landscape photography – Page 35 – LLOYD'S LENS PHOTOGRAPHY LLC

Proverbs 31:26 – 31:27

26 She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue [is] the law of kindness.

27 She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness.

Today being Mother’s Day I wanted to take the opportunity to thank Jesus for my godly mother. It’s one thing to teach the bible through memorization but to be a living example in front of the children is better. Mom’s life of sacrifice for her boys made us the men that we are today.

I love you Mom ❤

Entanglement

Color Photography

Growing up with livestock means barbed wire. Some people actually collect old rusted samples of it and there’s certain vintages that are more desirable than others. It’s not uncommon to find a section of the stuff sticking out of a tree that has grown up on a fence row and absorbed the wire as the tree grew. There was also a lot of barbed wire on the ground. Sometimes it’s covered with decades of fallen leaves all except for the loop that’s just below the weeds and waiting to catch your foot like a snare. Believe me, it will drop you like a rock if you’re careless around old fences that are poorly maintained.

Sometimes in life we get tossed down when we’re least expecting it. If we look around to see what tripped us up we’ll usually find that it was a responsibility that we ourselves neglected. What’s more is that it’s easier to handle taking care responsibly when it’s fresh than it is to fix something that has been left undone for too long.

Little Boys and Dirt Roads

Color Photography, West Virginia

I have often said that my highway to heaven is a dirt road. Dirt roads take us to places unknown and seldom seen. We enter another world where a good ATV ( commonly referred to as a 4 wheeler in my part of Appalachia) or your own feet are the best travel options. When I was a kid we would head out on an old dirt road like the one in the feature image ever chance we got. These roads often contain mud holes that more akin to ponds than potholes. In the spring and summer they’re normally full of tadpoles and newts. My brother and I would escape the heat of the mobile home by finding one of the largest holes we could back under the canopy of the trees to play in. We’d come home covered in mud after riding our bicycles through the mud as hard as we could. We were pretending to be motocross racers. We’d slam the brakes in mud and throw it out as hard as we could. Whoever could make the biggest splash was the winner. We’d play Evil Knievel too. (For those too young to remember he was the most famous stuntman of my youth. You can read about him here). My poor mother would have two boys who looked like mud monsters by the time we were done.

Later in life I would walk these dirt roads at a slower pace while stalking deer or just out exploring. Walking a road like the one in the feature image is kinda like being on a treadmill with people throwing mud, rocks and tree stumps at your feet. The mud settles in low spots and it’s a perfect way for a beginner to find animal tracks and learn about tracking.

Today necessity keeps me on the nice pavement. I walk through a world of concrete and asphalt. But I still long for an abandoned dirt road with a huge mud hole and a good off road bicycle.

Echoes on a foggy morning

black and white photography, poetry, travel

I stood in the mists and listened, and I heard the echoes.

The echoes spoke to me and here is what they those echoes said.

Once there was a house and the house was a home.

Once there was friendswho would gather.

Once there was laughing.

Once there was a song.

Once there was dancing.

Once there was the smell of dinner cooking over an open flame.

Once there were games played on the lawn.

Once there was a warm bed and quietly spoken conversation by candlelight.

Once there was a sadness and a warm embrace to lessen the scars on a wounded soul.

Once there was work to be done and rest to be enjoyed.

Once there was love and love grew into life. And life was good.

The echoes fade away but love lives on.

Poetry by Lloyd A Dempsey II

The Feature image for this post is the Old Mason-Drennan house. Sadly, it’s a historic site that is quickly succumbing to the effects of time.

As I look at site I think about all the different stories that would have played out at the old resort. In the early Twentieth Century this was a destination for people who would travel from far away. I wonder how many family lines got started at the dances and social gatherings that were held there? That question was the inspiration for my poem. As the old inn fades away do the memories live on like an echo in time?

As the weather in the Northern hemisphere warms up people in Appalachia generally gather around a camp fire and tell ghost stories. But such stories don’t always have to be scary. After all, it’s just a story… isn’t it?