Tag: featured

Morning Drive 

Color Photography, Summerville, travel, Uncategorized

Early on the morning of August 21st 2017 I stopped by the roadside park at Summerville Lake in West Virginia.  The shot was taken by placing the camera directly on the road.  The road crosses the Summerville Dam which is a Flood control dam. My grandfather was a engineer who helped build the dam.  Below the lake is the flooded town of Gad. The traditional way of naming Dams and Lakes built during the flood control project had to be suspended to prevent a scandal.  The local community just couldn’t allow the existence of “Gad Dam” and “Gad Dam Lake “. The resulting history is somewhat of a local joke today.

I spent a large part of my youth on or in the lake.  By the time I was 16 swimming from the beach to the campground was a ritual way to celebrate the opening the summer lake season.  Just to left of the road here there’s a cliff where I used to dive.  I’m guessing the drop was about 60 feet high from the surface of the water and the bottom of the lake is about the same.  We’re not allowed to have such adventures there today.  Unfortunately a person was injured because he dove from the wrong spot.  The Corps of engineers decided to ban diving altogether.

On the right side of the road is the Gauley River. The outlet for the lake creates class 6 rapids and so that spot is popular with rafters and kayakers.  The river is a great place for trout fishing.   There’s a local story about a specific DNR officer who came up on two guys fishing.  When he asked to check out their licenses one of them dropped his pole and took off running downstream. After a harrowing chase the officer finally corners the fisherman and once more demandsfor the license to be presented.  When the fisherman produces the license everything checks out. No laws were broken.  The two men are completely out of breath from the chase.  Panting heavily the officer asked why the first man ran. “You have your license and there’s nothing I can charge you with ” he said.  The fisherman replied “yes, but my friend didn’t have one.”

If you come to West Virginia,  Summerville Lake is a great place to have some summer fun. Just don’t jump from cliffs and if you plan to fish you better have a license.  The DNR officers travel in pairs now.  😉

 

The Beacon part 4

digital art, short stories, The Beacon

The young man was just putting away the last of his recovered belongings when the caretaker emerged from the bedroom.  Determined to not be a burden the young man had already prepared the next meal from his supplies.  It was early afternoon and dark clouds were already gathering to engulf the small island.  At the first flash of lightning they began to count the seconds between the flash and the sound of thunder.  This would let them know how many miles away the edge of the storm was.  The second flash was a few seconds shorter between flash and crash. This one was coming in fast.  The caretaker drops his spoon into the bowl with a splash and starts for the supply room . The young man catches him by the shoulder and motions towards the spiral staircase.  The caretaker understands, the young man had already prepared the next round of oil in the lamp.  They made their way to the top of the lighthouse and once more the beacon began it’s nightly battle with the darkness.  They returned to the meal and stoked the fire.  The little cottage had few creature comforts but the fireplace and generous supply of cordwood was one of them. It was while sitting by the fireplace that the caretaker noticed the small stack of personal items recovered from the wreckage.  On top was an oilskin wrapped around a book. The caretaker gestured for the younger man to show him what was in the bundle.  The young man handed him the oilskin and the caretaker removed a Bible.  The leather cover was very worn and pages were falling out but it was all there.  A certain look came over the caretaker’s face and a small tear formed in corner of one eye. The caretaker seemed to caress the book as he held it. Without lifting the cover he began to speak.  It didn’t take long for the younger man to recognise that the caretaker was quoting scriptures verbatim in his own native tongue.   After reciting a few passages the caretaker returned the sacred book to its oilskin and secured the closure.  “It was my father’s book.” The young man said as he returned it to the small stack. “He was lost at sea when I was a child.  It’s all I have left.” The caretaker placed a hand gently on the younger man shoulder as he spoke. After a few minutes of silence the caretaker motioned him to move back to the table and sit down.  He disappeared into the back of the supply room and returned with a bottle of wine and a box. The caretaker pours each of them a proper glass of wine and opens the box.  Inside was a chess board and pieces carved from shells gathered from the beach.  They passed the evening with a few rounds of chess until it was time for the caretaker to focus on the maintaining the lamp and watching the rocks for the signs of ship in trouble.

The next morning  the storm seemed to break early.  The young man ventured into kitchen and greeted the caretaker.  They had one more round of chess and the caretaker disappeared into the bedroom.

Natural Lifestyle 

Back and White Photography, Thoughts and Musing

Nature doesn’t hurry, yet everything is accomplished. – Lao Tzu 

I have come to despise clocks.  It seems like every second of the day is regulated and choreographed according to the clock.  Our high tech society should be sophisticated enough by now to allow for a more organic life.  I  don’t need to go into the details of timecards and obligations or deadlines and expectations. Suffice it to say that that most people these days are so preoccupied with keeping life organized and running smoothly that the joy of living is missed.  When it comes right down to it, it seems that most of today’s problems stem from the desire to live in liberty vs the obligations of Society.  It’s important to take time out and find a balance. 

When I observe the patterns found in nature they are a blend of the highly structured and the organic.  And there’s always room for joy. 

The small snail shell was found on a trail at the Scenic Overlook of Hawks Nest State Park in Ansted West Virginia. The park is seated on the rim of the New River Gorge  above a flood control dam.  

As observe the shell I see the highly organized structure.  The spiral is formed by a natural process.  It doesn’t stress out about the calculations needed to form the symmetry. The snail didn’t consult with an engineer to know it’s shell needed ridges for strength in the structure.  It simply grows into what it was meant to be.  

Even though the surrounding environment seems random there’s a natural flow of the organic that is based on highly organized.  The texture of the stone us formed by complex and organized crystalline structures. The twisted and gnarly branches of the trees and bushes are based on the structure complex sugars and interlinking molecules that determine how much to twist and what part of the tree should be stiffer and where it needs to be flexible.  

All of it was accomplished by life growing into the details and patterns granted by God at creation.   

Am I suggesting that we need to give up all of civilization and return to the wilderness? Not exactly.  But as I stated earlier,  I do think that our society is out of balance.  And I also think that regaining that balance will depend upon the individual seeking out their own patterns and growing into the details. 

Wounded 

black and white photography, Thoughts and Musing

We seem to have a tendency to do one of two things when we encounter a person who has been wounded either physically or emotionally.  We either ignore the scar totally or we focus on it completely.  Old wounds ache with a dull throbbing pain as a constant reminder that we messed up somewhere along the way.  I  was a rough child. I seemed to collect scars like merit badges. The stitches in the palm of my hand from a broken jar of fireflies,  the scars on my knees from falling out of a moving pickup truck.  I  even have a  couple of scars from a sword. ( only superficial and skin deep) I have numerous scrapes and scratches from briars and brambles.  All of are a roadmap of my life.  But the only scars I feared to collect were the scars on my soul. Broken bones and torn flesh heals so much faster than a wound of heart. As I approach a half of a century of earthly experience I have observed that to some people it’s the emotional scar that carries the badge of honor. Where I have lived life to it’s fullest and carry the physical marks of my adventures others have loved life and bear the honor of those adventures.  

The image used in this post is a chestnut tree on my old home place. Years ago the metal fencepost was leaned against the trunk temporarily and then we got busy. The wound to the tree was one of neglect.  When I think about the emotional wounds and scars of this world I have to believe that the majority are caused by neglect.  We simply forget to go back and relieve a burden. The person wounded carries that burden until it works it’s way into the soul and becomes a part of them.  It’s okay to remind a person of the burden that they left behind. It’s okay to simply cast off something that’s not supposed to be a part of your life.  It’s wise to avoid the wound.  But if you carry no scars have you really lived? One day this tree will be cut down.  All that will remain will be the wood.  As is a tradition in many rural areas someone will use the wood and the inclusion of  scars will make for a beautiful end product.  So it is with the scars we carry  in the soul. They say that beauty is only skin deep but they are wrong. Beauty comes up from the very depth of the soul. It’s the scars and inclusions that make that beauty unique.  

Sunday 

black and white photography, Church, Sunday, Uncategorized
  • Growing up in the Bible belt I’ve been blessed to have the opportunity to visit a lot of small churches.  In the days before the mega church and when there was nobody selling religion.  The churches of small communities were places where families gathered to hear the word of God and not just what the preacher said.  We knew good and well that nobody can buy a ticket to heaven with money or goid works.   Vain obligations were just that. We resisted judging each other because we were justified by the blood of Christ and not by works or money.  Church is a place for bonding not bondage.  
  • The architecture of small community churches is something special.  Everything from little cabins to scaled down cathedrals can be found tucked into Appalachian landscape.  Bells and spires are sometimes  topped with crosses and sometimes not. 
  • The ringing of the church bell was a special privilege.  Young people (mostly boys) would like up and take turns tugging on the rope. In trutruth we just liked making noise.  
  • After church service extended family would get together at the home place for a large meal. The cooks would all gather in the kitchen and soon the house was full of wonderful smells the sounds of laughter.  During the warm weather the children be outside trying to have fun without getting dirty. That’s a very difficult skill to master for a 10 year old boy.  I can still smell my grandmother’s homemade bread when I think about it.