The Photography of Dr. Jeff Harper

I had a week of vacation in February 2015 so I decided to take a couple of days and drive the two hours north to the mythical village of Findhorn, on the Moray coast.  I say mythical because during the high times of the 1960's hippie days (daze?), stories from and about 'Findhorn' (actually the Findhorn Foundation, one of the first intentional communities . . . essentially a commune) played large in the mythopoetics of the counter culture.  Tales of giant vegetables, communing with extra terrestrials, and telepathy were often associated with 'Findhorn.'  But Findhorn is also a quaint village and one-time major sea port.  I stayed in the 287 year old Crown and Anchor Inn.  Lovely.

I was very lucky with the weather . . . well, the light , anyway.  The temperature was around 36f (3c) in the daytime and 32f (0c) at night.  Good fro February.  Findhorn village was a treat to photograph.

Years of salty wind has weathered the town.

I scouted the town for lighting conditions before I brought my camera out (Fuji X-T1 with 56mm f1.2 lens).

The colors and textures of the aging surfaces were beautiful.  I enjoyed this door with the home-made vent holes.

I took a walk out on the 300 year old quay to get a look at Findhorn.

Time, weather, sea water, and an invisible hand . . . .

I have no idea how old these quay stanchions are . . . hundreds of years?

Too much color and texture.

The village of Findhorn has a lot of Old World charm.

Lovely old stone buildings with slate roofs.

I enjoyed walking around in the quiet streets and lanes, looking for color and pattern.

The house next to the Crown & Anchor Inn was lovely.

Although it was late Winter, everything was trimmed in Findhorn Village and waiting for Spring.

In these far northern latitudes it seems like every hour is the golden hour for photography.

You could make a fine arts book on these small Scottish coastal village houses.  Such a warm and lovely feeling.

The austere rough stone masonry has a beauty all its own.  I like it . . . it is so organic.

Nice color at this artist's house.

The main avenue in Findhorn makes a loop . . . and comes back around to this church.

Along the end, and behind the town of Findhorn is the North Sea.

I wasn't the only person out along the sea coast . . . but this man was a bird watcher . . . he had strong binoculars only.

I went to the beach several times, once along this foot path.

The sun came and went all day long.  The beach access though the dunes.

Very handy.

The inviting North Sea.

The wind was so strong it blew the sand from around any pilings around. . .

FINDHORN FOUNDATION - the place hippie dreams are made of.Although Findhorn village was sweet and quaint, I had come to pay my respects, and to personally see for myself, the famous Findhorn community, or commune as we hippies thought of it in the late 1960s, now known as the  Findhorn Foundation.

I thought it funny how few expectations I had about Findhorn  before coming here.  I only knew of the stories of a community in Scotland that had people who could communicate with the nature spirits . . . who rewarded them with giant vegetables that grew out of unfertile, rocky soil.

This could be anywhere in Jackson or Josephine counties in Oregon . . . hippie architectural chic.

Findhorn community was a trailer park (caravan park in the UK) before it was an intentional community and ecovillage.  There are still some wonderful old trailer homes dotted around the property.  This one has the requisite gnome and Beatles homage display. I'm glad there are trailer homes here . .  if one is a renunciant, living a spiritual life, it doesn't really matter what you live in . . . and better to recycle than to cut trees or use other energy sources to construct a house . . .

On the other hand, there were clusters of these rather Scandinavian eco-condos around the property as well.  This is a part of the Findhorn Ecovillage, I think.  I didn't get a map at the visitors center.

It was a beautiful morning . . . the earliest signs of impending Spring were everywhere.

There were plenty of unconventional structures everywhere . . . .

It was nice to see that there is another spiritual traveller on this planet who will return again because of attachments to fast and cool cars.  Yes, this is a 1953 MG-TD.  Findhorn is NOT a monastery.

There are many interesting things to look at around Findhorn.  The old sits beside the new and the funky beside the modern.

The '60s counter culture aesthetic abound.

The Findhorn Foundation runs a program of spiritual and therapeutic workshops throughout the year.  I am assuming these come from a sensitivity training workshop, but I am at a loss as to how the therapist/facilitator uses them.  Very photographically interesting, however.

This is the current Findhorn Foundation program as of April 1, 2015.

I hoped these were where they were as a result of a Graffiti and The Self workshop.

Workshop activity or resident youth protestation, or both?

I'm glad I had my camera with me . . .

I am in the habit as seeing human artifacts as just that: the work of an individual person on a particular day and time.  I have this feel about almost everything I see and touch that is of human origin.

The sales office trailer home for the new, yet to be started, condominium project - £78,000.oo for a one bedroom flat.

Time and weather.

A good place for  old friends to meet and shoot the spiritual breeze . . . some time ago.  How about fixing this one up . . .

I decided to see if I could find my way from the Ecovillage through the dunes and on to the North Sea.  There must be a path.

Indeed, there was a beautiful path though an extraordinary wood.

The woods are managed, not wild.

A quiet wood.

If you erect a wind power generating tower near a hippie commune you have to expect the graffiti is going to be cosmic.

The wooded path led me through the dunes.

The Scots are great about providing well marked trails through nature . . . nature walks everywhere.

Down to the beach . . . again.

The dunes were sandy, but the beach was a stretch of small pebbles for five miles all the way to Burghead.

A stones' throw from the spiritual community were these WWII bunkers that had been eroded into the sea . . . I guess there might be a silver lining to this sea level rise . . . .

WWII bunker . . .

BurgheadI spent a good part of each day exploring the other seaside villages in the area.  This is Burghead . . . a village built on a small peninsula.  The town is surrounded on three sides by the North Sea.

Fishermen's houses in Burghead . . . a very windswept and austere town.

Burghead harbour looking west from up on the promontory park at the end of the town.

The views from the Burghead Visitors Center looking east were scrumptious.  I could barely stand up or hold the camera steady in the 80-90kph wind!.

The Burghead Visitors Center marks the end of the peninsula . . . along with a monument marking the site of an ancient Pictish fort dating back thousands of years.  In fact, Burghead is believed to be the city Castra Alata in Ptolemy's early geography of the British Isles.

Not much is left of the Pictish fort as a result of the harbour construction in the 19th century.  The ocean views here were fantastic. The wind was incredible!

These homes were situated out on the unsheltered tip of the Burghead peninsula. 

Every house in Burghead has this view of Findhorn Bay.

I drove through the little sea port town of Hopeman on my way to Lossiemouth.  I loved the place names in Moray.

Although most of the coast is rocky, there are are also beautiful beaches around Hopeman.

The sea and beaches here were beautiful, but there were many low flying jet planes near Findhorn and Lossiemouth, both of which have major British Airforce bases nearby.

The road into Lossiemouth passed yet another golf course.  Yes, Scotland is the home of golf and you see golf courses everywhere you go.  I tried to go to that lighthouse you can see in the background but failed to find the access road!  I was disappointed.

Lossiemouth has been a settlement or town for over 1000 years.  It also has a fine, photogenic harbour.

The city fathers of Lossiemouth did a fine of developing the old warehouses along the quay into shops and restaurants.

Lossiemouth harbour is protected by mammoth sea walls.  The North Sea is a wild sea.

A wonderful old launch and it's reflection at rest in Lossiemouth Harbour.

A surreal Lossiemouth breakwater holding back the pulses of the North Sea.

Many beautiful scenes to see . . .

I stopped in at a picturesque 19th century hotel for a delicious double latte.

There was a nice beach just outside of Lossiemouth.

Lossiemouth beach access.

I hated to leave Lossiemouth and vowed to return one day to explore it more thoroughly.  But I had a few stops marked on the map to see before it got dark . . .and I didn't want to be out on the small roads on my way back to Aberdeen in the dark.

My next stop was the rural Birnie Kirk, founded in 1040, but burned and sacked many times. The structure you see here is still the original 12th century construction.

The old folk had no trouble accepting the fact that we would be bones one day . . . and our dearly departed would be bones too.  I've seen these skull and bones grave stones throughout Scotland.

Although it was a beautiful (but cold) day when I was there, the moss and lichen on these grave stones indicate a wetter climate.

Birnie Kirkegaard (that's 'churchyard' in Danish) was a beautiful place to contemplate my mortality.

Ironically, although it was mid-winter, the first signs of an approaching Spring I had seen this year were these snow drops blooming on the graves at Birnie Kirke.

I really enjoyed hustling my little boy-racer Juke NISMO around the twisty country lanes of Moray.  It is the perfect car for this purpose . . . it even has torque-vectored AWD for when the road gets slick.  Fun, fun, fun.

A perfect mid-February winter's day in Moray, Scotland.

The Amazing Spynie PalaceSometimes you get lucky.  While driving home to Aberdeen on a small shire road I spotted a sign that directed me up a drive to Spynie Palace.  I arrived at this gate house and parked.

I had no idea what to expect as I walked up the tree lined gravel road.  It was a perfect day.

I began to make out the shape of something though the trees . . . .

At last  . . .  I got a good glimpse of the palace tower.  Wow.

There it is.  Wow!  Spynie Palace, also known as Spynie Castle, was the fortified seat of the Bishops of Moray for about 500 years. The founding of the palace dates back to the late 12th Century.

Talk about serendipity! Spynie  Palace has a fabulous history . . . "Ruxby, an agent provocateur of Elizabeth I of England, who had tried to lead Mary, Queen of Scots, into a plot with English Roman Catholics, was imprisoned in Spynie Castle in 1566 for eighteen months.

The palace is surrounded by spectacular Scottish countryside.

The clear light, deep shadow, and color of sky and castle were perfectly coordinated for these wonderful photographs. 

I enjoyed walking around the tower thinking about what would make an interesting angle for a photograph.  I didn't have to think too much . . . . I'm glad I had my new polarizing filter with me to try out.

There was a visitors' center . . . closed except for the toilets (thank goodness!).

This was the only decorative element on the otherwise austere tower structure.

Spynie Palace was built in many phases over it's 900 year history.  The chapel (left) and other structures were under restoration by Historic Scotland, which I am a member.

Chapel and quarters.

Partially restored chapel and former main gate.

The Moray countryside in winter on a clear, cold day.

I took hundreds of great photos here . . . but, alas, I can only share a few of them here.  It was a magic afternoon in Scotland.

I'll be back in the summer to be able to go inside the tower.

I made a wrong turn, as if pulled by an inviable force, into a little village and suddenly stopped beside a dilapidated corrugated shed . . . my obsession!

I made it home before dark, and this big rain cloud . . . . Another memorable couple of days in Scotland.