Where Thelesperma Grows

Prolific this year. 

Wilson's Phalarope

      Just to continue nature's characteristic variety, the female Wilson's phalarope wears all the color and stylishness. The males are gorgeous, too, but wear different tones of grays. The males incubate the eggs and raise the young. In the meantime, the females have begun their migration south. 

      I read about the behavior that the phalarope displayed as I watched, at first with concern. They will swim rapidly in a circle to create a whirlpool that will bring in foodstuffs. The phalarope I watched swam in a circle for a long while, then move on. 

      My source: Wikipedia Accessed 8:05 p.m., 6 May 2013.

M Kite in Tree

      I spotted my first Mississippi Kite a couple of weeks ago. This one sat on a tree, unconcerned about me as I composed for an image of her from below.

Bulls Kicking Dirt at MissusParkey'sHouse

      Happily I composed for the three doors below at MissusParkey'sHouse. 

   

       Beyond the walls that surround the house, bulls came close, curious creatures of God as they are, to sniff us. Perhaps we might have some of those tasty and nutritious cubes. Alas, all we had were cameras and curious looks ourselves. The bulls soon lost interest in us, and developed an interest in the dry soil upon which they stood. I ought to kick up some dust myself to see what it's all about. 

Older bull.

Yearling bull.

Chicory

Only one, all by herself, in the countryside, 

surrounded by her friends, Thelesperma, Indian Blanket, and many others. 

A Rose Named Jeanne D'Arc

A garden delight, fragrant and beautiful.

Clouds to My Right, Middle, and Left

Blooming Prickly Pear

Immobile Barn Owl

     
       Maybe she thought that if she remained perfectly still, then roofer Carl and I would not spot her. With her camouflage coloring, developed over time by her species, she knew she would blend right in with her background, were that background tree and leaves. The walls of an old abandoned house provided the background for her this time, and the closet, the door upon which she roosted, her nest. She remained still, quite still except for a micro-movement of her left eyelid, and a barely perceptible turn of her head as she followed every one of our movements.
     

Swapping Ol' Trucks

      For a year or so, our plan evolved into various stages before we spontaneously jumped into the truck, accepting that come what may come, we would figure things out, and return home by sunset.

      Our task: To deliver a fifteen-year old truck in Pampa, and to return home with a twenty-year old truck.  

      It was the day of the year when the winds at Perry Lefors Field in Pampa did not howl at thirty knots; the kind of day you choose to fly there in your little airplane to land with winds at ten knots. Oh, well. 

      The sky had just enough clouds to embellish the photographs I took along the way. I lugged a Nikon D3 that Ben Jacobi had just assisted me in converting to an infrared camera. My first time with it, and all the images grabbed from the passeger seat as we sped by, I give thanks to Nik's plug-ins in Photoshop, for I managed to find some shots pleasing to my eye. 

      I love the Panhandle Plains, and I love making images of every corner of them. The infrared images make the plains all the more fascinating to me. 

Foliage is still turning green along the way. 

Cattle munch on the native grasses.

An old windmill still brings water to the well.

A butte in a cotton field.

Cotton stalks after the harvest. 

Uh oh. Fire in a wheat field. To the right, an oil drilling unit. 

Silos.

A widening road cut through a barn in Quanah.

Perry Lefors Field old hangars.

The dash of a '92 Chevrolet Cheyenne covered in layers of dust and dirt.

     We found the old truck in the hangar. MyMrMallory connected the battery, gave the engine a good look, declared it safe to start, and then turned the key. The motor started right away, shaking the entire truck, and with a cloud of dust blowing out of its exhaust pipe. 

     Inside the truck, twenty-years of North Texas dust and dirt cover the dash. I pulled the lever and opened the passenger door, tossed my bag on the bench seat, and sat down, testing the air with my nostrils. Would I breathe in the dust and suffer a spasm of asthma, or would I survive? I could always hold my breath for the three-hour drive home. I looked for the button to roll down the window, discovering that it had none, and that the reason we say "roll down the window," is because back in the old days, vehicles had levers that people grasped and turned in order to open the window. I carefully cranked the lever to roll down the window. It came down nicely, and let fresh country air into the cabin. I breathed in deeply. 

     Someone years before had covered the back and driver's side glass with a dark plastic that now bubbled in the middle and pealed along the edges. A crack struck through the windshield on the passenger side, reminding me of the way lightning looks in pictures. Along the driver's door, smears of brown oil colored the gray panel. I looked at my door, and noted that no oil field worker or cowboy had smeared the passenger side. 

     The bed of the truck had no tailgate. In it, a roll of barbed wire and a shovel lay on a thick rubber mat long enough that it hung out of the bed, where once it had its tailgate. Placed over the bed, against the cabin, sat a long, white, scratched, and dented toolbox. I reached up to unlatch it, and the cover bolted upwards, startling me, making me jump backwards a couple of feet. I held my nose and peered in. The toolbox contained a large wrench, a hammer, paper towels, and several cans of WD-40, all of them covered in a layer of dust. 

     The truck we delivered in Pampa has not endured the hard life the old truck did. It runs well and reliably, and the reason we wanted to swap them. Back at home, I asked one of my favorite mechanics about the old truck:   

     Me: "Well, I'd like to keep this ol' truck to run errands in."

     MyMrMallory: "Ha, if you can get Paul to look at it!"     

     Me: "Paul, would you look at this old truck to make sure it'll keep running?"

     Paul: "As long as there's no cow poop, yes, I will."

Ye Ol' Barn

Stumbled upon an old barn in Wise County. It sat surrounded by flowers, which were the focus of my attention, and which led me to the barn, unbeknownst, as I traipsed in the countryside from bloom to bloom, until I looked up. 

Zig-zag and Wavy

Wheel of a helicopter trailer. 

Oil cooler of a helicopter. 

Gardenia in a Cup of Water

        A gardenia floats in water in a cup.

Weeds and Wasps

Sofa in a Wheat Field

Early Morning Vulture

I jumped up and waved my arms; I hooted and hollered; but no amount of complaining from me made this fellow move his cold wings from my tree after spending a frosty night above my porch. 

Camera Settings Lessons

      Ronda gave a photography lesson today. I count her among the rare instructors who have an innate ability to explain something easily to a student. I asked her if I could receive more lessons from her, for I enjoyed the class and learned new and creative ways to make images.

Students attentive to instructions. 

Students "chimping" and discussing camera settings.

Below, I show our experiments with ISO 100, f5.6, and 1/200 sec.

I tweaked the light and contrast in the top image.

Small Hoodoo

     Small hoodoo at the edge of a pond and cow path in a wheat field. 

Bellies of Cedar Waxwings

     I appreciate gazing up at cedar waxwings at the end of the day when they roost on a nearby branch.

Bindweed Clumps

       Spring is when I give myself more time to arrive at places, for I take time to stop to make images of the flowers, to look at them, to admire their colors, to marvel at nature. Just think: We humans are part of nature! 

       Today I accompanied Paul and two young men to a wheat field. There, they picked up stones, and they placed them in a trailer. In picking up the stones, the young men encountered a copperhead snake, several scorpions and other arachnids, and a wood rat. 

       "Don't kill anything. Don't kill anything," Paul told the young men.

       I admired in Paul his respect for other living things. 

       "We don't live long enough," said Paul, "So we don't see the consequences of our actions." 

       Look ahead at our descendants and what they will find during their lifetimes. I hope it is healthy.