Happy Sky

Oh Happy Sky, I awoke today
And Happy Flame and Hop
had gone away
Flame told me it would stop
All the dancing
And prancing around
the rusting swing
But we did not want it to end
Can you drift across the sea
Bring a happy word
to a certain little image of me
Tell him Happy Sky
That Flame
Hop
Wonder Pony
Bug
Rocky
JT
Zoe
Big Kitty
Even Carlotta
Is doing some really
big missing?
Thank you
Happy Sky

Sincerely,
Pappa

Happy Flame and Hop

 Once with happy flame
we would swing
and how he would sing
he had no last name
said, he didn't like things
with ends.

he had a friend named hop
and he could dance
he just wouldn't stop
and when happy flame
got the chance
he would ride ole hop
around the swing.

Warning Points

After an afternoon of hard labor and a shower to cleanse myself of the hard labor, I told Melanie, working away in the old converted bedroom of Jordon, later Meme, that I was heading to Alligator Lake for a bit. It was 3:30 and the park would close at 5:30. Arriving, the White Pelicans were near the point to my right off the trail about a quarter mile walk, so I briskly set out. By the time I arrived, they had already moved away from the point, probably because of the menacing Alligator sunning himself, enjoying the return of weather to his reptilian liking. With the long lens attached, I quietly made the change to a wider angle and moved in just a bit, not too much. I was able to get about six shots before he bolted. It was the first shot that I found the best composed. How often does that occur? On this second part of the infernal assessment test I took this evening, they said, do not spend much time on one question, go with the first thought. Well, on tests such as I was taking, I am not sure that would be too wise. But out in the field, it often is the keeper.

Final Acts

Sunset Watertown

This was the final act of yesterday. To drive for gas, then drive to Watertown Lake to view the contrail laden sunset. Four fishers were on the dock and two by the waters edge. I wanted to photograph three sitting on the dock, but was in no mood for asking, so I moved on, taking this before getting in the PT.
That evening, while Vana and later the Olympics were on wide screen, I was answering inane questions from Kmart on being an assistant manager in training. And by the time I had completed the last question, some two hours later, I was in no mood to become a K Mart Assistant manager, or any manager for that matter.
And so today is Thursday, Feb20, I am at 3:17, 6 hours away from watching the moon slip behind the trees over Mrs Duncans house. I sent her a photo of the moon over her house as she recoups in Select Speciality, the same place Melanie was. From 9 til now I have been moving to the backyard the thirteen large piles of leaves for burning.
In between piles, I would stop and photograph the gathering Sand Hills and compose a poem for one. I told one that since no one ever likes the poetry anyhow, I would not bother the sleeping. And that is the gawd awful truth.
A pock upon you poetry shunning ones.
It was suggested I get on some medication to control my fits of anger, to perhaps go into a more, I don't give a damn kind of personality. I again said, I tried it once and I was so flat zone, I really did not even give a damn if I even breathed. I got off the I don't give a damn medicine.

Bombus upon Azalea

Spent the latter afternoon with the bumblebees and azaleas in the front yard. Used the tripod and flash on the cord. It was easier I found to pre-focus the lens and hold the flash off camera, watching for bombus. They dart about so quickly, keeping ones eye upon the viewfinder, you would never catch them coming. This way, I could see them coming and try to time it. One in twenty would be almost right. This was one. The really good one the bumblebee was at the very edge of the upper left frame on his way out. If I had captured him a millisecond sooner, he would have been at the edge of the petal, a nice profile.
I was resting after raking leaves all day in the front yard and restacking the split rails, raising them. I also did a myriad of smaller tasks in the near eighty degree day. I still have thirteen large leaf piles waiting to be drug to the back yard on the old trampoline bed.
Melanie and I still nervously await word on her employment and if a layoff is coming, which all feel will. I took a nearly two hour pre-test tonight as a step in trying to get back into retail management. I was so rusty on math, ratios and problem solving questions, I have little prospect of going very far, especially if I make it to an interview and they see my age(59). The twenty-year old managers will say to themselves, can a relic relate? No, but I have people skills dammit!

Portraits of Olustee

General Jesse and aid

There are countless portraits for the taking every year at Olustee. I just did not take enough this year. I get too preoccupied with the listening to their stories, the ladies in the hoop skirts and hair up in the snoods and I forget to continually photograph. And yet, I took five hundred, most though not up to my standards. A blue snapper. Of all the cards I gave out to people, none at this point have contacted me in order for me to be able to send them my Smug Mug link, which has all the photographs in the Military album should you be interested.

John Segale

United Vices

black eye

Kezia Dubi

Kezia Dubli and husband

friend of Straggler

friend of Straggler
Straggler has missed the last two Olustee's. He is famed for his camping under stars, no tent, shoes with holes, all askew and rough. 

Kimberly Johnson

mothers lament

Mary Stanser

grandmother turns away for Federal encroachment

John Segale

John Chovis

Scott Baumgarner

Chaplin Joey Young

Chad White

John Chovis

Friend of Straggler

John Chovis

John Segale

John Segale

Tierney Dubi and Zac her son, as boys were often dressed in the period as girls.

Separation of Shadow Selfie

I sent this selfie into the art website hyperallergic today. I doubt seriously they post it, nevertheless.
I wrote the following:
The struggle always ensues in the attempt to compose a selfie as shadow always competes with image. Shadow with latent shyness draws from the light, image gravitates toward the light. I engage the services of compliant hand to pull shadow kicking into the light.
BA Art Florida Southern
I reside in Lake City as a photographer.

This quiet Monday Melanie works away, possibly her last week, probably since her company she works for has lost 90% of a contract. She has filled out some applications, one 24 pages long! I have been outside all afternoon raking the leaves in the backyard and piling them against Paul's side. The two Rhode Island Red Hens follow me about scratching for insects.
I am in a continual state of heaviness over Nathaniel and the one year since seeing him coming up. My anger toward Landon and Amber has remained as strong, not easing, if anything, growing with time.
I see them over there in ignorant bliss with one another, no telling what poor Nathaniel is having to cope with.
We cannot be there for him. Is greatly saddens me. He got such nurturing from us. Even Jordon commented how Landon just wasn't engaged as a father, if anything, treating Nathaniel as a rival, bullying him at times, making him cry by aggravating him. No grandpa to rescue him. I trust Landon in all this father time he has created is putting it to good use, and not just being absorbed in himself and Amber, as they were while here.
Harsh. But true. Anger tempers and bitters the words.

Swine Flew

A letter to a prodigal son:

Dear Son,

   It is coming upon the one year of your leaving us and cutting off all communication from home. We do not know how you did in basic training in Texas, how things went in tech school at Biloxi or at Mobile at Kessler AFB. We do not know how the move went to Japan to Misawa Air Base, where we assume you are now. We have no idea how Nathaniel our grandson feels about losing so suddenly his beloved pappa, or his grandma and great grandma or Uncle Jordon or cousins, Pearce and Carson he has never seen.
It had to affect him for a time, for when he woke up that March day, the first thing he asked for was pappa, going all over the trailer and yard looking for me.
You have affected a cruel and unusual punishment upon your family and friends who loved you. The false offense you based this upon, that we were interfering with your marriage, is a lame and baseless excuse.
You are simply being lazy and belligerent in your separation from us. Yes, we hold ourselves to blame, but we came to you, and you know it, with humble, open arms asking forgiveness and restoration. And for whatever reason, you have chosen to keep that channel closed, not allowing us the opportunity to even express our willingness to confess our sins. In that, the burden for the sin now rests upon your head.
I wish so badly that I could get a letter or a word to you, and it would affect the change in you that would open again the communication between us. I know that in your younger years, I was not the prime example of a father. I was working way too much at a stressful job, allowing your mother to stay home and raise you.
I know early on we spent many happy days in the woods and waters together, and I do feel we were close. When Nathaniel came along, I poured myself into him, perhaps too much, in an effort to make up for any short comings I may have failed in you. And when on that day I last saw him, and I knew it would be the last time, well, from that day until now, my heart has grown weaker and weaker with sentiment and sorrow.
We simply exist here in your imposed exile and I trust this is pleasing to you. I trust that you are seeking God through all this, as you were so ardently before you left for basic training. That same fervor that wanted to be a missionary.
But fervor I find, has a way of floundering upon low hurdles and I fear that you have allowed hurdles to impede you. You have chosen a path beyond the track, a cross country if you will.
I too attempted that journey, without compass or pack, thinking I was sufficient in self. But as I did,  and you will eventually find,  you are hopelessly lost and too far from home, with a longing to return fading as well. The longer you wait, you will never make it home. Like little Nathaniel, the memory will be gone.
Home too will be gone if you happen find it. Return while there is time.  While the lights remain on. The fire sticks you made are waiting for you to spark the flame again in the old syrup kettle.

Mossy Aroma

O'er the morning cup of coffee, Melanie and I discussing the prospects of jobs and losing them, the what if's and why not. The should haves. Should have taken the job in Albany, then should have taken the job in Ocala, then should have found a job sooner after being let go and on it went til the coffee was spent.
Imagining how it was riding to Gainesville and back every day, working in a busy doctors office, the stress that led to the crash of 2009. Imagining how I could ride a century with Roger or a marathon with Hambone in under three hours, today unable to run a mile without stopping to catch the breath.
Of taking foreign jaunts to Mediterranean islands, lying upon sea shores in bliss, while back home wondering how the lights were going to remain burning. And the coffee was consumed, with sugar and whole milk.
Who shall go to the store and buy the good cream? The hazelnut? Will it be I, or her, or we, as we both have time enough to sit and sip coffee soon?
So yesterday, in a fit of cabin fever, mom sleeping til noon and Melanie lazing, watching the birds hunt for the dwindling seeds, I said, let us go to Huddle House and eat. It was a good plan. By one we were in our corner seat ordering the MVP for 5.99, two bacons, one sausage, grits and toast, waffle, scrambled, bisquits or meme, and so it went down. The pregnant waitress sitting to take our order.
Talked a spell with Mr Sherrod in the booth over of traveling down the Suwannee, of what levels the water is best, and we determined it to be around 53 to 55 feet somehow.
From the HH we were stopped by a slow train on Marion at Railroad and speculated further upon empty lots and how churches would be nice here, amidst the rubble across the street, beside the old Wicks Lumber store, now a derelict club closed. And so the cross rails raised and I said, let us see if the soup kitchen is still open. And it was. So we rode past the cemetery beside the tracks where the boy and his dog rests.
On down past the tobacco barns, past the now non christian Christian Service Center, speculating as to how it all ends when government assistance begins. Turning into Forest Lawn to Gwendolyn and Bascombs well kept graves by Laura Ruth their loving daughter. Down to the two markers of Helena's one and two day old sons, to Mossy Jesus standing guard beside them, hidden behind the lichen in plain sight. O'er to Mrs Hunters, lamenting the lack of lily's upon her site, mamma always picking some for her. I said I will steal some if I see some and was upbraided. O'er to Kimberly Leach in the far corner, murdered at thirteen by Theodore Bundy, his last kill. Out and down toward the kindergarten center where the red caboose now rests in Ft White, o'er to the homes of the VA Chaplin and Steve Stafford and his unkempt blueberries, pointing out here a camellia and there a tulip tree. Down to the station across from Roundtree Toyota for fifty dollars worth of gas. O'er to G&K to see if there were more camellia's, finding few. Onto the neighborhood of Alamo and Judy and other home care patients in the past. Down 47 and way out to find Mrs Margarets house, never finding it, missing the turn, ending up on Christ Central Road and back on another Witt Road to 47 again and heading down to Mason City for more Camellia's, finding one white we think we will like and purchasing it for sixteen dollars in the three gallon size. Back down Gabe road past Arky Rogers wood stick fences, behind Hopeful and to the intersection of Country Club and two fifty two. Seeing Mr Markham in his yard beside the gourd pile. Melanie getting out and asking him if they were for sale. He was going to give them to her but she offered to buy them for a dollar a gourd, so we bought ten. And so we made a new friend, the lonely man on the corner who grows the huge garden, who lost his wife, who has a bad back, but not bad upon the tractor, only bad when hoeing. And so it was agreed I would hoe for a gourd. We shall see. Nearing home, mama wanted to see again the fake oversized animals at the estate of the B&B family, the competition in the county to the S&S family. Content to see the ten foot rooster beside apes, we made it home, where her happiness drained when it was learned they were coming for her later on.

Go Not Gentle

Go not gentle without a fight
Keep not that smile but frown
Go not easy back to town
all too soon
wrongs seem as right.

Tell the ones so wrong
This is where we turn
This is what I yearn
all too soon
its to the nursing home.

Go not gentle in the ride
Keep not that lip raised
Go not easy in last days
all too soon
Undertakers pull smiles wide.

150th

Thousands came to watch. Hundreds came to participate. You would think it popular by the numbers.
You would be wrong. I wonder if most who attend such events have any clue? By the comments about me during the parade on Saturday, one would doubt it. Each year the line up of the men in blue and gray grows greyer. Fewer each year the youth to carry forward the historical portrayal of their ancestors. Greyer still the memory of the history, or why they fought, of what they were fighting against, of what we to this day continue to battle; an all encompassing Federalism. A government as mamma, nanny, pappy and god all rolled into one entity. Taxed beyond our means, on Federal aid in every manner imaginable, the lure to not work or become untangled fading with each generation.
I told the old Confederate yesterday this was one of the last places we can still defeat Federalism, even if only pretend. And even the pretend each year is impeded by regulations and strict rules as to what you can and cannot do upon the field. Even the battle field was not bush hogged as in years past, the men marching in waist high grass, further heightening the possibility of a fire. And then there was the uniformed team of ten smoke jumpers on hand with shovels in the event something did catch fire. And if the soldiers fired their cartridges anywhere but upon the battle field, a ranger would promptly seek them out and expel them, or even their entire regiment. And so, is it any wonder the men in gray and blue grow weary fighting this battle? They no longer can gather and just fight it out as in the days of old. Now, they must adhere to a book of rules growing thicker by the year,until the day will come where the only people participating are the grand army of the federal regulators.
So, the men you think out of sync with time, behind the times, are in reality, the very men who are keenly aware of the times, aware of the danger you think they look silly fighting, but in reality are in a serious fight of their lives, yours and mine. Sit a spell with a few of these men and you will come away with a greater appreciation such men yet exist. A greater appreciation for their ancestors and ours that knew what the fight was for.

Olustee 2014

The 150th Olustee. The announcement that a million dollars has been secured to construct a new museum. One of the largest crowds and number of re-enactors to date. I was there before 8 and made my official free entrance via the food vendors bridge. Looking official helps. Go straight ahead with confidence and an air.
First route was to the authentic Confederate camps to find my ole buddies from North Carolina. I did not find them but found Stragglers partner at the entrance of the camps, always camping out under the stars without tent. Old pards. Talking with him, the regiments and companies were marching past for the parade ground. I fell in behind the horses and followed to the parade ground, catching up with my pals marching. Following the dedication ceremony I met the three in the Straggler camp by the corral. We talked awhile, of seeing a ghost and talking with him in a prior campaign at Gettysburg, of getting stuck near Ocean Pond this year trying to find the settlers camp, the park service pulling them out.
I bid adieu and roamed about, stopping here and there to take photographs. Most of the people I tried to take their name and give them a card. I even gave General Tom a card and told him there are several photographs he would truly like to see. I missed seeing the young Cason fellow this year who kept the General's horse, Beaureguard last year.
I was able to find the two ladies with children I photographed in Lake City on Saturday. They had again the little one year old boy dressed as a girl, a common practice in the period. I was able to take better photographs of them. I told them I enjoy more the ladies in the hoops and finery more than the men.
Who wouldn't? After nearing 500 frames, I knew that I needed to conserve battery since I had no spare.
I planted myself by my familiar pine where the soldiers line up and waited for the General to appear and do the sword ceremony. I was not disappointed. With the ranks three deep this year, it took quite a while to see all the troops marching past. It was impressive.
Again I took a direct path to the battle field and caught again the ranks coming up the trail. I then parked on the far left of the battle and spoke with the old commander, now resigned to guarding the fence, keeping spectators back. He was interesting in that he pointed out nuances. One being a blind re-enactor led by another seeing re-enactor. Sure enough, the battery died in the D3100 and I did not bring the D40 along, a bad move. I then used the Canon S100 point and shoot with the limited zoom.
After the Georgia flag was rallied down the line, I left early, as did the old commander. I was home by 3, a perfect weather day at Olustee. Not sure this year about the number of keepers out of nearly 600 frames.
Some days you have it, others you just seem to struggle with exposure and stuff. I sure could have used the D7000 I had earlier in the year. It was usually spot on with the exposure, without having to do such fiddling as I do with the D3100. I am forever over-exposing and adjusting down or up the compensation.