Lupine Tree

I’ve been doing landscape photography for three years now, and somehow, I’d never captured a single wildflower photo. It gnawed at me, quietly, for almost a year. Every spring that passed without one just made it worse. This year, I made a promise: No more waiting, I had to get the shot.

With spring in full bloom, I headed to North Table Mountain just outside of Oroville. I’d heard the wildflowers there were unmatched, and the timing was perfect. The air was crisp, the scent of damp soil and wild blossoms drifting with the breeze. I wandered through goldenfields and clusters of lupine, the ground soft beneath my boots, my camera snapping constantly. Still, nothing quite clicked.

As the sun began to dip and I made my way back, I accepted that maybe I’d leave with “almost” shots again.

Then I saw it.

As I was on the phone with my wife, almost back to my car, it called to me. A single oak, silhouetted against a glowing sky, standing in a sea of purple-blue lupines. The wind whispered through the grass. No people. Just quiet birdsong and that sweet, earthy scent of spring. I told my wife, "sorry I'll call you back, I have to take a photo." I crouched low, heart racing, and framed the shot. The petals shimmered in the golden light. My finger hovered—click.

Three years, countless miles, and I finally found the photo I’d been chasing. Or maybe, it found me, right at the end of the trail.