Saint Philopateer Coptic Church

Islamic Temple

Gurdwara Singh Sabha of Dallas

Buddhist Temple

On the Bank of the Wichita River

Open Roads of North Texas Beckon Me

Below I show two photographs I took along Hwy 367. Oil field pumper communication devices have begun to intrigue me. Here's what I know about them so far, and I ask that you correct me if I have wrong information: The pumper would raise the can particular to a tank to indicate it was ready to "run"; the gauger would see it as (s)he would drive by, then stop to test the oil in the tank; if the oil measured within standards, the spigot would then be opened and the oil allowed to "run" down the pipes into the domain of the purchaser; and, they used these communication devices until the 90s once trucks began to transport the oil and tele-communucations became prevalent, moves that phased out the cans and made them obsolete. The top photos shows, still, the names Stevens and Johnson (written in paint as S + K), Fred's oil company, on the light blue can.

I have another photograph at my pbase site: http://pbase.com/ebhawley/image/110207759

Interestingly, in the 80s women became involved as gaugers and truckers, hired particularly by the major service companies, such as Halliburton and Schlumberger. Within the realm of the small oil companies, women need not bother to apply for a job, same as African Americans or Hispanics. This still rings true, unfortunately.

Today I rode the 2009 BMW F 800 ST to discover that it seems perfectly adapted to the straight or winding roads traversing the vast ranch and farmlands of Texas. Include some twisties and you won't mind the heat or the grasshoppers hitting your legs.
I took the photo below in Electra. The lot remains empty, yet cared for. Some controversy surrounds the owner of the lot. It sits next to the antique shop on the corner of Main Street, and just a stone's throw from the Grand Theatre. But I like the colors of the brick and the oldness of the wall. I like, too, the pile of bricks on the grass covering an old floor.
I show below an historical marker along Hwy 25 that states that about 100 yards to the west lay an old route used before 1890 to transport buffalo hides. It mentions that Native Americans needed the bison to survive, and so the invaders from the east devoted themselves to decimating the herds: "no bison; no 'injuns.'" Anathema.

A note to motorcyclists: Drive safely. Wear protective attire. Return home.

Wild Bird Rescuing

Wild Bird Rescue, Inc's web site: http://www.wildbirdrescueinc.org/

Lila and Bob allowed me to tag along behind them this afternoon as they fed, and fed, and fed baby birds at the Wild Bird Rescue Center.

An American Robin accepts Lila's offer of food, while a Mockingbird waits patiently for her turn.

Bob feeds a baby Kestrel.

Bob holds an Inca Dove.

Empidonax Flycatcher. (Least?)

Grebe.

Dove in Bob's hands.

Baby Chimney Swifts.

Western Kingbirds.

Black and White with a Little Red

The stickers on a BMW motorcycle show off the places its owner has seen: Route 66 from Chicago to LA, Carlsbad Caverns, Grand Teton National Park, to name a few places of the stickers attached to his panniers.

A catfish swims around in the aquarium at Cabela's in Denton.

Heat

Cattle Egret. One of thousands and thousands.

While the swather swept across the wheat grass, something must have caused a spark, perhaps a metal part of it striking a stone, to cause a fire. Fire trucks from Holliday drove through fencing to contain the fire. In the photograph, cow patties smolder in the ashes.

Old electrical poles lean all along North Central Texas grasslands.

Beautiful and intriguing seed pods on the shore of Lake Kickapoo.

Herefords, standing belly-deep in water, glimpse at me through mesquite plants.

Emil's Pat Carrigan

Below I show a photograph I took today of a painting stored carefully in the vault of the Museum of North Texas History. Flakes of paint have fallen off the canvas throughout the years. The staff of the Museum found the painting in such a bad condition and in need of restoration but due to cost, they may only store it as carefully as possible to halt the deterioration.
After post processing the image in the digital darkroom, the photograph below shows the portrait as it may have looked back in the [30s] when Carrigan's mother commissioned Hermann to paint a portrait of her son killed during WWI. Though the process of removing blemishes from this picture seemed a bit tedious and constrained by the lack of skill, I pursued my task just to take a look at the difference between the two versions. I can travel back in time in my imagination and look upon the painting as Hermann painted it, and look upon the un-blemished face of a young man struck down in that unspeakable war. (Or does "unspeakable war" sound redundant?) Dallas will remove the larger blemishes to make it look as if Hermann himself, with his own paintbrush, had restored the painting.

Flying the Jenny

Every first Saturday of the month, the Museum of North Texas History hosts a unique event: They gather at Kickapoo Airport in Wichita Falls to fly the WWI Curtiss "Jenny," flown by aviator Tom Danaher.

It was another windy day at the airport.

The WWI fire truck makes its way from the museum

through the old hangars toward the Jenny's grassy airstrip.

A volunteer assists in pushing the Jenny to the grassy airstrip.

Tom Danaher prepares for flight.

Danaher and the Jenny buzzed the crowd.

Approaching into the wind for a landing.

Tom Danaher

While I count myself fortunate to witness this unique event, and feel thrilled and teary-eyed every time I see the Jenny aloft under the experienced control of Tom, if you ask me, I'll answer that they both belong and should remain within the safety of the walls of the museum. Tom, as a mortal, will not be with us forever, as an inanimate object would, and that is one thing I'd like God to change.

In Oklahoma. El Reno Mustang Field

Images I took while waiting for Mr. Graves to change the oil in My Mr. Mallory's plane.
A Meadowlark on a taxiway marker.
A Horned Lark along the taxiway.