The 23 morning after the night before of the year of the Camellia

ANNUAL "N" AVENUE BLOCK PARTY IN MARGARITAVILLE

This posting has not a whole lot to do with anything!

EXCEPT----

Great friends and camaraderie.  Outstanding food and just a wonderful evening telling lies to each other.  I have refrained from printing the photos here out of courtesy to those who would yell at me for doing so.

EXCEPT -----

AMERICA'S HOSTS !

and they are first and foremost, America's Greeter....

Rudy!

Then there is Dan, America's Host, who was busy burning the chicken for

fajitas

That's Dan's brother in law in the prison garb!

And Finally, but not the least, America's Hostess

Jenny

The 22nd day of the fifth month of the year of the Camellia

I STILL DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT TO BE WHEN I GROW UP!

I am filing shots in appropriate files and came across my very large file on clouds.  Why clouds you say?  Why not?  In this age of Photo Shop we can put clouds behind any photograph.  OK!  The dirty lil secret is out.  Years ago when people were taking pictures and developing them with a hammer and coal chisel, leading photographers did the same thing.

I remember a very renowned image maker who, worked for the Baltimore Sun in Maryland, did this  for years.  When he passed, his family found thousands of slides and film of nothing but clouds.  Back they we merged photos in the dark room......today on the puter!

Looking at my cloud photos, it dawned on me that I would have loved to have been a storm chaser.  You know the kind that they have on the Weather Channel?  I would have to have been much younger, even crazier, and much more wealthy to do it with any decent results.

  But to see a water spout or a non lethal twister.  Just a rush.

   I recall when my parents had a place on the Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake, I would sit on the patio watching a storm come across the bay.  I would try to time it so that the rain would hit just about the same time I would hit the back door.  

 Instead I have to contend with what I can find, like this shot from my front yard.

Or this shot from my Son's front yard.  We actually considered going to the basement as this storm approached.  Alas, just angry sky and no violent stuff.  But, the clouds were moving very swiftly amongst themselves.

I fully intend to do more of this kind of stuff.  It makes this old heart pound and is much simpler to get the cardio-vascular workout this way.  I'll leave the tread mill for tomorrow.

The 21st day of the fifth month of the year of the Camellia

The artist's pallet was filled with grey, white, and blue.  With the temperature in the low sixties and the water temperature a bit higher, a shroud of fog rolls off this tributary to the Chesapeake.

Twin bateaus floated sluggishly on their moorings, waiting for their captains to come and bale the overnight accumulation of water covering their flooring.  The bay itself is miles away, but the water here is still a bit salty.  Here the famed blue crab of Chesapeake lore still crawls the bottom of an underwater terrain.

Commercial fishermen of the Chesapeake are called "Watermen".  They are fiercely independent and some can actually scratch out a decent living on the bay.  The odds are against them, as in any entrepreneurial enterprise, but they would have it no other way.  They are their own boss and want it just that way. 

They rise before daylight to get to the "Spots" on the water that only they, their fathers, and grandfathers know.  Doing the job needed to catch a few bushells of crabs, they will keep only the "Jimmies" or males and discard the females who will produce the next generation.  If they are lucky, they will catch a dozen or two of the precious soft crabs to sell to the buyers at a premium.

  Crabs will molt their shells, or grow out of them, about four times in their lifetimes.  It is just when the hard shell is shed that the soft crab is immobile and to some the tastiest.  Including man and any number of finny predators.

Our day will be spent riding the boat over about a mile of "Trot Line", which is a simple rope weighted down on each end and baited about every foot or so with eel or chicken necks.  The line lays on the bottom of the river.  There is an arm extending outward from the boat with a roller that looks suspiciously like a rolling pin.  The trot line is placed over the roller, the boat moves along the line, and as it rises from the bottom it is hopefully festooned with live crabs.  The crabs are dipped from the water and deposited in bushell baskets.  This procedure continues until generally mid afternoon.  Unless you are attuned to your natural surroundings, this can be an awfully repetitive and boring process .  But most watermen know their water and surroundings.  Take delight in a diving osprey or eagle.  Look enviously at a bunch of fish feeding on the surface and the gulls diving to steal the remains.

These people rise early, work hard, and retire early.  Crabbing is only one of the many bay critters that supply these wonderful people with a way to make their living from the bay.  Other than crabs, there are fish of all kinds of course, clams, some oysters, and eels.  All are fished for with differing methods depending on their abundance and the time of year.   Regardless of the catch and the method, you can depend upon these folks to have vast knowledge of what is happening to their environment----and how it has a very direct impact upon their lives.

Arriving back at port, the crabs are sized, counted, and sold.  The boat washed down with the same salty water upon which she floats.  The trot line is baited for the next day and placed in a salt filled barrel.  Everything is made tidy so that the whole procedure can be repeated the next day. 

The artist's pallet is stowed and the images saved for a lifetime.

The 20th day of the fifth month of the year of the Camellia

OLD FRIENDS

Yep, we all have them.  But what about places and things? 

I walked on the River Walk for the second time in months and realized how much I missed this old friend.

The River Walk is friend!

Since my little wake up call with the cardiologist almost ten months ago, I have become retarded when it comes to walking.  If that term upsets someone, I am sorry but that's the way I feel about myself in this regard.  Telling myself I didn't have the time, while working on all the art work.  Well I figured that if I walked out a half hour to start, it would then be an hours worth of walking.  And as my muscles started to stop screaming, then each time I would walk a little harder and before long I would be up to where I was when I was a teenager.

  Right!

  Met all the usual suspects along the way and they all wanted to know where I had been.  Told them all that I had been spending my time setting up a series of illegal massage palors throughout the southeast.

  That stopped the conversation and I was able to walk and not talk.

Remember this is the Bible Belt down here.  Although I personally feels as if I am in the Rust Belt myself.

The River Walk is like an old friend to me.  I once was doing close to five miles a day down there and think I know pretty close to all there is to know about the area.  This morning it was clear and not hot.  Didn't see any wildlife critter types.  A homeless person was the only distraction which put me out of my comfort zone temporarily. 

 But no problem, I had my stick.

The stick is an old piece of wood about five feet in length.  On one end I have embedded a spike with which to pick up garbage left either by raccoons or people.  I have gained a great deal of respect for the raccoons.  They know how to get "Into" closed garbage cans looking for food.....but they spread everything around.  Have not reached the point where they "Know" they should clean up after themselves.  People on the other hand have evloved to the point of "Knowing" that rule.  They are just too damn something to do it!

  On the other end of the stick, I have embedded about a half pound of lead.  I was once attacked by a dog down there.  And he was on a leash!  Talk about the evolution of people.  The dog was doing what was in his blood to do, his master was just too dumb to recognize it. Next time they both will be on the receiving end of a half pound of lead.

 The stick is an old friend.

This is one of the spots on the riverwalk that has always attracted me.  An overlook on the river and the branches of this tree reaching out and over.  Just a friendly little spot that has some charisma.

This spot is a friend

I don't know what it is.  Maybe repetition that grabs us and makes us go back to the same spot day after day, or in the case of New Hampshire year after year.  Wildlife do it.  They return to the same tree to nest every year.  The same branch upon which to perch time after time.  Ospreys return to the same nesting site every year and on the same day.   Bluebirds us the same nesting sites year after year,  up to three times each year.

We all have a favorite chair in which we sit to watch TV or God forbid read.  The same side of the bed all the time.  Maybe that's why we like chocolate so much. 

Chocolate is a friend!

The 19th day of the fifth month of the year of the Camellia

THERE ARE SWANS, AND THEN THERE SWANS

Betchya didn't know that!

Some years ago (I am better at remembering that---than why I just walked into a room looking for something), whilst photographing different swan critters, I ran aground of the ones in the following photos.  When I was only fifteen years old, we spent summers in Rock Hall, MD.  What a place for kid to grow up.  Took our shoes off in June and didn't put them back on till September.  If we kids needed money, we went to a place on the bay called Eastern Neck Island.  I had a fourteen foot wooden runabout with a 25 horsepower motor on it.  We took that boat all over that bay----wonder we didn't kill ourselves.  We would go to the flats around Eastern Neck to wade with dip nets to catch crabs.  The water was less than waist deep and dip nets with long handles were or trap of choice.  Get a bushell of hard crabs and a few dozen soft crabs and we had our income for the week.

Oh and FYI, these are not swans!

We would then take the money we made from crabbing and then play the pin-ball machines at local restaurants.  These machines in Maryland paid money back for games won.  Kids will be kids.  We could take a five dollar investment and run up a couple thousand games for which we got a nickel each.  A couple of days like this we had our spending money.  Talk about a work ethic----we had it all.

It used to be, that great numbers of Tundra Swans, made long migrations from Northern Canada and even Alaska to spend the winter where I lived in Maryland.  In fact there are websites which track their progress every year from one feeding and resting area to the next along the migration routes.  These big birds are simply majestic.  Often as many as five thousand would winter over on the Chesapeake Bay around Eastern Neck Island, just south of Rock Hall, MD.  It was quite a site.

  Their wings do whistle when they fly overhead, although this species is not the whistling swans of that name.  These are the Tundras, and they are identified easily by their black bill.

Eastern neck was at one time winter home to as many as five thousand of these birds, but they have moved south to lower Maryland, Virginia, and North Carolina as the bay grasses have been depleted in this area.

Below an adult tundra and a cygnet photographed on Assateague Island in Virginia.  Above is Eastern Neck in Winter.

Part of the reason the wintering spots in the Chesapeake have moved south is  due to the growth in the population of the Mute swans.  These critters, with the orange bills, feed on the same bay grasses as the tundra.  But unlike the tundra and Canada geese, they pull the entire plant from the bay bottom and thus destroy their own feed source in the process.  States have taken some drastic measures in recent years to limit the populations of Mutes.

The tundras winter over but breed in Canada and Alaska.  Here, the Mute will breed and raise their family on the bay and other pieces of convenient water, and thus increasing the resident numbers. 

This family of mutes above was photographed in southern Maryland around Deal Island.

No matter which family of swans we see, they are still a majestic and beautiful bird. 

A mute swan takes off from the Choptank River in Maryland's Chesapeake Bay area.

Now let's see-----black bill=Tundra-----orange bill=Mute.  Easy to remember for the written test next week.

THE 18th DAY OF THE FIFTH MONTH OF THE YEAR OF THE CAMELLIA

KNOTS AND NOTS

We go to a small Italian restaurant where they serve some of the best garlic knots.  I guess it is simply pizza dough baked up and served with melted butter and or red gravey.  Here's to you my cardiologist! Out of this world-----but that is NOT what I want to talk about today.

The KNOTS on a sailing vessel are simply amazing. While visiting the Nina (that's with a ~ over the second n),  pronounced Ninya and Pinta (no ~), I came accross the photos in todays blog.

This pulley shows some incredible work, just to attach the rope.  I know that today we make these ropes by machine, but back in the day they were all put together by hand or some antique twisting machine.  NOT an easy chore.  The blocks had to be cut and carved by hand, and of course closing off the ends of the rope with smaller line was an art in itself.  Today they use a tape to do that or just melt the nylon of which the rope is constructed.

Just keeping the rope from underfoot when under way would have to be a very desciplined chore.  The decks on the old boast were not flat, but rising in the bow and stern.  Ladders or steps are needed to get the "Poop" deck in the stern of the boat.  They were also not that wide and with water sloshing accross decks would cause very slippery conditions.

At approximately 85 feet in length, I can just imagine what the

life on board must have been, back when Columbus captained these things. And a storm at sea must have been a real treat.  They have rounded bottoms with not much keel, so slipping off course and rolling must have been real easy.  The thought gives real understanding of the term "Sea Legs".

They were asking for volunteers to sail with the two ships from Georgetown north to Philladelphia,

a week long experience.  I must say that briefly I considered making the trip.  But we were three hours away from my vault of medication and clean underwear.  The latter being very important during a week long sail with limited facilities.  Ten years ago, I would have done it in a minute and what an adventure it would be.  Alas, no guts so no glory and I passed.

The 17th day of the fifth month of the year of the Camellia

OK KIDDIES, THE PROFESSOR IS IN THE HOUSE!

Always wanted to say that. 

  The weekend, past, started out with a neighborhood garbage or garage sale at a number of houses.  Only ran from 8 to 12, but paid for dinner Saturday night.

Now for the 98.8% of you photographers, like myself, who aren't Annie Liebowitz and  never will be.....here's a flash.  Have an art/garage sale.  Cut your prices on all that old inventory from art work to equipment, and then cut that in half again.  Make everyone think they are getting the deal of a lifetime.  I sold some stuff and a few pieces of older stuff that I knew I would never sell to any discerning buyer.  Nobody left the place without having a shot at cheating me out of something.  It was great and some people actually got some stuff that every garage should have two of.  At other sales of this nature a friend of mine sold a whole bunch of his old inventory he'd already written off, and another had a $15,000 day.

Oh, and Annie Liebowitz (I don't even know if I spelled it right)-----if you don't know who she is----Google it.  I make some pennies when you search from here.  I think!

Sunday, we went to Georgetown, SC to see replicas of the Nina and Pinta.  Now gather your children and grand children around for some education.  Don't bother with the great grand children, they already refer to you as that old person sitting on the rocker in the corner a slurpin n a droolin.  There---you've already lost all your street cred.

These boats are replicas of, now let's hear it altogether now , the ones that founded America.  You know the Italian guy who sailed the ocean blue in 1492, that the modern media discredits because the Vikings might have been here first.  You know, Columbo!  No he was the guy who always had a lollipop in his mouth.  No, no, no ------ That was Kojack and another country altogether.  Columbo wore the trench coat.  Err, Columbus.

Here is a shot of the bow of one of the boats, probably the Pinta because I can't find the ~ thingy on my keyboard that goes over the second n in Nina.  Of course in the background is a boat that can best be described as one of the world's largest holes in the water into which one pours money.  These replicas were about 85 feet long and that yacht was bigger than that.

The harbor at Georgetown is really very nice and boats from all over the world seem to find safety there.

The smoke stacks in the background are those at a paper plant.  The odor produced by those plants have to be the original source of that produced by those little back kitties with a white stripe found mostly in residential garbage cans.

The town itself is really a nice place to visit and live.  Oak lined residential streets with all the southern charm of a Charleston on a smaller scale.  They even have one of the old tyme theatres.  Love the window above the sign.

It seems that no matter where I travel, I have become obsessed with pictures of the flag.  That is, again for the kids, the flag of the country in which we live. The country those original boats discovered.  OK, the kids can go back to their "Game boys" or whatever they call them today.

God bless Columbus and the Founders of this great country!  Lets not try to mess it up too bad.