Mustang, Mustang

 

She ran calling Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiild-fire!

 

Postcards From California

Don't pick the poppies!

My daddy is a guitar man. (He just turned 94 years young)

My lovely mother. She walked the whole Boardwalk.

These guys.

Malibu Creek campground where we pitched our tent one night. Coyotes called.

One of our neighbors.

Crow, an early riser. He and his buddy's like grapes.

It's interesting to think that we camped in the most populated state in the nation and that our home is in the least populated state.

I cannot go to Southern California without spending time in this special canyon.

Topanga Canyon is my kind of place. (But, there aren't any wild horses.)

A view overlooking the City of Angels from one of the highest points in the Santa Monica Mountains.

Malibu. We just call it The Boo.

My folks don't live very far from where that latest oil spill happened. I took these pictures from the highway, in motion. There is no stopping or pulling over allowed right now.

Clean up crews, oil spill booms, skimmers and an offshore oil rig in the distance

Goodbye

 

 

The Off Beat Rhythm Of Spring

I don't know what happened to April. It seemed like it dragged on, and yet I didn't get anything done. I daydreamed more than usual, my head was in the clouds. I dreaded and dragged myself to work. My inter library loan books ended up to be way over due, and that's never happened before. I forgot my mother in-law's birthday and I had terrible allergies that kept me on the lazy side. To tell you the truth, I didn't want to do anything but go see the horses.

Every Tuesday C and I have a date with each other and the wild horses of central Wyoming. I'm restless the night before and can barely sleep, what with visions of scarred and dusty backs, bachelors picking fights or stallions stealing girls. I lie there looking at the ceiling and hope Jigsaw has finally given birth to one who looks just like her, with Chestnut puzzle patches the color of the red dirt they run on.

With the Sweetwater rocks directly behind them, we photographed three bands of horses who were doing their springtime-get-acquainted-with rowdiness. They paw the ground, they paw each other, dangerous hoof action, like real sluggers. There's a lot of sniffing and squeals and running around in circles. The boys fight, while the girls stand around and watch.

As the snow recedes and melts, we can now drive further and further out and up toward the mountains. So far this spring we've discovered two new dirt roads that lead us to Mustang stomping grounds. Sage Creek trickles through the canyon out into the sea of sage and that's where we felt the ground shake. We were just standing there checking out the view when thundering hooves raced down a mountain slope at high speed. Out of nowhere a colorful mess of adolescent horses came barreling toward us. Surprised at seeing us at the bottom of the hill, they made a sharp lunge and charged away. I caught a whiff of them as they flew by. They smelled so good.

I've seen this all before. Remember last year, when it was our first year with the wild horses? Even so, no matter how many times I have watched and witnessed any behavior from these ownerless beasts, every time is like the first time.

Besides meeting new families of horses this spring, we've had the joy of seeing coyotes, mountain lion tracks, and plenty of badger dens. We found the horns of a Pronghorn buck. I never knew this, but the true horns are never shed and are made of compressed hair (keratin). You can see a closeup of it in some of my images. Isn't that fascinating?

Oh! I've been wrapping beautiful thread around clumps of moist, sweet sage that I've been gathering on jaunts here and there. My lazying around hasn't been completely pointless.

Well, it's Tuesday and you know what that means.

See ya!