Out of The Frying Pan

Several years ago I attended a showing of top National Geographic photographs.   I was totally entranced by one of them—a night photo of the Tehachapi (California) wind farm taken by Jeff Kroeze.   I found/tracked down Jeff Kroeze & e-mailed him.   He was kind enough to respond, even giving me the settings/how-to of his photograph.   I have been hoping and looking for a similar wind farm ever since.    

Photo by Jeff Kroeze--this is MY bucket list shot to do!

We are on a work assignment in Amarillo, Texas—which is pretty flat country surrounded by wind farms.   This is seems like a good place to “get my shot.”  

I convinced my husband to go scouting with me west of Amarillo.  I thought I remembered some possibly good windmills around the little town of Bushland.    We headed west and pulled off I-40 onto the side road (old Route 66).   There was a country road, what we in Oklahoma call a “section line road,” heading north right into what appeared to MAYBE be a good place to return in the dark of night and "shoot windmills."

The “good” gravel road ended and a less traveled one continued on ending in a pasture.   Not seeing any “no trespassing” or “keep out” signs, we pulled to end of the road.   Dan & I both started taking some photos of the windmills in the distance.   There was a nice fence post with barbed wire that got a few shots, too. 

The windmills across the field

Busy with my camera & the photos, I didn’t notice an older model car pulling up until it was right beside us.   Inside was an old codger cowboy.  I smiled & held up my camera (my sign for “see what I’m doing here and hope its ok?”).   He got out and I said, “Hi, we’re taking pics of the windmills.  Is that ok? We didn’t see any signs.”   “Well,” he said (draw that "well" waaay out--more like, "waaaelll") “this here’s private property.  Part of the Bush Estate—The Frying Pan Ranch.”   I said I hadn’t seen a sign.  He said, “Well, there’s one back there on that gate that’s in the ditch.”  “In the ditch?” I said (as in, like, “duh, hello, sorry I didn’t look in the ditch for the sign.”).   Dan told him we’d leave, but he said, “Seeing as you’re not causin’ any trouble, I trust ya—go on and take yer pictures.” 

And the cowboy codger drove away . . .

I didn't climb over the fence.   THAT would have been trespassing!

I find it interesting that this ranch was originally owned by a barbed wire creator & that I was fascinated with the barbed wire!

Aw heck.  There's too many power lines.  Gotta find another wind farm! 

Grainery in Wilderado, TX 

(Look up the Frying Pan Ranch/Bush Estate for some interesting history on this part of the country!)

Respect the Flag

My Parents' tombstone

Yesterday was the 4^th of July.   Hands down—next to Christmas, this is my favorite holiday.   I love the whole schmaltzy red, white and blue of it.   Nothing about it can be too traditional or too small town.  I like to start the day with a parade—not the fancy ones, but with kind with  kids on their red, white and blue crepe papered bikes,  dogs with bows & Uncle Sam hats being led by cute boys and girls,  the fire trucks & volunteer firemen blowing the siren & throwing candy to everyone.  The 4^th of July is hot dogs, hamburgers, corn on the cob, home grown tomatoes and homemade ice cream.   End the day with fireworks and ooohs and aaahhhhs.  Best holiday!

For years I have decorated our yard with flags.   If I can put red, white or blue on it, I do.  And this year was no different . . . except . . .

This year was no different except someone I don’t really know, a Facebook acquaintance, felt it was her duty to inform me that I do not respect the American flag.   Not just once, but three times.  I chose yesterday to ignore it.   I responded once privately (& nicely and respectfully) that her perception was not correct.  I thought that was the end, but this person chose to also make comments publically again during the day.  I said a prayer & ate chocolate.

Not respect the American flag?  Because as it blows in the wind over my flower bed, a corner might touch a raised flower?

Ma’am:    I “respect” the flag because of the freedom it stands for.   I do not salute the flag because of some “Hitler-ish” “I must” respect the flag and someone says I should.   I respect the flag for what it means to me.

I respect the flag because of the veterans in my family.   From my father and uncle to my Vietnam veteran husband and brother-in-law to my nephew now serving.   My father-in-law lost an eye fighting for freedom in a country dear to me, my second home growing up—Korea.  He fittingly died on the 4^th of July.    I didn’t grow up in a small town or really any town.   I grew up on military bases where every single day I saw the sacrifices my friends’ families and my own family were making for freedom and what the American flag stands for.   On my way to school (on a U.S. Army bus), we played “hot potato” not as a game, but so we would be prepared to throw a grenade out the window of our bus—because it could happen at any time.

I’ve held the hand of a soldier who was dying and couldn’t make it home from Vietnam, I’ve represented the United States’ teenagers (and the freedom we represent to “be ourselves”) performing with U.S. Army bands and the USO.   My father missed my senior year of high school and my high school graduation because he was in Vietnam.   

My point:  I know what the American flag stands and the freedom it represents.  It means I can go to the church of my choice and openly, without fear, worship and praise my God.   It means I can work and live where I wish, freely coming and going about my day.  And placing it in my yard every year for one day is part of that respect. 

Respect the flag?   Respect the flag less than you?   Many things you might say—but there’s evidently a flag pole in your eye.