Update to the Update

My slowness to respond to all the deeply appreciated expressions of concern and good thoughts is due to my back issues, rather than personal safety concerns. First, the fire is far enough from us to be comforting. Second, the prevailing winds here come from the west, occasionally north, and the fire is southeast of us. Still, I won't deny that the fire is distracting. (It doesn't help that The Husband's surgery happens this week. He is in LA today for a consult with the surgeon.) The Bakersfield radio and TV stations have begun to cover the blaze and it is difficult to put it completely out of one's my mind.

Even though this doesn't begin to compare in scale to the devastation in central Texas, it remains a concern for the community. Over 13,000 acres have now been consumed, a dozen homes have been destroyed, and 650 homes are threatened. Over a thousand firefighters are on the job now and the latest report says they have it only 10% under control. Not very encouraging. We are constantly being reminded in one way or another how little control we have over our environment and when it is even this close, it does tend to get one's attention.

Paul Lester asked about causes. There are dozens, but mostly it comes down to the conditions in which the fires start. The major factors are thousands of miles of kindling in the form of dry underbrush, extremely low humidity, and fierce winds. It is a recipe for disaster. As I mentioned a couple of days ago the winter and spring rains produced the kindling. Then, on the day the fire started, the humidity was a scant 25%. (You may remember I have mentioned that the Tehachapi Mountains sit at the edge of the Mojave Desert). As for the winds, they are a constant.

Steve Skinner would know far more about this than I, but the conditions are daunting for the firefighters. Steep, rocky terrain; erratic winds; low humidity; high temperatures; a seemingly endless supply of fuel; near impossible access. Steve could certainly add more that I have overlooked.

The fires are begun in almost any way you can imagine: lightning strikes; sparks from vehicles or tools; carelessness in hay-filled barns; stoves, lanterns and candles; campfires; plane crashes; and, of course in some cases, arson. Once again, Steve could point out how incomplete my list is. But the most important factor is conditions that are "ideal" for an out of control blaze.

My sincere thanks to all who left kind comments wishing us the best. I appreciate the concern and good thoughts. I have hopes of being able to work at the desktop this afternoon so I can soon publish a "proper" post with a photograph. For the moment, however, forget the pajama blogger business—I am president of the "rocking chair brigade".

Wild Fire Update

Before answering individual comments and questions, I want to thank everyone for thoughtful replies while assuring all that we are fine. It appears that the firefighters have this one pretty much under control. While the red glow on the horizon that persisted throughout the night was not comforting, there is much less smoke this morning and we are far more relaxed in the bright light of a September morning.

We still don't have much information. This one was started by a plane crash in the Tehachapi Mountains, the pilot and co-pilot are dead (no passengers), and late evening the fire had burned about 300 acres. That is the sum of the news we have. I have previously alluded to how small our nearest town is. Here is another fact to put it in perspective: There is no Tehachapi radio station. The nearest station is in Bakersfield which is close in miles, but in another climate zone and the only news they consistently cover up here is big scandals. We will learn more when it is all over.

California Wild Fires—'Tis the Season

The sight strikes fear in the heart. While this fire is far enough from us to eliminate any need for panicked packing, it is a grim reminder that fire season is upon us. The rains last winter and spring produced a bumper crop of underbrush and there is ample fodder to turn one of these blazes into an inferno that could quickly consume thousands of acres. We are grateful for some routes that serve as emergency exits out of the valley, but pray we never have to try one—especially while hauling a horse trailer.  There are a number of planes in the air working on this, in addition to the manpower on the ground. We remain, as they say, "cautiously optimistic".

Trouble Commenting

I have encountered a problem posting comments at a number of sites. So far, I am mystified as to the why. Just living with the frustration for now. Sooner or later, I will stumble upon the solution.

Family Values

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Just a few words to put into context what happens here in the near future (or more accurately what doesn't happen). My back has gone kaflooie again, The Husband has a surgery coming up all too soon, and the deadlines for the art show loom in the background. Things are apt to get a bit wonky. But everything in life is temporary. All will be straightened out soon.

Meanwhile, life goes on. Our spring finally turned to summer, but a blessedly mild one, so far. Most days, we are filled with optimism and on the ones when we aren't, we mostly just stay quiet. Galen continues to fill our lives with joy. He supplies generous doses of love, education, and entertainment.

When he isn't streaking around the backyard at breakneck speed, he loves to jump up on things and negotiate obstacles. It is possible he was born to be an agility dog. While we have no intention of taking that seriously, we do plan to purchase some bargain-priced, "practice", agility obstacles for his play sessions. In the photo above, he is perched atop a garden bench. One of his favorite sports is racing across the yard to respond to "come", then reacting to a wave of the hand and "hup" with a leap atop the nearest of what have become Galen's benches. He also thinks racing, full-out, between a person's legs is almost as much fun as eating.

There is only one small downside to his joy in these family sessions. He is quite resourceful in making it known that he has spent considerable energy assessing the circumstances and insists on sharing the information—at full volume, of course. The message: "It is getting late and there is little time left for play. And, no, one of you won't do. This is family time." Naturally, the message is cleverly designed and delivered in a way to be mistaken for "I have to go outside, now, and if you wait there will be a dreadful accident in the house. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

Would we trade the head-splitting racket for peace and quiet? Would we rather settle down to TV? Do we ever regret following the furry little tyrant outside once we drag our sorry behinds after him? We may not be brain surgeons, but we aren't hopelessly stupid.

The Golden Foothills

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I have been seeing Highway 58 more regularly as a result of my physical therapy. Because I am so fond of the scenes along the way, this is not tedious for me. The seasons change and the look and feel of the landscape evolves. The rolling hills that, a few months ago, turned that rich—almost other-worldly green are now draped in golden brown with bits of deep rusty brown and and sprouts of a new, more subdued green here and there. To me, the foothills are equally beautiful now despite the change in finery. Simpler garb, in the eyes of some—less showy, but I find the hills equally beautiful with their starkness, clarity, and plain-spoken manner. The golden foothills rising against the blue sky have a regal quality and a dignity that is just as seductive as the exuberant and luxurious green of spring.

Along with the pleasure I take in the colors and shapes of the hills, I am fascinated by the fences that wander—in what almost seems an aimless manner—up, down, and across the hills—zigging and zagging for reasons that aren't obvious. I can lose myself in the patterns of those lines.

When I was a child, my family took road trips on weekends for entertainment. When conversation tapered off and my siblings were tired of playing, I fantasized about riding my dream horse through the fields that slid by. Of course, when my mount and I came to a fence—mostly plain and simple affairs like the one here—we sailed over it effortlessly, scoffing at boundary markers, and continuing our race with the car.

Maybe that is when I was first drawn to fences. After all, to a carefree child, they weren't serious impediments. They were minor obstacles—obstacles that were meant to be sailed over. Hurdles meant to be greeted with relish and vanquished with glee. Ah, all is possible in the mind of an innocent.

Abandoned

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Once again, I saw this scene played out on Saturday. Poor Lancer was the one left behind. When The Husband and Night leave on foot, the chestnut is agitated and thunders around the pasture, bugling and expressing what feels like a mixture of panic and rage. Neither of the horses handles being left behind with grace. But, eventually, the panic subsides, the futility of the rage dawns, and whoever is left behind returns to grazing.

But, trust me, they know what a trailer means. When one's buddy is drawn away in that white metal box, it is serious business. There is genuine doubt as to whether the departing animal will return. Not only do the panic and rage run their course sooner, but, for Lancer, in particular, the deep anxiety and despair set in. Saturday was typical. At first he ran full out around the pasture, a frantic hell-for-leather version of nervous pacing. When he returned to the gate he began the weaving (shifting weight from one front leg to the other) until he was exhausted, then with his gaze fastened on the road, he whinnied, not those soft whinnies you get as a greeting, or those short, impatient whinnies that say "where is my hay?", but great body-shaking whinnies, that come from somewhere deep in the gut.

Then he stationed himself at the pasture gate—the gate that Night had exited earlier—and watched. Watched, and listened for signs that his abandonment was not permanent.  Attempts to distract him were met with impatience. Carrots earned only mild interest.  He briefly interrupted his vigil a few times only to get a drink of water and grab a quick bite of his virtually untouched breakfast.  From 7:00 AM until 5:00 PM he maintained his vigil. Standing. Waiting.

My heart hurts for them when they go through this. While animals are blessed with so many skills superior to our own, they are not equipped to deal with these human-engineered separations. Having other horses a pasture away is not enough. They want their buddy nearby. It is partially a matter of instinct. Like most prey animals, horses feel safer with their herd. They also form attachments. Some recent studies have indicated that horses may recognize other horses with whom they were associated many years before. That isn't surprising when you consider how many dogs cover hundreds of miles to find their owners. Whatever science may be able to demonstrate, you could never convince horse owner that these animals don't form deep attachments.

Our horses pick at one another like a couple little boys. They fuss, kick, and nip, lay ears back, and threaten mayhem. At times, you would swear they are mortal enemies. But, when abandoned, each is distraught. I always wish I could explain and assure the animal left behind that the separation is temporary. But, there is no reasoning with an animal separated from what has become family. It is painful to watch.

When Night finally came through the gate, he and Lancer touched noses and had a little horse hug (heads thrown over necks) before they set about their usual horse business of rolling in the dirt, eating—and fussing at one another.

Nothing is Safe

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In case you were wondering, yes, I am using this new style of processing on some equine images. After all, I can't lavish all of that love exclusively on landscapes and stills of flowers. At one point I thought about joking that I might be in danger of attempting to apply this processing to anything not moving. Oops! Well, at least I can assure you that this horse wasn't moving when I applied the texture layers.

Celebrations and Nostalgia

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This post has nothing to do with photography—it is strictly personal and reaches into my recent past. But, since this is on my mind and I am in blabbermouth mode, I am not going to sit on it any longer.

On occasion, I have mentioned, here, that I taught film acting and ran an actors' studio in Los Angeles for three decades. Having been retired less than four years, I haven't yet fully completed my long period of mourning for what I gave up. I may have left the life behind, but it will always be a major part of who am I am and it will always occupy a large and special part of my heart.

So here is the story. You have probably heard of the new DreamWorks film, The Help, based, of course, on the runaway hit novel by the same name. Well, it happens that the screenplay writer and director of that film is one of my students and the actress, Octavia Spencer, who plays Minny, also studied with me. No doubt, you will hear a great deal more about these two in the months and years to come and every time they make the news, you can bet that I will be bursting with happiness for two exceptionally talented, hard-working people—two people I adore.

I loved teaching with a passion that was difficult to put aside. Life changes—even the good ones—can be painful. Every time that phone rings and it is an actor asking about coaching, I feel a little ache in my heart. I begin wondering, again, if leaving was a mistake and I have a day or two of wistful thinking about the joys of watching talent blossom.

But, that was another life in another place. Now, I am that retired teacher who basks in the pleasure of memories and celebrates the triumphs of my precious students from a distance. It was a gift to have witnessed the journey of so many talented individuals. They taught me so very much and I will always be grateful. People often ask me if I have any children. I frequently quip, "No, but I sure borrowed a bunch."

Art Conspiracies

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I have had something on the back burner for a few weeks and, just to be certain I have pounded all the life from this old metaphor, it has started to boil. It is time to drop a few hints. Why bother with a few hints, you ask? Why even bring it up if I can't tell the whole story? Obviously, you haven't been reading my blog very long. Otherwise, you surely know me better than to expect hardcore reasoning on matters of the heart. And this is a matter of the heart.

As for why only hints, this venture is a partnership. This isn't just my story to tell and many details are unsettled, so I need to wait until I can "spill the beans". I am only good at keeping other people's secrets. Any secret you shared with me might as well be stored at Fort Knox. I carry around secrets that are decades old. I have held onto some secrets until I forgot I ever knew the information in the first place. On the other hand, if it involves me, I am a veritable blabbermouth. If I don't drop some hints, the pressure will build in my poor little brain and I can't handle the extra stress.

Now you know why, here is the what. For the last few weeks, I have been conspiring with my friend C to take some control over showing our work. C is a painter whose work I like very much and C is a delight. It is a great combo. On Saturday, we took the plunge. We pitched our idea to the owner and manager of a local winery. When I returned and walked in our back door, The Husband asked, "How did it go?"  My response was, "It couldn't have gone any better unless Chuck (the owner) had written us a check purchasing all the art in advance."

I don't know much—which is helpful to a blabbermouth, but I know we are investigating the viability of scheduling this for October 1. (Yikes, that's close.) The manager will investigate possible conflicts with local events as well as events that might complement ours. This I know for certain: I suddenly have to switch gears. Big chunks of my time must be devoted to printing, matting and framing. There will be publicity to organize and a million (well, almost) decisions to make. Work not yet finished will have to be shelved for the moment. That won't be easy.

The best part of this, in my mind, is that we have taken action. Whatever happens from this point forward is a bonus.  We fretted over so few opportunities to show that didn't involve membership fees and restrictive contracts, or waiting for the once-a-year Bear Valley Springs show. And, we took matters into our own hands. It feels good to have taken the step. It is going to be an interesting few weeks.