62 Nebraskaland • October 2019
By Gerry Steinauer
A TATTERED ROSE
Arriving late on a June evening, a quick reconnaissance of
our South Dakota farm revealed a patch of wild rose in prime
bloom in the prairie behind the house. I made a mental note
to return later with camera in hand.
That night, however, rain, cold and wind set in for two
days and my camera stayed in its bag. The morning of the
third day broke with still leaden skies, but with no rain
falling. I grabbed my camera and made my way to the roses.
Ah, the disappointment. The roses had not weathered
the storm well, their petals were torn and frayed and fading,
their anthers wet and withering. In other words, they did not
appear photogenic, but having been cooped up, I had a strong
urge to "photograph something." I snapped a few quick
photos of the tattered roses.
Typically, I would have just walked away from such an
imperfect subject, as, like most wildflower photographers, I
seek only the freshest, most colorful and well-composed of
blooms and avoid the less than beautiful.
Let me describe the lengths I will go to capture the ideal
wildflower photo, one that will make Nebraskaland readers,
or my friends, say "Oh, that's nice." Often I will walk a prairie
or woodland for half an hour searching for the "perfectly-
arranged" flower or flower cluster to photograph, then wait
until evening or come back the next morning when the
sunlight is mellow and prime for picture taking. If a flower
is shaded, I sometimes use a reflector to illuminate it with
warm, appealing sunlight. And lastly, I frequently remove
overhanging grass blades, specs of dirt from a petal, or other
distracting objects that might taint an image.
While in the rain-soaked prairie, I held no illusions that my
rose photos would be praise-worthy. Later, however, when
I viewed them on my computer, I liked them. The flowers,
though weather-beaten and worn, were interesting; they had
character; and they told a story of a storm endured, likely a
more interesting tale than if unblemished.
The lesson of my tattered rose: perhaps in my photographic
endeavors, I should more often seek the typical, the flawed,
the weathered as, in reality, that's what nature is.
THE LAST STOP
PHOTO
BY
GERRY
STEINAUER
