A day in Dunedin

Ahhh...back in Safety Harbor

Passing through Georgia

Mountains of North Carolina

Love to travel...but hate to leave my critters

"Until one has loved an animal, part of their soul remains unawakened." -Unknown

I always spend the day before I travel taking care of my animals. I groom them, fill water troughs, muck out barns, give treats like apples and carrots, fill feeders, generally lavish everyone with love and affection.

A change of pace, place, and space

I'm getting ready to travel and feel really excited. These shots depict my mood--bright, sharp, and bold. I took these photos last March when I was traveling in Mexico.

A great Sunday morning

Life goes on

I was cheered when I saw this young doe on the way to open cabins.

And these baby robins I've been watching grow (in this shot they are about five days old).
And this box turtle was waiting for me at the top of the hill.

Emerson says the earth laughs in flowers. It's so true--especially in June. Wildflowers are everywhere--I want so much to learn how to take better photos of all these wonderful things around me.

In memory of a young buck

No photo today. What I saw shouldn't be photographed. I was driving when I saw Biscuit standing in a blue plaid shirt with his hands jammed in his pockets. He stood over the lifeless body of a young buck killed on the road last night. Its neck was broken, head bent at an angle, one fuzzy antler sticking up in the air. The smell of fertilizer on the field burned my eyes; the morning light was too bright; we looked at each other and lowered our heads and I drove away.

I miss the Mexicans

Candido and Federico stopped by to tell me that Adolfo has gone back his village in Oaxaca. He is with his wife Ermalinda now, and their little son. Adolfo was the first one I got to know when the Mexicans came to Moorefield. He and Catarino lived in a trailer about five miles out of town. They all lived there, Palemon, Agustin, Zenaido, and the others--all from the same region, from the same tribe--short, square-shouldered men with dark shiny eyes.

I would visit them at their trailer and we would sit under a tree by the stream and talk about Mexico and their families back home. They always had a lot of questions--about hunting and fishing, the geography of the United States, learning English. Sometimes I would help them with a problem like a traffic ticket or an overdue bill.

But with immigration crackdown and all the raids on the chicken houses, the Mexicans have gone home.

The only ones left are Tres Amigos. They built a beautiful stone patio for us.