I want to preface this article with a disclaimer. I’m not stating anything that is not already known or considered by the respective legal teams, and all content is MY PERSONAL OPINION, which is still my constitutional right to express. I’ve been watching the banter about the Alto herd for some time, in both Facebook groups, and had to finally step away because it had become so convoluted and complex, at times outright hostile. Where I draw the line and feel I need to speak out is when good people in this community become targets. About two years ago, when the mayor in Roswell banned all rescues from animal control and they started euthanizing 10 per day, those of us who were working to give the impounded animals a chance at life launched a national campaign. His office was flooded and he was forced to rescind his decision. That was the good part of social media . . . when it comes to animal welfare, pleas for help go viral very quickly. The bad and unanticipated result, was that it also drew in all the extremists that give “animal advocacy” a bad name . . . PETA is only one example of an advocacy group gone very wrong. These groups and individuals continued to ‘hang on’ and cause divisiveness among those who were actually physically there and working for reform. They had never been to the state, let alone the community, but they insisted on “directing” and causing havoc. To some extent, I see a similar scenario with our community’s efforts with the Alto horse herd, and sadly they have also drawn in some members of the community and caused a major rift. The Roswell animals did not then, and even today, do not have the community support that the Alto horses have. There is a lot more damage that can be done to everything we hold dear in our community unless we step back a little, get ourselves out of the way, and evaluate priorities. For the sake of our horses, we may need to “adjust” our dream, not give up on it, but fine tune what we want as an outcome. These are the key points in a nutshell, as I see them: THE “WILD” LABEL . . . seems to be the major issue at hand, and what the legal battle is about. A friend of mine first told me about the Alto herd a couple of years ago, so after the Little Bear fire, I went looking for them for the sake of photos (I was writing for Vamanos at that time). It is truly breathtaking to see them move quietly through the forest . They were grazing in the little patches of meadow...
Today is my mom’s birthday and I usually write a little story about a memory we shared as a way to honor her. Instead, I find myself grieving the loss of my brother, who was killed in a plane crash yesterday morning, and as I’ve done so many times over the years, I’m looking through the wonderful photo albums my mom spent a lifetime putting together, and finding a little bit of peace and comfort, at least enough to want to wake up in the morning. George was four years younger. He was born in Philadelphia, and at that time, we lived on 5th Street, and were very much a part of the Ukrainian community there. We may have been poor immigrants, but neither one of us realized it. I remember being so happy when he was brought home . . . I finally had a “doll” that I could push around in the toy baby carriage. When he finally learned how to walk, things really became fun. I “helped” him cut his hair (to our mother’s horror) and together we decorated the walls of our bedroom with lipstick. As a baby/toddler, he did not know how to play nicely with someone his own age. When the neighbor brought her baby girl over to play with George, they couldn’t be left alone because he would beat her up. Both of us inherited our mom’s sense of adventure and fun, and for better or worse, just plain orneriness and stubbornness. Put a couple of kids like this into country life, and you end up with more “adventures” than you bargained for. Even though we had a huge yard and an orchard to play in when we moved to New Jersy, it was the paint cans in the shed that fascinated us. Mom always watched us through the kitchen window while cooking or washing dishes. Of course she spotted us trying to open the gallon of paint and immediately rushed out to intervene. She put the paint back and told us to leave it alone . . . as if we were going to listen. When she went back in the house, we immediately went for the paint again, but this time, we hid behind the shed so mom couldn’t see us. . . or so we thought. We were sitting on the ground and working very hard, when as if by magic, my mother’s feet appeared next to us. I think we had to go into the house after that. George and I were the official egg gatherers. We’d go into the coop to collect eggs and got some resistance from the hens, so one of us would hold a bucket over the chicken’s head to keep from...
My mother loved to write. It’s a passion she passed on to me when she handed me my first notebook and explained what a diary was. This past weekend, as I was sorting through the many boxes at my mom’s house and trying to decide what needed to go or stay, I came across a folder of writing that stopped in my tracks. It contained typewritten and handwritten stories that I had first looked for in the first few months after her death and could not find. And now here it was amid the old grammar school workbooks from my childhood. I am always amazed at how “things” do or don’t show up until the right time. She had taken a creative writing class many years ago when we still lived in New Jersey in the 60’s. As I read through some of them, I realized what a treasure these were. One story in particular caught my attention, about a young couple with a child who emigrated from post-war Germany. After a few paragraphs, I realized that even though the names were different, this was our story. She wrote what she knew . . . I carefully placed all the typewritten pages into the folder and brought them into the house where they would be safe. Technology is such a wonderful tool, toy, addiction . . . whatever you want to call it, and I certainly appreciate every bit of it. But I worry that we are losing something very substantial and critical not only for our evolution as a species but for our own personal and spiritual growth. A photographer on one of the national news networks claimed that in 10 years, there would be no “photographs,” that for the first time in history, there would be a generation that would not have “visual proof” of their lives. Everything, images as well as writing, is trapped in a cell phone or some other kind of device. When people show you photos of their grandkids, it’s on a cell phone. My mom carried a little package of photos in her purse . . . that’s how she shared her photos. There is something magical about holding an actual photo, or piece of paper with a handwritten message, so that you can run your fingers over the words or the images. It forces you into the moment, to slow down, to think about what matters. One of the nicest compliments I received was from someone who followed my blogs: “I’ve even started writing myself.” We are all born to serve, and also to teach and learn from each other. That is how we stay connected. So, write the stories of your life. . . the mishaps, the adventures, the little...
I love coffee . . . good coffee, and I especially like drinking it out of a special mug . . . one that has meaning to me. Many years ago, a friend of mine gave a special, personalized mug with a poem from the heart and special photo of my Nicky. I used that for every almost every cup of coffee at school until the images began to wear out and fade . . . image transfer technology was in its infancy then, around 17 years ago. Because I had to leave Nicky at home while I was at work, holding that mug made me feel like we were together. A few years later I came across a mug with a beautiful poem and the picture of a horse running through wildflowers. I called it my “Seek adventure” mug. Rather than simply copy the poem and use it on my own design, I felt the right thing to do was buy it. I enjoyed coffee out if it for almost ten years until a couple of my doggies decided they liked coffee out if it, too, and I found it shattered on the floor. I talk a lot about the magic of photography and the feel of holding a print of someone special or a special moment. Science has proven that simply seeing the image of a loved one has the same emotional and physical effect on the viewer as seeing that person in life. I believe this also extends to happy times and special events or moments in our lives. I used the same poem from my “seek adventure” mug and paired it with one of my favorite photos of Juliette, my palomino mare who died this past July. All of my photos are gifts from the universe. it’s almost as if God taps me on the shoulder and says, “Now!” Juliette is walking briskly toward the light of the morning sun and a breeze is wrapping the fresh, glistening snow around her. It was a perfect moment. So, each morning as I sip my coffee, I can run my fingers over her image and read the message about “seizing the joy.” I feel like she’s here beside me, and I remember, smile and am grateful for the gifts in my...
If you have ever lived with and truly loved a horse, you know it’s not just a phase you go through. They are entrenched in your heart and your connection with them is part of the fabric of your soul, and if you take enough time to watch and listen to them, you may be lucky enough to witness amazing moments, because when they trust you, they let you into their private world, and you become a part of their herd. I was born in love with horses. For as long as I can remember, I wanted a barn filled with these beautiful, noble creatures. My dream came to fruition when I scrimped and saved to buy a beautiful quarter horse mare with an incredible show pedigree –a gray yearling with a kind heart, Jackie Bee Lucky or “Lucky”. I kept both her foals, a palomino mare, Juliette, and gray gelding, Junior. Those were my happiest days when I walked out my door and saw my dear friends, waiting for breakfast or dinner, or a simple hello. It was my barn full of beauties. I think the most difficult thing about this existence is change that involves the loss of loved ones, human and non-human. As the years passed, my friends left for the pastures across the “rainbow bridge.” Lucky died six years ago on the eve of my birthday, and more recently, my precious Juliette, on June 29th of this year. Yes, they will always live in my heart, but it’s only in my dreams that I can brush their manes and tails, or ride them across the back pasture overgrown with golden wildflowers. When Juliette died, Junior, who had never left her side through her illness, ran to her gravesite and pawed the ground. I’m not sure who was in worse shape, he or I. My grief over losing her turned to concern over his emotional state. He was clearly in mourning and sinking into a depression. There’s a lot of truth to the expression, “when God closes a door, he opens a window,” and through this window arrived Extra Little Halo, a beautiful black thoroughbred mare. Her owner had tried her in racing and she was seemingly not interested. So he thought some hunter/jumper training might work for her, and that didn’t work out either because of an annoying injury, which was quickly remedied. When she arrived on July 4th, it was as if she had come home. Junior and I both fell in love with her. Her disposition is as sweet as Lucky’s. Junior shares his hay by dragging his pile over to her. They eat side by side in the pasture. When his foot was bothering him and he developed a slight...
Passion, joy and magic . . . the stuff of life
A photograph is the promise of a memory“Photography has been an important part of my life since I was 11 years old. I know firsthand the healing power of pictures. Everything in my life is a labor of love and I believe this is what shines through the images I create or capture.”
—O. Helene Kobelnyk
Helene picked up her first camera at age eleven and fell in love with photography. Her formal education began at Temple University in Philadelphia. O. Helene Kobelnyk spent a lifetime traveling and studying throughout Europe, North America, Mexico and the Caribbean, always with camera in hand. After earning a master of arts degree in mathematics, Helene devoted more than 20 years to public education.
She has been and continues to be an avid and lifelong student of the visual arts and music and has studied in major cities of the United States and Europe. Throughout her journey through life and different parts of the world, her camera was always by her side.
Learn More
