Drought from Above

     It was a gorgeous day for flying. Along the way, my camera clicked away as I took photographs of the countryside over which we flew, North Central Texas in the tightened grip of a drought. Lakes levels are low and ponds are dry. Cattle have no food, and wild life suffers from lack of insects and moisture.

        The barrow pit so often mentioned in Penny's blog this summer provides very little water for shorebirds during this drought. 

Ponds everywhere have dried up.

Farmer's driving across dry wheat fields leave a sort of art on the field.

Farmer's swirls.

       The wider angle of the countryside shows the mesquite plants, in green, doing just fine in the drought, as expected, a dry pond to the left, and a swath to the right, from bottom to top, following the dirt road, of dead foliage. The crop-duster sprayed a new kind of herbicide that kills the mesquite plant. Along this section, he experimented with the efficacy of the new herbicide. Mesquite plants provide shelter for wild life, in addition to cattle, which is what annoys the cowboys and why they strive to eradicate the plant. The cowboys cannot see the cattle in the mesquite to find them, and then when they ride through the mesquite looking for the cows, thorns tear into their skin and their horses.

         Is that a crater caused by a meteorite? No, it is a pond that, having dried up, was cleaned by the bulldozer guy. When and if it ever fills up again, it will hold more and cleaner water for the cattle. 

What are these ladies eating? 

The shadow of the helicopter flying over dried grasslands and thriving Prickly Pear cacti. 

The shadow of the helicopter quickly approaches and oil pump.

       Sometime ago an attempt to drill for oil yielded nothing except this peculiar land mass, now eroding into the surrounding hill.

       A closed gate that leads to the oil pump holds a sign that says, "No Smoking," and a sign to its right says, "320 acres more or less." That's Prickly Pear cacti to the right of the sign. 

      Some of the water looks green. Eek. Here we see a wild hog enjoying the mud, in spite of the green, and creating circles in the still water. This image, enlarged, looks highly intriguing, for the circles and for the loneliness of the hog, an over-populated species now pursued ruthlessly by landowners. 

The white birds in the water are Pelicans. They have elected to remain at Lake Wichita all year. 

Geckos in the House

It feels so hot outside that the gecko folk have moved inside with us. Eek. 

The Outer Clouds of Hurricane Irene

Departing Teterboro, fleeing from Hurricane Irene, I spot the New York City skyline. 

At 16,500 feet we followed the sunset.

For more details on this flight, see my Journal of an Aviatrix (link at right).

City Lights, Bumpily

Louisville during a bumpy landing. 

Mopping Slop

       This week I rescinded my resignation from the LAR as much in a huff as I had left a year ago, and began work as its editor. I could not allow it to go to publication in the shape I saw it in last week, so I've spent most of the past few days mopping up the slop that was tossed upon its innocent pages. One section reminded me of Jackson Pollock's work: Lift a bucket full of text and hurl it upon the page. Thoughts of Pollock's work carried me through the painful editing period of that section, so riddled with run-on sentences, omissions, and repetition. I wish that the LAR could have more information about the art work it shows, such as the kind of media and the dimensions, and I can pursue those next week. Our focus for next year will lie in publishing all new artists with strict exceptions. A group of directors will manage the content of the LAR from now on; our hope is that with a larger group of people gathering for content, the book will seem refreshed with the work of new artists and writers with each passing year.
       The theme for the next issue is "Looking Toward the East."

We are casting our net for more artists and writers. 

Rump Shots Wyman Likely Would Not Take

Great Egret and Great Blue Heron.

Sunday Sundaes at Dotti's

         Returning from Dotti's cottage on the hill where she shared a sundae today, I noted the clouds building up over the countryside. 

Pearl's

        If you ever find yourself in Oklahoma City and have a hunkerin' for . . . fish tacos, a mug of clam chowder, or a crispy Caesar's salad . . . visit the folks at Pearl's Fish House. Watch the video to familiarize yourself with their charm. Scroll below for some images I took today while MyMrMallory and I munched on hush puppies. Not one to feel willing to eat hush puppies, I ate these with relish for their crunchiness and tasty seasonings.  In addition to tasty food, the ambiance seemed fun and the music peppy.

We will! We will!

Pitiable Sock

        No wind for the sun drenched -- not rain drenched sock at Kickapoo Airport. The sock sags pitiably, seemingly forgotten by the wind and the repair crews. As a pilot I gaze at it to check the wind direction and strength. Today I noted with further dismay its ragged looks. Pessimistically, the winds will come again, and from the north, too, bringing cooler temperatures and maybe even some rain, and the sock will blow again, and will become frayed at its small end, or the strength of the winds will finish yanking it off its frame.

Alaska's Ptarmigans: Mother and Chick.

Releasing Egret and Kestrel

       Mama Bird Lila and the volunteers devoted to saving lives at Wild Bird Rescue raised these two souls. MyMrMallory and I drove into the countryside -- a most pitiable-looking countryside -- to release them.

         There seem plentiful crickets around for the American Kestrel. Pitiable as it looks, the pond, though, has mussels and fish for the Cattle Egret. In addition, several head of cattle ambled in for a sip of water. The egret has own herd of cattle.

An Intriguing Sculpture: Part One

        In addition to discovering more information about the sculpture pictured here, I will find out at what in the world the cowboy points. The sculpture stands, grandly, and perhaps much too hidden by astonishingly hardy crepe myrtles, along the main street at the Fort Worth Stockyards. I neglected to, argh, look at the plaque that identifies the artist and the name of the art work. But, ah, an excuse to return to grand ol' Fort Worth!

Grace Flight

          An aviator who volunteers for Grace Flight, H.-P. invited me to tag along on one of his missions. Pilots who volunteer for the organization, Grace Flight, must pass some requirements, such as 250 hours of flight time, insurance, and medical certificate. Thanks to the pilots, patients, adults and children, may fly free of charge to other cities for treatment of their illness. Once the pilots transport the patients to a specified airport, a driver, known as an "angel," will transport the patient to the hospital or other place to stay. I think Grace Flight is grand.

Old, Old Hangar in Frederick

      Just north of the Texan border with Oklahoma there exists -- still -- an seventy-year old airport. Impressive in its quality, construction for this airport began in the 1940s to prepare US aviators for war. Eventually it became a civilian airport. The original hangar still stands, massively, to park the C-47 nicknamed Boogie Baby, from which parachutists from the WWII Airborne Demonstration Team jump. For fun. And to remember, honor, and serve.

Sully: First Images

Lila cured the infection in this nestling Red-tail Hawk's eye, but he will remain blind. Wild Bird Rescue ponders the possibility of retaining him permanently, adding him to the avian ambassador program for the benefit of children. His name is Sully.

All Grown Up

Keeping one foot on the opening in case he needs to rush back into safety.

But once he made up his mind he determinedly walked toward the water.

Facing the world all by himself now.

Raised and released by Wild Bird Rescue.

Fort Stanton's Merchant Marine Cemetery

Cool Ruidoso, Art and Weather

      A visit to Ruidoso's The Adobe, a fine art gallery, began what seemed to me an experience as refreshing as the cool temps and the rain that fell upon us, sopping us, as we walked along the streets. The art work in the other galleries we visited, too, during our "gallery hopping" -- exquisite -- represented the innate talent in the region. The moisture, almost forgotten to those of us who live in North Central Texas, gave me the strength to withstand the oven-like winds that blew as we exited the plane after returning to Kickapoo Airport and to our drought.  In my mind, though, remains the memory of the works of art of artists I saw on display in the galleries in Ruidoso.

      On our way we spotted a few rain clouds. I envisioned us lassoing them to bring them home with us.

     As usual clouds embellish my images. Here they are looking gorgeous over Fort Stanton's range.

        Rain fell to our right and left before we landed at the Sierra Blanca Regional Airport. Can you see the propeller outside the windshield? 

Ruidoso teems with artistic talent.