Blooms and Ruins and Cooks

Sunday was a warm breezy day as I drove down to Harrisonburg to explore the Edith J. Carrier Arboretum. I had wanted to see this park since last year when I discovered that they had a bridge very similar to Monet's bridge on his property in Giverny. But then I'd seen on the internet that they were draining, cleaning and deepening the lake as part of a restoration project. Web images showed that the disruption did nothing to induce any scenic photographs, so I decided to wait a year before driving down.
The traffic was light as I passed down I81, high up on a ridge with mountains looming up on either side. The sky was filled with huge fluffy marshmallow clouds that tumbled and rolled in front of me, throwing down dark shadows over the peaks like a blanket on a horse's back. Spring was bursting forth everywhere, fresh bright colors across the landscape. Citrus and chartreuse, emerald and asparagus, the new leaves were opening up and hiding the tired brown branches as if Spring was pulling on a coat of color. Every green blended together, vivid splashes of pinks and yellows breaking up the palette. It always seemed strange to me that Mother Nature appeared to clothe herself in Spring while the animal world did the opposite, shedding their thick, furry winter coats while humans discarded long sleeves and pant legs.
I was amazed when I arrived at the park to find only a few cars in the small parking lot, and even more astounded to realize, once I'd stepped out of the car and looked around, that it appeared I'd be able to walk around the whole park in about 10 minutes. I had assumed it would be a large park. It was very pretty, well manicured lawns, bluebells, azaleas, blossoms, tulips, daffodils, so many pretty pastels, but my first impression was one of disappointment, as I had hoped to spend most of the day here.

 Well, I was here now, so I had to do the place justice and explore thoroughly. I set off, glad not to need a jacket, although some folks sitting on the grass with a picnic had shawls around their shoulders. The grounds were immaculate and the lake did look pretty, no signs of its recent upheaval present. But that bridge looked tiny, I felt like I was walking around a model village. Nevertheless I took the photos I wanted, glad the blossoms were still blooming, and continued along the path.

 The path led into a wooded area and I was delighted to see the ground covered with bluebells, a faint breeze bobbing their pastel blue and pink heads up and down. There were also plenty of Trilliums nestled among them, snow white petals gleaming in the sunshine. A rope bridge crossed a small creek and I do have to confess I spent some time bouncing up and down, enjoying the thrill of being thrown from side to side, but upon spotting a couple walking towards me in the distance, I stopped my frolicking and pretended to take some photos, too embarrassed to look them in the eye.

 There was an area for kids, which was wonderfully empty, a sandpit, an odd looking archway and an interesting bench bereft of any bouncing and howling bairns, a joy to experience, no yelling or screaming! It did seem strange though, that this pretty little oasis in the middle of a bustling town wasn't being enjoyed by many on this glorious Spring day.

 Flowerbeds were filled with tulips and daffodils, near the end of their flowering life, and the ferns were stepping up for the next act, shiny green fronds reaching skywards and unfurling. I made a mental note to visit local woods soon to collect some 'fiddleheads'. Delicious when sauteed in a little oil.

 Even though there were 125 acres here, an hour and a half was all it took to walk the trails. The gardens were beautiful but the wooded paths further away didn't interest me as much, they led into woods looking like most on the Appalachian Trail this time of year, grey and brown with little color. . It had been lovely to see so many spring colors and my first sightings of many plants this year, the bluebells, trilliums and azaleas. Even the rhododendrons' buds were uncurling with pink and cream petals peeking out. I shall definitely drop by again when I'm next in the area, it's a little jewel in this town.

Another gem I was on the lookout for for Cook's country Store. It was past 1pm and I was famished but determined to hold out on the 45 minute journey heading back north to Woodstock. I had seen an article online about old-fashioned rural stores, and wanted to visit this one. First though, I had to pass an eye catching water tower in Mount Jackson. Hand painted by local, Eric Henn, it had cost $250,000 for the mural, replacing old vinyl apples. It looked superb standing high above the fields.
A few minutes later I pulled into an Exxon gas station, Cook's Country Store attached to the side. For some reason I had been expecting a stand alone store but I didn't dally, sauntering straight inside towards a very late lunch. There were a few other food stops in the area but this is the place the locals meet, and a few were present at the tables, covered with clean and shiny sunflower plastic tablecloths. The store has been owned by the Cook family since the 60's and my nose told me that they sure knew what they were doing. The fried chicken and biscuits called my name through the glass which I can't believe anyone can walk past without their mouths watering. Instead I ordered an meat omelette with rye toast and sat down at a table sipping coffee and praying I wouldn't be waiting too long. But my hunger was soon forgotten as I listened to the locals chatting. They all knew each other, the kids had impeccable manners and hugs were given nonstop. I envied their community immensely and felt suddenly homesick, but before I could mope for too long, my omelette was plonked in front of me and I happily tucked in. I've never seen so much ham, bacon and sausage stuffed between 2 eggs and long before I was finished, I was full. The folks near me were finishing their chat and as I got up and sidled past I half hoped they'd give me a hug too. It certainly wouldn't be one of the air hugs I get from my friends. An arm loosely draped over my shoulder, with as little contact as possible, and then 2 tiny, barely felt taps with fingers on my back. I think I only know 3 people who give a proper hug, everyone else does the 'DC Tap' so I tend not to reach out for that contact too frequently...
Earlier as I had neared the restaurant I'd spotted the gables of an old house, it's roof barely discernible through the tree tops, so after lunch I trundled up and down country lanes until I found it. Unfortunately it wasn't as endearing as it had appeared from the interstate but at least my curiosity was sated.

The paint had long gone from the house and what I assumed was an old barn, but the weathered wood looked beautiful. I didn't hang about since there were many 'no trespassing' signs and even a few stating, 'survivors will be shot again', so I took my photos and scarpered. Heading home I decided to go through Front Royal. This bridge has been under construction for a couple of years and is now near completion. It's looking pretty impressive.

I stopped at this field a few miles from home. A gentleman had parked his car and was taking photos. "You know what it is, right?" I asked him. He didn't but thought "it was beautiful." I told him it was Roundup and suggested he look it up on the internet. Unfortunately we have a lot of fields looking like this now around our region, farmers spraying Roundup onto soy bean fields. There have been reports of the dogwood trees being affected. I noticed more yellowing fields as I got closer to home, but had no time to reflect. I needed a nap after that huge omelette!

The Lamenting Lake and Skeletal Ice

Thompson Wildlife Management Area is a pretty vast area. George Thompson donated the land to Virginia upon his death as he'd been a keen hunter and wanted his friends to be able to continue enjoying the pastime. Very well known for the Trilliums which bloom each spring and also for hiking, I had come here last weekend since we had experienced an amazing 61 degrees, and although breezy, I had set off in a t-shirt, loving the unusual warmth. But it had been exceptionally muddy and only about a mile in, I had heard gun shots ahead. I had my bright orange cap on but was still concerned. When, just a minute later, I heard more shots behind me, I lost my nerve and made it back to my car, skidding and sliding at double speed.
On Saturday I returned, but this time went down to the lake area, intending to just walk around and see what ice patterns I could find. When I saw only one other truck in the parking lot, with its owner walking down the trail towards me, I thought that hopefully I'd manage a hike too, this time without hunters hidden among the trees. A heavy frost sparkled with a pristine whiteness and ahead of me on the trail brown curled leaves danced in a circle, the wind spinning them like a circle.

As I approached the lake I spotted a patch of ice and bending over I heard an odd, deep, whining noise. I stood up and walked towards the lake edge. The sounds continued and I despaired, thinking an animal was trapped under the ice. A loud crack to my right, where a large mound of branches were stacked, had me thinking a beaver was trying to break his way out. I stood still, watching and listening until I realized that the lake was draining into a covered grill area and as the level dropped, air caught underneath the ice moved and moaned. The lake was groaning so much I had to take a short video, here. I've never heard these sounds before, it was eerie, as though the lake were alive. It was quite fascinating and I must have stood a good 10 minutes watching the pond's performance before I turned and started the climb upwards.
It wasn't a hike that stunned me with nature's beauty, I was doing this purely for exercise purposes today, but it was fun looking for the patches of ice. Similar to many parts of the Appalachian Trail, the trek here looked the same, no nature, just barren brownness and the wind. No green plants or spikes of shoots breaking through the undergrowth. There were few birds and the only sound was a woodpecker jack hammering into a tree. I didn't see a single animal, no squirrels or chipmunks were leaping across fallen tree trunks or scurrying across the crunchy carpet of dead foliage. I wondered if there were any bears close to the trail, tucked up in their lairs, slumbering away through these freezing winter days.

I loved the different ice patterns. In black and white, they took on a sinister tone, losing their icy frozen quality and taking on an almost luminous tone, looking like a mucus substance from an alien planet. All the photos from today's hike were going to be in black and white, since that's what we had been asked to show at our photo club on Tuesday.

Dried leaves, curled up tight and reminding me of sea shells, blew across the path, whispering as they swept in front of me. The trail was crunchy underfoot with frozen mud and ice, a far cry from last week's muddy and slippery saunter. I only met one couple and their dog as I trekked back down the hill. I'd climbed to the top of the crest and getting tired of the sameness had turned around to head back to the lake and its sounds.
It was still creaking and whining, although less frequently now. The sun had thawed out some of the puddles and muddy areas that weren't shaded by the trees, but the wind was still cold. Down by the water's edge were blankets of ice crystals nestling in the grass. I crouched down to look at them more closely but kept slipping towards the lake's mantle of ice that was now breaking up around the rim, exposing dark still water beneath it. Time to warm up in the car and head home to stack wood. Another ice storm was coming.

Blooms at Sunset

At camera club on Tuesday evening everyone was in the mood for flowers. Blandy was in full bloom with its spring flowers and I rushed to get there after work so I shoot some quick shots before the sun set. I arrived to find others out in the gardens crouched down or hunched over, busy creating their petal portraits.

 I only took a few that I was pleased with but just a couple of days later I was driving to meet Janice so we could photograph the Trilliums before it got dark. I'd photographed these last year, click here, but then my subjects had been wearing water droplets had been after a heavy thunderstorm, and today I was hoping for some more sunshiney shots.

 I grabbed a quick shot from Fox Meadow Winery on my way. One day I'll stop here and see if their wines are as wonderful as their views, but I had no time today.
I pulled up in the parking lot and could see that the Trilliums were in full bloom. But the poor things had taken a battering. It had rained heavily the day before and many of the flowers looked worse for wear but were still standing proudly, holding their tattered petals aloft like battle banners.

I started walking down one of the paths focusing on the blooms that were intact and had good lighting. It was a pretty challenging task.

I think I did OK and was satisfied as the last rays of sun dropped below the horizon. and my reward had been the discovery of a small cluster of Showy Orchis, hiding behind some large green leaves under a tree.

A Nature Shoot and a Gunsmiths

On Saturday I met with two friends from my camera club at the woods near Front Royal to go hiking and take some nature photos. It was a beautiful day, sunny and bright yet with no humidity, a perfect day. I decided to take mainly short depth of field images, those where the background is blurred, and at the back of my mind, I also tried to keep the idea of texture shots too, since we had a show and tell on that subject at our next club meeting.

Wild geraniums and daisies looking pretty.

We all lamented at the trilliums having died. I was so glad that I'd got some photos three weeks ago, and was determined on this hike to find one more to photograph. There were many dying flowers with limp brown petals hanging sadly but then I spotted one lone survivor. It must have been a late bloomer but it stood proud among its fallen siblings and almost seemed to be spotlighted in its prime. I was so glad I'd spotted this last defiant flower determined to outlast the others., I will definitely be back next year to see these beautiful flowers again and capture more of them. There were so many different kinds and colors blooming here but I was just too sick to do a good job on my last visit.

I concentrated on some light photos noticing that they'd also pass as texture examples.

Some wood textures.
I followed a trail down, down, down, knowing full well that on the way back it would be up, up, up. But it was great to be out in the wilds exercising again and I didn't mind the ache in my legs at all. I found a very narrow trail and decided to follow that. It curved and wound past trees, each bend drawing me further and further in. Where did it go? But I couldn't go too far, not today, as I was with friends and didn't want to wander too far. Plus I had brought my heavy 50D, the strap rubbing against my neck, and I resolved to come back again for a lengthier hike and with a smaller camera.

The beautiful fresh green canopy above stretching out from the tops of ramrod straight trunks.

The amazing symmetry of nature. Not exact but still an eye catching wonder.

By a little brook that tumbled down the hill alongside the trail I spotted two little frogs enjoying the warm sun on their backs. A new swallowtail butterfly also flitted back and forth, its vibrant colors glinting in the bright light. And then smack bang in the middle of the path, highlighted by a ray of sun through the leaves was a poor little dead shrew with its stiff tail pointing upward. I suspected some poor bird had dropped his lunch and was cursing his clumsiness. I left quickly in case it came back looking for it!
I met Janice and Chet by the cars where we decided that going into Front Royal for lunch would be a good idea. Then Janice almost apologetically mentioned that she needed to drop into a gun store on the way there. Brilliant! Awesome! She was stoked that I loved the idea, and I love the fact that I have a female friend who's into guns.
The gun store is Virginia Pistols in Linden, and at the back of the store is a gun repair shop, which is where we headed first. Dan, the owner, was very friendly and helpful, not minding in the slightest when I made a beeline for his AK-47 and then wanted to hold his gun which he had on his belt.

I really wasn't into plastic guns, preferring the old fashioned metal style, but Dan soon had me convinced that plastic was good. Solid and feeling sturdy, he really won me over when he showed me the red tracer beam and the lovely chunky bullets.

I had to have my photo taken with the AK-47, it's been 10 years since I last held and fired one of these. From Christmas 2004 below in an Arizona desert.

I'm not sure if I'll ever buy a gun, and all the time I have doubts the answer is no, but I'd have a hell of a time deciding between a pistol or shotgun. I may take some courses to see if I lean one way or the other afterwards.. But for now, I'll stick with my bow and arrows!