Fences and Dust Bunnies

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That title may have made you scratch your head. Wait. It makes sense. Sort of. There really is a connection. The material for the fence that will create a pasture out back arrived a few days ago. Don't make me talk about it too much. It's a bittersweet story. Yes, the horses will finally be here at the house. That will save money and right now saving money is a very good thing. On the other hand, a little more open space is gone.

Okay, enough. I have to stay focused. What about the dust bunnies? First, I have to clear up that I'm not talking about the ones that stalk camera sensors. I'm talking about the ones that hide under the couch. Well, in my case they had recently become quite bold and they are no longer just cowering under furniture. Why am I even thinking about dust bunnies? Partly because of emboldened dust bunnies, I have been distracted for a couple of days by the imminent arrival of a house guest. And, that guest is directly connected to the necessity of fences. See, it is starting to make sense now.

By the way, in case it crossed your mind to ask what this has to do with photography? Absolutely. Nothing.

The house guest will be arriving because The Husband convinced his older brother to come visit and help build the fence. Who says my guy isn't a salesman? He's no fool. He read Tom Sawyer when he was a kid. Besides, the Brother-in-Law is an all around good guy.

Meanwhile, The Husband has been working hard for the last few days as helper to an impressive young man who installs fences. I call him impressive because he is a savvy business man and appears to be mature beyond his years. Late tomorrow, The Brother-in-Law arrives and the Young Businessman will have a two-man crew. I have had to focus a bit on some household chores in preparation for our guest.

Boy, am I getting off easy. Dust bunnies are a pain in the neck, but at least they don't weigh much—unlike fence posts and rails.

An Old-Fashioned Christmas

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The Husband and I didn’t have any big plans for our Christmas, but we knew what we were having for dinner (the buffalo meat was on the counter thawing) and we planned to finish the 2008 Christmas Card Project—late, yes, but we hoped to be forgiven for the slip-up this year.

We had read all the storm warnings and it certainly sounded as though we were in for a big one, this time. But, typical of weather predictions, the forecast was way off and instead of “up to” twelve inches of snow, we got about two inches. There was something the weather channel didn’t predict, however, and that was the power failure. The power went off just before 4:00 PM and didn’t come back on in our part of Bear Valley Springs until 5:30 AM this morning.

(Stupid me, I had my computer on when the power failed—trying to get those last photos printed, along with the postcard inserts containing all our new contact information. The computer is fine, by the way, and I am busily printing again today.)

When it became clear that the power failure wasn’t to be a momentary glitch, we set about our preparations for coping. Using the battery-operated lanterns, we scrounged through the garage looking for the candles and the candle-holders that we knew were there somewhere. While we found the candles, we ended up mostly devising makeshift holders.

Our Christmas evening was our quietest ever. We had never had a completely candlelit Christmas. It’s one we will remember. After spreading the candles about and getting all the fireplaces going, we enjoyed Christmas evening—even if we did have simple bowls of soup for our Christmas dinner. It made us think of what Christmas was like long ago.

Aaand We're Off!

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Best of luck to all those participating in the SoFoBoMo game. And a special big thank you to Paul Butzi for coming up with the concept and issuing the challenge. In theatre, one wishes colleagues a good show with “Break a leg”. What is the equivalent in the photography world?

It is a joy to be part of such a fine crowd. We have our hero, Paul Lester, who showed us that we could do this. After all, if Paul could accomplish “One” in less than three hours, surely a month would be more than enough time for even those of us who may be slowpokes to produce a project. Paul Butzi named Gordon McGregor as our cheerleader. Gordon has been doing yeoman service for some time, but outdid himself with his new “pipe”. Combine that with John Seltzer’s blog, “Tell the World”, Colin Jago’s list of participants and collection of posts, plus Paul Butzi's collection of posts at the mother ship and it’s easy to keep track of what the SoFoBoMoers are up to. Recently, I nicknamed our fearless leader, Paul B. The Instigator, then later elevated him to Pope Paul. Now Paul L. has picked up that name and repeated it, and I find myself wondering what other names Paul B. might earn in the course of this coming sixty days of feverish activity. I think I see a wicked streak in him with this offer of a print to anyone who completes two projects in the sixty days. Hasn’t he yet learned that you don’t throw down the gauntlet to this crowd? He is bound to get a few takers, so I hope he has chosen that print and is prepared to ship some “prizes” to the “winners”. Perhaps he should also be prepared for some spouses or significant others producing voodoo dolls of the fellow who started this sublime madness.

The Gate Dilemma

After we get moved to Bear Valley Springs and settled in—I figure that will happen sometime around 2012 judging by our current pace—one of my projects is working out what type of gate we can put up at our drive. Then, naturally, the gate will have to have a sign with a name on it. I am big on naming things. Since I was a little girl, one of my primary preoccupations was naming things I had, and I even devoted a great deal of time to naming things I didn’t have, but fantasized about having someday. At one point, I named an entire stable of stunning Arabian horses I just knew I would have when I was all grown up. I winced when others in my family named a pet. One of our dogs was named Skippy and that was a serious affront to my delicate young sensibilities. I adored that dog, but always lamented the fact that such a superior creature should be saddled with a name so pedestrian.

Indeed, decades ago, when I was first getting to know the man who became The Husband, I was shaken to learn that, when he was young, his family had three dogs in a row named George. Now you need to know that this was a gorgeous, sexy, gentle man and I knew I was falling hard. Still, how could I link my life to a man who came from such stock? Was there no one in his family with the imagination to come up with another name? Why did no one intervene? Yes, there had been some embarrassingly uninspired names given to animals by my family. But, at least the insult had not been mindlessly repeated! Sure, the man came from a good New England family and his father was a prominent Boston surgeon. But, please. George?! And, three times in a row! It was a hurdle for me. Until I met them all, of course and found they were absolutely wonderful—the family that is. (By the way, The Husband most often leaves naming chores to me. I think it’s a wise choice. I may not be great at naming, but I care and I try, for Pete's sake.)

Anyway, about the gate. From those early years, while I was naming those Arabian steeds, I dreamed of living on a ranch, or least a horse farm. The ranch fantasy was the first choice for me, with my Texas upbringing and all. Now, finally, I will be be living on something other than a postage-sized lot, and I have to admit that I am mightily tempted to finally hang a sign with a ranch-type name. (You know something like the Rockin’ J Ranch, or the BV2 Ranch.) But, again, it’s about that Texas thing. Now, anyone who grew up in Texas ought to know that a ranch in Texas means several hundred acres—at least, preferably a few thousand. If you call your place “a ranch” and it’s less than that, you brand yourself a city slicker, or a drugstore cowboy. (In Texas, they say, you are the type who is "all hat and no cattle".)

Well, I have lived with the hat and without the cattle all my life and while there still are no cattle in my future, at least I will not be living in a big city, and I will have a view of a barn (eventually) and horses in the pasture. Besides, I do live in California now, and in California—especially anywhere near Tinsel Town—you will see signs for the “whatever ranch” on properties that are half an acre at best. But, I know better! For me, there is no excuse. I suppose it comes down to whether or not I have been Californified enough to risk humiliation in front of any red-blooded Texan and put a name on the gate that says "ranch", thus feeding my childhood fantasy.

I have a feeling this major life issue will take some deep study and genuine soul-searching. Whew! It’s a good thing I don’t have to make a decision immediately.

KISS

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I have been reading some of Mark Hobson’s posts at The Landscapist, and he has posted some very useful information for making a photo book. His choice among the POD printers is Shutterfly. Ding! I had completely put out of my mind the fact that a little over a year ago I ordered a book from Shutterfly. It wasn’t wonderful, but that was pretty much all my fault. I have learned a great deal since then—that seems like a long time ago. Besides, on that occasion, I simply used their templates, and I wouldn’t do that again. Still, I have some experience with that setup, and this would save me the angst of searching for the right printer and familiarizing myself with another printer’s format. I also found very appealing Mark’s suggestion to simply do the layout in Adobe Photoshop, forget learning another program, and feel free to keep the text to a minimum. Hooray! I’m in favor of all that. Perhaps, my favorite part of Mark's posts were his advice to keep it simple. All too frequently, I forget that old wisdom, KISS—Keep It Simple, Stupid.

The idea of getting 35 shots I can bear to have printed in a book is still intimidating. Plus, I will have to lay the book out page by page in Photoshop—I stopped with Adobe Pagemaker (that was way back) and never made my peace with InDesign. I can save that challenge for next year. Nevertheless, I feel encouraged. Now, if the theme I have in mind just holds up to scrutiny and we ever sell our house—and we ever move, and I ever have time to pick a camera again!

SoFoBoMo Dreams—or Nightmares

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Hard as I try to stay focused on cleaning the house (our realtor comes Tuesday morning and she is a tough grader), my mind keeps drifting to thoughts of photo books. Of course, I pretty much need a theme I can shoot in our new home in Bear Valley. By April 1, the date the SoFoBoMo season opens, we expect to be moving, or at least spending a great deal of time at our new place. Choosing a theme that tied me to my current area would be awkward, to say the least. I have tried to come up with a theme that capitalizes on the current chaos in my life, but so far, nada. More than once, I have “settled” on a theme, then picked at it a couple of days, and discovered it doesn’t hold up for me.

Yesterday, as I cleaned and listened to rock music from of the “British Invasion” on FM, my mind wandered as usual to the photobook, and I hit on another idea. (Must have been The Stones or maybe it was The Animals. Hmm. One of those themes might work in Bear Valley. No, not really.) Now, let’s see if this idea lasts more than two or three days. I’ll give it a few days before saying it out loud. In the meantime, I have been spending every second I can excuse from work reading the blogs of other participants. Everyone is incredibly generous with information and research. I am rapidly learning that the best part of this entire project is being a tiny, tiny piece of this great group-adventure. While I am nearly paralyzed with fear about this thing, I know I am going to learn so much that it will be worth the scare.

Several bloggers are posting useful information about the SoFoBoMo challenge. I have already mentioned Paul Butzi (The Instigator) and Doug Stockdale, who generously shares his thoughts about his own journey. In the last couple of days, Colin Jago has posted a list of all the participants with links and John Seltzer has created a new blog dedicated to SoFoBoMo, complete with a blogroll including all who have accepted the challenge. A great big "thank you" to all the guys who contribute so much. Of course, now any hopes I may have harbored about slinking along the edges of this, blessedly unnoticed, have gone up in smoke. John's new site is titled, "Tell The World". Now, it's official. If I make a fool of myself, the whole world will know.

Our Little Bit of Heaven

Well, folks, what do you think? We believe it has potential. Sure, there is a lot of work to be done, but it's a great location.

Only kidding. This is the real McCoy. This is where we will soon be hanging our hats.

You do know the camera can lie like crazy, don’t you? I feel compelled to admit that just beyond the garage (on the left side of the picture) there is a fence; and right over that fence, you would see our neighbor’s house, barn, and horses in their pastures. Furthermore, if I had stood on our front porch and taken a picture facing that way, you would see, all the neighbors’ places on the other side of the road. But, our place looks so wonderfully idyllic, so private and “country” this way. After all, I didn’t add anything to the photograph, and I didn’t delete anything after the fact. It’s just what I chose to leave out of the frame. Tricky, I know, but photographers do this sort of thing.

Even with the confession of framing the scene to best advantage, can you see why we call it our Big Sky country? At last, we have a place where The Husband can finally play at being gentleman rancher. Meanwhile, The Wife can chronicle the stories of “A Man and his Bush Hog” (that's the tractor, in case you know as little about tractors as I do), “The Gentleman Rancher and the Arabian Steeds”, and “The City Slickers Go Country—Sort Of”.

Sunsets and Surprises

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For several days, we had planned a work-trip to Bear Valley for some errands. We needed to deliver a few boxes we simply had no place to stash (the storage unit is bulging and forget the garage), plus we had to buy The Husband’s tractor. It was looking like a pretty routine trip, except for the snow we knew we would find, and knowing that there’s a reason they call the hill between the house and the main gate “Domino Hill”. (Picture toppling dominoes, then substitute cars on a slippery road. Got it?). So, we scheduled the trip, canceled it due to closed highways (snow), and kept working. I was looking forward to seeing the house for the first time without someone else’s things in it. In a moment of giddy anticipation, I teased The Husband that when on the momentous occasion of finally entering our house—meaning it finally would no longer be just the house, but our house—he should carry me over the threshold. Sure enough, he narrowed his eyes and shot me one of those sideways looks that said, “Don’t hold your breath.” I went on with my endless sorting and packing and pondered whether I might see any of the critters we had heard about on our last trip. We had heard tales of raccoons, Betty, the Hawk (who perches on our roof scouting for taste treats in the meadow grass), mountain lions, brazen coyotes, king snakes, deer, and I-don’t-what-I-may-have-left-out roaming our little piece of heaven. The prospect of getting a picture of any of the above was delicious, so I stole time over the two days before the trip to format a couple of CF cards and charge batteries. Two days after the cancellation, we had a sunny day and took off. Ever the optimist—I stashed some camera gear in between boxes. I was hoping for a few minutes to do a little shooting before the light was lost and maybe a nice sunset, or even to spot a critter. There were a few surprises in store for our humdrum work trip.

After the long, but uneventful drive, we got past the desert and climbed to the snow. It was surprisingly deeper than the last time we were up there. Still, we zipped through the tiny town near our valley, and moments later we were at the entrance to Bear Valley. The moment we passed through the main gate, I began trying to remember how far it was to the infamous Domino Hill. But, before I had time to get anxious, we were there. The snowplow had done its job, and we continued to breeze along enjoying the winter scene around us.

Finally, Our House. Right there in our own Big Sky country. Then, as we made the turn off the road to our drive, we jolted to a stop. The small berm just off the road that had been left by the snowplow was a little high and six inches of snow covering our drive had not been cleared. Fortunately, it turned out to be a brief hesitation. The tires of the SUV (I had been thinking ahead when I picked that car) grabbed some traction, and over we went, then on to the back of the house where we planned to enter.

As we crunched through the snow toward our back door, The Husband suddenly stopped in his tracks, turned to me, and said, “Wait.” I stopped, not knowing what to expect as he approached me. Then, lo and behold, he swooped me up in his arms, and carried me inside! You should have heard the music swell! What can I say? The man is full of surprises—and many of them are deliciously pleasant. I wandered around for a few minutes in a daze, simply glowing. I was stunned by the princess-treatment, but mostly reeling from the realization that The Husband had actually heard something I said—and remembered it! As I regained my equilibrium, I watched the Prince, himself, begin to glow. Naturally, he wasn’t beaming with the satisfaction of having carried his princess over the threshold of his castle—thank goodness there are no stairs. Oh, no, nothing of the kind. He had easily forgotten about princely gestures. While I had basked in my princess-hood, The Husband had handed over the check to the previous owner of our house and was, as of that defining moment, the proud owner of a like-new New Holland TC29DA tractor—with a whole bundle of accessories. (Do they call those things accessories?)

It was a wonderful day—sunset and all. I think we are going back for Valentine’s Day.

Town Center Campground

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I found another image from the Town Center Campground that I wanted to share. If you ever make it to Bear Valley, you may very well find me there. We were supposed to make a trip up there today for some errands, but some highway closures resulted in a change of plans.

Okay, back to cleaning, repairing and packing. I would so much rather make pictures!

An Original

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If Jim and I have our facts straight, this barn is the only surviving structure from the ranch that covered the valley we will be living in. The property was purchased and developed in the early 1970's. I am eager to find time for research on the area.

January in Bear Valley

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Posting here has been sporadic, at best; but, I expect to do better within a few weeks. I am looking forward to having more time to spend on my websites and on photography, in general.

Yesterday,we spent the day in Bear Valley—signing papers and making it official. Early next week, we get the keys to our house and we will officially own two mortgages—we hope that doesn't last very long. It was lovely to spend some time there and remember why we are doing all this work.

The shot above was taken in one of the community campgrounds. I have a feeling I will be spending some time up there with the oak trees. The snow had fallen the night before—more snow fell during the day—and turned the entire valley into a wonderfully picturesque scene. I didn't want to be cooped in offices and busy with the final "walk-through". On the other hand, I wasn't eager to go for a long hike, since the warmest it got all day was about 34 degrees. Not the ideal weather for a southern californian and former central Texas gal. I was by far happiest when we had time for a drive around the valley and a little bit of shooting from outside the car window. It looks as though, I will have to get over being such a wimp about the weather.