Judy's Tree

Several years ago Steve Williams and I had Bill Sepko route a nice wooden plaque that read Judy's Tree. We rode out in the Osceola off Still Road and attached the plaque high out of reach.

Judy Hancock was a passionate defender of the forest and all things wild. She died of cancer nearly ten years ago. She was Steve and my friend.

Today while riding back from Ocean Pond, I slowed at the crooked pine, given the name by the Forest Service, and I noticed the plaque missing. I poked around the base but found nothing.

The road has been resurfaced and possibly some worker was amused or had a girl Judy he thought would like it. Someone several years placed a mocking sign Mary's Tree down from Judy's and I tore it down. Perhaps Mary was exacting revenge.

I will know it was Judy's tree. I doubt few will. Just another among thousands.

Robert

Today in order to deflect all the pointed toward self lately, I drove out West 90 to Turner Road to my old friend Bob Jones.

Since last visiting several months ago, there was a difference in how he carried himself, his arms almost stroke like, limp to his

side. But what was marked different, was his advancing dementia. I tried my best to carry the conversation, trying to help him recall things. It was a futile effort. I hit a few times, but mostly it was long pauses. 

Bob and I used to travel all over, doing so many things. Running in and training for races from 5k to marathons. Going all over photographing. Painting, diving for artifacts, biking centuries, kayaking and canoeing all the streams and ocean. I had no other good friend, next to Bob. And now he is fading before my eyes.

Apo and Eis

Wednedsay of day one from Facebook began as all others. Zoe the little Tuxedo female who sleeps on my bed waking me before light to be fed. Buster and Orange Blossom, Melanies Orange tabbies, likewise. JT and Rocky, the lopsiosa and golden too. Callie Curtis the outside cat with the two Rhode Island Red chickens, Rosie and Roger. 

Then the coffee, Maxwell House in the Kreps, manual fill. Hazelnut creamer.

Today was Hebrews 12. especially laying aside all weight, distraction, and looking toward the author and perfector of our faith, Jesus.

Thus the Greek aphorontes eis. An averting or drawing off the eye from one object to another. Apo, a turning off the eye from all other objects, the other, eis, a fast fixing of the eye upon such an object and only upon such. 

So both a looking off and a looking on.

I am thankful for the three who took the time last evening to email me: Rosemary, Paul and Trisha. Rosemary an old friend from Florida Southern days, Paul, who I met while working at JCP, hiring his daughter and Trisha, whom I have never met, but through another FB friend, became friends. a kindred spirit with mine.

And so the sun arises gently, I must be off to greet the first Rays.

Grace

By Grace, the flower soared beyond the vase.

Or, the day daisy said I shall fly beyond the vase.

What would you caption it?

Originally this was used to signify my wife Melanie, suffering with H1N1, near death, as representing the lone flower, apart from the family.

What think ye?

This is with the flower in color. It tends to attract attention. Rosemary felt it distracts. I like subtle understatement.

What are your thoughts?

Hiatus

Today was one of those epiphany type days. It was not supposed to be. It began as most days had of late, getting up, feeding the cats and dogs, checking Facebook. After that a series of cleaning the house, the pool, the yard, checking Facebook. Two cups of coffee, posting a photo. Some food by noon, posting a poem or two. More housework and checking Facebook. Lately I had been growing angrier than any person should over a lack of reply, like or comment. People have lives. I don't. After posting a photo of Melanie's hand in Orlando with a time exposure of me resembling an angel above her, I broke down. It was brief but valid. I called out, Lord deliver me from this that I am. 

One offshoot was an immediate determination to cease Facebook, if for awhile, if not more.

And so I deleted all app's on my Four devices. 

I will try and go a month.

We shall see if I am led thus from the fix I  am in.

Crist... ians

What is it with my fellow nature photographer friends? What makes these purveyors of such beauty through their lenses, such liberal idiots when it comes to politics? And yoni a further note, why do they not believe in the Creator God, His Son Jesus and the Holy Ghost, instead giving descent to Gaia or evolution?
Beauty is beauty and God in his mercy bestows an eye to behold it to these artists. It is sad that they are blind.

Rivers of Life

I stood upon the Orange Hill Cemetery, beside my fathers grave, in a driving rain storm. Below me, flowing downhill, the middle road through the monuments became for a brief moment, a flowing river. And soon, the storm moved on toward the sand hills over Gulf Hammock and on out over the Gulf. Wet from the waist down, I walked with the flowing water down to the intersection where Melanies family members rest. I brushed the wet, newly mowed grass from their graves, pulled a few weeds, righted the vases blown over.
It was a quiet gesture. Soon the sun appeared and the river turned to road again. The clouds gave way to a clean blue. The memory of the river remained. The few slabs of those I once knew could again reflect the evening light.

As artists we are often desperately in need of recognition. We are gregarious types in our shy, reclusive natures, in conflict with the need to share our visions and at the same time, our hesitancy to reveal our inner visions, wanting to protect them. Some are not as timid, and throw it out for all, come what may, hardened ones, confident ones.

When I showed this photograph to one, pulling it up, my enthusiasm in no way matched his lack of. It was just another look and move on, another ho hum moment. One who would never consider getting out of the car in a cemetery in a storm with an umbrella and walking the entire length, enthralled with it all.

I just could not convey that. It was just a photograph that was not that special. What was I to do? Upbraid him for his lack of interest in walking with the dead beside rivers soon to disappear? A certain pity on my part, for me, for him, that I was 'this way', that he and most of whom I move and breathe with are, 'that way', an oddity among the normality, trying quietly to fit in, to sit in vehicles when rains come.

Beneath blue heaven

The last few evenings have been full of lightening and thunder and rain. Dramatic heavens. I have been for the most part unsuccessful in capturing lightening like I envision it. Long dramatic streaks. I try and anticipate and count between flashes, but miss every time. I try long exposures, but if too long, it wipes out the streaks. This was taken with the Canon S110 at 15 seconds on the limit of its exposure, since the idiotic Canon technicians put a limit on the ISO for long exposures, limiting it to ISO80, effectively negating properly exposed long exposures. The S95, which died, did not have this limit.
Some photographers use a lightening trigger that detects motion and trips the shutter. Perhaps I need one.
Nevertheless, it has been interesting, if not for anything, but to be out watching the awesome display of God's power. A power that caused the opening Gator Game in Gainesville to be cancelled.

Climbing down

Lately I  have been climbing all the wrong trees. Causing a disquiet spirit. A clamoring. This and that getting me out of sorts. I have begun reading at the suggestion of Jayne English, The rare jewel of Christian Contentment by Jeremiah Burroughs. So far it has helped to quiet the unrest, the wanting this and that, the anger over not having a Nikon D810 or the eye of Moran or a job or a retirement,etc.
Learning over and over like rungs on a ladder to descend and seek the dew droplets upon the ground, not climb in my own efforts toward the fruits of heaven.
I am not down enough by any means. I still go gee whiz when one of the photographers I follow posts a WOW photograph, which is daily. I still go Oh I wish when I see the dust spots on the D3100 I am using or the little Canon S110 that tries its best to please me. I still think what an idiot way too often. I still get near road rage when I am poking along and another vehicle bumpers me. I still savor good gossip, etc.
Like one of those sound boards musical groups use to adjust the music,God is turning all the clanging cymbals and tinkering sounds way down in order that Christ may gain the preeminence and come through clearly in that still,small,sweet acoustic voice.
http://www.preachtheword.com/bookstore/contentment.pdf

Sunday Ride

Following church Melanie and I went by and picked up mamma at Paula's and went to the Porter House for lunch. Following lunch, we rode around the countryside. There was a storm brewing to the east and I pulled over to the side of the road off Price Creek by Gabe and took a few shots. They looked great in the camera, the Canon S110. On the computer, not as good, not as intense, not as yellow in the field. I tried to replicate the look from the camera to the computer but couldn't. If I could figure out what was going on, I would be happier with the results in post processing. Perhaps a stronger program for post production is needed I am certain.

Toward Hors

My profile photograph, taken yesterday on the twelve mile ride. I have for over a month now been riding fairly frequently, almost daily between 6 and 7. I've gone up to twenty, but mostly around ten, to 90 and back by Cold Storage. I have only ridden Basso and will soon get Miele down and use it alternatively.
One or two times I rode the Giant Mt Bike around 5 miles. I cannot really tell I am getting in any better shape. For that I think I would need to ride harder and longer. My rides are mostly saunters, taking it easy, spinning up to twenty mph every now and then. I am continually on the look for sky shots and such. I am constantly scanning the little rear view mirror for distracted drivers. So far none. The route seldom varies as I do not care to ride down Price Creek in order to get to less traveled roads.
I am content just to be out and riding again, nothing grand. I had entertained the idea of riding the Horsefarm One Hundred again this October, but have for now given up on the thought. Too much time in the saddle to try and maintain a 16mph pace in order not to finish dead last.

Route Update

Today I took a ten mile bike ride out to the college to Cold Storage. Pitiful I know you would have said. I was just telling Peggy today we would start there, you waiting impatiently for me in your grey Dodge van, eager to get started on our seventy mile ride up to Taylor and back. She could not believe it. Well, as I struggled just to make the ten, I too wondered how.
When you were here, this Facebook thing we have now was not so pervasive. Your friends were face to face not like it is today. Oh, we may have seven hundred on our wall, but in reality, they are not really friends like the ones you had. It is more one way. I imagine if you were still here, you would be quite frustrated with it. You would update like you so much liked to do and you would get no feedback. I think you would be
un-friending many, like you did Al and a few when you were here.
I try and keep up with some that were on your route, but it is difficult. Professor I hear from every now and then. I imagine things haven't changed too much with him. Harry tells me he still has trouble adjusting seat posts and stuff you did so easily. I imagine his pool timer has never worked since you last fixed it.
Mutt is still around too, I hear from her every now and then, unlike you, who checked in daily. Puppy, I have lost contact with. As for the cleaners, it remains open, probably on much more prayer and expense without your continual fixing of boilers and pressers and various machinery. Rick continues to thrive with his sub shop, despite not having you to do cost analysis on every sub that goes out. I know he misses your running the operation for him.
Teri is still practicing vet medicine down in Deland last I heard. She probably has married the prisoner despite your vocal disagreement. I do not know if she still rides the Dawes you gave her.
I miss hearing that motorcycle glide up to my carport, knowing it was time for my daily update. I just feel out of touch and so much more alone, despite having hundreds of so called friends. But, like I told you, not really. Junk friends I suppose you would call them.....