dog roses, we were immensely rejoiced to witness a general rebirth of grass, heather, mushrooms - there were even some tiny oak seedlings!
What a big payback for our troubles! 💗
Unfortunately, however, not everybody was happy about this success. On December 11, 2018 (read the sad announcement on facebook) somebody cut the fence with a pair of pliers and let a herd of goats into the protected area. As these poor animals are always starved, the regeneration experiment would be dead in a matter of a few 24-hours.
Fortunately the break-in was noticed on time, the goats were driven out and the broken mesh panels were mended. Little damage was done, however, all parts involved in the project decided not to discard the incident. Considering this to be a purposeful and hostile act of sabotage, first we issued a press release and a few days later we announced a hike inviting everybody
- to walk with us to the mountain
- to see the devastation being done by the goats
- to talk about the value of the forests
- to visit the site of the experiment
- and finally, to plant as many as possible oak acorns inside the fenced area. 🍠🍠🍠🍠🍠🍠🍠🍠
This set of photos stands as a short report of what we did on Sunday, December 23. Twenty-eight friends, mostly young, took part in the project/protest, making it a point that WE CARE and that we will keep on caring. Every time there is an act of sabotage, besides repairing the damage, we will plant more seeds.
And we will be doing this for as long as it takes. Because we do not want only to save our little regenerated green patch. We want it to expand! We want all the mountains of our island to become green again!
If you are familiar with Google maps, a lot of extra photos are included in the map of the hike.
Persistent URL: floridamemory.com/items/show/158688
Local call number: PC0993
Title: "Sugar Cane Grinding on a Southern Plantation"
Date: ca. 1920
Physical descrip: 1 postcard - col. - 9 x 14 cm.
Series Title: Postcard Collection
Repository: State Library and Archives of Florida
500 S. Bronough St., Tallahassee, FL, 32399-0250 USA, Contact: 850.245.6700, Archives@dos.myflorida.com
MATSUSHIMA, MIYAGI, THE NIHON SANKEI, ( ONE OF THE 3 MOST SCENIC SPOTS IN JAPAN ) , 日本三景、陸奥、松島、松島佐勘、松庵
This Mule Deer doe did not seemed too concerned of my distance... however would give me "the look" from time to time!
We were some of the first to enter Zion after the snowfall of November 29th which made for an amazing photographers dream of pristine snow capped sandstone mountains! We actuall had to wait for the snowplows to finish up on the eastside of The Zion Mt. Carmel Tunnel.
Trunks from a small copse of pine trees at Tarn Hows in the Lake District reflected in the bright water.
Model: Viktoria
Photo: Thomas Ohlsson Photography
www.thomasohlsson.com | 500px | Facebook | Flickr | Instagram
Mount Crawford Kangaroos, coming right at me till they heard the shutter, they then quickly exited stage right!
aka Pterospora Andromedea Nutt
very interesting life form that is parasytic on fungi and needs the pine forest to survive on their fungi!
~Ralph Waldo Emerson
Fence Friday! For the first time in ages, :).
I scrolled through my photos trying to find something and realised I really don't have any fence-photos laying around... This was one of the very few. Need to get out shooting fences asap.
Here's a lot of sparkle to a wonderful weekend for everyone! :)
(I woke up a while back from a rather long nap, and found myself in complete agony because I thought I had killed someone. Heart pounding, almost sweaty and grasping for reality only to believe these thoughts were the reality. I hate when that happens, when dreams become too real. No, I have not killed anyone. I think...)
West View into Xi Hai in the Huangshan Mountain Range.
© Andy Brandl / PhotonMix (2011)
Don´t redistribute / use on webpages, blogs or any other media without my explicit written consent.
A great view over the caldera with pico del Teide in the background.
Taken by Stephan Strange Photography for Strange-Works
The dichotomy: comfort in a wild land.
Life is a destructive pursuit—our position comes at the expense of so much. Yet so little of what we destroy is by our own hand. Seldom do we find ourselves behind the wrecking ball. Nowhere is this more true than in America. Opportunity—the payoff of so much destruction—abounds, but not all are worth what they cost: much has been sacrificed in our race for a cheaper and more plentiful material world.
The barbarians of development and commercialization are forever beating upon the gates of our last wild refuges. Yet much untouched wildness remains worth protecting and it is the commercial potential of these places that is our most valuable weapon in their defense.
Much about my wild experiences illustrates this central dichotomy of American wilderness. We made Seattle from California’s central coast in less than two hours and descended in comfort through the tumult of a building storm. We rented a car and sipped African coffee as sun-bloodied clouds broke like waves upon the great volcano. We entered the pitchest shadow of both Earth and old-growth forest ascending the southern limb of Tacoma to find a warm bed nestled along the Nisqually.
In the morning I woke and climbed a rain-soaked ribbon of slate. Winding through dense fog, I drove with no destination in mind. Here and there the curtain of pine opened to reveal a white and murky world beyond. Before the road reached the yawning scar of spring melts, I turned off at Christine Falls. Alone and cold, I made a few images of the falls. At moments like this, my gaze is cast back toward the hectic pace of daily life, back across the scar my own existence is bound to cut across the Earth. I wonder what life is like for a Douglas fir in the katabatic wind of the great mountain—bound for centuries to a small patch of rock where “nature red in tooth and claw” surely compares favorably with the sting of an eight-month winter. Is it paradise? Is it interminable? Privilege and immense opportunity aside, the singularity of life leaves so many questions behind.
Perhaps some romanticize a retreat to an anachronistic idea of what life should be. Perhaps some would abandon from modernity—but not I. The box is open and evils loosed. The central question now is, how can we ensure the persistence of conservation? How can we use what opportunity is given to better ourselves and others?
The itch to return just under my skin.
This is the question that faces parks today and it is asked not just from within: this weekend this topic sprung up in conversation online with friends. Industrial tourism both threatens and sustains the parks. I am loathe to wholly condemn it simply because I know I could not visit the parks without roads and without lodging—my days of backpacking are both behind and far in front of me. My hope is that park visitation is a positive experience for others as it is for me; that visiting the National Parks continues to build faith in its mission.
Landscape photography may have started for me as an attempt to collect a portfolio of beautiful images but it quickly turned into a method to lose myself somewhere beautiful. Words often fail when I try to express what it means to me to make a few photographs in some place as sublime as Mount Rainier National Park. Could I bottle and share an approximation of the feeling we would have seen our last box store built. Instead I can share only photographs and a few sentences.
I’m not after post-card images. The past two years of living in California, of exploring the coasts and the mountains I am left of sound opinion that a photograph’s power is in its ability to share a genuine moment. My younger self may have been disappointed with the fog that obscured whatever early morning color might have come from sunrise, but I was giddy. Fog means terrific, soft light. Fog means drama and the chance to focus on the world within a radius of some 100 feet.
The falls sent out a tongue of cold mist whose path was notable even above the fog and chill of night not yet shook loose from the fragrant trees. The irony of Rainier is that it is a volcano that flows everywhere with ice and water. Standing before the falls amongst centuries-old firs, one must remind himself that man and pine alike are just visitors to a perilous land.
Years ago, I had the pleasure of waiting for sunrise along the rain-kissed roadside cliffs of Tahoe and Glacier National Park. The world of rock and trees and fog are everywhere similar and are nowhere the same. Minarets of stone wring the very water from the air and wear the spoils. Vast armies of evergreens pour over the foothills and march onward into the permafrost until they can climb no more, twisted and stunted in the frigid breath of the mountain. Wherever I go, I hold the scent of falling water and pine resin in my mind and the itch to return just under my skin.
In the past 200 years we’ve transformed nearly all the wild places of the Earth. I fetishize wildness, I’ll admit it. I doubt, however, that my love for it is any deeper than the apathy that exists elsewhere towards its destruction; and, so, if there is any role for one amateur photographer and nature lover in the support of parks—I am only too happy to play my part. In these experiences, I constantly reflect on whether my coming to these places or my consumption of photography has done anything to contribute to their preservation. I never have an answer.
Sand pine scrub environment, with saw palmettos covering the ground, a unique habitat in South Florida.
MATSUSHIMA, MIYAGI, THE NIHON SANKEI, ( ONE OF THE 3 MOST SCENIC SPOTS IN JAPAN ) , 日本三景、陸奥、松島、松島佐勘、松庵
Model: Viktoria
Photo: Thomas Ohlsson Photography
www.thomasohlsson.com | 500px | Facebook | Flickr | Instagram
The museum, dedicated to Canadian Art, has the largest collection of Group of Seven paintings and a great collection of indigenous art. The museum has extensive trails alongs its pine forest and the Humber Valley watershed. Great for hiking.
In the highest parts of Troodos, over 1,100 metres above sea level, the black pine (Pinus nigra subsp. pallasiana) forms natural evergreen forests and which are priority habitats, i.e. in danger of disappearing on an EU level.