Coming in for a landing. Weird.
Standing tall. I love the long delicate feathering on his neck, and on his back. Gorgeous.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Great Blue
This January has been one of the coldest on record here. I'm sure it's not record-setting in a lot of places, but I'm not in a lot of places. Yesterday afternoon, the sun finally returned, and actually stayed out, instead of playing peek-a-boo. I piled my big, black Standard Poodle and my smaller black camera bag in Catawba, and puttered the half mile to the game reserve. At this time of year, there is only a couple of mile loop open to drive through. I haunt the place, waiting for March 15th when the gates are opened, and backwater permitting, my 8300+ acre backyard is once again accessible. Apparently, everybody and their brother had the same idea. I met more vehicles down there, than I do on the 12 mile drive to the nearest Dollar General. I figured picture taking would be a wash, with all that traffic. I probably would've missed him, had he not taken flight. These guys are the best at standing stock-still, and blending in. They are usually pretty shy too, but this one didn't seem too worried about my presence. Made my afternoon.
Coming in for a landing. Weird.
Standing tall. I love the long delicate feathering on his neck, and on his back. Gorgeous.
Coming in for a landing. Weird.
Standing tall. I love the long delicate feathering on his neck, and on his back. Gorgeous.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Serendipity
I just love that word. I am by no estimation wealthy in the traditional sense of the word. I have, however, had a wealth of serendipitous occasions in my time here. These two pics illustrate one such occasion. My maternal grandfather, Pop, always hung the moon for me, and I'd like to think I did for him. But that's a story for another time. He left this world just a tad over thirty years ago, and I still miss him every day. Anyways, this first pic is something he showed to me when I was a young kid. Always full of questions, I asked how he got it. He just kinda chuckled, and said that it was not an easy thing, and I knew him well enough to know that further questioning wouldn't do a damn bit of good. After he passed, it came to my home, and has been with me everywhere I have lived since then. I can touch it right now, without moving from this chair. Here is a pic.
Hard to tell scale from the photo, so here are the measurements. It's 16 inches tall, and measures 14 inches wide at the base of the leather handles. It's made of solid brass by the Fabric Fire Hose Company of New York. It's heavy as hell, and it woulda took a good man to hold and aim it with water pressure behind it. The little insets show where it is stamped "PFD 2". That stands for Potomac Fire Department. Now "fire halls" as they are called back home, in the high Alleghenies, have always been centers of social activity. Men traditionally go "up the firehall" to play cards and drink beer at night, and on weekends. They are the site of community suppers to raise money for neighbors in need, church organizations, and even the fire company itself. Community dances were always held there, and still are. They are one thing that helps to hold communities together, in a place where life is all too often a hardscrabble affair. In fact, Hardscrabble was the original pre-revolutionary war name of the little trading post that sprung up at the confluence of George's Creek and the North Branch of the Potomac. My Pop spent a fair amount of his free hours at the firehall, as did a large portion of the male population. I treasure the nozzle, as I do everything I have to remind me of him. I love to do genealogy, because it helps to make history personal. My family has been in that area, since the first settlers pushed their way on to the frontier. A group of like-minded folks established a MyFamily site, just for all us folks from the Tri-Towns, to help each other with research, keep those of us no longer there up on the place, and as a place to post old photos that any of us may find interesting. Imagine my surprise when I came across this one.
It is Potomac Fire Department #2, taken in 1925. They are justifiably proud of their state of the art engine. They have their spanking new, state of the art nozzles proudly displayed on the running board near the front of the engine. But do you see what immediately caught my eye? There, just in front of the name "Potomac", with a slight lean she still has to this day, is my nozzle! If that ain't serendipity, I damn sure don't know what is.
Hard to tell scale from the photo, so here are the measurements. It's 16 inches tall, and measures 14 inches wide at the base of the leather handles. It's made of solid brass by the Fabric Fire Hose Company of New York. It's heavy as hell, and it woulda took a good man to hold and aim it with water pressure behind it. The little insets show where it is stamped "PFD 2". That stands for Potomac Fire Department. Now "fire halls" as they are called back home, in the high Alleghenies, have always been centers of social activity. Men traditionally go "up the firehall" to play cards and drink beer at night, and on weekends. They are the site of community suppers to raise money for neighbors in need, church organizations, and even the fire company itself. Community dances were always held there, and still are. They are one thing that helps to hold communities together, in a place where life is all too often a hardscrabble affair. In fact, Hardscrabble was the original pre-revolutionary war name of the little trading post that sprung up at the confluence of George's Creek and the North Branch of the Potomac. My Pop spent a fair amount of his free hours at the firehall, as did a large portion of the male population. I treasure the nozzle, as I do everything I have to remind me of him. I love to do genealogy, because it helps to make history personal. My family has been in that area, since the first settlers pushed their way on to the frontier. A group of like-minded folks established a MyFamily site, just for all us folks from the Tri-Towns, to help each other with research, keep those of us no longer there up on the place, and as a place to post old photos that any of us may find interesting. Imagine my surprise when I came across this one.
It is Potomac Fire Department #2, taken in 1925. They are justifiably proud of their state of the art engine. They have their spanking new, state of the art nozzles proudly displayed on the running board near the front of the engine. But do you see what immediately caught my eye? There, just in front of the name "Potomac", with a slight lean she still has to this day, is my nozzle! If that ain't serendipity, I damn sure don't know what is.
Doo, Doo, Doo, Lookin' Out My Backdoor...
Well, not really. In truth, I took these next few out my bedroom window. The first one makes me grin. Last Thursday, I was inside watching it snow, and pacing back and forth, waiting for Spring. These fellows are some of the few spots of color around in this drab, dead, season. I call this one, "The Original Sno-Cone"
Next, the female of the species. Not nearly as colorful as the males. These two just captured my mood perfectly.
Fast forward to today. Heard a familiar racket as I was walking past the same bedroom window. The meteorolgical snow is gone. The biological snows are not. Here's a quick indoor shot of the noise-makers.
Stepped outside to capture part of the flock. I love to listen to the racket they make, talking to each other all at once. Without the noise, and from a distance, there are so many of them, you could mistake them for left behind snow (of the meteorological type).
As I turn to walk back inside, the sun breaks through, finally! I hear another group coming in to join the crowd. Aim the camera skyward for one last shot, before heading in to the warmth of my shelter/prison. At least someone appears to be enjoying the weather.
Next, the female of the species. Not nearly as colorful as the males. These two just captured my mood perfectly.
Fast forward to today. Heard a familiar racket as I was walking past the same bedroom window. The meteorolgical snow is gone. The biological snows are not. Here's a quick indoor shot of the noise-makers.
Stepped outside to capture part of the flock. I love to listen to the racket they make, talking to each other all at once. Without the noise, and from a distance, there are so many of them, you could mistake them for left behind snow (of the meteorological type).
As I turn to walk back inside, the sun breaks through, finally! I hear another group coming in to join the crowd. Aim the camera skyward for one last shot, before heading in to the warmth of my shelter/prison. At least someone appears to be enjoying the weather.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Seeing Eye to Eye
When I spotted these two young bucks, I just got the feeling they were up to something and it might be worth my while to just observe for a bit. You can just see it in their eyes and body language. Bucks don't normally hang out with each other, but rut was over, so I knew there was something else going on. Here's the pic I named the post for.
If you click on it and make it bigger, you can see the eye to eye thing much better. If you just glance, it looks like it could be a "joined at the head" thing, lol. You can also notice a red area at the base of one of the buck's antlers. You might think they were fighting, but nope. This was all done very gently. They would lower their heads, get close to each other, and very gently engage antlers. Then a bit of slow twisting side to side, disengage, and take a couple of steps back. Seems to me they may have been helping each other loosen those antlers, getting ready to shed them. Here are a couple more steps to the dance.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
You Had To Be There....
Ok, this series deserves more than just a couple lines of explanation. Our favorite hobby is walking the riverbottom fields, hunting for arrowheads and artifacts from the prehistoric inhabitants along the river. We spend a lot of time "walkin around, lookin down". The piece in this first pic was found June 15, 2008. Remember that date. It is part of a gorgeous butterfly bannerstone, made from blood quartz. There are many theories as to it's purpose, but that's just what they are; theories. Anyways, my mate finds it, and brings it over to me. I swear, the Grandfathers smile on him every time we hunt. That is a most good thing. He gifts it to me, and after photographing it, I run a leather string through the hole and hang it on my rearview mirror, so I see it everday, and rub it at least once a day. It brings me joy just to touch it. Here it is:
Fast forward to June 12, 2010. 2 years of spring and fall backwaters, when the Ohio herself leaves her banks and covers these fields, renewing their fertility. 2 years of crops planted and harvested. 2 years of fields readied for planting, and put to bed for the winter. June 12, 2010, a perfect day for walking these fields. We arrive at the field next to the bannerstone field. The farmer who rents the adjacent field is on his tractor, preparing his land for planting. We start walking the field we have permission to hunt. Just the two of us, with walking sticks. Nothing nefarious going on here, I swear, lol. After about 30 minutes, the farmer hails my mate. He's known this man all his life, so he tells me to keep on hunting, and goes to see what the fellow wants. Directly, I hear my name being called, and I am waved back toward the truck. I head that way, wondering what I am fixin to hear. My mate is laughin, but it isn't a "funny ha ha" laugh. It's a "can you believe this shit?" laugh. I am relieved that it is any kinda laugh. You'd have to know my mate, trust me. Looking back, here's where the hair on the back of my neck shoulda begun standing up, but I've never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Turns out, said farmer had appointed himself "PoPo" of the bottoms, and said he was to run off anyone he didn't know from these fields. Remember he knows my mate well, and we have permission. I didn't hear the conversation, but the farmer did stalk off back to his tractor. Anyways, my mate has decided we will just load up and move one field over and continue. Same farmer we have permission from, and the field where we found the piece of bannerstone, as well as other arrowheads. I tell him I am proud that he didn't let "asshole" ruin a great day to hunt. As we're bumping slowly along the rutted road, he says, "I think I'll just go find the other piece of that", pointing to the stone hanging from my rearview mirror. I laughingly encourage him to dream on. We park at the end of the dirt track. We get out, grab our sticks, and he points out in the field and says, "that's where I found it" meaning the bannerstone. I take the lower end of the field, and he heads out to the spot he pointed out. Not 10 full minutes later, he yells to me, "Found It!", and he starts my way. I call back, "Found what?", (while thinking to myself, abso-fuckin-lutely no way). He gets closer and says "at least I think it's part of it", and holds it up. Now he was still about 10 feet away, but I am dumb-struck. You know, your jaw drops open and your eyes know very well what they see, but the logical part of your brain does not want to accept it. He reaches me and hands it over. He's grinnin from ear to ear, and shows me the goose-bumps on his arms. I let him know it's not part of the missing piece, but the entire missing piece. He can't believe me, but I explain I look at it daily, and this is all that's missing. Here it is:
We both realize this just does not happen. 2 years of backwaters and active farming have rolled by. As much of the stone as we found 2 years ago, is a once-in-a-lifetime find for a lot of folks. You simply can't just go back and find the rest of it. We know that if farm machinery broke it, it must have been pulverized. If it was broken the last time human hands touched it, there is absolutely no way to determine how or why, since we don't even know how it was used. What I do know, is that The Grandfathers meant for it to come back together, and they apparently meant for my mate to be the one to make that happen. I could get all philosophical and spiritual about this, but that is for everyone to decide for themselves. I'll just show you one final picture.
Fast forward to June 12, 2010. 2 years of spring and fall backwaters, when the Ohio herself leaves her banks and covers these fields, renewing their fertility. 2 years of crops planted and harvested. 2 years of fields readied for planting, and put to bed for the winter. June 12, 2010, a perfect day for walking these fields. We arrive at the field next to the bannerstone field. The farmer who rents the adjacent field is on his tractor, preparing his land for planting. We start walking the field we have permission to hunt. Just the two of us, with walking sticks. Nothing nefarious going on here, I swear, lol. After about 30 minutes, the farmer hails my mate. He's known this man all his life, so he tells me to keep on hunting, and goes to see what the fellow wants. Directly, I hear my name being called, and I am waved back toward the truck. I head that way, wondering what I am fixin to hear. My mate is laughin, but it isn't a "funny ha ha" laugh. It's a "can you believe this shit?" laugh. I am relieved that it is any kinda laugh. You'd have to know my mate, trust me. Looking back, here's where the hair on the back of my neck shoulda begun standing up, but I've never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Turns out, said farmer had appointed himself "PoPo" of the bottoms, and said he was to run off anyone he didn't know from these fields. Remember he knows my mate well, and we have permission. I didn't hear the conversation, but the farmer did stalk off back to his tractor. Anyways, my mate has decided we will just load up and move one field over and continue. Same farmer we have permission from, and the field where we found the piece of bannerstone, as well as other arrowheads. I tell him I am proud that he didn't let "asshole" ruin a great day to hunt. As we're bumping slowly along the rutted road, he says, "I think I'll just go find the other piece of that", pointing to the stone hanging from my rearview mirror. I laughingly encourage him to dream on. We park at the end of the dirt track. We get out, grab our sticks, and he points out in the field and says, "that's where I found it" meaning the bannerstone. I take the lower end of the field, and he heads out to the spot he pointed out. Not 10 full minutes later, he yells to me, "Found It!", and he starts my way. I call back, "Found what?", (while thinking to myself, abso-fuckin-lutely no way). He gets closer and says "at least I think it's part of it", and holds it up. Now he was still about 10 feet away, but I am dumb-struck. You know, your jaw drops open and your eyes know very well what they see, but the logical part of your brain does not want to accept it. He reaches me and hands it over. He's grinnin from ear to ear, and shows me the goose-bumps on his arms. I let him know it's not part of the missing piece, but the entire missing piece. He can't believe me, but I explain I look at it daily, and this is all that's missing. Here it is:
We both realize this just does not happen. 2 years of backwaters and active farming have rolled by. As much of the stone as we found 2 years ago, is a once-in-a-lifetime find for a lot of folks. You simply can't just go back and find the rest of it. We know that if farm machinery broke it, it must have been pulverized. If it was broken the last time human hands touched it, there is absolutely no way to determine how or why, since we don't even know how it was used. What I do know, is that The Grandfathers meant for it to come back together, and they apparently meant for my mate to be the one to make that happen. I could get all philosophical and spiritual about this, but that is for everyone to decide for themselves. I'll just show you one final picture.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Leveling Out
A second after previous image, leveling off now. His head, topline, tailfeathers and talons still sharp, but wings are now fully extended, legs closer in to body. It is an amazing thing to watch them take off from ground level, dead lift.
Lift-Off!
Again, i love the talons. In this one, you can see he is banded on his right leg. Motion blur on wings, but talons and head are sharp.
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