Man of Science, Man of God: A Biography of Wilson A. Bentley
This past summer, I came across a unique little book from 1931 titled Snow Crystals. This black-and-white collection of snowflake photographs was truly mesmerizing, and were I a better artist of abstract themes, I would have clung to it for inspiration and never let it go. Sadly, I think I traded it into a Little Free Library after I finished with it, and probably for something entirely worthless.
When I read that book (well, mostly I looked at the pictures!), I had no idea who this Willie Bentley character was or how his devotion to the study of nature’s beauty had so impacted science a century ago. How much I was missing, I never knew, until now. Snowflake Bentley is a youthful biography of this quiet photographer-scientist, and in it, Gloria May Stoddard formulates letters, articles, and family stories into an engaging journey through the life of a poor farmer who would become the foremost authority on snow, of all things.
Bentley was born in 1865, and at the age of 12, he had his first experience with the magic of a microscope. Beginning with stones and feathers and eventually turning to the study of water in its many forms, young Willie ate up this tiny world and discovered there a voracious appetite that wasn’t so easily squelched. When he discovered the delicate beauty of snowflakes beneath his lens, he knew he had stumbled upon a world that could easily become a lifelong passion. After chancing upon an advertisement for a table camera that could shoot micro photographs (and recall, we’re talking the 1880s!), he realized that there existed another option for capturing this beauty beyond speedy hand-drawings. His family surprised him by scraping together the insane amount of $100 for the camera on his 17th birthday, and that camera ultimately lasted him the next 40 years of life.
Through trial and error, Willie eventually learned how to photograph these fragile gems before they melted, and his work took him on a journey of science and art that few in the world appreciated at the time. Although he photographed over 5,000 total flakes (all of them quite unique), only the scientific world really understood the value of his passion in the beginning. Most of his friends and neighbors thought him a mite batty, albeit extremely kind and otherwise talented. But being the foremost authority on a topic as common as snow wasn’t something he could easily hide, and soon people fell in love with his scientific articles and, more importantly, the records of his photographic journey. The book I mentioned above, in fact, was the final culmination of his life’s work, and he only got to enjoy its release for about three weeks, for following a quick bout with pneumonia, Willie Bentley died at the tail end of 1931 at the age of 66.
This book was an encouraging read for me today as it highlighted not only Bentley’s patient persistence in what he loved most, despite the lack of support he got from the loved ones around him, but also his faith in the Creator Who could choose to hide such majestic beauty in such tiny, short-lived crystals. We see snow all around us many months of the year, and yet no one before this man had ever viewed this frozen precipitation as anything but an annoyance. He saw these flakes as miniature pieces of art, falling by the billions, never destined for a tiny Louvre, but destined instead to melt, thereby depriving the world of even the briefest glimpse of their uniqueness. Every flake fallen was a missed opportunity, in his mind, and every clear shot a rescue mission.
I know that after having read these two books, I will never look at snowflakes the same way again. In fact, I might even have found a new winter passion…if only I could afford a nice macro-lens [I’m accepting donations!]. Come Spring, I’ll be looking for dew-shots, and come summer, shots of microscopic critters through a microscope. There’s an immense and mysterious world out there, and it’s one I’ve ignored for way too long. I’m feeling inspired…and I’ve quiet Mr. Bentley to thank for that.
©2021 E.T.