Reflections on the Sixth Week of Winter – Pursuing Frozen Bubbles 

    Bubble wand in hand, when temperatures dropped between 10ºF and 16ºF (-12ºC and -9º C), I hustled outside in pursuit of freezing magic. Could I capture the soft colors and grandiose crystals of the Internet images that created more awe than firework finales?

    My first chance came on a frigid, sunny December morning when the Internet weather reported 10ºF for our zip code. I pulled on three layers of indoor clothes and another of outdoor then hurried onto the deck with my camera and a half full vial of bubbles from my nephew’s wedding. I dipped the wand and blew. Bubbles, varying in diameter from dime to quarter size, drifted through the air, landed, and popped.

    Patience. I needed patience.

    Dip, blow. Dip, blow.

    A bubble landed intact on snow. I aimed the zoom lens, but the camera refused to focus on the clear bubble against white snow.

    Chickadees scolded. They didn’t dare dart to the feeder while I tramped on the deck.

    I ignored their raucous protests.

    Dip, blow. Dip, blow till a bubble landed without breaking at the base of a flower pot. The camera focused, and the clear bubble collapsed.

    Dip, blow. My bottom numbed. Dip, blow.

    A bubble wobbled on a tomato cage wire. I raised the camera. Rainbow colors shimmered on the liquid surface. I pushed the shutter button and hoped.

    When my fingers froze, I trudged inside, peeled two layers of clothes, and checked the temperature on our weather station. Just 3ºF. Oops. I should have checked before frustrating the chickadees.

    Perhaps the photos worked anyway. I downloaded them.

    Pleasing blue, gold, and pink swirls encircled the bubble on the tomato cage wire, but the bubble lacked crystals. No magic.

    I ordered solution for “long lasting bubbles” on line, read the camera manual to increase the number of pixels in photos, and waited for the temperature to drop to arctic again.

    The first week of January gave me a second chance. When I bundled for the the 12ºF temperature indicated on our weather station, Spence said, “Blow the bubbles by the evergreen trees. You’ll have a better background.”

    Better?

    White pine and spruce needles popped bubbles faster than the pots and snow on the deck. When a bubble finally nestled intact in spruce needles, patience switched to a race.

    Ready–place the bubble solution jar in snow so it didn’t tip.

    Set–point the camera.

    Go–snap the picture before the bubble popped.

    I persisted till the bubble solution froze in the jar. Then I crunched through the snow to check if I’d captured any crystals.

    Feather like crystals did form in photo spheres, but no colors.

    Sigh.

    Spence set his computer on the table, walked behind my chair, peered over my shoulder at the photos. “They’re great! That one looks like a moon in the tree, and the other one has eyes staring at you.”

    I didn’t want a moon in a tree or eyes staring at me.

    I wanted spheres with majestic palaces or golden sprays of stars.

    This week, while I waited for another bitter day, I oohed and aahed at frozen soap bubble images on line. Google nudged me into reading an article about freezing soap bubbles inside. The directions emphasized “gently.” Figuring I had more “gentle” than “patience,” I reached for the bubble solution.

    No more “blow and burst” for me. I aimed for “blow and catch.” Literally. I titled my head backwards, held the wand four inches above my lips, and gently exhaled. Bubbles zipped into the air while solution dribbled onto my chin, rolled down my neck, and soaked my turtleneck collar. I caught a shimmering bubble and gently transfered it to the solution coated paper plate. The bubble popped, a repeating outcome. The few bubbles that didn’t break sunk into domes.

    I could deal with domes.

    I gently moved the plate into the freezer where the dome promptly broke. The rare domes, that lasted till I closed the freezer door, vanished before I put the next dome inside. Would I ever get a bubble to stay intact for thirty minutes inside the freezer? Probably not. I wiped bubble solution off my chin and pulled off the sticky turtleneck.
    I’m waiting for another bone-chilling day. Whether the soap bubbles freeze or burst, the pursuit brings the magic. My spirit soars with each bubble . . . exhilarating fun for a sixty-eight year old kid.