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Megan Limb October 23, 2019

Through the Photographer’s Eyes

August

As a photographer, I take pictures of the things I see and the emotion that those sights bring to me. I
often contemplate the emotion that my subject is feeling (whether that subject is human, animal, plant, or
inorganic). How can I tweak the camera just right to preserve that moment in time forever? After the picture is
taken, there is still much to be done. Selecting the pest shot, editing, more pondering, and more editing until I
feel that the picture is so much more than just a picture. It becomes an entity in and of itself – alive, even though
it takes no breath of its own. I believe that what is needed in this world is more people who take the time to
examine outside of themselves, and look for pieces of others everywhere, rather than focusing only on how they
can make their mark or find themselves in the world. I try to do this with the pictures I take. I try to find the
causes and effects of day to day life – the butterfly that starts a tornado.
This can sometimes be difficult to do in the small Iowa town in which I live. After all, the corn is food
for tomorrow, the cows become food in a month, so the cause and effect of these actions is quite limited and
uncomplicated. Perhaps that is why I choose to live here; because I love the challenge it poses. I feel as if I’ve
photographed everything in this town, but there is always something more to get out of it. Recently, with the
acquisition of a new macro lens, I’ve been able to get so many more pictures of close up scenes that no one
stops to look at. The insect world is great for seeing cause and effect play out. I see the bugs that prepare for
winter, and the ones that die because they didn’t. I watch spiders feast on unsuspecting bugs that got too close.
Recently though, I’ve taken a fascination with the Monarch Butterfly. I admire how far they go to migrate. They
travel thousands of miles every year, and while it takes three generations to take the journey annually, each
butterfly is strong and amazing on its own. Somehow, hundreds of butterflies know exactly where to go. Every
fall, without fail, they travel from the northern states to the southern, eventually getting to a forest in Mexico to
stay the winter and reproduce.
I love researching these marathon fliers, but even better than that is photographing them. With my lens, I
can see their effort. I can really look in detail at how their amazing wings can travel so far. This fall, I plan to
follow them. I’ve spent too much time in this little town, and I want an excuse to discover new place. I won’t go
all the way to Mexico, lacking a passport and cost alone deters the adventurer in me. If I travel to Texas though,
I can still see the crowds of butterflies coming form so far away. Maybe by following these butterflies, I will
learn more about myself than I could if I stayed in this small town. Since it will be my first time travelling so far
alone, I want to drive so I can stop wherever I want to photograph the world around me.

September

This time of year is perfect for beginning by preparations. I’ve planted milkweed and other monarch-
friendly plants in my garden. Each day, I spend hours in this garden, watching the monarchs come. With my
camera I see their beauty and capture it for others to observe. When the night comes, I stay awake, packing by
bags and researching their migration pattern in detail. These monarchs are so beautiful. They look so fragile,
they are so fragile. And yet, they fly hundreds of miles, over so much terrain. While I know that not every
butterfly makes it, as a species enough of them do to continue the migration, year after year.
While these butterflies do capture my attention so, they aren’t the only reason I’m leaving. I hope to
observe a different way of living than my own small-town style. This world is such a diverse and beautiful
place, yet I’ve only seen a small fraction of it in my days. I want to see how other people live; people that have
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never heard of my small town or who have never lived in a place where everyone not only knows your story,
but knows your family tree and everything else about you. It fascinates me to learn of other people, and I know
this trip can teach me. I want to photograph the world far outside my own backyard. For now though, I must
wait. The butterflies are preparing for their journey, and so must I.

October

The start of this month is all about preparing for my journey. I’m getting my van ready to go. Making
sure the engine is good, tires are rotated, spare is intact, etc. I don’t want anything stopping me but my own
inquisitiveness. I tell my neighbors about my travel plans, and when I will be returning. They are eager to see
the pictures that I bring back from this trip. I arrange to hang them in the local library in the weeks after I return.
I’ve always dreamed of leaving this small town. I suppose the only reason I haven’t yet is out of habit. Living in
my childhood home is free except for utilities and being here reminds me of being a child: pure, innocent, and
optimistic. I hope I retain this optimism as I journey further than I have ever been. I love my home, and I dream
of finding more places to love, through the lens of my camera rather than the screen of a computer or the page
of a book.
My preparations are nearly complete. I have money from freelance jobs, camping supplies from
campouts as a child, and food from my parents’ food storage that still resides in the basement. I’m glad they
prepared years ago; I suppose they’re still helping me out, even after they’ve both died. I have a route carefully
planned out to go from Iowa to Missouri to Oklahoma to Texas. Even though I know I will stray from this plan,
it’s good to at least know which state is south. Now that I know where I’m going, I have to actually go. This is
the part that I feared the most. I knew my home would beg me to stay, but the butterflies are calling to me. I
want to be there to welcome them to Texas.
This morning as I left, I was sad to see my small town disappear behind me. I know though that there is
so much more in front of me. It doesn’t seem like that at first as I drive past miles and miles of corn and cows.
These sights look like what I’ve been photographing for years. I need to find something new, so I press ahead to
Missouri. I am greeted by more small towns, but as I stop, each town has something unique about it. This is
precisely why I came here: so I could photograph anyone who is willing. Antique shops have become my new
favorite; there are so many stories behind each trinket I find. Talking with the people that run each store tells me
more about the town than I think I could learn if I lived here for a year. Each night before I go to sleep in the
backseat of my van, I reflect on what I’ve learned, and record it in my journal. These stories will be amazing to
look over once I get home.
My job as a photographer is to capture emotion. I find the most fulfillment in capturing the emotion of
love. In small town Iowa, this love was always between a man and a woman (at least from what I saw). So,
when I heard about a Pride parade that would be held in Oklahoma in a few days, I knew I had to go. I want to
capture emotion. I want to see love in a new way. I know my neighbors probably wouldn’t approve, and my
parents are provably disappointed in whatever way they can be. Unfortunately for them, they aren’t here and I
am.
When I cross the border to enter Oklahoma, I feel so much anticipation for the pictures that I will be
able to take. By this time, I’ve nearly filled three large memory cards, but I still have many more to use. I park
my van several blocks away from where the parade will be so that I can walk with the people. I talk with them
about their experiences: what brought them here, how they fee, what they’ve learned. Photographing people in
love is always something that I’ve enjoyed doing. Now, I get to do it with people I’ve just barely met. I avoid
telling much about my background, insisting that their stories are far more interesting and picture worthy. Each
couple I talk to finds strength in being together and being in this place. They’ve all faced so much struggle to
get here. In their eyes I see so much bravery. I admire these people for being who they are unashamedly. I had
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no idea what I took for granted growing up in such a small town. There is so much more the world has to offer.
So much love that is waiting to be shared. In one day, I fill a complete memory card with pictures of the parade
and pictures of the people there. That night, I fill several pages of my journal with people and stories I couldn’t
have dreamed until they were told to me.

November

As I pass the road sign that says, “Welcome to Texas”, so many emotions wash over me. I finally made
it here. During the course of this long road trip, I have learned more about the world that I live in. Now my time
is focused on being here for the Monarchs. I park my van near a butterfly garden to get as many pictures as I
can. The weather feels as if I never left Iowa, aside from a slightly increased humidity. I understand firsthand
why the butterflies come here. They are seeking the warmth and company that Texas offers. Later this year,
they’ll go to Mexico, but for now, we are together in this place.
I talk with the owners of the butterfly garden about their experience with Monarchs. Though I’ve spent a
few months reading and observing these butterflies, the owners have done it for their whole lives. As I listen to
them describe the migration of this species, I see such excitement in their eyes. That elation returns when I
begin photographing the butterflies that are just beginning to arrive. Some of these Monarchs might be the ae
ones that stopped in my garden not too long ago. I know I can’t be sure because I didn’t do any tagging, but I
feel as though I recognize them.
That night, I whisper to the butterflies about how I’ve changed on this journey. I know we’ve both come
such a long way to be here. I put out a dish of sugar water before I go to sleep. When I wake in the morning, I
immediately reach for my camera and slowly exit the van. Just as I had hoped, there are several butterflies
drinking from my dish. I put the macro lens on my camera and capture their relief at having sustenance after
travelling so far. These butterflies have given me so much, I’m glad I can return the favor in some small way.

December

There aren’t nearly as many butterflies now, so I reluctantly begin to pack my bags. I loved the time I
was able to spend her, yet I realize that my home is calling me back. I never intended to stay in Texas, too much
of me is still in small-town Iowa. Because of this road trip though, there are also pieces of me in Missouri,
Oklahoma, and Texas. I never thought about how it would feel to have myself stretched across a whole country.
I think the word that describes it best is bittersweet. This is the tone of the last pictures that I take in Texas.
Driving back, I don’t stop nearly as much as the way there. I feel as if I’ve seen these roads before, and I
have. I begin to impatiently await being home in time for the festive holiday season. There is plenty to do when
I get back: edit my pictures, decorate the house, bake and deliver cookies to neighbors, and so much more The
closer that I get to home, the more I long for it. As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder.
“Welcome to Iowa”. I really do feel welcome when I see that sign. Snow has begun to gently fall as I
continue down smaller and smaller roads to get to my home. When I finally pull into the driveway, I sit for a
while behind the wheel, so glad to be in a place so familiar and relaxing to me. I watch snowflakes fall onto the
windshield and melt on the glass because the defrost is still on. Each of these snowflakes is unique and
exquisite. I take out the key and continue to observe, not quite ready to go inside yet. My camera is resting in
the passenger seat next to me, so I turn it on and get out of the van, leaving my supplies still there. Now it’s just
the snowflakes, my camera, and me. With my macro lens still on, I’m able to zoom in and capture the individual
crystals of snow on my dark glove. This is why I am a photographer: the perspective that I see in the world. I
want to share this perspective with others.
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In the following days, I am again caught up in my photographs. This time with editing. I want to be sure
that each picture tells the story to the observer that I want it to say. I divide my pictures in to three distinct
collections: the butterflies, the people, and other nature. When I finish each album, I share it with my neighbors
in the library. I’ve been displaying my pictures there for years, and at first, I receive so much positive feedback.
Everyone is congratulating me on the pictures of the butterflies. When the pictures of the pride festival go up
though, my neighbors don’t talk to me about it.
I knew that it would be controversial to display the pictures, but I didn’t know this is how people would
react. I had hoped to start conversation, not terminate it. Still, I decorate my house and prepare cookies for any
carolers that drop by in the coming weeks. But no carolers come. I hear them go to houses nearby, but no one
stops to sing to me. Since I have no use for a few extra dozen cookies, I start bringing plates of cookies to my
neighbors. They either don’t answer the door or say that they already have too much sugar in the house for their
kids.

January

I don’t really understand why they do it, other than maybe they don’t know how else to react. The Pride
pictures have long since been replaced with snowflakes, but my neighbors’ hearts are still just as cold. One
morning I was awoken by loud knocking on my door. I went outside to see who was there. On my doorstep was
a print of one of my Pride pictures captioned with the words “You are one of Them”. I looked around to see
where this offering had come from, but I saw no one. I returned into my home and stared at the picture of two
people in love. They have so much more courage than me I think to myself. I remember my road trip as a tear
falls down my face.
Whenever I go shopping, the clerk barely talks to me anymore. People only say the bare minimum
around me. This wasn’t how I wanted this to turn out. I had hoped that my pictures could change this town. That
maybe with the start of a new year they might be willing to gain a new perspective. I realize now that the people
in Oklahoma must have felt when their friends rejected them. When their families turned them away for being
who they were. I hope that I learned enough from those strong men and women to cope now that I’ve stood up
for the love that I captured with my camera.