Drive On

Thanks, but I can wait for a bathroom break until we get to the next town. The next town with pavement. Pavement, and indoor plumbing. Drive on.

Going to Sturgis

 
Sturgis, SD, is just down the road from the Badlands. Bikers are beginning to trickle in to attend, or deliberately miss, the big event two weeks from now. Of all the bikers I talk to (the smiling, least-scary ones), they are united in their passion for motorcycles.

Old and young, male and female, the enthusiasm vibrates in their voices. The same enthusiasm I recognize in my own devotion to my camera. Hmm. South Dakota: big skies, small world. Nice.

Immoveable

The spires and blocks of the South Dakota Badlands look like ruined cathedrals frozen in time. For a place sculpted by erosion, it looks like nothing will ever move again. The pliable road curves around buttes and over hillocks, conforming itself with shrugging practicality. I can't shrug, though. I'm in awe of this sculpture playground.

Badlands Dusk

As we head "out West" toward Glacier National Park we take a road I've never been on before. There are a lot of those. But I'm working to change that. Dusk seems to come to the sky first, before the land. Curious.

And Then

. . .  the sun comes out, and all's right with the world. : )

Risky Shelter

Rain can be life-giving or life-taking. It's probably a good thing we don't know which, each time.

Farm Shadows

Spring planting in the Midwest is of course a time of long hours, second only to the fall harvest. The best time is when the new seed is safely in the ground, hope for a good season abounds, and the equipment can be parked temporarily until the next work of care and cultivation needs to be done.

Rotten To The Core

"I had to shoot him. He didn't leave me a choice."

So sad when saguaros go bad. ; )

Mirage

Well, not really. It's just the reflection of one of the many upscale homes springing fullblown from the desert. Beautiful neighborhoods with coordinating colors and xeriscaping, and shiny new rain barrels collecting the precious runoff from flat roofs.

They're part of the boom-and-bust cycle of employment, which I'm neither qualified to, nor interested in, discussing. But coming from an area where the "bust" has been dominant for more years than I care to admit remembering, it's delightful to see homes that are new. Clean-lined. Pretty. Long may they last!

Subtle Colors

We were in Arizona at the end of February. Still winter almost anywhere in the northern hemisphere. The overall impression was greenish-brown, and of course the ever-present blue of distant hills. Looking closer, however, yields lovely color rewards even in the blandest seasons.

Enough Room For A Friend

I met a friend in the desert. We've been corresponding for quite some time but never meeting in person. A little matter of 2000 miles, give or take.

But I was finally in her neck of the woods, if I can use that term about a place with no trees. She said she'd be waiting at the crossroads. She was. We met in the geographical center of nowhere, and drove yet another 13 miles.

And it was absolutely fabulous. We didn't stop talking the whole time. The time was way too short, as the best meetings are. So short we didn't get around to sitting on this beautiful bench.

But this picture reminds me that friendships grow and flower with just a little encouragement, like mesquite after a spring shower. Next time we'll sit on the bench. Until then, email will carry nourishment for this budding friendship. Electronic sustenance as welcome as rain in the desert.

Daytime Doze

This barn owl was perched agreeably on the leather-clad arm of a staffer at the Sonoran Desert Museum in Tucson. He didn't mind the oohs and aahs of passers-by. It was daytime, the proper hour for sleep. If he was dreaming of cool wind, the scratch and scrabble of mouse feet, and the hot-blooded thrill of the hunt, he maintained his poker face.

Arms Wide In Welcome

Everywhere I looked was painters' and photographers' heaven. Spiky shapes and soft colors, aggressive defense tools, in-your-face plants and retiring wildlife. Definitely not a comfortable land for those who want to drift unengaged through life.

A Country of Light

I visited a foreign land this week. Technically Arizona is part of the U.S., but the desert colors, plants, and terrain were so different from the mono-green Midwest that it felt foreign to me. The boxy adobe architecture seemed fitting and right amid the similar-colored rocks. And when the sun came out - aah, the colors glowed like a photographer's dream.

It's Snowing Inside

The city of Chicago (and it's octopus suburbs) advances over the surrounding fertile farmland at a rate of half a mile per year. (source: Illinois Farm Bureau) Covered over with concrete, that rich dark soil will never return to productive life.

So it goes with farms, too. Barns that no longer house livestock aren't worth the expense of maintaining. They gently decay, are torn down, or are pushed in a pile and set ablaze. Like the proverbial old gray mare - barns ain't what they used to be.