The night of October 21-22 would be a long ordeal for Sadie, Fred and Lucile. In their little grove of timber with torrential rain lashing the canvas and running like a river down the rutted road, the horses took umbrage at each other and screamed and fought like the wild animals they were. … More XXIV. Wherever we are, we’re here
So not a plateau. So something else, here on the western fringe where topography becomes scrambled and nothing is as it seems, where valleys are hollows and streams are cricks and the land is riven and sundered and smoothed over with a carpet of green, green beyond belief and imagination, and turning now … More XXV. Water from stone
October 24 dawned cool and cloudy. On either side of their encampment trees blazed as if on fire, their colors luminous in the soft even light of early morning. The smoke of small fire rose straight into the heavens where it slowly dispersed on a soft breeze wafting high above the valley, … More XXVI. The City of Magical Waters
In the deep valley the sun was early to set and late to rise and the night brittle with sounds radiating from the wagons and tents surrounding them. Dawn came crisp and frosty, the sky above a ribbon of blue while below campfires smoldered, smoke pooling in the low-lying areas like so much … More XXVII. Reconnoiter
The lack of forward momentum, the idle talk in the wagon yard, the idle hands with little to do, the scramble for credible information about land and work, the increasingly apparent lack of opportunities in a city on the fading end of its boom cycle, and, equally important but disagreeably difficult to resolve, … More XXVIII. Dissolution
The rain was Old Testament in its ferocity. It lashed the house and hammered the windows and surged like a river through the street. It sluiced down the hillside in foaming torrents carrying with it anything not bolted to the ground. It seeped under the doors and through the windows and dripped incessantly … More XXIX. Hunting Sadie Vail
On the eve of destruction a brown thrasher paced through its liquid repertoire, each note dripping with lyricism, lust and a hint of threat. Beyond the thicket where the horizon opened to infinity and the terrain fell away to distant Fawn Creek, skies darkened to a purplish bruise and darkened still. Leaves … More Watching and waiting
We hadn’t been in the small town of Cuba for more than 15 minutes when an elderly lady approached to express how much she enjoyed my photography. I thanked her, flattered at the recognition, when a sudden infusion of doubt poisoned the compliment. No good deed goes unpunished, I … More Not who you think I am
We were a few miles east of the small town of Goff when I realized I’d missed my turn. Or, to put it another way, I’d missed what I thought was my turn. The road in question, something Google maps had assured me was the fastest, most direct line … More Old road, new road
By any definition, Scolopax minor, the American woodcock, is an odd bird. Though classified as a shorebird, it lives on the edges of immature forests. Secretive and exquisitely camouflaged, it’s rarely seen except during its dizzying crepuscular mating display. Its folk names are legion, inspired as much by its haunts as … More Flight of the timberdoodle
