Voyages inside Portugal

The beauty of small things: a voyage into a garden’s microcosm

Posted on by Jules & Verne
Reading time 8 minutes

“The more we travel, the bigger the world gets”. Over the last couple of years we have taken advantage of our somewhat vague motto to talk about many different things. Christened during our round-the-world trip, it originally stemmed from our observation that no time in the world would be enough to visit all places worth visiting. After we came back, we realised this to be true even for our own country. Abandoning all hopes of closure, we expanded our definition of travelling to encompass other things we love: time-travelling to long-past history, mind-travelling on the comforts of solitude, soul-travelling with the wonders of friendship. All those wanderings however involved some degree of physical travelling. Not today. Today we won’t go beyond Jules’ parents backyard, in Ponte de Sor.

Over the course of countless weekends, I made a habit of sneaking into Jules’ parents garden to take pictures. Hunching over flowers and chasing out bugs, I discovered a whole new world. As I got closer and closer to my subjects, I uncovered layer after layer of that fascinating microcosm, like a never ending matryoshka doll. There is, quite literally, beauty in the small things.

A size comparison of the photographed insects, from the apparently huge dragonfly to the positively tiny pollen beetle

To see a larger version of any one of these images, click on them and select the ‘View full size’ option at the bottom.

Dragonflies were the first to catch my eye. Colourful and exuberant, they’re nature’s equivalent to an Italian sports car. They are also quite lenient to clumsy photographers, posing completely still for enough time for me to get close, fumble with camera settings and finally take the shot.

Two dragonflies (135mm @ 0.3x magnification, f6.4, 1/350s, ISO 200)
Dragonfly (123mm @ 0.2x magnification, f11, 1/180s, ISO 250)

Their confidence probably stems  from the fact they’re extraordinary flyers. The compound eyes – the largest of all insects – wrap around the head, allowing them to see in all directions. They are also able to fly in all six directions with the agility of a nimble helicopter. Once set after a prey, there’s little it can do to escape. Unlike a lion, that will mimic the zigzagging of a desperate gazelle, a dragonfly can predict the flight path of an escaping butterfly. Nineteen out of twenty times, the poor insect doesn’t even know what hit it.

Two dragonflies mating (123mm @ 0.2x magnification, f11, 1/180s, ISO 320)
Dragonfly mating (135mm @ 0.3x magnification, f5.6, 1/340s, ISO 200)

Still amidst the swarms of dragonflies, I shifted my attention to the wasps and bees buzzing around flowers. They were jittery and harder to photograph, but would leave me be as long as I didn’t get in the way of their nectar and pollen collection frenzy. Bees seemed particularly determined in hoarding as much pollen as possible, and would hover tirelessly from flower to flower until their hind legs couldn’t carry any more pollen.

Wasp (135mm @ 0.3x magnification, f6.4, 1/350s, ISO 200)
Bee collecting pollen from an oxeye daisy (100mm, ring light, f11, 1/250s, ISO 200)

Even the tiniest of flowers would hide a profusion of life. The daisies were not much larger than a fly but, hidden within a scale that’s barely visible to the naked eye, they fed a profusion of minuscule insects. The daisies themselves are far more complex than they seem: what we perceive as a single daisy – a bright yellow yolk surrounded by thin white petals – is actually a collective of hundreds of minute individual flowers.

Field of oxeye daisies (116mm, f5.6, 1/240s, ISO 200)
Tachinid fly on oxeye daisy (100mm, ring light, f11, 1/250s, ISO 500)

On its own, macro photography is already a peculiarly nerdy subject, as it involves lenses mounted the wrong way round and flashes made out of cans of Pringles. However, attempting to classify the photographed subjects added a whole new layer of geekiness to it.

Thrips on oxeye daisy (reversed 28mm @ 1.2x magnification, diffused flash, f16, 1/125s, ISO 200)
Pollen beetle hiding beneath an oxeye daisy (reversed 28mm @ 1.2x magnification, diffused flash, f16, 1/125s, ISO 200)

When my fingers got too cold to operate the shutter, I would take refuge next to the fireplace. With a hot chocolate on one hand and a mouse on the other, I would plunge into the internet looking for answers. Fortunately, these days one can easily find the work of those far more knowledgeable.

Field marigolds (35mm, f2, 1/5800s, ISO 200)
Unknown insect hiding inside a field marigold (reversed 28mm @ 1.2x magnification, diffused flash, f16, 1/125s, ISO 200)

After some sugar fueled research, I concluded with a hesitant level of certainty that I had encountered a long tongue tachinid fly, a few thrips and a pollen beetle sitting on oxeye daisies; an unknown tiny insect hiding inside a field marigold; and a cape daisy apparently free from any sort of bug.

Cape daisy (116mm, f5.6, 1/300s, ISO 200)
Cape daisy flowerhead, showing the many individual flowers (100mm, ring light, f11, 1/180s, ISO 3200)

If it was still cold outside, I wouldn’t venture past the porch’s potted plants. Fortunately, succulent plants only seem coarse and stocky at a first glance. A closer look will reveal a multitude of delicate symmetries and infinitesimal detail.

Succulent plant (35mm with 11mm extension tube @ 0.4x magnification, diffused flash, f8, 1/75s, ISO 200)
Succulent plant (35mm with 11mm extension tube @ 0.4x magnification, diffused flash, f16, 1/75s, ISO 200)

The garden looked vastly different throughout the year. During the summer months, the big weeping willow provided shade during the day and then framed stargazing once the sun set. In wintertime, devoid of any leafs, its thin naked branches patiently waited for the rain to go away and the sun to return.

Weeping willow tree at night (16mm, f1.4, 20s, ISO 1250)
Morning dew on weeping willow branch (reversed 28mm @ 1.2x magnification, diffused flash, f16, 1/125s, ISO 200)
Bud (reversed 28mm @ 1.2x magnification, diffused flash, f16, 1/125s, ISO 200)

Even within a single day, the garden would change dramatically. Early morning, still with my pajamas on, I would go out to see the dew that had settled during the night. Hunched over the ground and with the camera a few millimetres away from the plants, each tiny droplet of water seemed enormous, reflecting the wider world around it.

Morning dew (reversed 28mm @ 1.2x magnification, diffused flash, f16, 1/125s, ISO 200)
Morning dew (reversed 28mm @ 1.2x magnification, diffused flash, f16, 1/125s, ISO 200)
Morning dew (reversed 28mm @ 1.2x magnification, diffused flash, f16, 1/125s, ISO 200)

At this scale, colours are exuberant. Greens, pinks and purples have an almost garish intensity that we’re only used to seeing as a speckle against a more subdued backdrop.

Morning dew (reversed 28mm @ 1.2x magnification, diffused flash, f16, 1/125s, ISO 200)
Morning dew (reversed 28mm @ 1.2x magnification, diffused flash, f16, 1/125s, ISO 200)
The same flower later in the morning (reversed 28mm @ 1.2x magnification, diffused flash, f16, 1/125s, ISO 200)

At the smallest scale I could access, the backdrop would turn completely black, drowned by the flash light, but the plants would get even more exuberant.

A small winter flower (reversed 28mm @ 1.2x magnification, diffused flash, f16, 1/125s, ISO 200)
A small winter flower (reversed 28mm @ 1.2x magnification, diffused flash, f16, 1/125s, ISO 200)

One night I went back to the garden. While waiting for the lunar eclipse, I looked around my feet, knowing how fascinating was the microcosm lurking beneath the penumbra.

Full moon shortly before the penumbral lunar eclipse (200mm, f5.6, 1/10s, ISO 200)

Verne*

259 thoughts on “The beauty of small things: a voyage into a garden’s microcosm”

  1. First this made me laugh: “Colourful and exuberant, they’re nature’s equivalent to an Italian sports car.” Then I wondered how come you know there are only six directions, and which they are. And finally I just ooohed and aaaahed at so much beauty. Especially the succulents and the willow are extraordinary.

    Liked by 6 people

    Reply

    1. I kid you not: when I wrote that I thought “hum, I wonder what our favorite Slovenian living in Italy will have to say about that” 🙂 By the way, we still owe you a post on Porto: photos are done (nothing macro, the smallest thing is a 75 meter tower), text to be done soon(ish) -Verne

      Liked by 2 people

      Reply

      1. You are so right. It isn’t easy to get good macro images but once you start mastering the concepts, it is quite fun to do. I does stay quite challenging which is why I think it is so rewarding…

        Liked by 3 people

  3. Fantastic shots. I love the daisies and the succulent plant photos. The more I travel, the more I want to see the world….but there is always so much just there under our eyes, it is good to take time to look. Well done.

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

    1. Thanks Brad! And the pleasure is all ours: the nature posts at Under Western Skies are a constant reminder that we need to go back to the West Coast. Perhaps to the Northwest this time, as I have family in Washington. – Verne

      Liked by 2 people

      Reply

      2. Hey, that’s brilliant! I can show the various iterations of the text, photos and drawings that end up on these posts. Thanks for that, let me know if you have more awesome ideas for posts 🙂 – Verne

        Liked by 2 people

  9. As libélulas, as abelhas, as vespas, os escaravelhos… As margaridas, as calêndulas… As suculentas…

    O texto trouxe-nos um pouco do frenesim da vida que existe por debaixo dos nossos olhos e que mal notamos… a beleza e simplicidade das flores… As suculentas prendem os nossos olhos, há nelas algo de extraordinário, ou de bizarro… O lindo chorão… Todo o colorido e delicadeza das plantas orvalhadas… E tudo rematado com uma noite de lua cheia…

    Um poste cheio de beleza e sensibilidade.

    Parabéns aos autores.

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

  10. Breathtaking! I really don’t know what more to say… It proves there is beauty and wonder abound in the space around us and we need not travel far. Your words are equally as astounding. In time I would love to explore your concepts of time-travelling, mind-travelling and soul-travelling. 😊

    Liked by 3 people

    Reply

  12. Impressive array here – wow! I’m neither a plant nor an insect lover, but these could change my mind! Simply beautiful post, and that last shot of the moon took my breath away.

    Liked by 3 people

    Reply

  13. Gorgeous photos, such vivid colours – I especially like how you captured the beads of water on some of those plants, and the detail is just incredible. Who would have thought that a daisy looked that complex up close? A lovely reminder that sometimes adventure is closer than you think 🙂

    Liked by 3 people

    Reply

      5. Hmmm… I won’t be of much help then. The only place in Canada with zone 9 is lower BC… as in the city of Vancouver. If you want to know all about 3B, then I’m your ‘gal. 😉 My parents (north of Toronto) are zone 5 and my sister is in zone 7 (Toronto), so I know a bit about what grows there (all that we, unfairly, can’t grow here!), but that’s about the extent of my plant knowledge.

        Liked by 3 people

    1. Indeed! Although it seems that they are sometimes also referred by ‘tira-olhos’ (something I would loosely translate to ‘take-an-eye-out’). That one throws all the poetry out of the window 🙂 -Verne

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

    1. Wow… thanks! It’s one of our learnings after our RTW in 2015: our own backyard, be it our own country or just the small city were we were born, has as much to discover as the furthest country we’ve been into! – Jules

      Liked by 2 people

      Reply

      2. Jules has a couple of meetings in Trondheim, so we’ll build a week long trip around it. The plan is to spend a couple of days in Oslo and then rent a car to make our way up north. Any recommendations on places to visit between Oslo and Trondheim? We’re big fans of nature, so Rondane maybe?

        Like

      3. Rondane is a good idea, stille a lot of snow there I think. But you can also take a look at Røros (1.5 hours south of Trondheim), a beautiful village with old houses made of wood from 17th and 18th century. Have a nice trip!

        Like

  39. First I had to get over myself and how insects have always bugged me (pun intended). This time with the help of your lens and the story you created, I looked at them with a different eye and a different mind. I looked with beauty and wonder at this seemingly new world. Thanks for capturing and sharing!

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

    1. Thank you for reading! I too was not a big fan of bugs, but warmed up to them with macro photography. Flies, for instance, are a nuisance inside the house but wonderful little creatures out in the nature 🙂 -Verne

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

  48. I am totally not a bug person by any means. In fact, I would say, unequivocally, that I am an entomophobic. It’s ridiculous, I know. That said, however, I found your photographs and dialogue on the subject captivating. In the vastness of all that we are, we absolutely forget that there are unexplored worlds, of immense proportion right in our back yard. It’s a reminder of how something so vast can still be really small in the “grand scheme.” A reminder that we are a microcosm of “human insects” in an immensely small microcosm of a vast universe. Hopefully, whoever is looking down on us isn’t entomophobic. 🙂 Great post!

    Like

    Reply

    1. Thank you for your kind words, and for reading the post despite being entomophobic. Or maybe it was your aversion of bugs that compelled you to read it: personally I’m afraid of heights but often find myself climbing things 🙂 -Verne

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

Leave a reply to Brad Nixon Cancel reply