Fall Ritual – Leaf me Alone!

Glorious Oak, with branches on fire

We’ve oohed and aahed,

Maple leaves, as golden as the sun

and had our fun.

Leaf pile fun

We’ve raked and piled,

Billions and billions of leaves!

and blown off the  roof.

Oh, please don't try to walk with that electric cord running between your feet!

Now, it’s time to LEAVE, leaves!

Bagged

White Birches

White Birches

While we were exploring the Cedar Lake Camp in Chelsea, MI, I found a group of white birches. The bark on Birches in Southeastern Michigan isn’t as startlingly white as those found in Northern Michigan, but they are still striking trees. I decided to use one of my favorite camera techniques, an in-camera motion blur, to capture  my image of them. My method is to use shutter priority, setting the shutter dial between half a second and a second, and then, while moving the camera in the chosen direction, release the shutter. It is fun, and usually surprising, to see the resulting blur.  Some experimentation with the shutter speed setting is necessary, because it makes a big difference in the outcome. Sometimes you want a complete blur, and at other times it is nice to preserve some detail. In this instance, I had no detail, just vertical stripes, and thought it would be nice to have a hint of foliage among the vertical lines. I chose #95 Photoshop brush, which gave me large dab spots, and choosing from among the colors that existed in the image, I added discreet areas of color that looked like leaves.

Impressionist Garden at the Chicago Art Institute, and Iris Garden from the Quebec Canada Parliament Building are two other abstracts I created through use of the in-camera blur.

Cedar Lake Camp, Mi – Photographs

Michigan woods in autumn

I love photo excursions! When I go home to Ann Arbor, there is usually time set aside for one, or more. The destination is left up to my brother, because he is so stupendously good at it. Last January he took us to Barton Pond, and you have only to look at the pictures to see how perfect a winter photo trip that was. John picks the spots, my husband is always happy to carry my equipment, and they both like to go on these excursions, even though neither is a photographer. How lucky am I?

My husband has always been a cooperative equipment carrier. I remember the morning he acquired his official photographer’s assistant title. As he was leaving to go to work that day, I remembered that I had bought a new camera bag, and I said, “Oh wait, I bought you  a new camera bag. Try it, and see if it’s comfortable.” He stood in the kitchen in his suit and tie while I draped the bag over his shoulder, then mumbled that he was the poor man’s Tensing Norgay. I had no idea what he had just said, in fact, I thought he was suddenly speaking in tongues. I doubt there was a handful of people in the world besides my  husband, with his trivia stuffed brain, who knew that Tensing Norgay was Sir Edmund Hilary’s Sherpa porter on the climb to the top of Mr. Everest. Tensing is now my husband’s nickname and his official title  when he accompanies me on photo trips, schlepping fifty pounds of cameras, lenses, flashes, tripods, Etc. Etc.

Tensing was right there with his camera bag for the perfect October photo trip when John took us to picturesque Chelsea, Michigan, a town of about 5,000 people, home of Jiffy Mix, the Purple Rose Theater, very cool shops, and some great places to eat, like the Common Grille, where we had lunch. Chelsea is also located in the vast Waterloo Recreation Area, next to Cedar Lake, where there is a summer camp run by the State of Michigan, designed to introduce kids to Michigan’s natural world, and to instill in them a love of and respect for the outdoors. The camp was the destination of the day’s photography excursion.

Maples among the White Pines

We parked at the entrance to Cedar Lake Camp and walked about a quarter of a mile, enjoying everything that is wonderful about a Michigan fall: huge trees full of outrageous fall colors mixed with soft green White Pines that cushioned the paths with their fallen needles, a small cottage lined lake, cattails and milkweed gone to seed, and the haunting call of a Loon in the distance.  The camp was closed up, and very quiet, the kind of quiet that children learning to love nature should experience. The sound of traffic and children laughing has its place, but, oh, the miraculous sound of leaves fluttering to the ground, and the breeze rattling the dried branches of Elderberry bushes! There was a sense of anticipation throughout the camp of next season’s fun to come, rather than sadness that last summer was now gone forever.

Path paved with pine needles

Our path was strewn with pretty baubles.

Cabin in the woods 1.

Cabin in the woods 2.

Camp steps

Camp bench

Manhole cover with the year the camp was built.

The path through the camp led to Cedar Lake.

Swim at your own risk.

The canoes are tucked in until next season.

The picnic grounds are closed.

It would be a great time to be in these seats above a roaring campfire, looking out over the lake.

Who You Gonna Call? Halloween 2009

Spider on FIRE!

I need to get this Halloween post written.

It seems to me that nothing is as over as Halloween by the time you wake up the next day in a new month and it’s All Saints’ Day! Plus this year Halloween fell on the Saturday of falling back for DayLight Savings Time, so you are truly in a time warp, with all the mental confusion that comes with changing something as basic to daily rhythm as the clock. The whole thing throws me off kilter for a few days, which complicates writing about the, “Creepy and kooky, mysterious and spooky,” Halloween, 2009!

Brief though it is, I love Halloween. It is so much fun to watch the children. They get so excited. Part of it is the looming sugar rush, of course, but choosing the perfect costume is important, too. Walker planned to wear the same Hulk costume he wears almost every day. William chose to be a werewolf, and it was the ugliest, scariest werewolf ever seen! Karsten knew early that he wanted to be a dragon, but, as he explained over and over, he was a ‘nice’ dragon. Celeste had no opinion, not being a year old yet, so she was dressed as a purple butterfly. Remembering the Squid costume that William wore on his first Halloween, I think Celeste will consider herself lucky to have been a butterfly.

The costume prize, however, goes to the house, or rather, to the decorator of the house. My son-in-law has never before exhibited an obsession for Halloween decorations, but this year’s effort will be hard to surpass.  There was even a fog machine.  Two, actually.

The decorating began weeks ago when the skeletons and flame pots were hung on the porch.

Installing the flame pots.

Skeletons and flame pots

The crazy witch that cackles when someone walks by was set on the steps, along with the crows and jack-o-lanterns.

Cackling witch

Can’t decide what your favorite spider is? No worries. There are several varieties to choose among. And, bring in the clowns!

Spider weaving a tangled web.

Bring in the clowns!

When we arrived for trick-or-treating, there was a new wrinkle –  the windows had pumpkin and skull shades installed.  It’s really a shame that Halloween is a one day only event.

The house decked for Halloween.

The house was ready for the gathering of the trick-or-treaters! What a crew there was.

The cast of characters for Halloween 2009.

The Werewolf. Eeeeek!

The Hulk

The 'nice' Dragon

The Purple Butterfly

The Devil

Dorothy and the Little Mermaid

Indiana Jones

And off they went!  First stop, the little church at the end of the street for Trunk ‘n Treat, where church members decorate their cars and hand out candy from the trunks.

Heading for Trunk 'n Treat

Trunk 'n Treat

Official greeter at Trunk 'n Treat

Next, turn them loose in the neighborhood.  Well, not too loose.

The neighbors are ready.

One last picture  for Halloween, 2009. It is of one of the teachers at William’s school, dressed for their Halloween party. She wore this all day at school! She gets my vote for being the best sport.

A bunch of grapes

The children get my vote for loving Halloween and making us all happy. My son-in-law wins the grand prize of a year’s supply of candy corn for best decorating of a house. Good thing he likes candy corn. He’s actually the only person I’ve ever known who does like it!

Who are you gonna call if you want to turn your house into the Monster Mash?  I know who I’M gonna call!

Life in Photography – October

Another month is gone. Well, not entirely. Halloween is tonight! My grandsons’ costumes might be classified as unconventional this year, or maybe I should say classified as creative. Walker insists that he will be Hulk wearing a dragon head. Stranger things than that have wandered the neighborhood on Halloween night.

Everything is not completely organized because the mother of two of the children has had H1N1 flu all last week, and I don’t think she will care if they dress in their birthday suits (and one of them might do just that!). The mother of the other two found out out that two will become three next spring. She has been contemplating having three children under four years of age, so Halloween is not at the top of her list of things to be concerned about, either. Karsten doesn’t want a baby brother or sister. He wants a dragon. I guess that is a whole dragon, not a half Hulk/half dragon.

I am going to post my Better Photo contest entries for October, as I did last month. By doing that I will be able to show that October was full of things to blog about. And I intend to do it!  It was also so full that I haven’t had time, yet. Stay tuned for Halloween, a fall visit/art day at Cheekwood with my friend Jayne, an excursion to The Farm, a fabulous photography workshop in Savannah, a trip to Ann Arbor for a reunion of my husband’s fraternity brothers and a photo excursion to Chelsea while we were there, planned by my brother.

I wasn’t into the full swing of October with my first week’s entries. Four photos were of wildflowers I shot from my August Ann Arbor trip.  The Home of Jax was taken while in New Orleans the previous April. I don’t even remember what prompted me to do that. Love Among the Zinnias was snapped in my sister-in-law’s garden during the memorable August trip to Rockville, Md/Burke, VA/DC area when our GPS turned on us, and we were nearly lost forever ‘neath the streets of Washington.  Maybe it was Boston.  It could have been Kandahar for all that Garmin woman cared!  The fall garden was from Centennial Park, a former autumn, but it seemed appropriate.

Finally, we arrive at October’s activities, but not until another wildflower from Ann Arbor, another New Orleans photo, and two typical October shots, which were taken in Nashville, show up. Entries for Oct. 12 and 13 are from the visit to Cheekwood to see the Scarecrow Exhibit.

More Cheekwood entries for October 14 and 15. The rest are from the Savannah photography workshop. I want to go back!

The 21st through the 25th are all Savannah shots.

During the last week of October I submitted all Savannah shots, except for two. Sulphur Creek is from my son-in-law’s property along the Cumberland River, loosely called The Farm, because no farming takes place there.  I have a post planned about that.  White Birches, submitted on Oct. 30, is from the photo trip to Chelsea, Michigan.  There is a post planned about that, too.  There’s hardly room for anything to happen in November, for trying to fit October in!

The Better Photo September contest was judged in October, and Winged Sumac was announced as a Finalist.  That is wonderful and gratifying, but my association with Winged Sumac will forever be standing in that restored prairie area of Long Hunter State Park, unaware of  the Chiggers that were taking their stations at various spots on my body, silently preparing for the attack that would begin in twenty-four hours.  Thanks, Better Photo.

I am grateful for all the wonderful things I saw and photographed in October, for the people I spent time with while I photographed, for the great fortune I have to own such incredible camera equipment.  I can’t honestly say I am grateful for Chiggers and H1N1, but I am grateful for the return to health that follows the misery. I don’t think Chiggers ever killed anyone, although it seemed possible at the time. H1N1, on the other hand, can be dangerous. Don’t brush it off if you happen to know of a few people whose symptoms were light.

Live to photograph another day!

Chicago Tribune Building

Chicago Tribune Tower

In a skyline of stand-out  architecture, the Chicago Tribune building can still command attention after almost a century.

In 1922, the Chicago Daily Tribune published an invitation to compete in an international competition to build the “most beautiful and eye catching building in the world”. The contest was won by Raymond Hood and John Howell for their limestone gothic design complete with buttresses and gargoyles. The award was criticized at the time because it didn’t fit the pared down modern trend of the Chicago School and the International Style.

My daughter, grandson and I walked past the Tribune building during our July trip, on our way to the Lego Store. A six year old heading to the Lego Store is on a single minded mission, so when I became curious about why people were standing along the building staring at the wall, I had to let them go on ahead while I investigated.

I discovered that the people were looking at rocks and sculptures embedded in the base of the Tribune Tower. They were stones from famed sites and structures throughout the United States and foreign countries, ranging from the pyramids and the Alamo to Omaha Beach and Mark Twain’s Injun Joe Cave in Missouri. A piece of the World Trade Center has been added, and I read that they have a moon rock, although that is in a special display, and not embedded in the wall. The rocks were supposed to be gotten legally, but the story is that some were gained by other means. I’m shocked. I took a picture of  a relic from an ancient temple in Honan Province, China, and then hurried to catch up with Elizabeth and William. I made a mental note to find out more about this fascinating building when I got home.

Ancient Temple, Honan Province, China

A search of the internet turned up a blog about chicago architecture, that was coincidentally running a series specifically devoted to the rocks in the Tribune building. I’ve marked this blog in my Google Reader list, and I’ve enjoyed keeping up with the current architectural goings-on of Chicago, as well as seeing the rocks of the Tribune building in their series posts.

We passed the Tribune building on another walk, and I snapped a picture of a charming new interpretation of the Grant Wood painting, American Gothic.

3-D American Gothic

I love Chicago,

“And each time I leave, Chicago is

tuggin’ my sleeve, Chicago is.”

September Song

Steps to the Perennial Garden at Cheekwood Botanical Garden - Better Photo Monthly Contest Second Place Winner!

September is gone. Have you noticed? While I was busy living in the moment every day, the whole darn month just disappeared on me!

It doesn’t seem like I do much until I conduct my monthly review, which, of course, is a photographic one. This entails looking back at the daily photos I have submitted to the Better Photo Monthly Contest, and also checking what I have uploaded to my Shuttercal Calendar page.

In addition to the final look at September, I will prepare a new photograph for daily entry into the Better Photo October Contest. It’s a never ending cycle, also in case you’ve never noticed! I always hope for a winner to emerge from my submissions, but if that were the only reason to enter, I would soon grow discouraged. I enter as a challenge to myself to improve my photography, continue on my dogged path to learn Photoshop, and to try out techniques and filters that allow me to artistically transform my photos. The additional benefit is that it allows me to see if I used my time well during the previous month, or if I earned a Slacker Award.

I used the Grab program, which I found in the Utilities folder of my Mac, to select and take a screen shot from the Better Photo site that shows my daily entries to the contest. In the first week of August, the most recently judged contest, I entered a portrait of Walker taken with my new 50mm fixed lens, a straggler from our June trip to Quebec City, two from the Chicago trip with William, a random Tennessee Winter sky, the Parthenon from a delightful afternoon at Centennial Park, and a flower from the perennial garden at Cheekwood from when I went with my vistiting photo pal, Susan.

Entries for August 1 – 7, 2009

In the second week of August I entered five photos taken at Cheekwood Botanical Garden, Walker in his pool the day of his birthday party, and another straggler from the July Chicago trip.

Entries for Aug 8 - 14, 2009

In the third week of August I entered some lilies from Cheekwood, play equipment from William’s school, another Chicago shot, two shots from downtown Nashville and a macro of a glass vinegar carafe.

Entries for August 15 - 21, 2009

In the fourth week I entered two more shots from the school playground, the marina at sunset from the April photo workshop in St. Augustine, a creatively enhanced picture of Royal St. in New Orleans, and two macro flowers.

Entries for August 21 - 27 , 2009

The last four entries were flowers taken at Cheekwood.

Entries for August 28 - 31, 2009

Nineteen out of my thirty entries for the month of August received an Editors’ Choice, which means they made it to the next round of judging. Two of those became Finalists – Water, Water Everywhere and Steps with Flair (this post’s opening photo), and out of 22,000 entries, Steps with Flair was a Second Place Winner! Entering photo contests is no different from other forms of gambling in one respect, it’s very addictive! It gives me renewed energy to get that next daily photo ready to upload.

Become a member of www.betterphoto.com, enter the contest, and find out for yourself. You’ll meet great photography friends, learn tons about photography, and there is no entry fee to enter.

Water, Water Every Where - Lobby ceiling of the Shedd Aquarium, Chicago, IL, a September Finalist in the BP Contest.

I send photos to Shuttercal for a different reason. It is strictly fun, meant to provide a place for a daily snapshot. Here is where I put a picture of my dining room window hanging in jagged shards from where the rock flew into it from the mower. It’s the perfect place to put a shot of your Iris melting into mush after a week of steady rain, and William getting a ride in the bucket truck with the tree man who came to remove a dead tree from the backyard. Sometimes I run out of time and submit the same photo to Better Photo and Shuttercal, but, for the most part, it helps me remember to have fun with a camera, and not always to be so concerned with trying to make a masterpiece,( not that trying to make a masterpiece isn’t fun). I often use my point-and-shoot or my phone camera for these shots.

My September Shuttercal Calendar

Each photo submitted is a full sized photo, although you create a small thumbnail to show up on the calendar. You can look at everyone else’s submissions for the day and make comments, choose favorites, or add photographers whose work you like as friends. Submissions to Shuttercal are always interesting, unpredictable and often hilarious. They depict the random moments and city scenery of people from all around the world. I enjoy seeing the stream of snapshots as they come in.

It’s nice to have a visual record of September, 2009, because the month is now gone.  It is already well into October.

Time flies so fast.  I’m shooting as fast as I can!

Josie

Josie - ? to September 24, 2009

The routine of my day has begun, and, because of its absence, I realize how entwined my routine and that of our sweet Husky Josie have been. It has become a ritual based lately on the needs of an old dog with many health issues, but in earlier times she was the sweetest dog, who appreciated the comfortable life she lived with us.

Last night I didn’t stand at the open door clapping my hands and begging her to go outside before I went to bed. She hasn’t wanted to go outside for some time. Her hips were bad, and it was harder to go up the two steps to the yard. She must have always had bad hips because I don’t remember her going up steps or running without a hopping motion in her hind legs, like a rabbit. She never complained, just figured out ways to minimize the pain. Comfort was obtained of late by staying in a comfortable spot. I know there are many people like me who give in to the needs of elderly pets, and just put plastic down in the house rather than make an issue of forgotten (or rejected!) house training. That part of the routine is something I’m very happy to be without!

Last night I didn’t divide out the many medicines she’s been taking, for thyroid, for joints, for a chronic ear infection, for pain. The only thing that was really helping her was the thyroid medicine.  We started that a few months ago after discovering she was completely hypo-thyroid. For a time after starting the medicine, she began to lose the weight she had gained because of the thyroid condition (a good thing), but also to shed hair in massive quantities (a very bad thing). Soon she looked wonderful. She slimmed down, and grew back her beautiful, non-shedding, white coat. It was a great day when the routine didn’t involve cleaning up all that hair. It’s really impossible to describe the drifts that accumulated everywhere, the hairs that filled the air when a breeze from an opening door or sudden movement through a room stirred them up. I tried to keep up, but it was a losing battle.

This morning she didn’t greet me from her spot next to her bowls, slowly lifting her painful hips off the floor, her toenails making a little tap tap sound on the flagstones. My first job in the morning was to prepare her food. It had become a strange mixture over the years. We started with regular dry food, then added green beans and then a little bit of canned beef tidbits. I started with the green beans because  she told me I wasn’t giving her enough food. I knew she was too heavy, so I added green beans for bulk without the calories. Then at the start of her final decline this year she lost her appetite, so to entice her to eat, I added sirloin bits in broth to the dry food/bean mixture. Once started, they never let you stop that!

Today she’s not in any of the expected spots where I’m used to seeing or hearing her. She liked people, and would usually greet and check them out, then head immediately to her ‘undisclosed locations’ behind a couch in one room, behind a chair and table in another, under the bed in the guest room. When the little boys came over she would head for the backyard, or one of her locations. She liked them, but knew motion and noise usually folllowed their arrival, and preferred to remove herself before it got started. She was not a fan of drama.

Let's all be calm. I'll show you how to do it.

Josie was a rescue. A friend and I drove to Georgia to get her and bring her home the day before William was born in July of 2003. She was staying at the home of a lady who rescued Samoyeds, which is what I wanted after I lost my Sammies. No suitable Sammy was available, but the rescue lady said Josie, a white Siberian Husky, had been brought to her and she was a very nice dog. Josie had been well cared for at her rescue home, after a terrible time of fending for herself on the streets.  She had been treated for heartworms and neglect and was looking good, except for the sad proof on her ears of the misery she had endured.  Flies had chewed her pretty ears until they looked like they had been scalloped with pinking shears!

Jo wanted to come home with us.  She jumped into the floor of the backseat and gave us a look that said we weren’t backing out, and she was not getting out! No matter how well they’re treated at a rescue home, they all want a home of their own. She proved that to me one night a few weeks after she came to us.  The back gate had been left open (by the usual suspects, and I’m still mad about it), and she was way up the street by the time I discovered it and went after her. She didn’t stop when she heard me calling until three cars rushed by her.  The headlights blasting her must have reminded her what it was like when she was wandering the streets, and she stopped, turned around and ran to me, then past me into the driveway, up the steps to the open front door, and down the hall to the bedroom. It wasn’t possible to go any farther than that into the safety of the house.

Soon after that she let a visiting Beagle know that she considered this her house, and he didn’t need to act so possessive of it. I knew then that she felt like she belonged. We began six years of a placid, trouble free relationship. Trouble free unless you were taking her anywhere in the car. After she jumped from the backseat into the front and knocked the car out of gear, stalling it at the light by Wendy’s at 100 Oaks, I vowed never to take her anywhere without another person in the car to hold her. The short strap that hooked from her collar into the car seat buckle didn’t even work because, in her crazy maneuverings, she would step on the release button, leaving her free to hurl her eighty pound body into the front seat! I didn’t think of Janet’s clever solution soon enough. We were taking Jo to the vet clinic one time (I think this is when she was testing for thyroid deficiency), and Janet simply closed the back car door on her regular leash. She stayed put! And really didn’t complain about it!

I’ve been wondering lately when she would begin digging her winter hole in the garden. There was some alignment of the stars that let her know when to begin this activity in the fall, and when to end it in the spring. It was an an interesting process to watch. Sometimes she would look to be sound asleep, when suddenly she would get up, dig furiously, throwing sprays of dirt everywhere, and then plop back down and resume her nap. I poured wood chips in the hole every so often, which usually brought on another digging frenzy. She was not a bright, white dog by the time spring arrived.

Fall in the dirt hole

Winter in the dirt hole

She won’t dig any holes this winter. Yesterday we put her to sleep. Over the past month or so we have watched a steady decline in her health and behavior. She was clearly in pain that we couldn’t relieve. They said she was probably two years old in 2003 when we got her, which would make her eight. Be aware than they always say rescues are two years old. We believe she is much older than that. It wouldn’t have mattered to me if I knew she was four, or even older. She was a good dog. She and Mannix were friends. I hope they’re glad to see each other, and that she’s telling the Sammies how much I loved them.

The night before we took her for a last walk, or amble as her walks had come to be known. Usually she pulled on the leash to get to the street to begin. That night she went off the opposite side of the porch from where she usually goes, and went to stand by the  car. Yes, the car that she hates. She also knew that when she was hurting, we put her in the car and took her someplace where she was made to feel better.

I know you are feeling better, beautiful Jo.

Apple Anyone?

Pygmy Albino Python photographed at Aquatic Critters, Nolensville Rd., Nashville, TN

You’ve guessed it. I’m going to write about snakes, so if you’re still mad about being kicked out of Eden, you could just skip this post.

I have never bourne ill will toward the snake, in spite of the one that wrapped around my leg when I was little. I did step on it, so I’m sure the path he took would have been away from me if I hadn’t been standing on him. I never sought them out, gave them any credit for beautiful markings and colors, or went out of my way to photograph them. With that one exception, they’re ignored me in the same way I have ignored them.

We learn from the significant adults in our lives, so I do give myself credit for not exhibiting the same snake hysteria that I witnessed from my grandmother. I was in her backyard when I stepped on the snake. I don’t know which was worse, the snake on my leg or her screaming and failure to do anything to extract it! Her reaction to the snake was similar to what my cousin and I were accustomed to when she saw one of us bleeding, except that blood didn’t cause screaming. One hand would immediately go to her mouth, her face would turn away from the unbearable sight, and the other hand would extend some piece of material that was always within her reach, a handkerchief, a dishtowel, a cleaning rag, a towel. We were then supposed to use the cloth to hide whatever horrible thing we had brought into her view. Only God knows why she didn’t drop dead on the spot when the bat flew out of the fruit cellar and attached itself to the front of her dress. I wasn’t there for that, but she did live to tell the tale.

One day she encountered a snake by the clothesline. Instead of falling apart, she summoned up enough courage to run to the garage for a hoe, in order, presumably, to chop it to bits.  She felt she needed some protection from the poor creature that was already racing away for its life, so she grabbed a lawn chair to stand on while she wielded her lethal weapon. Since the snake was moving, she had to jump on the chair, whack at the snake, jump down, move the chair, jump back on it, lower the boom again, and so on throughout the back yard.  The number of divits she dislodged was testament to her failure to do any damage to the snake, who finally slithered through the fence and into the pasture beyond, where he could recover from his fright in peace.

When my grandfather came home, he stood and stared uncomprehendingly at the scene of mayhem. It was his habit every night to work in his yard. If nothing major needed doing, he would walk around and remove any stray weeds he spied among the blades of grass. He evidently did not consider clover to be a weed, because the yard was filled with it, and thousands of honeybees which we inevitably stepped on since we went barefooted all summer. Our acquired calluses protected us most of the time, but at least once or twice a summer I was stung. No handkerchief was ever tossed my way to cover a bee sting. A bee sting was inconsequential, as was the swelling that ensued! Why weren’t we equipped with an epi-pen? Didn’t anyone know about anaphylactic shock? The only attention a bee sting ever got was a baking soda poultice and the coveted use of a cane that was stored in the garage. The tiny bee was probably far more dangerous to us than the poor snake!

It is understandable, given the investment of time and care that went into his yard, that he stood perplexed for a long time, unable to figure out what had happened. Finally, he said what he always said when a situation was just beyond him. “Hell’s fire!”, then, ” What happened to my yard, Woman?” He did not generally call my grandmother ‘Woman’, but, in this case, subconsciously, I think he sensed he was dealing with primal forces. Man, Woman, Serpent, Lost Eden.

I did not start my snake tale intending to tell old stories, but it was fun remembering, and since I probably won’t write about snakes again, it was good to include them.  I write lots of posts for my grandchildren, and they will enjoy reading about both snakes and their great great grandparents. Don’t worry, children, most of the time your great great grandmother did not behave like a lunatic.  I loved her with all my heart.

Three years ago I met my now friend Lisa Powers through the Nashville Photography Club. She is the leader of the Nature Section of the Club, a naturalist and herpetologist, and generously shares her love and knowledge of nature, especially the reptile world. Hang out with Lisa and a camera for any length of time and you will suddenly marvel that you have dozens of pictures of snakes in your photographic files! The following three photos were taken at the Nashville Zoo, proving that I no longer ignore snakes.

Eyelash Viper

Eastern Diamondback Rattle Snake

Indigo Snake

All these snakes were safely situated behind glass, so there was no danger that I would step on any. I did learn to appreciate their beauty, and I certainly learned a lot about the camera techniques needed to shoot in such settings.

Now I have a little grandson who loves animals. All animals. Snakes are not excluded. So when I heard that Lisa was going to make a presentation on snakes at Long Hunter State Park, and that she would have snakes with her that anyone who wanted to could touch, I made plans to take Karsten.

Lisa gave us some great information. We only have to worry about stepping on four venomous snakes in Tennessee,  the copperhead, the timber rattlesnake, the western cottonmouth and the western pygmy rattlesnake. Only venomous snakes have fangs. The bite of the nonvenomous kind is hardly worse than a kitten bite. If you are bitten, do not use a tourniquet, cut into the wound, or apply electric shock. It hardly seemed necessary to state the latter, but Lisa said there are people who have heard it is the thing to do. Call ahead and then go to the nearest hospital emergency room, preferably driven by someone else. It is illegal in Tennessee to harm, kill, remove from the wild or possess a native snake without the proper permit. In other words, in Tennessee, do not go after a snake with a hoe and a lawn chair.

Karsten pets a snake. "He's so soft!"

Lisa’s presentation was a success from every standpoint. Karsten loved the snakes, Lisa was happy to have a new snake admirer, and the audience got some great information. Only the man who was bitten by the California King Snake with the misnomer of Tickles might have been a little shaken. That especially impressed Karsten. He told his friend the next day that he petted snakes, a man got bited, and it was scary. I thought I saw an ethereal dish towel float down and land on the man’s arm, but there was no screaming, so it must have been my imagination.

Fangs, but no Fangs.

Sinaloan milk snake

Overhand Knot - Adonis, the albino rat snake

No Way Out - Tickles, the California King Snake

Hand Jiving with Tickles

Marley, the albino sunglow cornsnake

Medusa, a ball or royal python

Music, Music, Music

Mary, 5 years old with band-aid on elbow, at our wedding

The e-vite said Mary was turning fifty! How could it be? We guessed we’d better plan to drive the twelve hundred miles it would take to get us to the party and back, just to be sure such a thing could really be happening. Silly of us, because, who would say they were turning fifty if they weren’t?

Mary at nifty fifty

We planned a completely relaxing trip, no hurrying, no leaving before daylight, no racing to drive twelve hours in one day. Things start to slow down around fifty (we should know), so our plan seemed appropriate for the occasion. I charged up the long forgotten iPod, bought a new backseat cooler to replace the one my son-in-law packed fish in last summer (yuck!), dug the framed Wolverine signed by Bo Schembechler and Don Canham out of storage to present as a proper gift at a party with a U of M/Go Blue theme, rounded up suitable clothing to wear in maize and blue with block M on it, and we were ready to go!

It’s hard not to think of milestone events when you’re on your way to a birthday celebrating a significant number. Even harder when you’re listening to the music of your life. My iPod had been gathering dust for several years. Wow, how I’ve missed my tunes!

My iPod, ancient though it is, was so happy to be in use again that it simply outdid itself, playing music that alternately made me want to dance and cry, music so closely associated with certain events, that just hearing the opening notes flooded me with forgotten memories.  Memories even older than fifty years!

It first dawned on me that my iPod was messing with my mind when Peggy Lee started to sing. She isn’t my favorite, except for Steam Heat, but I added her to the iPod because my Dad loved her and all the Big Band songs so much. I could see him dancing his little waltz two step with my Mom in the kitchen, same as they did in high school when they listened to Goodman, the Dorseys and Count Basie. The iPod was making me weepy. Miss you, Dad.

Dad always loved the music of his youth, and wasn’t about to adopt the music of mine when it came along. He was openly contemptuous of Elvis, and tolerated the Beatles as they didn’t seem as sinister as Elvis the Pelvis. Chuck Berry made him think an entire generation was lost. I must say I couldn’t really understand any of Chuck Berry’s words after he saw Maybelline in that coup deville, but I loved the song. Dad and I didn’t part ways on many things, but music was one. Sam Cooke Havin’ A Party, Johhny Mathis and the make-out songs, the Platters My Prayer and You Who Who’ve Got the Maaaaa Gic Touch, the Beach Boys Catch a Wave, and the Coasters Yakety Yak and Poison I-i-i-v-y filled the airways of my youth. If you liked something on the radio, you could go to the record store and buy it on a new media type called a 45. Our record players had arms and the spindle released the discs one at a time.  Scratches on favorites always sent the needle skittering over the grooves, similar to digital pixels breaking up, I guess.

I watched American Bandstand on a tiny little TV screen, still black and white, feeling like I knew Arlene and Kenny, Carole and Nick as well as I knew people in my own high school. We learned the Hand Jive and the Stroll, but not much of the Waltz two step. The songs of that era played on my iPod, calling to mind penny loafers, cardigans buttoned backwards, pop-it beads and Fire and Ice lipsick, as we drove toward Virginia on I-40 fifty years later.

We covered the miles and the iPod shuffled. Suddenly Perry Como was singing, ‘Til the End of Time. There’s a sometimes startling mix on my iPod, but there is one Como song that is not programmed into it. In early December of 1965, my husband and I, married less than a year, left Marine Corps Basic School at Quantico, VA, and  headed for his first post with the 2nd Marines at LeJeune, NC. I was as homesick as a person could be, but hanging on because we were going home for Christmas. For the time being we were heading deeper into the strange land called the South, with bigger, gaudier Magnolia trees, even less intelligible accents and air that held the faint, sweet smell of decaying wood. I see things differently now, but at the time I was an alien in a foreign land. I remember sitting in the car while he checked into base. He got back in the car and said, as gently as he could, that there was good news and bad news. We would have base housing with a real heater, but Viet Nam was building up (a surge? everything new is old again!), and all Christmas leaves were cancelled. Then he switched the ignition on, and Perry Como was singing, There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays, on the radio. I’d forgotten, but he remembered, as we drove along I-40 to Mary’s birthday party, that I had been holding an ivy plant in my lap from our Quantico apartment during the whole trip. I guess it got a good watering when the dam broke. Maybe I had forgotten the plant, but I’ll never forget how homesick feels, nor how that Como song can still call out the tears after all this time.

And so it went until the iPod batteries ran down, my favorite musicians singing my life with their songs. Patsy Cline Back in Baby’s Arms, Jackie Wilson with drama and crescendo, Keith Whitley, Aretha, Roger Miller You Can’t Roller Skate in a Buffalo Herd, Eartha Kitt, Carol King, Waylon Only Daddy That’ll Walk the Line, Neil Diamond Kentucky Woman and Sweet Caroline, Louis Armstrong, John Hiatt, Emmylou, Ray Charles, the Everlys, Etta James, Delbert McClinton, Lucinda Williams, Willie, the Tractors, James Talley, the Supremes, Statlers, Spinners, Shirelles Da Do Ron Ron, Always Sinatra, Kodachrome, Photographs and Memories, the Noir songs of Carly Simon, the Bee Gees and the entire Saturday Night Fever Album, Dancing Queen, Prine, Presley, Cole Porter, Les Paul, Dolly and Jolene, the incomparable piano poundng of Del Wood, Smoke Gets in Your Eyes, Blueberry Hill, Professor Longhair…………

We’re Five hundred Miles From Home, heading to Virginia where It’s Saturday Night and They’re Having a Party. Play That Funky Music and Get Down Tonight! We Are Family, so Happy, Happy Birthday, Baby Sister! When It’s Your Party, You Can Cry if You Want To. It’s All in the Game!

Am I old enough yet to play these drinking games?