There was a car/plane show at the municipal airport this past weekend. We arrived just as the planes were beginning to fuel up and return to their respective homes. I have been to several car shows but never a plane show and this was interesting.
I learned it is very difficult to get good photographs of planes. They are Big! Even the ones that are meant for just two or maybe four people, it is hard to get a good photo. And then I was shooting into the sun or had my shadow included in the photo.
Getting a good car photo is also not so easy–and there was a Delorian—such a fun car—and Back to the Future!
As we wandered around the planes, they were fueling up and taking off–again hard to get photos as the runway was to the west–and that sun which made such a wonderful day at the beach made for ‘no photos of planes in the air’.
But we did find one guy who knew the answer to my question—what sort of plane did Sky King fly? It was the Cessna Songbird. And now you know too.
Here is the link to more photos from the day and if you keep scrolling through you will also see the beach images.
We had planned to take a short trip for nearly a week, hoping the weather would cooperate—-and it did. Sunshine, a tiny bit of a breeze, and temps in the low 70’s made for a perfect day. We also had the beach mostly to ourselves–a man with his daughter played in the surf and a Hispanic man fished the surf with three lines (didn’t catch anything while we were there).
While many people go to the beach in the summer, we far prefer the winter time. I think it is the solitude–the quiet–although the waves and the surf were rather noisy yesterday. A huge flock of gulls congregated near the water’s edge and I took dozens of photos. This wasn’t the easiest as I cannot use the viewfinder due to my eyesight, but must use the little fold-out window. But the shells and the feather held quite still for me.
As we had considerable number of miles left on Tessie’s battery, we stopped by what used to be Dick Dowling Battleground–now renamed in view of political correctness as the Sabine Pass Battleground. A dozen or more fishers lined the bulkhead, a few tourists arrived and wandered around the various markers—a miniature set-up of the guns and the ships–the USS Clifton, USS Sachem and one other were arranged in the grounds. And then there was the huge walking beam used to power the ship.
We ate our lunch of sandwiches, a satsuma, and two chocolates at a picnic table under a tree while Glen threw bits of satsuma peel at the grackles who had already decorated our table—I always bring a small hand-towel to use as a table-cloth–so no worries.
Next up was a trip to Riverfront Park in Port Neches, everything due to the pandemic (will it ever end?) Several groups were having outdoor birthday parties with balloons marking their tables.
And then home to a pot of rice and pinto beans and two dogs who smiled as they ventured out to the dog park.
My grandmother had picked a stalk of cotton during one of her trips to Georgia and displayed it in a vase on top of her upright piano. In that same vase were some stalks of oats I had picked for her on the edge of one of our fields. She had covered the grains with brightly colored aluminum foil–a painstaking task occupying many hours. I always wondered where she had gotten so many different colors–purple, green, blue, red—we only had the plain silver. And now that I think back on it, I am sure she scavenged that foil from floral arrangements from the three cemeteries she maintained as one of her means of income.
I wondered what fields of cotton would look like—maybe like a field of white roses near Geough Georgia, a small town consisting of a cotton gin, a post office/general store and a school. I had been volunteered as a newly minted MD to supervise a health clinic at the school– I think they mostly talked about diet and brushing teeth.
Texas does grow cotton and here is one of those fields. Menger was a cotton farmer who developed several different kinds of machinery to process the cotton. I stood at the side of the field to take this photo; there was cotton as far as I could see on both sides of the road.
Thursday I had a doctor’s appointment in Houston. I normally schedule these to include a trip to the art museum to see the latest exhibits and to check in on my favorites—Matisse’s bronze backs in the Cullen sculpture garden and the European impression wing; I’ve stopped by the Menil on occasion too–but the Menil is closed and the MFA is open by appointment. Not knowing how long a doctor’s appointment will last, I contented myself with a walk through Herman Park.
While it is not as large as Central Park in New York City, it is not small either. There is a golf course, a zoo, a small railroad, bikes for rent and many long trails and pathways for walkers and runners. The bird population is plentiful ranging from ducks and geese to pigeons and I’m sure others–but those were the ones I saw begging on the pathways. It reminded me of student days in Madison where no-one dared sit near the path–they would be covered with birds seeking bread.
This tree near the ticket booth for the zoo has always fascinated me. Although it is full size, to me it looks like a bonsai tree—something a few of my medical school classmates and I tried during student days—not money involved in raising one from a tiny sapling dug from the side of the road somewhere and destined for mowing. My bonsaid morphed into miniature roses when I did my residency—but they stayed behind when we moved to Texas.
It was warm—no–HOT—and this fountain looked deliciously appealing. Two paddleboats circled around it, the passengers laughing as they encountered the spray. Had I been more appropriately dressed and with a companion blessed with a good pair of calves, I would have joined in.
Thursday was a fine day for a trip to the beach and a picnic. We live just 30 some miles from the Gulf but our favorite time to visit is during the winter months. Quarantine days and social distancing have grown more than a tad old; our days seem to run together with little change. The weather is hot and humid but Thursday was clear and sunny.
I packed a simple lunch—yeast roll with cream cheese and slice of ham and a chilled wataermelon–did not think to provide a cutting board and utensils but I did remember to stick in a large knife.
We drove to McFadden National Wildlife refuge, opted to not drive out to the beach although Tessie si 4 wheel drive, walked up and down the beach. I had to get my feet and ankles and the bottom of my pants legs wet in the waves. There were a few other people there–not many as it was not yet the weekend.
A largish mesquite tree provided some shade for our lunch and we made a mess of the watermelon.
Our next stop was the Dick Dowling State Park. In the past, there were two restaurants offering barbecue crabs; they have been gone for many years—tax problems and there are no more re-enactments of the famous naval battle fought there. It has been renamed as a historical battlefield site. It also was nearly deserted but with a lovely long walkway along the river.
All told we drove about 120 miles or so—a fun day.
I’ve put a few more photos of the day in this gallery for your viewing pleasure without the heat and humidity—you’ll have to provide your own watermelon.
After taking Plaquenil for about six months, I began to notice some really strange visual things—sparkly colors, reversing colors of images. After reporting this to my ophthalmologist, I was scheduled to see a retinal specialist. He did some sort of fancy scans and it was determined I was one of the unlucky few to have Plaquenil deposits around both macula–the site of our most acute vision. Plaquenil was immediately stopped and very slowly some of my vision has returned. However, not enough to use that tiny little view finder on my camera.
I could be frustrated with having to use the pull-out window on my Canon SX 50 but sometimes the results are rather amusing particularly with the zoom feature.
One of our favorite spots is the tertiary treating area at Tyrell Park here in Beaumont. There are long walkways around each containment area, the occasional alligator can be spotted along with hundreds of birds.
This was an avocet on an overcast day and my attempts to get some good closeups. That camera can take photos of the water droplets on a duck from a considerable distance but that doesn’t mean it can tell I want the whole bird in the photo, not just its legs.
Tell me what you think!
Here is my subject.
First attempt with actual bird parts visualized. I omitted the ones of the just the water.
And another try.
so I back up the zoom and find that silly bird again.
my best effort—and I decided it was going to have be good enough.
Our recent trip to Rockport and surrounds included several ‘big trees’. I dutifully took pictures of them all, reflecting upon the similar big trees we have here in Beaumont Texas, many of which fell victim to Hurricane Rita, then Ike, and a few more to Harvey and Imelda.
Thinking back upon trees from other places, though—–
A very large cottonwood tree stood in the middle of Blackhawk Avenue in Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin. It was reported to be the meeting place of Blackhawk, the Indian chief during one of the discussions during some of the wars fought in that area. I recall seeing old photos of that tree…Blackhawk Avenue is the primary commercial street. It was cut down after being hit by lightening in the 1920’s to a lot of consternation from some, and good riddance to others. Another legend has Geronimo hiding out in one of the local caves.
There is also a large tree in the middle of the street in several Texas towns and perhaps other cities as well. They tend to be in the not so commercial areas. I seem to remember Gonzalez; there is one in Columbus and I’m sure there are others.
Here is one in LaGrange Texas, just two blocks north of the courthouse square.
Whooping cranes posed for us and for several other locals including a couple from Corpus Christi who had lived there for over 30 years but had never seen the whooping cranes. They have a festival in late February early March but by the second week of March, the cranes are headed north.
I took a few more photos and of the sun rise that morning–and it was time to head home.
Houston traffic is always iffy but we were there slightly before lunchtime.
We arrived home in time to collect Toby and Dora, take them to the dog park, and attend the monthly bee meeting.
Goose Island State Park is surrounded by water and suburbia. Along the banks facing the intercoastal bridge were two large areas of picnic shelters and two really nice bath houses. Unfortunately, Hurricane Harvey left these areas in what can charitably called disarray–and funds to repair have been slow in coming.
The road has large pits and is very uneven but a few fishermen were out including one with a fishing kayak.
We strolled along the banks of the levee—noticed the jelly fish floating near the shore.
The day was cold and windy–and we quickly retreated to our little cabin—by now we had figured out the optimum arrangement of the small electric heaters.
Mustang Island is the northern island of the Padre Island complex ranging from Corpus Christi to Brownsville. The beach is a long white sandy one—and the day we picked to visit had perfect temperatures.
We were mostly by ourselves on the lower portion of the beach and there was some wind–enough to keep us moving but not so much as to make it unpleasant. We strolled the beach, picking up a few shell fragments here and there–that urge is irresistible for Midwest natives—although we have quickly grown accustomed to thinking 50 degrees is COLD and required heavy coats–and definitely no water play.
Near the levees we found fisher people and lots of these little birds pecking away at something that must have been quite tasty amid the moss covered rocks. There were quite a few kites out–they are so fun to watch and so hard to get decent photos.
There were some Hispanic men with their children–tossing footballs, digging in the sand, playing with Tonka dump trucks, and eatimg barbeque sandwiches set up on a table underneath and small tent shelter—no girls except those under six were visible–a guys weekend out—and all were having a blast—their music was a nice selection and quite lively.
My step count for the day was nearly 16000 and my feet and back agreed.
Blogging is a natural progression for someone who enjoys the written word and beautiful imagery. My photographs are hosted at sylviaweir.smugmug.com. I am slowly transitioning all my photographs to this site and will hopefully edit them to a manageable number. In the meantime, I have organized my blog photos by year and so you may wish to merely sample the blog photos
Feel free to contact me for any questions. My website here has not been fully populated but as I work on my smugmug site, I will update these pages.
My work begins with a word, a thought, an idea, or a bit of a poem. I search through my library of images mostly on Smugmug or sometimes I go out and photograph new images. A pieced quilt pattern is sometimes chosen, sometimes I use a piece of fabric I have altered in the past. The imagery is added on using hand applique and then thread is used to add details.
Each piece is meant to draw the viewer inward providing them with ample opportunities to add their own story to the piece. If the piece evokes the emotion or thought I wished conveyed, then I consider the piece successful.
Sometimes I play 'what if' with fabric and paint and imagery. These might be considered equivalent to scale work in music--something I always enjoyed.