Traveler Literary Gnome While In Between Things

Gabriel Dawe: Plexus No. 12

2012-02-10T21:00:00.002-06:00

At the Fain Arts Center, Gabriel Dawe spent eight days installing 250 miles of thread with an astonishing outcome. View a video on YouTube of him installing Plexus No. 4.

Plexus No. 12, Gutermann thread, wood, hooks.

When Dawe disestablishes his creation, he displays the thread encased in plexiglass, as shown below.

Random Visit to Past Wild Bird Rescue

2012-02-08T12:34:00.000-06:00

A nice lady asked me to contribute some images I took of the wild birds at Wild Bird Rescue for an article she has written. Searching through albums felt both thrilling and trying, for the pictures reminded me of the wonderful times I spent volunteering for Bob Lindsay (whom I referred to as "BirdManBob") on behalf of Wild Bird Rescue.

Bob feeding a quickly growing Great Horned Owl. He subsequently asked a volunteer to transport him/her (Bob insisted that I personalize the wild birds and to not refer to them as "it.") to Lubbock.

One of my favorites: Bob holds a baby Inca dove.

Volunteer Pete devotes many hours of his week tending to ducks and geese. Here the Mallards enjoy fresh water.

I think this is a baby Mississippi kite. And that is Bob's hemostats handing him/her a small piece of beef heart.

Common Nightjar.

Terry holds a Burrowing owl. Bob eventually released this owl in a Prairie dog town on a nearby private ranch.

At first, Bob could not figure out the species of the bird shown above; as he/she grew, it became evident she was a cardinal.

Yellow-crowned heron.

Cedar waxwing.

Scissortail Flycatcher.

Woodpecker.

Chris checking on a baby Barn owl. What a belly!

Chris feeds a baby Barn owl.

Chris feeds Mississippi kites. This photo, though, does not show the fifty or so kites that surround Chris as they sit patiently for her to feed them.

A Cliff swallow peers outside the incubator.

Frank gives worms to a nightjar.

A hatchling. Hard to say which species at this point in her life.

Yellow-crowned heron in an aviary outside, raised from a nestling and now only a few weeks away from freedom.

Eastern Kingbird.

Hungry Purple Martins.

A volunteer feeds a Red-shouldered hawk. The hawk eats pieces of beef heart.

Two robins and a mockingbird.

Tiny hatchlings eating worms from Lila's hand.

Nightjar.

Penny feeds a robin.

Tiny!

Pied-billed grebe.

In view of the enormous number of shore birds arriving at Wild Bird Rescue in 2011, raising the cost spent by the organization on food, the Texas Master Naturalists volunteered to catch dinner for them.

Moonlit Clouds

2012-02-07T09:32:00.002-06:00

First Baptist Church Altar Window

2012-02-05T09:14:00.001-06:00

Visual treat on Ninth Street, Wichita Falls, Texas.

Red-winged Blackbirds Singing

2012-02-05T09:09:00.001-06:00

Fifty seconds of happy singing.

Neighborhood Red-tailed Hawk

2012-02-04T15:02:00.003-06:00

Dissected Strix varia Pellet

2012-02-04T13:18:00.002-06:00

Undigested bones, fur . . . on my drive way. Eek.

View short footage of a Barred owl eating . . . from Mark Moran's website "Study of Northern Virginia Ecology" in which you may find other information about Barred owls, including their calls.

In addition to the Barred owl, we now have a Red-tailed hawk.

Flying Around the Storms

2012-02-03T18:57:00.001-06:00

Even in flight one's way home may seem a bit circuitous, rather than in the usual direct line.

Kingcade at the Kemp

2012-02-03T09:02:00.001-06:00

I view Gary Kingcade as the quintessentially altruistic spirit. Delaying his own work in art for forty years, Gary taught high school children how to create. Now retired, he discusses that a singular influence in his life has come during his intercontinental motorcycle rides. Spotting memorials along the highways or along the bottom of canyons, he stops his bike to study them, then allows the experience to assimilate inside him to later emerge as an image on his canvas. "Empty your cup," he says. "Listen to your paintings . . . The good comes out when I listen to my paintings."

"Thoughts I had about how things should be done," he said, "I threw those out the window." Kingcade indicated that once he allowed a painting to emerge on its own, he became "a vehicle" to create it. He said that as an artist he "was not the driver." The new techniques that he began to practice excited him, and art became -- not hard anymore -- fun. "I had fun. It just happened. I thought art was hard. It's fun." I think that he experienced his recent epiphany thanks to the freedom of thought and preoccupation from his job as teacher, enhanced by the motorcycle rides.

Of the acrylic work shown above, Kingcade described the technique to achieve the effect on the canvas: he applied paint, and then covered it with plastic, scrunched it up, and allowed it to dry. "I was tempted to lick the canvas to see if it tasted as good as it looked."

Dust in the Wind, acrylic.

Above, I show Kingcade's foray into the juxtaposition of the painted image and structural architecture from the "Yard Gods and Guard Dogs" series, Sentinel, acrylic, wood, antler, metal, string, feathers, and ribbons upon which visitors feel welcome to write their names and well-wishes.

To Scare the Crows, Yard Gods and Guard Dogs series, acrylic on canvas held on the wall by antlers.

Top, 40 Miles to Green River - East, acrylic, four feet long; left, Waterslide, watercolor; and at right, Kaleidoscape, watercolor.

40 Miles to Green River - West, acrylic, six feet long.

Gary Kingcade, at the Kemp Center until mid-March, 2012.

Perfect Practice Makes Perfect

2012-02-02T16:33:00.000-06:00

Patrol officers practice motorcycle skills and thus remain efficient and safe. Watch out you speed demons!

Barred Owl Art

2012-02-01T14:53:00.003-06:00

I have a Barred Owl Jackson Pollock living in my tree.

Barred Owl feces on my driveway.

Poetry: My Own Ideal City

2012-02-01T09:15:00.001-06:00

I love reading Erika Meitner's "Ideal Cities." I read it again and again. Reading it helps me focus on the humanity and easily dismiss the concrete, the dirt, the pollution, the disease, and the crime. Its sweetness comes to fruition at the end, leaving me with feelings of hope. In her honor I write my own "Ideal Cities." Unsurprisingly, my version includes birds. I'm hopeless that way. Enjoy writing your own poem or prose about your version of an ideal city.

My Own Ideal City

No city is a panacea but ideal cities
will have parks where yellow-headed
blackbirds amble back and forth
in front of a webcam triggering
images for children to see on monitors.
Ideal cities will allow the last of
the katana winds to blow someone's
hat off his head and down the street
where a homeless man will scoop it up
and wear it to warm his head when
the snows fall. Ideal cities foster
mice which kittens leave on
your doorstep as gifts. Neighbors
in ideal cities will listen to a
jazz aficionado play his clarinet
off-tune and they will stomp
their feet to his beat and someone
will sing that his wife left him
but could she bring the dog back?
Ideal cities will have large trees
at each corner where children's kites
get caught and then get shredded
by peregrine falcons to build their nests.

Poetry: The Day after the Tornado

2012-01-31T10:43:00.000-06:00

The Day after the Tornado

Walking along the wheat fields
I was checking on the cows and the fences
when along the creek I heard a whimper

A mound of soft silky mud
moved
as the small dog underneath it
rose on his shaking legs

his ears drooped
from the weight of mud and his dismal luck
his back arched and shivered
his eyes locked on to mine
as if asking one of two questions --
Will you help me?
or
Will you hurt me?

I scooped him up in my arms

I phoned John once I climbed into the truck
Would you warm some milk on the stove
for the puppy I'm bringing home? The tornado
must have blown him across the Southwest.

At home the dog drank warm milk,
We washed him up and patched him up
and concluded he was a spaniel breed
of some sort, any sort, his ears lay back
this time in a sign of contentment

That was seven years ago and no telling how old he really is
the small dog I found along the creek the day after the tornado
his ears are now grey, and his muzzle is now grey, and his legs
don't shake anymore for all the running he does chasing
and capturing squirrels and birds -- just for the fun of it
and for all the swimming he does in the creek -- just for the fun of it
and for all the jumping into our arms when the winds pick up.

Prose: Address to My Triplet Sister

2012-01-31T08:57:00.000-06:00

Dear Sis,
I write to say that deep down inside you reflect the good habits of a good person. Never mind that they don’t show, that you don’t let them show. I see them. Our sister seems them. Everyone sees them. Your altruism, your generosity, all that time you spend with the kids from the eastside Y teaching them how to cook fresh foods and taking them to the farmer’s market every Thursday. Everyone sees your goodness even though you don’t tell anyone about what you do. And that’s why you can get away with everything. Sweet people get away with things. Especially pretty ones like you.
When was the last time you sat back and took three deep breaths. I know you are patient enough to do that because you are patient enough to wait for a Prairie dog to stick his head out his mound. She’s just sick about you shooting those doggone Prairie dogs. You ought to be more discreet about it, like move your hunting stand away from the town and pick up your empty shells. Whatever she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
People who love you walk beside you. Wasn’t it Hazlitt who originated that? I’m trying to say that she loves you and lets you get away with the hunting. Think of that every time you do something dunderheaded like shoot those prairie town rats she takes the grandkids to watch.
You will have to slow down in your middle age. You still look foxy – the three of us do – but your tomboyish lifestyle is going to catch up with you. And I think you’ve shot enough Prairie dogs. And after shooting bobcats and antelope and all those exotics in Africa, what is it that you see in Prairie dogs?

Waving at Jet Fighter as We Fly By

2012-01-30T08:25:00.000-06:00

A T-38 Talon on hold while MyMrMallory lands my plane on runway.

While the jetfighters consume eight hundred pounds of fuel per engine per hour, I feel embarrassed to make him wait for my little airplane to land!

A poem written by Buck Wyndham, Pulling Closed, describes the incomparable feelings jetfighters experience when they fly. Wyndham also describes, as beautifully in prose as he does in poetry, some of the details of the Talon.

Green Bugged Flight

2012-01-29T08:40:00.000-06:00

The sky looked as shown below when MyMrMallory and I took off in the Scissortail. I wanted to practice my landings and he wanted to practice ILS approaches, all accomplished beautifully, I say modestly.
Then we discovered the hemocyanin spots on the windshield. In other words, bug splotches. The greenbugs have returned. We fly over wheat fields, and during this time of year aphids (of the order Homoptera) appear en masse to chomp away (with the cows) at the delish wheat. Greenbugs can become a bane on cattle ranchers and farmers, and the cows might have a thing or two to say about having to share so much of their wheat, for as the greenbugs eat, they expel a toxin into the leaves that eventually kills the wheat.
And so, after the flight, we spent a long time scrubbing my green-splodged wings and cowling, but we did not mind it at all, not in the way a cow would mind, for we had experienced the opportunity to fly.

The old tree near the one-hundred year old barn.

Greenbugs.

The Marvel that is Duckie

2012-01-25T15:22:00.000-06:00

Cherie McBride paints in a way that indicates she seems to sense the "character" of each bird.

Squirrels in Residence

2012-01-25T10:39:00.000-06:00

Here he is later this afternoon, tucking himself into his bed early.

A long time ago I placed a box up in a tree. This winter, a squirrel has taken residence in it. I took the image below during the rain showers last night. The lights at the foot of the tree illuminate the box and the little squirrel's head as he rests his chin on his doorway. One cannot see inside the box, but he has a guest inside with him. Another squirrel squeezed himself inside in the late afternoon.

A couple of squirrels slept inside a nest-box during the rain storm last night.

Snowy Owls Now

2012-01-23T05:30:00.000-06:00

Interesting article in the New York Times about the recent irruption of Snowy Owls titled Bird-watchers Revel in Unusual Spike in Snowy Owl Sightings.

Photograph by David Patton from the Albany Democrat-Herald and published with the article in the link above.

Anticipating Waxwings

2012-01-22T06:43:00.002-06:00

Below I show a photograph that I took on February 13th, 2009, at Wild Bird Rescue. I've noticed that the Holly trees around town, and mine, too, droop with branches loaded with berries. Last week, while walking with MyMrMallory, we saw a group of them at nearby Lucy Park. I hope they arrive at my house soon.

Dogs Birdwatching on Eighty-two

2012-01-21T15:02:00.001-06:00

Accompanied by longtime BFFs Hodge and Portside, we spotted fabulous birds this morning while driving along highways 82 and 1180. Among them, Loggerhead Shrike, American Kestrel, Sandhill Cranes (overhead), Tundra Swans (on Mr. Baush's field), Greater White-fronted Geese, Ring-necked Ducks, Lesser Yellowlegs, Killdeer, Burrowing Owl, and huge numbers of White-capped Sparrows.
At my feeders I saw a larger number of Red-winged Blackbirds, and nary a White-winted Dove. Other birds at my feeders were goldfinches, sparrows, House finches, Inca Doves, and Blue Jays.

Thirsty, Hungry Birds in Winter

2012-01-21T14:50:00.002-06:00

Female House sparrows splash in the bird bath.

Goldfinches at breakfast.

Ring-necked Duck

2012-01-21T14:45:00.003-06:00

One cannot discern easily the brown ring around the Ring-necked duck's neck. Here I show the brown-purplish ring around his neck and also the more obvious white rings around his beak. I could have shouted out to this lone lad that only a couple miles away he could find a large flock of females of Ring-necks.

Wild Birds on a Wheat Field

2012-01-19T11:37:00.000-06:00

My friend Frances and I scampered into the countryside this morning to view the Tundra Swans. We crouched along behind the fence line in an attempt to approach them without spooking them.
Our list today includes: Tundra Swans (28), Snow Geese (3), Greater White-fronted Geese, Green-winged Teals, American Wigeons, Canada Geese (overhead), Sandhill Cranes (overhead), and a Song Sparrow.

Frances hides behind brush and aims at the Tundra Swans.

I counted twenty-eight Tundras.

Tundra Swans on final to the wheat field.

Here they are on short final.

A rising sun gives some backlighting to a group of passing Sandhill Cranes.

Sandhill Cranes flew by, their long, pointy beaks piercing the air.

Spot three species of geese in this image: Canada, Snow, and White-fronted Geese.

Ducks (Gadwalls, I think), an oil pump, and a tractor.

White-fronted Geese take flight for a quick go-around in the pattern.

Snow and White-fronted Geese and an oil pump.

Poetry: Joys of Nature

2012-01-18T12:03:00.000-06:00

I wrote the prose poem below for this week's class with Professor Matthew. I based the subject on a story told by a friend recently about her experience with the study of butterflies and her children. The story she told reminded me of the balance in nature: It is beautiful and yet it is ugly, too.

The Joys of Nature

The two snot-nosed children seemed entranced by the story about the chrysalis. Their eyes lit up when I told them that a worm lived inside there, and that soon it would open a hole and crawl out as if opening a window. Their little jaws dropped when the caterpillar, green with yellow spiracles, emerged from its white, silky home and waved at them. It kept waving at them as it ate all my dillweed, dill sticking out the sides of its mandibles, a look of glee in its eyes as it looked at the two children. It smiled so much that it developed crow's feet around its eyes. And then the two children started jumping up and down when the caterpillar morphed into a butterfly. They spread their arms as the butterfly spread its wings. When it took off, they tried to fly away with it. Then, bless their hearts, all their little hearts, a flycatcher swooped down from the tree, caught the butterfly, and left.

Portside at Age Twenty

2012-01-18T11:26:00.001-06:00

This stubborn hound turned twenty this year. Happy birthday Port, you ol' wrinkled bag o' bones!
I'm fortunate that you have spent all of your life with me.

Red-bellied Woodpecker

2012-01-17T15:13:00.003-06:00

A confident chiff . . . chiff from the oak tree made me look up into its branches. The calling of the bird caught my attention as much as the loveliness of the female Red-bellied Woodpecker who sang as she found food in the tree, flying from one branch to another.

Please donate time or funds to Wild Bird Rescue, for this organization helps save the lives of lovely birds such as this one.

Ferruginous Hawk

2012-01-14T13:06:00.000-06:00

In my Pecan tree! Our neighbor, Missus Pumpkin, as MyMrMallory calls her, informed me of the hawk's presence the previous day.

Usual Wonderful Flock

2012-01-10T10:58:00.002-06:00

The usual gaggle of birds has remained at my house, with a slight increase in the number of White-winged doves from two to six: Spotted Towhees, two Cardinal couples, Dark-eyed Juncos, Robins, English Sparrows, Inca doves, House Finches, Black-capped Chickadee, Carolina Wren (I know where they are anywhere in the neighborhood just by sound!), Bluejays, Goldfinches, Golden-fronted Woodpecker, Red-winged Blackbirds, and though I haven't seen them lately, the Barred Owls. I know because of their poop under certain branches on the larger trees and because of the racket the Bluejays make every time they return to their fave tree to nap during the day. Nearby, Canada Geese waddle around with Mallards and other ducks.

Speaking of poop, visit the blog Bird Poop of North Texas. The blogger gives information delightfully about bird behavior and landscaping.

Below I show Wild Bird Rescue's newest t-shirt. The image comes from a poster printed in 1932 with Elise Reid Boylston's art work. A local and very nice lady, Mooney, donated the vintage poster to the organization.

Flocks of Interspecific Blackbirds

2012-01-06T10:18:00.001-06:00

During my first attempts at putting together videos, one might need to have some patience.

The cloud of birds consists of interspecific flocks of blackbirds migrating through Texas for the winter. I filmed this with the Nikon V 1 along Highway 6 north of Houston.

The music comes from Yo Yo Ma's collaboration, "Hill Justice,"in the Goat Rodeo Sessions, with Stuart Duncan, Edgar Myer, and Chris Thile. The odd ticking sound in the background comes from my right turn signal.
View a wonderful video of a murmuration of starlings by Sophie Windsor Clive and Liberty Smith posted by them on YouTube.

Byzantine Fresco Beauty

2012-01-06T09:22:00.002-06:00

We will miss the frescoes at the chapel after they return to Cyprus. Please view the link to the Byzantine Fresco Chapel.

Last Night of Last Year

2012-01-01T10:15:00.002-06:00

On the eve of the New Year, Dan's Silverleaf in Denton started hopping well after ten o'clock. Slobberbone played their poetic lyrics with jaunty tunes. In came the year 2012 as happily and celebratory as great food, great wine, great beer, and great company can provide.

Part of the revelry of celebrating included a photo session at Dan's Silverleaf.

Inside Dan's Sliverleaf various forms of art delight the guests. Here, the shadow of a bike behind cloth caught my eye. Red and green lights flashed in a circle around the handle bars as if giving emphasis to the joys and benefit of biking.

Denton courthouse.

Images taken with the Nikon V 1 and 10mm lens with slight cropping during post processing in the digital darkroom.

Barred Owl in the Oak Tree

2011-12-31T13:35:00.000-06:00

Outside my window the squawky Blue Jays announced the arrival of the Barred Owl, then became silent as I stepped outside with the Nikon V 1 running on video mode. Here is a short clip of the owl.

Mercury Memories

2011-12-30T17:02:00.000-06:00

Late 1940s Mercury.

Lucky Penny

2011-12-29T14:51:00.000-06:00

Pick up a penny for good luck. It may take a hammer and chisel sometimes.

Christmas Day Feasting

2011-12-26T08:39:00.001-06:00

Our bird feeders received an exciting number of birds on Christmas Day. Inca and White-winged doves, Red-winged Blackbirds, Cardinals, House finches, Goldfinches, Carolina Wren, Blue Jays, Chickadees, Common Grackle, English Sparrows, Savannah Sparrows (first time I spot this one), Spotted Towhee, and Juncos, included the pink-sided.

Sim Time in T-38

2011-12-23T13:25:00.000-06:00

H.-P. demonstrated an air show. Four minutes long and fascinating for those of us who enjoy aviation.

Please allow for some time to upload.

The instructors at Sheppard Air Force Base honored me by allowing me some time in the simulators (sim time) for the T-6 and the T-38. I found it a unique experience that helped me know more about what our aviators see when they are slicing through the sky at 400 mph. The complexities of flying those amazing aircraft, the T-6 and the T-38, gave me greater appreciation for aviation and for my own plane, the 180- horsepower Cherokee I call The Scissortail. But I noted simplicities about them, too, such as the ease with which I could handle the power settings and let the plane glide toward the runway, which deepened my understanding to the power settings in my plane. All that I learned in the simulator, including all that I cannot yet articulate and continue to assimilate, I can employ now during my flying.

The control station for one of the simulators. The instructors can input weather conditions, emergency situations -- including the image of a burning truck in the middle of the runway -- place the aircraft anywhere on the globe and at any altitude, or pause the simulations.

Bud took off and right away did a couple of aileron turns. Here he is upside-down.

H.-P. tossed in a few surprising glitches into the flights, such as a thunderstorm that he kept moving in front of the aircraft, or severe meteorological conditions for landing.

(Note the mischievous smirk upon his lips!)

H.-P. demonstrates flying alongside another T-38.

Bud took this image from above me.

The purple gloves Ily gave me for Christmas kept me warm during my sim time.

We took all these images with the Nikon V 1 and did zero post processing in the digital darkroom.

Poetry: Blues at Sunrise

2011-12-22T13:17:00.002-06:00

Barred Owl at sunrise.

Blues at Sunrise

The band of blue jays outside my window
played raucous tunes in the winds
dancing from branch to branch
trumpets blaring, horns resonating
clarinets agitating in the tree
as if they were jazz men tone deaf
They played until the barred owl
swooped then blue feathers skedaddled
into the blue sky and finally in silence
the owl faced the sun and slept.

Sky's Eyes Say Save God's Creatures

2011-12-20T18:56:00.000-06:00

A dog, Sky, looks after things as the executive director's assistant at Wild Bird Rescue. He greets volunteers, gleefully, welcomes visitors, watches over patients, and in between everything carries his toys around the sanctuary. The marvel about Sky is that he is deaf and was rescued from Craig's List where he was offered for free, a potential victim for dog-fighting. Sky needs assistance operating the rescue center, which, is, for rescuing birds, which, a dog would rather be chasing around, but not this dog. He may chase birds around if they are in need of medical assistance, and that's where you come in. Please donate to Wild Bird Rescue so that Sky can continue the organization's mission to save and rehabilitate wild birds.

Scampering Under the Trees

2011-12-18T17:03:00.002-06:00

Albino Goose at the Christmas Bird Count

2011-12-17T15:34:00.000-06:00

Penny studying sparrows.

I joined Penny's group for the Christmas Bird Count. Penny took charge of the area around Lake Wichita, a hot spot for shore birds. I took along the new Nikon V 1 with the 30-110mm lens. Fortunately for us, the wind blew at less than four knots in 30 F temps. The sun had not risen, and on the glass-like water we could already see hundreds of birds. For a complete list of our count compiled by Penny, see her blog post.

The Chat Trail at Lake Wichita.

From the spillway of Lake Wichita, along the Barrow Pit, through the Chat Trail to the parking lot, we counted birds from the grasses to the sky above us. Penny has the final count, but I think I can say with confidence that over one thousand cormorants flew in flocks overhead for most of the morning, some flocks with about two hundred birds. Canada Geese seemed numerous, too, in the water and flying overhead.

An albino Canada Goose in a small flock flying overhead.

Of note, we spotted Wood Ducks, Buffleheads, Ruddy Ducks, Northern Shovelers, Greater Yellowlegs, Lesser Yellowlegs, the awesome Great Blue Heron, a snipe, a Rock Wren, the Ring-billed and Bonapart Gulls, American Pelicans, and a Belted Kingfisher. East of the bridge along the old part of Taft Boulevard, I spotted another kingfisher. He was hunting, hovering over the water, and then suddenly diving into the surface.
We spotted, too, a bullfinch, White-crowned, Song, and Harris' Sparrows, a Red-tailed Hawk, and the usual gang: Bewick's Wren, Mallards, Pied-billed Grebes, Meadowlarks, Blue Jays, American Robins, Starlings Cardinals, Red-winged Blackbirds, Coots, and Eurasian-collared Doves.

One of the coves along Lake Wichita.

Tundra Swans and Company

2011-12-14T16:30:00.002-06:00

Waterfowl days, yesterday and today. Today's count: Forty-eight Tundra Swans, including many juveniles, in a wheat field off FM 1180. Accompanying them, an impressive list: Canada, Cackling, Snow, and Greater White-fronted Geese. Ducks, such as the northern shoveler, avocets, and gulls, too.

Terrarium

2011-12-13T09:40:00.000-06:00

Couldn't help myself when I spotted everything one needs to create a terrarium at Smith's Farms. I scooped up a nice glass dome and three plants to build a new terrarium. I had a little statue in a drawer for at least a decade, and when I saw my new terrarium, I knew he had to stand now in the middle of the plants. Moss I found in the driveway went into it, too, as well as a stone I picked up during a hike somewhere.

Rainy These Days, and Loving it

2011-12-13T08:31:00.000-06:00

An old hangar viewed from inside the truck, rain sprinkling on the window.

Driving past one of the bunkers on a golf course.

Wreaths Across America in Vernon

2011-12-12T13:38:00.001-06:00

The Civil Air Patrol members placed wreaths on the graves of the fallen heroes, young and old. Below, a young cadet salutes after placing a wreath upon a soldier's grave.

Photo by Captain Mary Latimer.

Poetry with Matthew: Infinity

2011-12-11T10:30:00.001-06:00

Professor Matthew introduced me to Juan Felipe Herrera's work. Inspiring. Herrera writes and sings Hispanic, Jazz, Egyptian, color, images, sounds -- everything he experiences. He photographs angles that pop out to him and to no one else. I felt entranced by the new work in my life, by my new hero. Later, Matthew said, Herrera wrote, "She got me," about my poem, an honor to me.

Infinity
After Juan Felipe Herrera

Lists of abstracts I thought
as I pondered Juan's poems
Adjectives placed before nouns
that in such proximity
astound
Some lines astound this reader
meandering the skyways
in lazy eights, then in chanderelles
an astounded reader pilots her plane
Where to go while we are up here?
In my mind I hear the sounds
of the hooves as the horses pass by
pulling the Christmas carriages
the couples tiddly with Champagne
the children giddy by the ride
their laughter gleesome to me --
turn again my eyes to my book
and to Juan's astounding line I succumb --

first, you must know the secret, there is no poem.

Port's Cold Ears

2011-12-11T08:38:00.001-06:00

Port will turn twenty years of age in 2012. He still jumps around friskily, and loudly exclaims his desire for food, cookies, bones, and his need to visit the boy's room outdoors. BARK! He has lost some of his hearing -- which he milks to no end when he wants his own way -- and some of his sight. He has lost, too, some of that extra adiposity that used to keep him warm during the winter days. So for those fewer and fewer times he shuffles outside to relieve himself, sniff things, and do all those doggy things about which I'd rather not know, he wears a sweater. Here he is returning from his few minutes outside in the cold temps of winter.

Fast Asleep

2011-12-07T10:43:00.001-06:00

In the warm morning sun.

Owl in the Morning, Ready for Bed

2011-12-07T08:37:00.001-06:00

Barred Owl.

Of Owl, Squirrels, and Blue Jays

2011-12-07T07:59:00.001-06:00

Quite a bit of activity in the trees this morning. Three squirrels chased each other, and Blue Jays pounced on the Barred Owl, until the owl chased them away.

Emissions Go Global

2011-12-05T13:38:00.001-06:00

An article written by Justin Gillis and published in the New York Times states that emissions rose by 5.9 percent in 2010. Coal represents more than half that growth.

A power power plant near Vernon, Texas, burns coal to produce electricity.

Power lines run along power plant.

Harold Cemetery in the foreground; power plant in the background.

A long coal train along the highway near the power plant.

Clouds, dead trees, a cemetery, and HDR technology show the ominous effect of the pollution of emissions.

Clouds Remained After an Inch of Rain

2011-12-03T22:05:00.001-06:00

Old hangars at Kickapoo Downtown Airport.

Wheat fields of runway 33L under the sun's rays.

Attebury Grain Elevator.

To Fly During a Break in the Rain

2011-12-03T21:50:00.001-06:00

Rain. The sweet, sweet, cherished sound upon my roof, and then, looking outside into the garden, the droplets of rain glistening in the sun! An angel is celebrating a birthday, a friend used to say. Hodge, my dog, climbed up on the top of the sofa, and along with Coco and me, watched it rain.
It was after lunch and a couple of rain showers that the sky lifted. "Gotta go," said MyMrMallory. To fly, he meant, for no other reason could exist when the clouds lift and the rain stops.

Aircraft ready to go.

Focussing on the task at hand; actually, when flying an airplane one focusses on several tasks at hand.

The clouds and the sun, with a bit of rain in the distance. What a view!

Turning to base.

On base turning to final for runway one-seven.

Kim at the Kemp

2011-11-29T20:01:00.001-06:00

Artist Kim Ward now exhibits at the Kemp Center. Pop in soon to admire the exquisite art work.

A beautiful tree hangs several feet down from the ceiling.

Ward placed a 3D dragonfly on a painting.

"A Monet Morning in Valspar" measures about fifteen feet long.

Nice rump shot. "When the Frost is on the Pumpkin," acrylic, shows her devotion and sensitivity to nature.

"Spanish Gold" has a clever title. The Spaniards brought horses to America; gold implies that indeed, the horses are a treasure.

"Sweet Potato Sky." Note the delicate brushstrokes to form the curtains in the foreground and the clouds in the background. Ward's hand has command of her brush.

"Tough Shot." A view of this kind would distract me from my game!

Fall Bird Feeding is Fun

2011-11-27T10:40:00.001-06:00

Delighted by the visitors at my bird feeders: Carolina wrens, Black-capped chickadees, Spotted towhees, Inca doves, White-winged doves, bluejays, robins, cardinals, juncos, White-crowned sparrows, English sparrows, House finches, Red-winged blackbirds . . . and several comical squirrels. In the trees, Cooper's hawk and a Barred Owl, eyeing the little songbirds with recipes and wine-pairings rushing through their minds: Roasted or sautéed? Which wine will I pair with my bluejay tonight?

A Bluejay struggles at a feeder. This picture shows the color of his plumage.

Red-winged Blackbird.

Inca Dove.

Adolescent female squirrel, queen of the feeders at such an early age.

Barred Owl.

Poetry: Golfer Gnome Looking for a Green

2011-11-25T08:32:00.001-06:00

Golfer Gnome Looking for a Green

At Garden Club last month I learned
Plant your rose bushes on Good Friday
and I with brown thumbs wait
while the upright thorny green stalks
with a scant few leaves sit by the window
waiting with me for Good Friday

I walk outside my front door
to get my mail and I see a gnome
standing at my front porch
looking up at me. I blink and ask

Are you here to live among my roses?
but looking closely at him --
rather, her, I see she wears a skirt
and underneath her beard a necklace
from which dangles flamingos
and in her hands she holds a golfball.

To confirm her gender she calls
herself Juliette, and she hands me a note
Please take on this mission. Please
take on this mission. Take me to a
golfer's home and leave me on her porch.

Will you return by Good Friday?
but I thought better about asking her
to live among my pink hybrid roses
her skirt being tangerine, her gnome hat red --
What would Garden Club think about that?

Thanksgiving Day Barred Owl

2011-11-24T07:58:00.001-06:00

A most remarkable visitor stood on a branch outside my window, looking at me. I looked up in admiration. On this day of Thanksgiving, among my many, many, blessings and privileges, the love of my friends and family, I thank, too, the Barred Owl for the visit.

Visiting Sully

2011-11-23T15:46:00.001-06:00

Sully, Avian Ambassador to Wild Bird Rescue, received visitors. Here he is, and here they are looking into his mew. The visitors brought supplies needed by the sanctuary for everyday operations, such as paper towels and dish washing soap. Please consider a donation. Sully, for instance, is calling for sponsors at one hundred dollars per year to buy food -- yes, mice and worms, yum!

Quite Sunny and Yellow or Red

2011-11-23T15:25:00.001-06:00

Leaves look quite yellow here after a summer of drought . . .

Or they look quite red . . .

And surrounded by the season of yellow or red, still stands Buster Brown's mother's house. After the murder of her son by the mayor, Frank Collier, the townsfolk so loved the boy that they gave Mrs. Brown the house.

Marker in Scurry

2011-11-21T05:56:00.001-06:00

Native American marker trees can seem mysterious, magical, and fascinating in other ways. MyMrMallory and I headed to Holliday to photograph the marker tree there. Visit Ken Fibbe's article about the marker tree pictured here. And the fellow about whom he writes, Steve Houser, published an article in two parts about marker trees in the North Texas region. Steve Houser's article Part One, and
Steve Houser's article Part Two.

And upon our return, some magic did envelope us; some sort of liquid stuff fell on us, and heavily, too. It took us a while to remember to engage the . . . um . . . that stick that runs across our windshield? Oh, yes, the windshield wipers. They still function on the truck. Seriously, the rain pounded us, and we delighted in it though it hurt our ears and we could not hear one another speak; not that we wanted to speak, for we felt in awe of the rain.

Amazing View from the Cockpit

2011-11-15T08:57:00.001-06:00

The smooth air and comfortable temperatures, and great view of the clouds at sunset gave us a remarkable view as we returned home after a practice flight. More photos at the WAJA.

And from the front seat of our truck, MyMrMallory and I watched an experimental as if flew over the road on final into the airport.

Artist From WWII's Foxholes

2011-11-13T10:59:00.001-06:00

Carolyn Gilbert, director of the Red River Valley Museum, hosted a remarkable fellow at the museum (a remarkable lady herself, she knows how to do that). On Veteran's Day, William A. Foley, Jr., (at left) gave a lecture on his experience working on his book, Visions from a Foxhole: A Rifleman in Patton's Ghost Corps. ISBN 978-0-89141-850-4. In her column in the Times Record News, Gilbert explains how she met Foley.

Foley served in the 94th Infantry Division under General George S. Patton. During that time, he sketched some of the scenes he witnessed as an infantryman. Below he shows the unbridled joy the infrantrymen felt when the P-47s arrived to assist them in battle.

Highly descriptive with his words, one cannot help but feel the experiences he had as he related them during his lecture. In regard to his ability to write, he mentioned that not until later in his life he learned that he could tell his story, and he does very well, I say.

Foley sketched himself and his own personal experiences in addition to the men around him. Above he shows himself lunging away from a truck before it is hit by a mortar.

Click on the images to visit his website and to view more artwork.

Migration's In

2011-11-08T08:41:00.001-06:00

Spotted outside my window this morning all at once, an Eastern Towhee, several juncos, an Inca Dove, a Chickadee, Starlings, one White-winged Dove, and several Bluejays. Thanks to Nila at Wichita Valley Landscaping for compiling a list of bird-attracting plants (it must help to have Saint Frances in the garden, too).

Seeing Storms, Eyeball and Radar: A Comparison

2011-11-07T19:21:00.000-06:00

Garden Friends, All Beautiful

2011-11-06T14:56:00.002-06:00

Beautiful Turns of Phrase in Two Languages

2011-11-05T16:37:00.000-05:00

Ysabel de la Rosa: Take a Bilingual Ride on the Red River / Un viaje poético por el Río rojo

With Fall Drop Pumpkins

2011-11-05T16:20:00.000-05:00

On occasion of summer going away and fall arriving, and -- any excuse to fly -- aviators will fire up their birds, load up a co-pilot and a few pumpkins, and toss them out the cockpit as they fly at one hundred feet above ground level to test their skill at hitting a target on the field. My first video, here I show footage of a Stearman taking off, approaching the target, and his or her bombardier clever at judging speed and distance, coming close to hitting the target with one of the pumpkins. The end of the video shows the Stearman landing, followed by Dave's Piper Cub.
In the distance I spotted large flocks of Sandhill Cranes, the sight of which brought to mind a link David sent to us. For a visual treat, see the video by Sophie Windsor Clive, see her video at Vimeo of a remarkable flock of starlings. Thanks, David!

Roadrunner

2011-11-04T21:12:00.001-05:00

City Support

2011-11-04T09:32:00.001-05:00

The City of Wichita Falls is one of Wild Bird Rescue's biggest supporters. Recently, workers from the city placed logs around the grassy area that gives access to visitors to Lake Wichita, and added gravel for the parking space, making the area look landscaped. In addition to looking neater, the grassy area has now become a haven for the Killdeer that nest there every year.

Flute Past Sunset

2011-11-04T08:20:00.002-05:00

The Crews played the keyboard and the flute past sunset. Venus appears over Mrs. Woods' home.

Image taken with a Nikon Coolpix S80.

1886 House: First View

2011-11-02T21:49:00.000-05:00

"Go over there and ask him. I know he'll say yes," Julie said, encouraging me to speak to the owner of a house built in 1886. She was right: I was allowed on the property to document a house built in 1886 and the results are below. Indeed, Matthew was warm and welcoming as he allowed MyMrMallory and me to tag along this evening to take pictures of what we believe has become the oldest house in Wichita County. The thing is that the house is ruined by mold, so the current owners feel obligated to bulldoze it to the ground. My voluntary mission: Document the house with photographs. Later we will research the history of the house. I hope to document it here as we go along.

A cold front blew in at an estimated fifty-miles per hour as we drove toward the old house.

I hoped the clouds would embellish my photographs of the house.

Northeast view of the old house. (HDR image.)

Southwest view. (HDR image.) The distortion has to do with the effect of the lens.

Southeast view. (Distortion due to the effect of the lens. Okay, I DO need to read now the literature FEK sent to me to tweak the wide-angle lens distortion.)

Awesome views all around as the cold front moved past us.

One Hundred Year Old Barn

2011-10-31T18:47:00.002-05:00

My friend, Julie, encouraged me to photograph a one hundred year old barn that sits near her house. So this afternoon I traipsed over there and found my way to the barn. Driving my Lariat through a tight winding gravel road I came upon a dilapidated barn that seemed to have a recent and thick coat of red paint.
Unfurling some wire that held the gate shut, I spooked some horses who noshed on the grass nearby, and in turn, they spooked me with their reaction. Amiable creatures as we were all, we established in this way a friendly relationship.

This is the old barn. Note the beams that attempt to halt its eventual collapse.

A wire held the gate shut.

A tree grew unattended through the fence near the gate.

To my new equine friends who seemed so interested in my lens, I promised to return for a few lessons in photography.

Introduced Hoggard, a Magical Poet

2011-10-29T09:37:00.003-05:00

A couple of months ago the chair of the Speakers and Issues Series, Dr. Montoya, asked me to introduce James Hoggard at his next reading. I thanked her for the honor, and set to work on my words. I felt deeply honored and delighted to give my observations about his work as I introduced him.

Here are some excerpts from my speech.

James Hoggard served as Poet Laureate of Texas for the year 2000 and has won numerous awards for his writing, including a fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts, and recognition for his translations, short stories, and poetry books, and most notable to me, a Lon Tinkle Award for Excellence Sustained throughout a Career. He's written very well for a long time.

Most of the public know about his long list of awards, so rather than list them, I wanted to emphasize his longevity as a poet, one of the grandest things about Hoggard. Also, he has worked as professor at MSU for a couple of decades, and I wished to point out another grand thing about him, and that is the effect he has on his community and students.

His work, his awards, and his devotion to MSU and the community have raised the quality of education in the city, indeed the world, for students from all around the world attend MSU and return to their countries taking with them everything they've learned from him.

At first I thought it sounded excessive, until I recognized its truth.

My late first husband, David, a Harvard grad, mathematician, and professor of linguistics, would read aloud to me Hoggard's work. With few exceptions, David would not read aloud, so I knew that when he read something great emerged from his lips. I've known that . . . a poet has some influence on his readers. I paraphrase Mr. John Hirschi when he said that Hoggard weaves magic with his words.

And here I begin to explain my observations about his work, his remarkable work over the years.

Carefully considered words by Hoggard are the magic through which he expresses his insights into the parts of life that we may not see otherwise. His book Elevator Man, and his latest novel, The Mayor's Daughter, in addition to countless poems, all show these beautifully written ways of expressing things, those things that seem equally as intelligent as his choice of language.

I added that In Eyesigns he wittily compels the reader with imagery, words, and numbers. This book is difficult to find now, but do try to acquire your own copy because it is a treat to visit every once in a while.

For The Mayor's Daughter, my intention was to comprehend more the depth of Hoggard's insight, so I spent a few hours at the archives downtown reading the court documents and articles about the tragedy.

The knowledge I gained about the tragedy shocked me. The culprits and the people who continued to support them made me feel such disdain that I did not feel sure I wanted to read the book at all!

The story, though, brings redemption to the victims, and to a town, and said that it shows the struggle of a townsfolk experiencing increasing wealth, and then attempting to maintain the commensurate levels of culture rising in their lives. Indeed, Hoggard beautifully righted a wrong.

My second honor that evening was to present him with a plaque to commemorate his twentieth book. The chair, unable to attend the reading, gave me that wonderful task.

And so it was another poetic evening in Wichita Falls. This time, though, I had the honor to contribute my part, an honor that I will have present in my mind for a long time.

See an article about Hoggard's recent awards published a couple of days later in the Times Record News, written by Ted Buss.

CWC Above Clouds to DTO

2011-10-29T07:57:00.002-05:00

At sunrise, MyMrMallory and I hopped in the plane at Kickapoo and left for Denton.

Taking off on runway 35.

The sun, Lake Arrowhead, and the propeller of a King Air.

Flying above the clouds.

That is one tall antenna we fly around at 4,000 feet.

On final for Denton's runway. Two planes hold while we land.

Denton has an aviation school, so the airport stays busy all week.

The tower with friendly and helpful controllers in Denton.

Hoggard Reads

2011-10-27T08:49:00.001-05:00

Speakers and Issues Series

Presents

James Hoggard – The Mayor’s Daughter

Museum of Art at MSU

Thursday, October 27, 2011, at 7 p.m.

Professor James Hoggard reads from his twentieth book, The Mayor’s Daughter. In this novel the author creates a place like Wichita Falls in the mid-1920s where, as prominent novelist Sarah Bird has said, he gives us “an extraordinarily powerful family drama.” The potent forces detailed in this novel include both lyrical and raw turns in a world where a figure of courage rises in the midst of breath-taking cruelty into a hard-earned sense of justice and hope.

Lomography: Driving Around

2011-10-26T12:07:00.000-05:00

There seems no end to the subject matter one can photograph with a simple, plastic, Diana F+, 120 film, and a fisheye lens.

Two cars parked in front of a hangar.

Driving along Iowa Park Road.

Storage building for grain.

Trees at a corner.

Sunlight through the trees.

The Kemp Center for the Arts.

Carol presides at meetings held at the Kemp Center for the Arts.

Cherished Garden Guests

2011-10-25T12:41:00.001-05:00

Not Here to Stay

2011-10-21T12:07:00.002-05:00

Jeff Masters, whose blog I frequently visit, confirms that Texas will remain dry and warmer than usual through winter and spring. Argh. Here are a couple of outlook maps I snagged from his blog:

La Nina is not here to stay, thank Goodness for that; but, unfortunately, neither are our trees, and so we may witness many more die.

Spotting Panhandle Birds

2011-10-21T10:21:00.001-05:00

Great birding, for a gnome who had no plans to birdwatch. Spotted four Golden Eagles -- or the same one several times -- and a huge flock of Sandhill Cranes south of Pampa. I felt amazed to see the images below after downloading them on my computer. I took them from the back seat of a truck as we bounced along country roads. I am encouraged to think how much better I could have experienced my photography if I would have used a tripod and stood still. I spotted many other birds but did not identify them as we sped past them.

Sandhill Cranes.

Mottled Duck in flight.

Mottled Duck all by herself.

Red-bellied Woodpecker.

Rump shot of a male Yellow-shafter Flicker.

I like this image because it shows a bit of the habitat of the Lark Sparrow. He sits on one of the t-posts.

Panhandle Plains Backdrop

2011-10-21T10:08:00.001-05:00

At left, batteries that hold oil, and in the distance, silos that store grain serve as the background for the Sandhill Cranes.

Oil pumps work away in the background as Sandhill Cranes feast on insects in a cut wheat field.

Driving around the countryside on business we spotted a huge flock of Sandhill Cranes noshing on Charles' wheat and corn. The fellow driving the truck MyMrMallory and I were in would annoyingly not stop for me to take pictures -- and I really did not want to slow down his business by stopping every few hundred feet to take a picture of a bird, no matter what kind of bird, an awesome Golden Eagle an awesome flock of thousands of Sandhill Cranes. This led me to exercise my skill at grabbing shots from a moving vehicle as we bumped along country roads. His job: Count water mills on a ranch; my job: grab shots.

Having grabbed a couple hundred shots, I had to delete too many to count because they were blurry. Not easy taking sharp pics from a bouncy truck. But what I did have in the end were some interesting views of the Panhandle Plains of Texas. Behind the cranes one can see some of the background that shows how many people earn a living from farming, ranching, and drilling.

Sandhill Cranes fly over a wheat and corn fields. Below them in the picture, water accumulated in the wheat field deeply enough to provide a resting area for a large number of teals.

The teals fly off as our truck approached the water. In the background part of the flock of cranes grazes Charles' wheat.

At the bottom of the picture one can see the pivot that provides water to the corn. Those are teals flying above it.

The Sandhill Cranes stood on a nearby cut wheat field to nosh on insects. Note the vast farmland in the distance.

The Towers that Carry Energy

2011-10-17T19:33:00.001-05:00

The size of the trucks give one an idea of the size of the towers. The area around the towers shows the commensurate destroyed foliage that leads to decreased wild life habitat.

On the ground, where they belong, rather than in the air, holding wind-blown lines that cause sparks. We have so many millions of miles of roads: Why not follow them instead of destroying more habitat?

Praying Mantis

2011-10-16T09:05:00.004-05:00

Swainson's Heading South

2011-10-14T08:49:00.001-05:00

Happily I watched several dozen Swainson's Hawks joined in a kettle of Turkey Vultures as they headed south during their fall migration. Some of them will reach as far as the pampas in Argentina, while some may winter in Florida. Their journey encompasses the landmass between New Jersey and Argentina. One can spot thousands, particularly in the narrow part of the American continent at Panama.
Swainson's will eat mice and other small animals, but they will predominantly eat insects. For more details about their habits and other information, see Hawks in Flight, by Pete Dunn, David Sibley, and Clay Sutton, ISBN 0-395-42388-0.
I spotted this large group of perhaps two or three hundred (including Vultures) hovering southward over Hico.

White and Homeless in Everywhere

2011-10-13T14:45:00.001-05:00

I leaned against the ADA compliant railing on the corner of Pecan Street and the main drag through Everywhere, Texas. I wanted to get under way, but I settled in to listen when a local man stopped to visit with me while I photographed one of the old buildings on the corner. That's the old post office, he said.

He told me that he'd been homeless for a year and a half and lived in a tent in a nearby forest, not far down the street.
"What happened to you?" I asked him.
"My wife divorced me," he said, "so I came back here where I have kin, but I lived in the forest. I used to be a school teacher. I came here and looked for a job but couldn't find anything, so I volunteered as a janitor over there," he said, pointing to one of the buildings. "I think I'm pro'ly the best toilet bowl cleaner in town."
"Gotta count for somethin'."
"Yeah, and then I helped a bit at the museum, and I also helped the African Americans research for their heritage, but that didn't go over very well with some folks."
"Why not?"
"East Texas is still very segregated."
"Oh? What is the black population of this town?"
"I don't know that any black people live here anymore. The Klan is here, you know. The blacks here used to live along the river, and they got flooded out sometimes, and if they ever crossed the railroad this much," he said spreading his hands about a yard, "they were hung." Ouch.
"THE Klan?" I wasn't surprised by the history of the ill treatment against African Americans, but I was about the news about the Klan.
"Yeah. They had a big membership drive recently. They're mad because President Obama got elected. It was the biggest membership drive since Martin Luther King."
"I didn't know the Klan still existed." How naive of me.
"They do. They're secret. They meet in the forest. They hide behind organizations like the Moose Lodge to give them some credibility."

So I had to ponder the news. Living as a white person I do not, cannot see the abundant racism. Indeed, I may not even know the extent of my own prejudice instilled in me during childhood by a racist mother and growing up in a racist society. For many years my mother forbade me to have a friend, Marie, and I could not understand why not until I became an adult and recognized that my best friend was black and my mother was racist. One famous play, South Pacific, has a song with the lyrics "you've got to be taught to be afraid / [ . . . ] / and people whose skin is a different shade," yet, even as a child I took note of the lyrics and felt some level of disdain for, and confusion over them. It is how I felt this morning as I walked along the old street of Everywhere, a town founded in the 1860s where still such hatred as the Klan flourishes, and no doubt why culture in town remains at its level. I thought of Jahn, too, the friendly local man who took the time to tell me a bit about the history of the town, even how to pronounce it: [Ever-where]. His wife, no doubt -- and this is my theory -- could not tolerate his bleeding-heart attitudes, and tossed him out of the house.

"That wasn't very Christian of her to do that."
"Neither of us knew what would happen to me. I live with my faith in Lord Jesus to give me strength."
We all need a whole lot more of Jesus around here if in 2011 there exist still people who foment hatred. But, was it all true, I wondered, what Jahn said about an organization that so despises one people, one culture, that they are compelled to hang them or burn them alive? Would they still hang a black man or woman if they took one step over the tracks? Is there still such darkness, such lack of Christ, everywhere? Remembering comments I'd heard in the past by some of the people whose paths I cross every week, the answer to my question was a painful yes. There are racists in my town and there are racists everywhere, white, black, red, and yellow. I put my camera away and drove away from there fast enough to exceed the speed limit.

Update: A local from the town responded to this post saying that it hurts the folks living there. I agree. I should have used the name Everywhere instead of the real name, because there exists, unfortunately, racism everywhere and I would have made that point more clearly. I'm still awfully shocked by the experience of knowing that the Klan still exists, but I'm overcoming it enough to post some of the photographs I took of the wonderful old buildings in that old town.

Love the Rain; Love the Clouds

2011-10-12T19:53:00.000-05:00

Texas has received several inches of rain the past few days.

Clouds have looked gorgeous for days.

Rain Headed Our Way

2011-10-08T08:39:00.000-05:00

The weatherman predicts heavy rainfall in our neck of the woods.

Update: 3.95 inches at our house.

Finally, Camera in Hand, Clubs Put Away

2011-10-07T09:17:00.002-05:00

I volunteered to take pictures during the Women's Tournament and wound up substituting for a player, adding to my load at the golf club (and to my body, ouch). The third day, though, I did not have to play, so I spent some time driving around taking pictures and observing nature. I spotted a few Mallard Ducks and a Widgeon, several Robins, a load of goldfinches, and a couple of mockingbirds. I thought I saw a Red-tailed Hawk. In terms of birdwatching, I expected to see more, but the drought has changed the patterns. I saw several species of the smaller wild flowers that no doubt thrive under the golf course's sprinkler systems. It was beautiful out there.

The top contenders hard at work at play.

The crew watered by hand all the greens all summer long. The added TLC shows.

I especially appreciate the added TLC to the grand trees.

The Mesquite Plant hasn't noticed we are suffering through a drought, hardy fellow!

Many Mistletoe plants have withered and dried up while the Mesquite continues to grow seed pods.

Maybe in Ten Years

2011-10-05T18:41:00.002-05:00

Maybe in ten years I might walk across the golf course as often as I did this week. I completely changed my mind since yesterday when three times I exclaimed, "I will chuck it all to become a full time golfer." In spite of not having swung at a golf ball in many months, nay, years, I happened to play only because the organizers of the tournament asked me to substitute for a player. While at first I felt enthralled to find myself surrounded by the lovely landscaping and old trees, once the game began, I realized that the activity I really felt any interest in engaging was photography. Time and again I wanted to stop the golf cart to take a picture, but, you know, that's obnoxious to do during the game. So whenever my opponent occupied herself with her shot, I surreptitiously slipped out my iPhone and clicked away at some of the magnificent old trees. And if I could have shot macro with the iPhone, I would have crawled on my knees to capture the beauty of a flower, a stone, a fallen leaf, a damselfly . . .

First Tournament in Ten Years

2011-10-04T20:56:00.001-05:00

TLG: [Breathes deeply the cool air. Looks around at beautiful trees and golf course.] I'm going to chuck it all to become a full-time golfer.
Michael: Yeah. That flyin's gotta be fun, though.
TLG: [Ponders comment. Ponders chucking flying.] Yeah, you're right. I might just keep flyin'.

iPhone Images.

Nature, How Long Thou Art Dry?

2011-10-03T21:23:00.000-05:00

Three dry ponds.

Yellow substance in the murky waters of a drying pond.

Hardy plants survive in a pond's bottom.

Lillies have turned an eerie color.

Dry trees surrounded by crisp dry grass.

Burnt trees from above provide another gut-striking abstract of Nature's drought art.

How muddy and boggy the cattle crossing may have become after a rain.

The windmill might have filled the tank if it had water to siphon from beneath the surface.

Cows have to drink water from algae-ridden waters.

An island emerges in the middle of a pond.

Nature, Thy Drought Art

2011-10-02T16:35:00.001-05:00

MyMrMallory and I flew around in the helicopter today. From above one can see the effect of the drought.

The crops did not grow in the drought.

An abandoned veggie garden.

Dead Trees.

A dry creek lined by dead trees.

Dry grasses.

Dry reeds in a pond.

Bone dry.

A bush manages to survive in the bottom of a dry pond.

Colorful plants grow on a pond bottom.

Hoof prints along the bottom of a dry pond.

A stone ridge emerges along the dry grasslands.

Dead or alive.

After the fire.

Plowed earth.

Ryan's Explanation on the QR Code

2011-10-02T05:26:00.004-05:00

Click here to visit Ryan's blog.

Below I show one of his creations.

Quanah in Cache

2011-09-30T13:51:00.002-05:00

After Quanah Parker's death in the 1911, his daughter Mrs. Birdsong, bought his home and moved it away from the grounds of Fort Sill to Eagle Park in Cache, Oklahoma, thus saving it from demolition by the US Army.

Note the stars (fourteen in total) that Quanah painted on his roof, all with one tip pointed downward, his own version of showing a leader lived there, fashioned after a general's stars at his quarters in Fort Sill.

Back porch of the Star House. My foot almost went through the rotten floor boards.

Quanah's (supposedly) table. George sits in (purportedly) Quanah's chair.

Upon the dust-covered stove a sign lists some of the people who sat with Quanah at his table: Lord Brice, Geronimo, cattle ranchers of note, such as his friends Burk Burnett and Tom Waggoner, and several chiefs from the Comanche, Kiowa, Sioux, and Cheyenne nations, and generals from the US Army.

Eventually, Herbert Woesner, Jr., the man who assisted Mrs. Birdsong, relocated several other buildings to Eagle Park. The park became a sight for tourists to visit, and surrounding its main attraction, the Star House, the could skate in a rink or ride a roller-coster.

Eagle Park closed in the 1950s.

A railway, bifurcated now by trees, shows some of the path of a little train running through Eagle Park during its day.

Farm machinery sits abandoned and strewn about Eagle Park.

Trailer full of scrap metal, or an antique shop's inventory?

A bust of Quanah Parker at the National Hall of Fame for Famous American Indians in Anadarko, Oklahoma. Would someone renovate his Star House, please?

When Coco Naps

2011-09-26T15:25:00.002-05:00

My cat, born ten years ago in an old barn underneath an antique tractor that belonged in a museum, has the charming habit of covering her face during her naps.

But Wait! A Great Horned Owl!

2011-09-24T09:05:00.002-05:00

Just when I think I won't blog anymore Lila shows me a Great Horned Owl. Of course I have to document and share. This fellow is recovering from a broken wing. He sees Dr. Sultemeier every week. In a few weeks they will release him back to the wild. Lila held him while I assisted her in wrapping more tape around his cast (in green). Assisting the rehabbers is often quite thrilling to me because I would never come so close to a wild bird. Please support Wild Bird Rescue.

The End

2011-09-23T21:01:00.000-05:00

Tired of blogging . . .

Monarchs Hanging Around

2011-09-22T08:30:00.003-05:00

In my garden at dusk, Monarch butterflies alight on the branch of a Pear tree.

Snapseed

2011-09-20T09:22:00.000-05:00

The app called Snapseed provided me with the opportunity to exercise my creative genius.

Titan, Golden Eagle.

Great Horned Owls.

Gail and Great Horned Owl.

Please support the South Plains Wildlife Rehabilitation Center.

Growing, Grass and Cities

2011-09-19T18:43:00.001-05:00

Silos in Oklahoma surrounded by green grass, a sweet sight after a much-needed rain.

A fence barely stands after a fire in Oklahoma.

A bridge that reflected the progress of yore stands abandoned to the progress of the present time.

More Monarchs

2011-09-19T18:37:00.002-05:00

I feel delighted to report that I have spotted an increase in the number of monarch butterflies migrating through my garden this year. Hurrah!