April? Already?

So much is going on that I have once again lost track of time.  I don't function well internally when overly busy with other people's tasks externally, though I love being busy with my own....  I suppose that makes me self-involved, but most artists are, by necessity.  So this blog visit has multiple themes...

I took a walk up the hill a few days ago and took some photos of the large Red Bud trees scattered there.  I'm hoping to flag a few small ones when they leaf out (small Red Buds don't bloom) to transplant nearer the house.  Red Buds in or near my yard have had hard luck.  Two were crushed under fallen pines, and the three I've planted have struggled and then died.  I think I'm trying too hard.  After all, they seem to thrive in the most infertile places.

Afterward, I followed a very obvious and well traveled deer trail through the scrub pines and over to open land again.  The red clay really pops against last year's leaves and the bright green of the pine needles.

Check out the phantom image in the tree below.  I was quite taken aback - and still am - but figured out the tree's bark had been peeled by my horses as a winter snack sometime in the past couple of years.  Apparently my equine have artistic aspirations.  But then again, it could be some kind of message for giant rabbits to interpret.

A tree that merged with a rabbit?  A frog?  A tale could be spun to explain...

They really should be called Hot Pink Buds.

Deer trail - looks well traveled!

Large and small deer tracks in the quartz littered clay.

Another Smaller Encounter

This must be my week for up-close and personal with members of other species.  This little episode began over a week ago, before the most recent winter storm and cold.  We'd been having unseasonably cold temps for about a week, when we got a one-day reprieve with temperatures in the high 50's.  I had to drive up into the mountains that day to work on a faux finish/mural project.

As I'm heading up the 4 mile climb, I hear an intermittent rustling that seems to be behind me.  One thing I cannot stand are rattles, mysterious sounds and "funny" noises in or from my vehicle/s.  Both my car and my van are at least ten years old, but there are no unidentifiable noises.  This was new.  After a bit, it ceased and by the time I made a stop for gas, I'd forgotten about it.

Several miles later, I pulled into the client's driveway, unloaded my materials and went to work.  When I came out to stow my gear for the ride home, I was surprised to see a butterfly fluttering in my window.  And then I knew what that sound had been.  Apparently the butterfly had somehow gotten into my car and been dormant due to the cold.  The warmth of that particular day had aroused it, and I guess it figured Spring was here.  Not so, little one.  In fact that night the temperature was set to drop dramatically.  I planned to find my little friend a place to shelter until the real Spring came along.

But when I arrived home, I couldn't find the little fellow.  I wasn't sure if it had escaped or just crawled into a hiding place of its own, but after searching for some time, I gave it up.

After nearly a week of bitter cold and paralyzing (ha ha) 2 inches of snow. I happened to open the rear door of my car and, sadly, my little butterfly friend fell out onto the ground.  Thinking it was dead, I placed it gently back in the car so as to examine it later at home.

That was two days ago while it was cold.  Yesterday it warmed up a bit, and today it was in the glorious 60's.  I opened my car door and what do you think?  The magical little butterfly was sunning itself on the car seat, fanning its wings.  Not dead. Hibernating.

Here's my little friend. I thought it was a Swallowtail, but no - according to my beautifully illustrated Walter Linsenmaier Insects of the World, it is a rare Javanese brush-footed butterfly.  How cool is that? My good friend Roy identified this fellow as a Mourning Cloak, and he is correct.  Seems my book had applied two species names to the same butterfly.  Pretty fellow, nonetheless.  He seemed to like the warmth of my hand. 

It's going to be warm for the next couple of days, and thinking that perhaps my car is not the best long term shelter, I placed him just inside my garden shed.  He can hide again or take off from there as he pleases.  The lesson is that if you find a butterfly and think it's dead, treat it gently.  You could be mistaken!

Patterns

Like many artists I am drawn to patterns in nature. I particularly love the regular and seemingly random spots, stripes and myriad combinations of the furred and feathered.  Appaloosa horses, tabby cats, black and white spotted Jacob Sheep, giraffe splotches, leopard spots and tiger stripes - all give me a frisson of pleasure.

While browsing a local thrift shop recently, I came upon a wonderful leopard faux fur vest.  The perfect gift for the kitties!  Sure enough, as soon as it was splayed on the couch, kitties claimed it one by one - with a few hissy quarrels over possession.  Generally though, possession rules even in the cat world and nearly every feline has had a turn mushing and posing on the best $2.00 cat accessory ever.

Pattern upon pattern - Garfy on The Vest

Snoochie if full mush mode. More pattern upon pattern.

I once had a harlequin Great Dane and I once had a brindle Great Dane, so when I thought of getting another dog to keep Freda company, I wanted another Dane.  Came up a bit short though, when I spotted Carrie up for adoption.  She's a year old brindle American Bull Terrier (not a pit type) weighing about 45 lbs. nearly the same size as Freda.  I figured it was meant to be as she purportedly got along with cats (very important), other dogs and liked everyone - even toddlers.  (Geez - I don't even like toddlers...)  And she would eat less than another giant dog which was better for my budget.

I met the owner, brought Carrie home and she and Freda hit it off immediately.  By the third evening she was deathly ill.  What started as a bit of coughing the second night became obvious difficulty breathing and a temp of 106.2!  I'd just gotten home from work and saw her trembling and with her eyes all squinted up like she was in pain.  I rushed her to the Vet Saturday night where she was given fluids and meds I.V.  Several tests were done - none conclusive at that point.  I was able to pick her up on Sunday with a tentative diagnosis of pneumonia and oral antibiotics but she went downhill again and had to go back in on Monday for more intravenous treatments - and they kept her for 24 hours before sending her home with I.V.'s and three antibiotics!  (I was once a vet tech so I know how to give I.V. meds and shots.)

I was puzzled when the Vet asked me to find out whether anyone in the previous owner's household had had flu or especially strep throat recently.  He said no - but sounded unsure about recent illnesses.  The Vet said dogs can pick up strep type infections from humans and visa-verse, which was new to me.  I'll never know for sure where it came from - but get this:  I'm sick now.  Within 24 hours of Carrie's onset, I had terrible bronchitis, sore throat, headache, fever, chills and loss of appetite, rather like my new doggie.  Unlike Carrie, at the first sign I hit the Emergen-C, got out my inhaler and prepared for the worst.  I'm coughing so hard I had to buy protection.... (no I'm not explaining this...)

Sympathy illness?  Perhaps.  I could have pick it up anywhere, but a pattern is a pattern - and this looks like a pattern to me.  That frisson I spoke of?  In this case, it must have been the first onset of the chilblains.

We are both doing better - though that vet bill is likely to kill me.  Better photos when we both stop coughing.

Here's Carrie - See her shaved legs and her bandage?  Poor baby.  Apologies for the cacophony of patterns here.  She's a real sweet tiger of a dog.

On being moved...

I spend a great deal of time alone - and I suppose this has led to more than average (whatever average might be) forays into self examination.  These lead to finding and then poking about in ones (mine own) faults and foibles.  One of my odder tendencies is to avoid seeking out many of the things that move me and that I love.  This would appear to be a contradiction - and it is.  So why?  Here's the deal - or parts of it, I think.

I fear loss of control.

I fear my own reactions.

I'm afraid of feeling too much, being overwhelmed - and then frozen into a rather catatonic state of mind.

In the case of viewing others artwork, I sometimes fear being influenced (another sort of loss of control) or by becoming impotent/immobilized by the enormity of creating work that is relevant and relative.

I'm not saying I cannot overcome these tendencies.  Otherwise I'd probably hole up and cut myself off from all media and communication and just make stuff in a vacuum - or never make anything more.  And every time something or someone really moves me, I'm happier and grateful for the experience.

 What moves me? Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah. 

Who are we, really?

One of my close friends calls me a philosopher, another thinks I am mostly funny and my mother thinks I am "all business."  I'm all of these, but not always at the same time.  Like many people, I am prone to moods - and tend to be reactive to other people's moods and/or personalities as well.  What I am at my core is shy.

I don't think a shy child ever overcomes shyness.  One learns to push past it much of the time; to change behavior, but left to my own devices, I tend to withdraw, avoid confrontation, crowds of strangers, and aggressive people.  I'm still shy on the inside.  I have learned self preservation means saying no - and standing up for myself - and I do feel a bit proud when I do .  But I don't like how I feel while it's happening. It's not comfortable to try to be something I am not.

Gracie is shy, too.

If I were a butterfly or moth, I could just spin a cocoon or chrysalis and emerge as a different "being."  Instead, I weave a cocoon of protection that is intangible.  I am terrible at selling my own work, so I sell through galleries and the internet where face to face sales are rare.  And yet I am enthusiastic and even wonderful at selling the works of artist friends...  Go figure.

Me in another life...  (a black swallowtail to be!!)

It's so hot, and I am too poor right now to afford another air conditioner for my studio room.  When I get home from my "day job", the house is well over 90 degrees, and only the bedroom is cooled, so I make a quick supper, dashing in and out of the "air." I use only the microwave if possible to avoid making more heat.   I can't bring myself to paint unless I can work in the morning on the days I am off - or down in the shop which I can keep cool until about 2pm, when the heat overcomes the small air conditioner there.

This is the hottest summer I've experienced in my 20 years in the south.  I'd move if I could!!!  But September is coming, and any day now, I might have enough extra $$ to get cooler...

Hope everyone out there is keeping cool too. 

And finally, Happy New Year!

I know, I know, my New Year's wishes are not exactly timely, but you must understand, that until a couple of days ago, I had no welcoming words for the new year. The best I could do was kick old 2009 to be sure it was dead - not exactly a pleasant image or state of mind! But on Tuesday, as I wrote to a friend:
You'll never believe it, but my van is finally running. It turned out there was a short under the motor mount, nearly impossible to find, and my mechanic finally sussed it out while driving it up and down hills. When the motor reved, or rocked in its mount due to gravity, braking or even quick acceleration, the short caused either low voltage, or a surge, which then ruined the switches and electronic bits and such... Ricky (my mechanic) called me at 10 pm Tuesday night and said " I found it, it's fixed, and I'm dropping it off tonight. I just can't wait to see it in my rear view mirror."

I know this is small stuff to most people, but it's really big news to me.!! So even though it is pouring rain and my bank balance is $4.71, I am happy! Thus: "Happy New Year." Here are a few shots from the last flooding rain. The first one shows that amazing richness one sees when everything is washed and aglow, still glistening wet, with all the colors imaginable shining in the fresh air. How can anyone be happy in a beige house when there are hues like this?

Below and above are scenes from the forest floor - nothing unusual - just the beautiful cacophony of nature.
This one shows an area between my workshop and a storage trailer where the waters run rapid off the roof and down toward the woods. This little torrent creates a cascade of leaves and twigs and acorns which then are trapped in a "leaf jam" to lie in amazingly complex patterns just like a logjam in a large river.

And finally, here's my pond at flood stage. The winter had been so mild up until a couple of weeks ago, that there were still green lily pads. But now the pond has been quite frozen, and these reminders of warmer times have turned black and disappeared beneath the surface. Another "leaf jam" is visible in the lower right where the overflow pipe protrudes. I suppose I should get a rake and clear it, but I think the deeper water can only be good for the pond life in general, so I'll likely let it stay till it clears on its own.
I planned to post some photos from my opening reception, but when I looked for my camera this morning, it's nowhere to be found. That means I left it sitting on a pedestal at the gallery ( I hope) and I have to wait until one o'clock to call. Keeping fingers crossed, I'm off to make some brunch.

Is this your hound dog?

'Cause it's not mine...

Once again, a critter has wandered upon my back 40. I came home quite late last Friday, tired and chilled, and just wanting to chill out. I climbed out of the van and right away I noticed my two Pyrs cause they show up even when it's really dark with the security light shining off their white coats. It's harder to see Freda, but I'm used to her being right smack in front of me waiting for her pat-on-the-head greeting. Well, that night, I kept glimpsing Freda over here - and then over there, and then back over here. I could see her long ears flapping about and I wondered how she moved so fast. Then I opened the rear door and ka-whomp - a dog jumped right in, ran right over my groceries and paintings - and plopped down in the driver's seat! So that's it - four ears flapping in the night...

You guessed it. Not Freda - but some free-loader.

So here he is. Sad, skinny, and sans the giant chain that someone was using as a "collar". He looks like an old dog, but he's not. He's just got that Bloodhound droopy look. And he's definitely got that stinky dog smell.

So of course I fed him and made up a bed in the shop for him - and wondered why he was still here the next morning.

Lots of my neighbors are "coon" hunters, a despicable activity carried out under cover of darkness with big guns, dogs and flashlights. Why anyone thinks this is sporting defies not only logic but humanity. So I'm not about to go ask any of them if they're missing one of their black'n'tans. I tried out a few dog-sounding monikers on him, but he only seems to react to "Bad Boy" and "No". (I found this out when he tried chasing any of the kitties who offered to run.)

He tried to protect me from the horses, too, but after two days he's given up on that. I figure he needs about fifteen pounds of muscle to look good. I really can't afford another large dog, so if you're a doggy lover in need of a real pal, here he is! He wants to ride in the car, so someone must have given him rides. And he always tries to come in the house, so someone must have let him in. sigh... Poor boy...

The Pyrs don't mind him - except when he tried to eat their food, but a truce has been declared during which they pretend he doesn't exist. The cats are wary - and Freda wants to play. But "Bad Dog" only wants to bay at unknown things out in the pastures. Better not be my any of my kitties...

And Elvis? Elvis can't wait to shred that doggie's nose.

Who lives here? And here? And here?

Ever since I was a child, I've been drawn to places that appear marginally habitable... This fascination includes not only old houses and outbuildings, but spaces and openings in stone, earth and trees. I find myself peering into these spaces, and wondering who lives there?

Perhaps it could be me?

Perhaps it is the desire to escape - to go and live among the wild things where the only rules and constraints are those of the natural world. If the worry of survival was simplified down to the basics of food, shelter and water, would stresses be lessened? Perhaps it's the need to "make over" a space to suit my particular comfort level. Or perhaps it's just the fantasy of becoming someone or something else - trying on another existence...

I can see myself much as Alice In Wonderland - shrinking down and down, smaller and smaller until I might fit inside the little doorways, the small openings, the tiny thresholds - of mice and moles. My tiny abode could be filled with the fragrance of wintermint or wild roses or sweet clover and dishes of acorn and hickory nut shells would serve up fresh berries.

I'd make garments from the petals of Rose of Sharon, the leaves of sumac and gardenia, and sleep on a bed of the softest fern fronds. I'd float down the creek in a pecan husk canoe, and walk out on the water lily leaves to bath in the "cup" of a lily's bloom.

In summer I'd build a treehouse out of Sycamore bark and camp high in the sky in my private arboretum.

I'd catch a night ride on a flying squirrel or hop a treefrog - and I'd sleep the sleep of the just, the innocent, and the contented - waking with the warmth of the sun...

... sigh

... and now for a walk - and then on to the business of this other life.

Share the ride, share the road...

Most mornings I back my trusty van up to the front door of my house and load (or unload) it for the day's endeavor/s. Without fail, one or more of my kitties takes it upon themselves to help or hinder. In Madeline's case, it is definitely the hindering deal. She has determined that the indentation of the back door when raised makes a lovely bed - and observation post.
When asked to vacate, she gives me this "how can you even ask?" look, stretches - and promptly sits back down to gaze about. After a bit, and in her own good time, she turns around and ...

stretches again for effect before gauging the distance to the ground. But does she jump? No. And for a good reason. Madeline is the clumsiest of cats - being extremely cow-hocked, and having broken one leg in three places when she was four months old. The leg had to remain pinned for months - with the tip sticking out of her hip!
So I persuade her take a circuitous route, and back over the roof of the van she goes, sliding down the windshield to gaze about in her queenly manner until the next opportunity to attain the throne.
And on down the nearby macadam road, I saw what from a distance appeared to be line like a tar repair. No - it was a very large Kingsnake, Blacksnake, Chickensnake, who stopped right in front of me and refused to move even when I took his/her picture and stomped my feet. I finally gave it a nudge with my foot and off it
went into the tall weeds. It's not the largest I've seen, but it was over six feet at my estimate. These are among the good guys of the snake world, eating small rodents, eggs and such - and not poisonous or aggressive. Quite beautiful - and fascinating as it moved effortlessly away.

A Turtle's Tale...

Isn't he pretty? He's a male three-toed terrapin or tortoise, a variation of box turtle. The males have this bright coloration on the head and neck. He looks just like the one I found...

A few days ago we had showers on and off after a month of dry weather. Whenever this particular weather pattern occurs, the turtles come out to cross the roads - and many never make it. Thursday I had already moved two turtles to safety when I spotted a third in the center of my lane. A car was close behind me as I slowed enough to realize this one had already been hit. I turned around to see if it was alive or dead, and saw it retract its head and front legs. The rear left quarter of its shell was broken and there was a gap of an inch with fat and flesh visible. The poor fellow was stuck to a 92 degree highway with his own dried blood. Eeeww.... Lucky for me I am not squeamish. I slid a scraper under him, then placed him in a plastic tub that usually holds cans of paint. I figured he'd likely die of shock and dehydration, but I took him on home and gave it a try. I disinfected the injury as best I could, gave him food and water and checked him frequently over the next several hours. By the time I realized he was pretty stable, it was Friday morning.

The job I was doing (painting a floor on a deadline) took over 12 hours and I had to go back on Saturday to finish. My turtle boy was now sporting a large band-aid to stabilize the broken shell. I had to do this as he kept banging around his container-home making the gap bleed. By the time I got home on Saturday, I all the the area Vets were closed, and of course I couldn't afford a vet bill anyway. I was supposed to go to the opening reception where I was showing work, but I couldn't not try to get my turtle some professioal help.

I called the University of Georgia in Athens, and the nice young veterinary student who was on call said to bring him over. It was a hundred mile drive round trip and I missed my opening, but it was worth it to hear that she (the doctor) thought he could be saved - barring any complications. They will release him in a nature sancuary when he is able.
This is not a photo of the turtle in my tale - but this injury area is similar - and likely my turtle-boy now sports something like this. Non-toxic silicon adhesives with fiberglass reinforcement has been used successfully.

I'm one of those dedicated turtle savers who will slow, hit the hazard lights, stop, and move turtles off the road in the direction they were headed, unless it's a particularly dangerous and/or unsuitable area, in which case I release them on my 40 acres. Apparently it's mostly male turtles seeking girlfriends who are out and about after a rain. Box turtles don't range far from the places they are hatched - usually not venturing outside of one square mile during the whole of their 50 + years. They do need to be near fresh water for cooling off and as a source of easily caught food., and eggs are often laid in soft or sandy soil adjacent to a pond or stream. By now there must be a healthy population hereabouts. Luckily I have two small ponds and a stream on my land.
Twenty years ago I had a wonderful turtle experience that gave me a love for these intelligent gentle creatures which I wrote about here.

So many empty places - empty spaces; left behind...

My camera is still chock full of photos taken during my brief stint as a census canvasser. Poignant, melancholy and sadly sweet, here are some of the places nobody lives... but spirits dwell...

Ironically, one of the areas assigned to me was a large cemetery. I say ironically, because we were supposed to be canvassing to add new addresses and to eliminate defunct addresses. hmmmm... I don't think anyone here will be filling out a census form... But it was a beautiful day and a lovely, peaceful place. I sat in the shade of a huge oak and ate my lunch, pondering the meaning of life.

Don't you just love the ironwork?! It appears to be early twentieth century, 1910 or so... Each partitioned area or family plot varying in detail, and elaboration.

Fabulously medieval! But do the barriers fence interlopers out - or keep kin within?

And perhaps a ghostly spirit or two dwells herein...
The diamond detailing in the gable ends lend elegance to this simple farmhouse now sadly bereft of human inhabitants - but home to a bat or a nest of chimney swifts - and the scent of new mown hay.

And here is my favorite - a sweet stone cottage nearly overgrown by lush foliage -
but strong in its space, and enduring in grace.

It was all I could do not to climb through the ivy - down the rabbit hole, so to speak - to peer back at this world from that one, to know what lies beyond the cool deep shadows and dark windows...

Shrouded in time and mystery, I see it as the perfect hideaway - a place where magic might yet be possible, where hushed voices sing in soft whispers of time gone by...

Here's one that combines Federal style with the gambrel roof line so popular in hot, humid climes. A beautiful entryway complete with transom, double windows, and lovely twin chimneys!

This old Victorian with its ample porch and lovely shade trees sits snugged up to the street that was once the main road south out of town. Just imagine carriages pulling up in front when the highway was but a dirt road.

Beautiful in its simplicity and symmetry, this old barn remains. Don't you wonder who toiled here? The seasons were many and the harvests bountiful - and yet the barn stands empty and alone.

House? Barn? Shed? Perhaps all of these things at one time or another...

And finally - a bit of "urban" decay. These grand old brick structures remind me of all small towns' downtown glory days. Boarded up, burned out, abandoned or let cheaply to thrift shops and store-front churches - and yet - dignity remains.

making friends...

No more canvassing! I'm relieved to be through - and terrified I won't be able to find anything else. My friend Carol and I are going to pool our last two hundred dollars buying plants and pots at a wholesalers and repotting to make fancy artsy pots o'fleurs to sell at the gallery. Wish us luck!

In the meanwhile, I thought I'd post a few shots of friends I made - or tried to make - while out and about. Out of the hundreds of address I visited, only two dogs seemed bent on a bite. The majority of dogs were reasonably friendly if not outrightly so. In fact, the biggest risk was being jumped on by enthusiastic pooches with muddy feet. I met no "attack" cats - though several shy ones skittered away at my approach. A few would gladly have hopped in the van with me and most allowed me to scratch their chins or stroke their backs.

Some simply ignored me...

or were too busy watching the neighbor's dog to bother about a census person...

And who knew there was such dog as a bi-color Newfoundland? I was delighted by these huge fellows and their spots and speckles!

This fellow liked me so much, he did a cha-cha-cha.

This pretty calico was positively too shy to look at the camera...

Miss calico was quite unlike this Akita - a very friendly and not-at-all-shy boy.

This fellow was just wa-ay laid back... I think I woke him from a nap.

This adorable canine kept watch without expending energy. I don't recall she ever got up once.

Sometimes, the yard-guard was of another sort. Nice horns!

Some looked on with little or no curiosity.

And some were all about curiosity!!