Searching for Beaver Dam

      We heard from Clay that a beaver had saved a part of the farm by building a dam. In this day of drought, we welcome any partner whose enterprise will help maintain moisture in the country.
      Thanks to the beaver, other wildlife benefit from the pond he created with his dam. We saw a flock of fifteen or twenty blackbirds flush from the reeds, and we heard frogs. Nearby, a Northern Harrier buzzed a sandpiper, sending into harried -- yes, pun intended with glee -- screeching.
      MyMrMallory and I made our way across bushy country in search of the dam. Here I show some of the images I made as we walked along the countryside.

Salt-resistant grass grows among other hardy plants.

Green, yellow, brown . . . 

Colors of autumn.

Tumbleweed, salt cedar, and mesquite grow near a gate.

Dead tree and perch for a Northern harrier.

Ah, reeds! We felt sure upon seeing the reads that we came closer to the beaver dam.

Water! And a sandpiper.

Racoon paw prints along the shore. 

We recognized paw prints by other wildlife, such as deer, 

coyotes, hogs, birds, and finally those of the beaver.

Following the edge of the water, we expectantly waited to find the dam. 

And here it is!

Mud-packed wall of the beaver dam. 

Photo of a beaver by Steve. Thanks, Steve.

Patriot Guard Riders

      I could reach out to touch one, a Patriot Guard. I could reach out and hug one. I could choose one of twelve to hug. They stood by their bikes ready to answer questions about the Patriot Guard.

      "Are you here to recruit us?" I asked. And without hesitation, Inez said, "Oh, yes." Promptly, too, Ted reached into his vest and brought out his PGR card, and handed it to me. "Just go online, join, and email me here to put you on the list."

      One doesn't need a motorcycle to join the Patriot Guards. Many members drive their cars to missions to provide support for the riders and other Patriot Guards as they stand with respect, holding the flag, as the procession passes by. One of them told the story that when a reporter asked a Patriot Guard how much it cost to join, the Guard said, "That's what it costs," as he pointed to the flag-draped casket of a fallen soldier. The only requisite to join the organization: Respect for the deceased and their families.

      Respect disallows the Westborough church from joining. Their hatred served as the catalyst to found the Patriot Guards. "From something bad emerged something good," my friend Lita said.

      Upon the request of the families, the Patriot Guards line the road with flags to show respect for fallen soldiers, firefighters, police, and medical responders. They also greet soldiers returning home. 

      Not a dry eye or cheek stands before them.

   

Tiny Vast Landscapes

With some imagination, small, flat stones provide opportunities to see landscapes. 

Volcanic island in stormy sea.

Sand storm blowing over the hills and mountains.

Lightning storm over the hill.

Celestial Objects

     Look closely at an old wall, and with some imagination, one can see all manner of landscapes.

A celestial object over a mountain.

Comet.

Star Trails.

Planetary conjunction.

Full of Character Around Town

      Old, intriguing, full of character things will make me come to a stop, whip out my iPhone, and snap images just because I love to make images of  . . . old things. iPhone photos post-processed in the digital darkroom with Snapseed.

Someday I will return to this building, pull back the branches, and read the text. 

Blindfold on Landings

Instruments, old and new, VOR radio shown above the Garmin 796.

iPhone 3 photo.

     Quite a while passed since I last flew one soul on board, namely me. My flight started out in good company, MyMrMallory. We headed into Shawnee for MyMrMallory to retrieve his helicopter, Mark having repaired it and finished its annual inspection.
     On our short flight, we wondered where all the turbulence went; the air felt smooth as silk, having to do with the cooler temperatures of October. The entire flight went smoothly.
     We spoke to several control centers, Sheppard three times, Fort Sill, Fort Worth, and Oke City before switching frequencies to Shawnee traffic. Talking on the radio is so much fun. Talking on the radio used to intimidate me, way back long ago, two years now since I started flying around North Texas; but I've grown to appreciate the assistance by the controllers. And the entertainment, too, provided by other doofus pilots saying comical things, or un-professional things. Lo to the un-professional pilot on the radio. Our cockpit drips with snide remarks and giggles. We chuckle because we say the same doofus things sometimes.
      Our arrival into Shawnee surprised me for its lack of traffic. Usually we maneuver between helicopters or streams of Civil Air Patrol planes in training. We had the runway all to ourselves.
      My landing was not too bad. I struggled a bit trying to make up my mind which rudder to push, and which aeleron to lift, when I finally allowed the plane to fly. On the runway, my wheels squeaked a bit, left one first, then right one, and then the nose came down. I missed a couple of taxiways, but that's because I did not want to press the brakes too hard.
      "What?" I said to MyMrMallory, my greatest critic of landings, everyone else's, and most particular his own, as a perfectionist who demands the best from himself.
      "Nuh-uh," he said, followed by what sounded like a growl. I might blindfold him next time before I land my Scissortail with him in the right seat.
     Out hopped MyMrMallory and went friskily towards Mark's hangar, where the helicopter waited for its flight back home.
     As I taxied to runway 17, my radio began to cackle. I stopped, pushed, turned, and pulled buttons, until I figured out the squelch was set too high. Thank God it was a simple solution. I began to taxi again when again I had to stop, for the GPS went blank. Oh, well, I thought, I still have my radios, one of which was set for my destination. I pushed and fiddled and messed with the Garmin, and finally it started up again. Then, doggone, the VOR radio went blank. Maybe my iPhone works at 4,500 feet, but then again, maybe not. Their new map is very bad, I read recently. I thought of looking at my sectional to see which highway or river I could follow home, when, thankfully, the radio came back up.
     And there you have it, the thing about flying: Flying provides a joy puntuated with moments of anxiety. The seriousness and complexities of flying make it imperative to develop the discipline to employ the added adrenaline to solve problems. It is discipline that helps you maintain your settings, follow lists, and a level head. The joy of flying far exceeds the difficulty in training for discipline, and that is one destination I would love to reach.

A Storm for Ben

As I spotted this cloud I thought of storm-chasing Ben. See his photography at his blog, Majestic Noise.

Storms rolled across North Texas yesterday, bringing much needed rain. 

Along Autumn Texas

       Sometimes a nice drive along highway 281 may take me a bit longer, for I stop to make images of some pretty extraordinary subjects. I begin with the flowers along the road . . .

The eryngo begins flowering in summer, looking gray, then turns purple in the fall. 

The powderpuff grows low to the ground.

A wasp enjoys sipping from the goldenrod.

Sunflowers grew everywhere near fences, barns, pumps, horses, cattle, and . . . a zebra.

Crepe myrtle grows on the fence around the Baker Hotel in Mineral Wells.

Cardinal flowers.

And at the end of a drive, a sunset over Hill Country. 

Nikon D3200, auto everything.

Alamo at Sunrise

      I stood early in the morning before the Alamo. Still dark, a photographer had set up his camera, his tripod, and his remote shutter release, and we both huddled in the cool temperatures. I assumed he knew more than I did about the conditions, and had arrived better prepared than I had, just toting my camera, strolling around town, stopping with curiosity where I saw his camera and tripod.
      As we waited in the darkness, something magical began to occur on the Alamo. With the rising sun behind the Alamo, its rays reflected on the mirrored buildings in front of it, casting its light upon the stone, moving across its facade, as if through a window of a chapel designed to illuminate the altar. I sat on the curb and rested my elbows on my knees, trying to keep my camera as steady as possible. The other photographer ignored the magic as I made a few images of it, in between my breathlessness.

D4, 17-35mm cropped, ISO400, f2.8, 1/2500, +2EV.

Come and Take It!

      In 1835, Tejanos and Texians did battle with Mexican dragoons sent to retrieve a six-pound cannon. Unwilling to relinquish the cannon, the Texians said, "Come and take it," but fired upon the dragoons as they approached. The battle gave time for the colonists to gather volunteers to fight in the Battle of Gonzalez, the beginning of hostilities against General Santa Anna.

Image found at The Eleventh Screen.

      The Institute of Texan Cultures displays an exhibit of the Tejanos and Texian men, the battle flag "Come and Take It," and the six-pound cannon. The flag and the canon symbolized the desire of the the colonists to live freely and not under the new policies of General Santa Anna.

The six-pound cannon on exhibit at the Gonzalez Memorial Museum.

Reflecting pool designed by Phelps and Dewees, Gonzalez Memorial Museum.

Art deco museum built of shell stone and limestone, Gonzalez Memorial Museum.

Reenactment of the squirmish against the Mexican dragoons in 1835.

The City of Gonzalez celebrates annually the Come and Take It Festival.

D4, 17-35mm.

Solemn, Hallowed Alamo

Upon hallowed ground I walked. 

The Alamo.

The flags of men who fought for a better future for their children: 

Come and Take It, New Orleans Greys, and the 1824 Constitution Flag.

Room where surviving women and children huddled 

during the siege of the Alamo.

The cenotaph named "Spirit of Sacrifice" by Pompeo Coppini.

The inscription reads, "In memory of the heroes who sacrificed their lives 

at the Alamo, March 6, 1836, in the defense of Texas.

'They chose never to surrender nor retreat; these brave hearts, with 

flags still proudly waving, perished in the flames of immortality that 

their high sacrifice might lead to the founding of this Texas.'"

In the Cathedral of San Fernando, a marble but modest coffin 

holds the ashes of William Travis, Jim Bowie, 

David Crockett, and some of the men who fell with them at the Alamo.

I could not help but lay my hand upon it and pray.

V 1, 10mm.

Texas State Cemetery

     Founded in 1851 upon the interment of General Edward Burleson, Texas Revolutionary veteran, the Texas State Cemetery lies in downtown Austin. At rest there lay other revolutionary veterans, Civil War veterans, elected officials, and other people of note -- all who made a contribution to Texas culture -- including athletes, such as El Diablo. Writers Walter Prescott Webb (1888 - 1963) and Fred Gipson (1908 - 1973) rest there.

Edward Burleson's grave, and the first internment at the Texas State Cemetery.

Mosley Baker.

The white stones indicating the graves of Texan Confederate veterans.

    The story that our pleasant guide related to us holds that back in the 1930s, in order to raise federal funding to renovate and expand the cemetery, they designated a road as a state highway. As it turns out, if a state highway runs through a cemetery, the grounds qualify for federal funding. I pondered the cleverness of lawyers as I watched a sedan slowly make it way down the cemetery on the shortest state highway in Texas, State Highway Number 165.

Texas State Highway 165 runs through the cemetery.

Notable people rest under the trees.

An eight-hundred year old statue of Saint Andrews, imported from England,
stands at John B. Conally's grave site.

      Artistically, such as a horse's hooves indicating how its rider lost his life (or not), what does a raised hand mean in this statue or Stephen F. Austin? Nothing! The artist, Pompeo Coppini, intended to place the statue along the avenue leading toward the state capitol in Austin. The statue's hand would have pointed toward the capitol; instead, those who commissioned the statue placed the statue at Austin's memorial, and his hand pointing away from the capitol. 

One of many serene places in the cemetery.

D4, 17-35mm.