If you’ve been in my corner of the blogosphere for a long time, you already know about Buck and my house-building project that was completed (or pretty close anyway) in 2006. The words and photos posted here are in my Switched At Birth blog archive (now offline). I don’t know if I just ran out of gas or what, but in June of 2005, I stopped blogging for a while. As a result, although I continued to document our building project with photos, I never added the accompanying words. Over the coming weeks and months, I plan to complete the task. Please bear with me on this and if you have any questions, ask away.
Thanks for stopping by.
Big-mouth bass, a God, captured with multi-jointed, shiny lures festooned with yellow paint around the eyes and pink feathery tassels.
The smell of fish frying, that big bass’s tail curling up, brown & crisp, balls of oniony dough spinning in hot grease, sweet catsup. Daddy.
The old chocolate lab closed her eyes and licked the air while Buck massaged her with liquid dish soap. It was love on a warm day.
Southern whitetails glissade on the ice like skaters at Rockefeller Center, shyly wearing their newly-grown shaggy fur coats.
Basso profundo owl must have been drawn by the small circle of light in my midnight study. So close I arose to see if he wanted to come in.
Tongue-tied in a gregarious fiction class, I stutter and think of the woods.
A convention of prosperous robins gathers for opening ceremonies in the frosty clearing.
I sit astride two horses. The 20th I rode in on; the 21st will carry my small ploughshare through the valley farmlands to the ridgetop.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Country folk shoot up the neighboring trees with their Christmas pistols. The deer will be hiding out today.