Gnome Journeys to Vermejo

"Late June and July produce regular hatches of caddis, damsel and mayflies, sending trout into feeding frenzies." I read this while I paused in Amarillo on my way to Vermejo.

Gnome's Red Oak

Strong winds toppled one of the trees here. It was the tree where the Barred Owl would perch upon and watch us in our courtyard in the evenings.

Samos

Samos seems the only disappointment of our trip. Not that I wish to emphasize that, so I’ll mention the highlights. Sitting outside at dinner last night with Margaret was most assuredly a highlight of my experience on Samos. She treated me to dinner and a nice wine after a relatively interesting day.
On Doryssa Bay we stayed at a hotel noted for its unfriendly service – when we had service – weighed down by buffet-style food. The low quality of the food, the testy service of the waiter, and the lack of room service all conspire to try the tolerance of those of us who enjoy spending a quiet evening winding down after a day of visiting the sites and a museum of the area.
But back to the highlights of my visit to Samos: This morning we arrived at the Sanctuary of Hera to find it locked. They did, though, tape a note to the gate that said they had gone on strike and would return at half past noon. We glimpsed the excavation site through the fence, though I missed the one last column left standing, then drove downtown to the museum where they exhibit the extraordinary objects they have found in the area. The museum was also closed because of the strike until half past noon. We mostly dawdled over cappuccinos and Coke Light under the awning of a café that overlooked the bay, then had lunch, and then walked back to the museum. Inside, I noted that the collection is marvelous and intriguing for its differing cultural influences. Good things are worth waiting for, as they say.
But I felt antsy about meandering through an excavation site, spotting glimpses on a stone or a hunk of marble of an era or two of people who lived long ago. So when the driver deposited us at two in the afternoon at the hotel, Jean and I set off for an adventure. We crossed the street to explore what is left of the Sanctuary of Artemis and an “ancient” Christian cemetery. We climbed up the mountain to touch what is left of a Cyclopean wall that once surrounded city. We felt pleasantly surprised when we came upon one of the entrances to the E. tunnel surrounded by a tall fence with a locked gate. We spotted a small brown owl sitting on the fence. It seemed to watch us as it kept an eye for a field mouse, which it caught, deftly, then took to its private dining area. We thought we were alone when we spotted a car and a couple coming toward the gate.
They were a nice couple from Chablis, France. We asked them about the distance down the road to the excavation site of a Geometric cemetery that we could see from our location. They said it’s too far for going “a pied” and offered us a ride there. Delightedly, we accepted.
The Geometric cemetery is protected by the same kind of tall fence and the same kind of locked gates. Some excavation appears to go on, though it seems hard to tell with confidence because, though we see a roof over an area of the site, work may have halted.
Karl appeared on the sidewalk on his way to the town of Pythagoran. We joined him, and then left him to his shopping while we walked to the charming harbor. There, we saw moored large yachts on our left, and local fishing boats on our right side. The place is just utterly charming.
If we had not had a constraint on our time we would have chatted with a marble worker we passed by, or a fisherman cutting bait for his evening fishing – language barrier notwithstanding – but we had to return to the hotel, a good fifteen-minute walk, while including a stop to the gelato shop. It was, after all, a pleasant day.

Gnome on Santorini

The akrotiri is closed for now because the new roof fell and killed two persons.

I spent most of the day walking around in the old town of Fira -- all those steps that go up and down on the 1300 foot cliff -- looking for photographic subjects. The town is lovely and intriguing.

Gnome Waves Good-bye.

Outside the silk shop, a leg-less young man on a wheeled platform played a gourd flute. His music drew me. I stood at a short distance from him, listening, not making eye contact, before walking closer to him, then sat down on the steps near him. Then I looked into his eyes, and he into mine. His eyes looked handsome and pretty, almond-shaped and almond-colored, striking for their beauty. His fingers busily played his flute. He occasionally looked up at me, then away, back at the ground. His tone changed after I sat near him and watched him; his music became softer, emotional, affectionate, perhaps even loving, like a musician melancholic for his lover. He saw me smile, and then changed his tune again to a jolly tempo. Suddenly he stopped playing, pointed to my vehicle, and spoke to me in Mandarin, his voice high-pitched. I can only assume he said to me: “Your car is here.” I gave him ten Yuan, and then left him. As we pulled away from the curb, I looked out the window. He looked up at me from his platform and waved. I waved back and wept.

Beijing, May 2007.

Last Day in China

Above, a photograph of my travel companion and her seven-month old baby. (Photo courtesy of Y.P.)
I will remember yesterday for as long as I live: It is special to hold a panda in one's lap. I smelled a sweet smell as I held my face near his ear, and the bamboo he decimated with his large incisors smelled as fresh as he did. The panda seemed more interested in the tender shoots that the caretaker handed to him, and yet, there seemed a certain contentment in being held by humans who could not love him any more deeply than we could feel for him and his species. And the panda seems an inept species, for they require the intervention of humans to survive and adapt to a world growing smaller. The Chinese people have stepped up to their task; I paraphrase Indira Gandhi: "The greatness of a nation is measured in how well it cares for the animals."

Reciting Ancient Chinese Poetry as an Answer

Mr. Weng Baopin, Director of the Han Yang Ling Museum showed over five hundred slides of artifacts found since 1989 at the excavation site. Enthralling, to say the least. Figurines dated since 188 - 141 B.C.E during the reign of the Han Dynasty emperor, Liu Qi. I asked him if among everything they had happened upon any literature. The moment the interpreter finished asking my question, Mr. Baopin began to recite a poem. It was delighfully musical and it had a sense of aggression and determination. Something else differed about it, but I couldn't tell what I perceived in it. Mr. Weng kept reciting it with no pause while the interpreter and I watched him. The first few lines contained the sounds "tong," "wong," and "chong;" in between I heard a melodic "tsing" and "ming." I lost my focus on the musicality of the recital because I began to feel anxious for a translation. Then Mr. Weng ended the poem and laughed. He said something to the interpreter, who then turned to me, laughingly, and said he could not translate the poem because it was in ancient Chinese. I felt enthralled to imagine an archaeologist memorizing the poetry he found in his digs.

Gnome in Xian

I watched the discoverer of the vaults that hold the army of 8,000 terra cotta soldiers. Today, he sits in the shop of the museum and signs his name hundreds, perhaps thousands of times per day for the visitors who buy the book about Emperor Qinshihuang's tomb. He hates photographs taken of him, and holds a fan up to obstruct his face from a lens. A bronze sign sits before him that in Mandarin and in English says NO PHOTOS. I noted that he concentrated on his task at hand every time he put his pen to the book, but then he tossed the book back at the visitor as soon as he finished signing it. Fame can become tedious and make one grumpy. He stood up, finally exhausted, and walked away. I watched him then, too, then reached into my bag for a pencil. I handed it to him. He looked at it curiously. Then he raised it in my direction, gave me a big smile, and extended his hand. I shook his soft hand hard, smiled back, then left him. I hoped, and still do this morning, that his smile remains for a while.

Gnome in Beijing

Gnome in SanFran.

Fabulous decorations at the Admirals Club in DFW Airport. That's Bryan sitting at left with his cell phone -- stuck to his ear. I don't know him. He paced around the group of lounge chairs nearby mine. If he wasn't dialing his phone, it was ringing. "Hi, this is Bryan . . . Hi, this is Bryan . . . Hi, this is Bryan." Busy guy.

My first photograph of this journey had to consist of art work of whatever kind. I liked the hanging on the wall above Bryan's head. I couldn't see it very well, but it seemed to have an oriental motif -- and how appropriate.
The grilled salmon at the Hyatt Regency on Bayshore Drive seemed ruinsously salty, but the veggies -- tender broccoli and asparagus -- tasted just right. The chef did a great job on those veggies; he must've run out of salt when he spilled it on the salmon -- haha. Later, I thought that a small dinner consisting of the Mondavi Cabernet, some Brie and the bread they serve here would have been wonderful for me, for here they bake their own bread -- and it's delicious. The only thing wrong here, aside from the excess salt on the salmon, is my Mr. Mallory's absence.
I phoned Mr. Mallory from the carousel at the airport in San Francisco. He told me that Portside had helped himself to Hodge's doggie meal, and was spoken harshly about it. Later, Portside came to Mr. Mallory, lay at his feet, and wagged his tail, as if trying to make ammends. It worked, naturally, and Mr. Mallory gave him many pats, and would have given him cookies, too, if he had known where to find them. I told him, "in the kitchen, under the clock, in the little glass thingey;" so Portside should receive a few cookies, maybe, at some point during my absence. He prefers them at bedtime. Portside is a connoisseur of doggy treats and could write a critique of his own.

Gnome on the Way

First leg to China: DFW Airport -- quick look at the artwork in Terminal D -- on my way to overnight in San Francisco. I tore myself away from Mr. Mallory, teary-eyed. A nice lady, Ms. Brown, let me tag along with her the Admirals Club. That was cool. Thanks, Ms. Brown! Hotspot and coffee; lovey email to Mr. Mallory, and quick start on this site.

Gnome on a Lake

Whimsical view of the regatta. Kerry guided a motorboat around the yachts. Very little wind today.

Gnome Under Rain

Growth in Gnome's Garden

Gnome on a Ship?

Do something nice for other Olympians!
This cruise will be a tremendous way for you to reacquaint yourself with fellow Olympians and to share in the Olympic Spirit. In addition, the cruise will be contributing a portion of the fare to the Olympians for Olympians Relief Fund (OORF) which helps Olympians who need our support. Please join us! I hope to see you on the cruise!

Sincerely,

Willie Banks
President,
U.S. Olympians

Gnome's melancholy has emerged, her heart has melted and her interest has peaked: Will pack swimsuit.

Gnome and Vermejo

I have had unusual communications attempts with Vermejo. Often, for various reasons, they have left voice mails at my house; I return their calls -- and it's always been someone different, except Jenny, who has left voice mails twice -- to find a busy line, or an abrupt message on their end explaining that they are busy at the moment . . . then the message ends with no chance to record my message to them. The best way to communicate with them expeditiously, I have found, has been to email them after I have given up my attempts to return their phone calls. After Mera, the woman who receives my plaintive emails, relays my message to the caller, they then phone back and leave another voice mail. Then I try to phone them, meet with a busy signal or the "we're not here" message, so I email them back, and the cycle begins again. Questions are left in the voice mail system, and answers relayed by email. Playing phone tag/email has worked very well with Vermejo and me. This evening, as I steamed veggies and cod, sipped a crisp white wine and loved My Mr. Mallory's company, the cycle was broken; Vermejo finally found me at home. I spoke to Rebecca about my visit to nature, trout, beauty.
The other remarkable thing I've noticed thus far about Vermejo is the sweetness and general wonderfulness of the people (who have left voice mails), such as Jenny and Rebecca -- to whom I spoke this evening -- and Mera, who has received my emails. Jack seemed wonderful, too, but he left, I heard, to be wonderful somewhere else. I wish I could say to him, "Thank you," because he was, well, a wonderful staff-member to welcome my first call to Vermejo. Before Jack left, he sent me an envelope that contained a lovely map of Vermejo. I looked at it. I'm going to adore it there. I'm already thinking about which lenses to take with me. Maybe by then I will have found a great tripod to hold my camera while I record nature.

Gnome in the Wichita Mountains

I traveled to the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge with a group of wonderful and cute people.

"Love makes the world go 'round." I love saying that expression and I love the Earthlings that/who express it just by living, such as these two lizards; the male holds his front paw over the female's. He sunned on the rock when he saw her approaching through the grass. In one leap, he met her and then brought her to the top of his rock. They twirled around, nosed each other, then sunned together for a while, paw over paw.

Impressive-looking dude.

Visit AustinDunnPhotography.com for remarkable photography of this canyon.

Gnome in Dallas and Fort Worth

We met with Karl at the Meadows Museum in Dallas. Afterwards, I could not help but think of the expression "like two ducks in a pond" when I saw this easy shot of two ducks asleep in the water -- or snoozing while unaware of my stealthy approach with my camera. I used the Nikon D80 with an 18-55mm lens. Then I drove to Fort Worth.

Folks admire the exhibits at the Arts Festival on Main Street in Fort Worth.

I adore this picture.

A fellow photographer lurked among the other visitors to the Arts Festival. He had hung around his neck the strap to a Nikon D2xs. Now, you know a person feels serious about photography when s/he uses a D "to excess" as I call it. I used the strap to my D200 on my D80 -- not having found the right strap to the camera as I rushed out of the house earlier that morning; so, when he said: "The jewel of Nikon," I did not feel sure if he meant the D200 or the D80. I would have asked him, but he disappeared in the crowd. Frankly, I prefer the D200 over the D80, and hold the D2xs as the best of all, except to take on all-day trips (it's heavy).

After the Storm at Noon

A lengthy line of stormy weather blew across this region today. Our town lay in a gap on the line, so we had only rain, while the surrounding areas had hail and tornadoes.

Gnome Remembers Ibarbourou

LA HIGUERA

Porque es áspera y fea,
porque todas sus ramas son grises
yo le tengo piedad a la higuera.

En mi quinta hay cien árboles bellos,
ciruelos redondos,
limoneros rectos
y naranjos de brotes lustrosos.

En las primaveras
todos ellos se cubren de flores
en torno a la higuera.
Y la pobre parece tan triste
con sus gajos torcidos, que nunca
de apretados capullos se viste...

Por eso,
cada vez que yo paso a su lado
digo, procurando
hacer dulce y alegre mi acento:
"Es la higuera el mas bello
de los árboles todos del huerto".

Si ella escucha,
si comprende el idioma en que hablo,
¡Que dulzura tan honda hará nido
en su alma sensible de árbol!

Y tal vez, a la noche,
cuando el viento abanique su copa,
embriagada de gozo le cuente:
"Hoy a mí me dijeron hermosa".

This magnolia tree barely survived a freeze we suffered a few years ago. Slowly it has looked healthier. But every day that I see it, I think of the poem written by Ibarbourou about the fig tree in her garden; I say aloud to my magnolia that it is the most beautiful tree in my garden.

When this dog has this look, I wonder what in doggy world runs through his mind. I took this photo when he just came down from the window. There seemed a lot of squirrel activity outside. Squirrel, anyone?

The wind moved the branches above the rose bush. As the branches swayed, the lighting from the setting sun differed in shade and intensity. I took several photos -- hastily -- in an attempt to capture every possibility given to me by the changing conditions.