imediaSmith photography, writing, production.

I've photographed this very special festival for a decade and wholeheartedly support its work for children's healthcare in our remote valley. The 2024 edition of High Mountain Hay Fever was, in many reviews, the best in the bluegrass festival's 20-year run. Acts ranged from innovative Portland, Oregon, band Fog Holler to classic grass with Ralph Stanley II. All photographs are ©2024 Gregory Smith; all rights reserved. They are licensed for uses by High Mountain Hay Fever, but others must either use the shopping cart here or contact greg@imediasmith.com to negotiate a license before any use or copying in any medium. NOTE: This is an edit from some 4,000 captured images. You can see a broader selection - 464 pictures - at https://www.imediasmith.com/gallery/2024-High-Mountain-Hay-Fever-Bluegrass/G0000IBeiUq5f3uc/C0000d5fwWfiMqu8

My roots grew in Dektol and hypo. For half my career, I maintained a black-and-white darkroom. I learned to see in tone before I ever truly understood color. And that same sense of light, dark and the gray in between underpins all I do – whether working with film or digital, millions of colors or only shades of a single tone.

I have a problem. I feel compelled to paddle most any body of water I can find – from the salt marshes of the May River in South Carolina to the Grape Creek headwaters of Colorado's Lake DeWeese – to make pictures of birds and whatever else looks interesting. I spend hours, packed into my kayak cockpit with photographic gear, feeding sand gnats, mosquitoes, green-head flies, and occasionally, a fish gullible enough to gobble a lure trolled behind. From my low perch in the water, I see marsh, sky and all manner of wildlife from the perspective of a dabbling duck. I'm entertained by eagles and egrets. I hang out with herons and marsh hens. I seek out sparrows, wrens and rails. I dance with dolphins and cram full idle minutes photographing fiddler crabs. All this unfolds before the impressive bow of my simple craft. I think my problem stems from an intense desire to help others understand the incredible experience offered by the critters who live in these places. They are precious. Most are in trouble. And their value is much greater than the value of the real estate that surrounds them. -- greg smith

An inveterate seeker of knowledge, I'm at home on campuses and in classrooms. I thrive among students and educators. Their focus on teaching and learning draws my eye to capture moments that define their exploration, discovery and growth.

The third weekend of June, Salida, Colo., celebrates the Arkansas River with FibArk. Events range from freestyle kayaking to the Hooligan Race of makeshift rafts to the two-dozen-mile downriver race that got the festival started some 80 years back. There's an arts fair, live music and a carnival, as the downtown riverfront fills every evening.

For years, I've enjoyed the effect of "dragging the shutter" when photographing flowing water. It tests my cameras, lenses, tripod and patience. It calls for attention to detail and challenges me to visualize how a camera technique will translate to the finished image. I look for peace within the aggressive approach of gravity to water.

If you spend enough time paddling salt marshes and the headwaters of mountain lakes – and I do – you see all manner of cool things. I've always thought a found feather a special gift. And a few years back, I began trying to capture the beauty of such gifts – as they are presented to me.

Several hundred gun-rights supporters marched with their weapons down Main Street in Westcliffe, Colo., as part of an Independence Day Parade. Many brought their children. A few brought animals. A flyer promoting the armed march was circulated throughout southern Colorado, calling on "patriots" to bring their guns – especially the "evil black ones" – and display them in the annual parade.

Each year, in early April, as Monarch Mountain nears the end of its ski season, dozens of brave and/or crazy paddlers answer an invitation to try their skills on spring runoff before it melts. Monarch workers build a flume of snow down the Freeway run to a mound with a carved, lined pond. Racers compete in heats, with the first to reach the far end of the pond named the winner.

This is a steadily building collection of pictures depicting trees hugging each other, hugging rocks, being hugged and/or needing a good hug. My definition is loose. My love for trees is tight. All images are ©Gregory Smith; all rights reserved.