Hard Eleven Hours

         If only I could have stopped to take more pictures. With the little time I had available, though, I managed a few photographs that show the wonderful Texas seen along the way.

        Heavily post-processed image of part of the structure of a bridge over the Brazos River. Lesson: One must prepare one's camera for "grab shots" as methodically as for a well-composed photograph.

       Viewing the image above, let us play Spot the Courthouse in the reflection of this picture showing a Jaguar Saloon and the highway signs. 

An homage to the past, now old. 

         I've recently decided to show new things, or old things becoming new, opposing my images of Ghost Towns and dilapidated things. In this view, I show old buildings renovated as new, which I view as an endeavor of great character on the part of the community. The two images above show Jordan's Pharmacy in Hamilton, and the building on the corner of Archer and Main Streets in Jacksboro. 

Hard Eight: Where they Cook Food for Your Belly

        Though I had a severe case of get-there-itis after a day away from home, I had to stop for lunch somewhere and to rest  for a hard morning driving north on Highway 281. Always one for a culinary experience, beginning at 11:00 am, I looked out for a local cafe or restaurant for a good meal. In Stephenville I ran into great luck. I caught sight of the Hard Eight BBQ, and carefully avoiding a collision with the yahoo in the truck on the cellphone tailgating me, I turned off the road and drove up to the already crowded parking lot. (You guys, quit yapping on the cell phone while you drive.)

         Inside the building, I saw animals mounted expertly, then hung on the walls. I saw the characteristic head and shoulders of deer, but I also saw full bodies of deer mounted to look as if they leapt over streams. The animals made me imagine them as they lived in the country. The motif seemed unabashedly masculine and country, showing framed images of cowboys and ball players all along the walls. Included among the photos I saw were photographs of 4H youngsters with their prize-winning pigs. Many portraits of ball players and bull riders hung along the walls of the halls, most inscribed by the subject. One of them wrote, "Hard Eight -- the only joint in town you can pay for your meal with the money you won off the owner on the golf course earlier that day." Another inscription, this one written on an artistic rendering of a cowboy astride his horse ready to throw his lasso said, "Good friends are hard to come by." 

         Looking around I tried to memorize everything I saw, and sought, too, a good possibility for a photograph. Up on a corner, hanging high from the banister of the second story, I saw a decoration that seemed worthy of study. A skull of a deer, antlers and all, affixed to a frame, perhaps an old window shutter, caught my eye. After staring at it for a while, my jaw lax and my mouth lay open, my nose wrinkled, and my eyes squinting, all in an attempt to concentrate to assimilate the sight above me. I noticed, too, rope as part of the art, and, What were those white sticks? Bones? Eew. My grimacing face perhaps caught, I assume, by the security camera directly below the objet d'art. 

       

         As I put my camera down, the manager, Matt, approached me and gently informed me that they do not allow photography in the restaurant. My smile and wide-as-saucers eyes, showing friendly interest, may have compelled him to chat with me about why they do not allow pictures. Their goosiness, understandably, stems from past visits by other restauranteurs who take pictures of this restaurant, inside and out, fetching ideas from the unique decor at the Hard Eight BBQ for their own buildings. 

        On behalf of Hard Eight BBQ, other restaurants may decorate to high heaven, but they will be hard pressed to match the quality of the food. I had a pork sandwich on jalapeno sourdough bread, so delicious that it convinced me to tell my friends about the Hard Eight BBQ. Standing before the bbq pits and looking upon several kinds of meats available to eat seemed impressive, too, as a culinary experience. The chefs at the Hard Eight augment the usual fare of chicken and ham with brisket, turkey, sausage, ribs, Rib Eye and Sirloin steaks, and pork chops. And no, though they claim "to go" boxes are popular, in spite of the size of my sandwich, I deemed it too delicious to share with MyMrMallory, waiting for me at home. And while there, glancing at the decorations on the walls offers a unique distraction to look at between mouthfuls. 

           Having managed only two images, I show them here. (Sorry, Matt!) The Hard Eight also sells memorabilia to remind you of your journey there. Visit them on the web to whet your appetite: www.hardeightbbq.com. 

An Hour in Canoe

Friends in the Sierra Club, human and canine, hopped into a kayak and a couple of canoes this morning.

The Wichita River waters flowed gently for us.

We spotted two Yellow-billed Cuckoos, several Blue Jays, American Robins, Mississippi Kites, Grackles, a warbler kind, and a gray bird. Terry, we need you come along with us to help us identify the "gray" birds. 

Glory accompanies Martha during most of her paddling adventures.

Here, French Poodle Boudreaux, and Terrier Uwen ensure a safe canoeing experience for Kelly, Temple, and J.D.

Several intriguing sites along the way included a large rock with carvings and raccoon paw prints in the dried mud.

One of the overpasses sports competing graffiti. 

We passed underneath I-44.

I hoped we would find water flowing down the falls, but they had the pumping unit off.

We landed and pulled in the canoes, then loaded them up on the trailer. 

Thanks to our friends at the Sierra Club for a pleasant experience.

Riding a Lawn Mower

       Recently, I discovered a new passion, and that is the endeavor of riding a lawn mower. I'm not good at it, yet, not having figured out a pattern, and having to ride around mowing over large patches of grass I missed, but I don't mind. The enjoyment in riding a lawn mower comes as no surprise to me because I love to drive things, to ride in things. Here, though, I contribute by driving something in cutting the grass. I recall the complaints made by some folks in having to mow -- the tedious chore they must accomplish every weekend -- usually ended by a dash to the refrigerator for a nice cold brew that will ameliorate the boredom of . . . mowing. Not I! I won't complain and I don't particularly like beer, so I get to mow and mow and mow until I run out of grass or the mower malfunctions, as it did today, the poor thing, by breaking a chain. How disappointing that we could not repair it so that I could continue my task.
       Not everyone has the opportunity to ride a lawn mower, and may live a lifetime never sitting on one; why, I cite myself as an example. I know many people who ride around in lawn mowers, but only until last month did I ever do so myself.
       I picture above our old lawn mower purchased from Texas Tractor Supply company on its fiftieth anniversary. TSC opened its doors in 1939. Except for a broken chain, it still mows, puttering along, turning on a quarter rather than on a dime, over humps, and around Mesquite plants.
       Unlike most folks, I can hardly wait to repair the mower and jump back on it to mow. The love of beer after mowing, I assume, will come with time.

Tagging Along at Five Hundred Feet

MyMrMallory invited me to tag along with him on a helicopter ride. We flew to El Reno, Oklahoma.

The helicopter of choice, a Jet Ranger, and its shadow on the ramp. 

They are my crew for today, walking toward the helicopter.

El Reno fuel station. Most credit cards accepted.

I hope that when they re-paint or replace this sign, they spell everything correctly.

Someone's mailbox, perhaps the person who owns the sign.

Recycled sign in parking area.

El Reno is a small airport with frequent aircraft traffic.

Antennae for cell phone communication have sprung up like weeds. 

After a couple of hours of flight, the crew pushes the helicopter back into the hangar. 

Freedom for Kestrel

Smooth release of an American Kestrel. The Kestrel immediately turned into the wind, (revealing his knowledge of aeronautics) then flew over the pond and into the woods.

Conservation

   Jay drives the tractor to move earth to create terraces that will prevent erosion. In the foreground we can see plowed soil ready for next year's crop. In the background, behind the dust -- in spite of two inches of rain a few days ago -- we can see Taylor's Knob. (Intriguing name, and intriguing that it was named at all, but no one can give me a history on Taylor's Knob.)

Elaborate and Detailed Image

            I enjoy driving past this particular hangar for all of its implications. For instance, the text implies that a shop once existed here; the raised hangar door (in green) implies that they expanded the size of the hangar; and the airplanes pointing in the opposite direction of the hangar door obviously shows it opens on both sides. The airplanes point in different directions every time, implying that people fly them often (yay). 

Huge Numbers of Grasshoppers this Year

Ancient, Dilapidated Things at Valley View, Including Manners

           Passing the time enjoyably at my hobby of photography while MyMrMallory mowed the grass in front of his hangar, I walked to the hangars known as "Skid Row" for some shots. 

           Along came a crotchety fellow on a golf cart, and stopping next to me he said, "I am the owner of this airport and I want to know what makes you come here and take pictures." 

           "It's my hobby. I am an amateur. I don't sell anything," I said.

           "And you think you can come out here to this airport and take pictures?" He said.

           "We own a hangar on the other side of that row," I said. I think I said that to avoid any more conflict, but I really wanted to say in my usual jaunty way, "Why, of course!"  I wonder now how he would have responded.  

           "Oh. I didn't recognize you." 

           The crotchety fellow sees me every Sunday at Dave's house. His manner toward me at the airport came as no surprise, but it reflects an aspect of the life of a photographer. Some people feel friendly toward a person who carries a camera, and while few and far between, others express themselves in an unfriendly way. To be sure, the ones who come at one feel they are defending their territory, and as photographers one should act above reproach, at least as politely as one's tolerance can allow. Indeed, one should also keep in mind that photography may be suppressed at most airports, particularly public airports, and if seen with camera, expect an officer, or a member of airport staff to approach to say photography is not allowed. 

Window Works at the Den of Sinners

             He looks as if he has very big feet from this angle, but the rendering by the artist looks beautiful. Who knows the history behind the creation of the stained glass windows at the church MyMrMallory and I attend? And today, who knows the history behind the pictograms? I asked the present reverend deacon today to show me the allusions on some of the panels, but he did not know the story behind them. I asked the present sub deacon about the panels and to which stories in the Bible they referenced, but he did not know either. If the clergy does not know, the church-goers . . . do they know? And if not, the intended education of the artistry is thus nullified. The conception and creation of stained glass windows came into existence because centuries ago people could not read the written word, and the pictograms served to tell them, to remind them, of the stories in the Bible. Today, though people can read the written word, they do not assimilate the words, and the educational importance of the windows remains. For now, the windows make the church a pretty place in which the church-goers can sit every Sunday morning. I have taken it upon myself to gather historical and biblical information about the windows for a publication.