Until this week I'd never heard of Good Riddance Day, though apparently it's been around for a while. Observed annually in Times Square, people "celebrate" by relegating to the dustbin unpleasant, unhappy, negative events from the past year.

Good Riddance, 2025 took place last Sunday.

Unquestionably, rain falls into everyone's lives; sometimes it's more like a torrential downpour. In no way do I trivialize such difficulties. However, life is a gift to be cherished, and there are always bright moments even in the darkest hours. I prefer to bid farewell to the old year graciously and with appreciation.

As always, there have been many special photographic moments. Reminiscing about the visual souvenirs I've added to my memory bouquet over the past 12 months, I chose a few to share with you:

About a dozen years ago, sea stars all along the west coast began dying from a mysterious disease. It progressed rapidly, wiping out tens of millions of them. During previous visits to Oregon's Bandon Beach, I don't recall having seen a single sea star. This year, however, I encountered the beautiful creatures in abundance. They're making a comeback. I spent a few hours one morning at low tide photographing nothing else: happy stories of recovery and renewal.

The wildflower crop this past spring in Grand Teton National Park was spectacular. I caught the Arrowleaf Balsamroot just as the blooms were opening and before insects had a chance to begin nibbling on the leaves: the flowers were pristine. Sensational fog one morning added zest to the landscape, and the winds for which this area is notorious occasionally backed off enough to make it easier to work.

Speaking of fog, in spite of its sometimes highly unpredictable nature, when things work out it can add such a wonderful je ne sais quoi to a photograph. If you're a regular reader you know I have a fondness for Mount Moran; to my eye it's the jewel of the Teton Range. This image from last June is one of my all-time favorite captures featuring Moran. Partially shrouded and looking quite mysterious, it's a good example of how magical fog can be.

New Hampshire was my home for many years. Though I wasn't born there and am no longer a resident, in many ways I still think of it as home, and the White Mountains are my piece of heaven on earth.

The intense crimsons, maroons, wines, and scarlets for which New England is known during the autumn foliage show are a signature sight. I'm always looking for different ways to convey the story of those radiant reds. This autumn, a single "Magenta Moment" in Pinkham Notch caught my eye.

Forests can be tricky to photograph: there's a lot going on so they tend to read as overwhelming and chaotic. Simplification is a useful tool. Here, the lone vibrant red maple anchors the shot; the other trees are arranged in the frame to support that focal point.

Another of my favorite places in New Hampshire is the lovely Formal Garden in Portsmouth's Prescott Park. My husband and I were married there, so aside from the fact that it's a beautiful, relaxing spot, it has sentimental significance. I stop by whenever I'm back in town. On this damp morning in early October, steady rainfall intensified the colors - not only in the blooms and foliage, but the brick sidewalk, too. Getting down low with the camera emphasized the saturated hues and accentuated the leading lines, while eliminating distractions (there were cars parked in the street on the other side of the white decorative fence).

Especially during foliage season in Grand Teton National Park, I tend to avoid locations like Oxbow Bend and Schwabacher's Landing. If you're familiar with the park, you know both of these spots offer iconic views. They also tend to be mobbed, particularly at sunrise, not to mention over-photographed. Still, I had something in mind I wanted to try at Oxbow Bend, so that's where I ended up one morning when the forecast called for some cloud cover.

Any time I go to uber-popular spots in autumn, I arrive very early. By that I mean at least two hours before sunrise. Even though a lot of people tend not to stray very far from the parking area, I don't want to risk losing the location from which I need to work. Show up first and it's not an issue.

The other reason I'm an early bird is because the experience of watching the dawn unfold in that park is special for me, and never gets old. At the Oxbow I often set up on the water's edge of the Snake River. Once my gear is ready to go, I spread out a sheet of landscaping cloth so I can sit on the ground, looking and listening while I wait. There are millions of stars. I hear the occasional rustling of wings from an eagle flying over my head, and the music of bugling elk. As the inky darkness begins to loosen its grip, outlines of majestic Mount Moran appear: a dramatic, massive silhouette. It's magical.

On this morning it looked like there might be a break in the clear skies which had been stubbornly persistent for days. Rain was scheduled to arrive a few hours later. The cloud cover was more aggressive than expected, though, mostly obscuring the horizon to the east opposite the mountains and suppressing sunrise color. The composition I had in mind wasn't going to pan out. After an hour or so, most of the people who'd come to photograph the show ended up leaving.

With no alternate location in mind, I figured I'd hang around and see if anything would happen. This turned out to be serendipitous. Eventually, a sliver of sunlight found an opening through the overcast, managing to illuminate only the line of aspens along the shore. Moran remained in full shadow, as did the sky above and behind it. The contrast was dazzling; the trees appeared almost incandescent. The effect didn't last long, but it was truly spectacular.

Looking up from my camera, I realized I was the only one still there.

Though the Teton Range dominates, in the national park I'm also drawn to scenes that don't feature the mountains. This image, also made in October, underscores how important it is to be aware of everything that's going on around you. This is not at all what I planned on shooting that morning, but I make it a point to actively scan in all directions before and while the sun is coming up, because you never know what might happen.

This scene unfolded suddenly about 90 degrees from where my camera was pointing; I had to react quickly. I had time to switch to a wider lens, compose, and capture a single shot before the color faded.

Turns out that was time enough.

Nature photography is my primary focus, but that's not all I shoot. Special moments from 2025 include architectural abstracts I made in Iowa City on the campus of my alma mater, the University of Iowa.

A few of the buildings in which I spent a lot of time while a student were damaged beyond repair by a serious flood in 2008. Each has since been rebuilt (further away from the Iowa River) and reopened. This was the first opportunity I've had to photograph them.

Perhaps I'm drawn to architecture as subject matter because Chicago - the birthplace of the modern skyscraper and renowned for its architecture - is my home city. Though I have nothing against capturing buildings in a representational (recognizable) way, in the past few years I've gotten more interested in creating abstract imagery. Though it can be challenging, it's enjoyable and a great creative exercise. My time in Iowa City was limited but I packed as many sites into the schedule as it was possible to cover.

There was much more to the year, of course, but these are some of the highlights.

“Photography takes an instant out of time, altering life by holding it still.”
~ Dorothea Lange

The images photographers make are tangible keepsakes that really do freeze time. Our photographs capture moments that can never be recreated. They tell stories, not only about the world as we see it, but about ourselves - because every photograph is, in some way, autobiographical.

I cherish the pieces of 2025 which have been added to my memory bouquet, and look forward to the moments I'll capture in the new year.

We'll drink a cup of kindness yet
For the sake of auld lang syne.

Cheers, everyone.

Happy New Year!