Queen Ann’s Lace. There’s so much of it this year, filling the ditches of every rural road. It catches the sunlight as we drive by, to the point of distraction.

Queen Ann’s Lace. When the small is made large, a spread of water droplets appear and the lace turns into petals with golden orange anthers.

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I remember when I first heard the term ‘macro photography’. It sounded like it would be something big. It is, and it isn’t.

It’s the world of small made big.

We often hear these days how technology is damaging our perception, and it’s frequently the case. But it can also aid discovery. I upload a photo from my camera to view it in Adobe Lightroom and/or Photoshop and discover something my eyes failed to see.

As with so much in this life, it’s a paradox, but no matter how we look at it, it’s fair to say that what we don’t see is immeasurably more than what we do see. It’s often where the magic lies.

It’s been a blessing and a curse, this longing of mine. In photography, that means a lens, a rather expensive one.

Willingly, I made the investment and bought the 105mm Micro-NIKKOR lens for almost $1,000.00. It wasn’t a whim; the mirrorless camera is the latest ‘tech thing’, which means DSLR lenses will slowly lose favour in production. It felt like I had to buy it while it was still available.

And then, this Spring, the worst thing happened: I dropped it when I was trying to attach it to my camera. We were hiking in the forest. It landed on Canadian Shield granite. My heart stopped. When I picked it up, I could hear the loose parts clattering within. I reached out to Nikon about repair, and the estimated cost was over $500.00, with no promises.

Gerbera Daisy. Our perennials are abundant this year, likely with all the rain. They’re beautiful, filling your view as if to say they’re all there is to see.

Gerbera Daisy. In macro view, there’s even more to see. What strikes me is the way droplets line the edges of a petal, like they perched in there tiny places with intention.

As you can see from the images I’m sharing here, I found another way. What did we ever do before YouTube? When it comes to learning how to do something, it’s a vast instructional database.

I had no idea you could capture macro images by reversing a lens; learning about it reminded me of a high school science class, the one where the teacher explained how convex and concave lenses work and then you had to draw them, complete with angles crisscrossing from them like laser beams.

So, for a fraction of the cost, I purchased a Macro Reverse Ring kit on Amazon, which helps me turn a lens around and attach it that way to the camera base. (A quick side note: I’m not earning anything here. This is purely FYI.)

Hydrangea. My favourite flowers. In early summer they’re everywhere, some with blooms so large and heavy, they bow down to the soil to rest after a rainfall.

Hydrangea. Up close. Like Queen Ann’s Lace, each tiny petal has so much going on. Also in this shot there’s a little red insect, so tiny I didn’t know it was there.

Learning is like that, discovering something for the first time that opens up a new approach, a new thought, a new view. I would’ve saved myself a lot of money and grief had I taken the time to learn this simple trick.

It’s not a perfect solution—for one thing, the camera’s electronics don’t work when the lens is reversed—and it’s likely that the gorgeous (and expensive) macro lens would’ve done more in the long run, but who knows? Maybe not, at least for what I want to do.

Which is, in the end, all about seeing more of what makes me wonder. And then, maybe, helping others do the same.

There’s magic in that.