6.30.2016

the plumber

Dale grew up in a house with a dirt floor and no plumbing. Now he's a plumber.
 Went back into the archives for this one (all the way back to March).

6.29.2016

yard art

Festive Fourth of July display
 Dianne and Frank and I went to Home Depot in Mountain Home, Ark., yesterday, passing through many hamlets with peculiar names (being as they were in Arkansas—just look at the map sometime). Frank did a double take at the fence row of stuffed animals and turned around to do a cruiseby as I shot out the window.
   Meanwhile Dianne wants to know why I did not post the picture of myself below in the hayfield. It was for approximately the same reason she wanted me to throw the picture of her in the hayfield away forever: i.e. vanity.
Me and my mason's jar of ice coffee with Dianne's trailer

6.28.2016

think pink?

 The setting for the portrait series has been disrupted. I had had it with trying to keep the pale green floor clean, repainting spots here and there as the paint peeled up. And it was garage floor paint! I thought it would be perfect for a cement floor, but it wasn't. So I went for a darker but hopefuly still glowy color. It is awfully pink right now, but as it gets dirty I think it will be just the color I want. And I hope that this oil based polyurethane paint that was quite hard to find will be just the ticket.  However, I am not sure what to do about the last bit, which will prevent me from getting up the stairs. And no, it doesn't dry overnight.

6.27.2016

you lose!

C'est la vie, cheri. New York Times article here.

6.24.2016

making hay

The clouds were gathering as the last of the 90 bales were safely stowed in the barn. It was as hot as bejezus, 90 in the shade, and Dianne was sweating as she ran the unairconditioned forklift. I could prove how miserable she was after being in the field for a week or so, but she said she would kill me if I posted the picture of her looking, as Frank said, "like you lost the war." I've always heard that one helps one's neighbors with haying, so I drove the air conditioned truck and trailer. I can't imagine what it was like with pitchforks instead of forklifts. Lawsykins!
And then the heavens opened.

6.23.2016

the polyamorists

Denise hooked up with Martin on line (with a bio her daughter put up) a few years ago. They began a relationship with the understanding that it was not to be exclusive and that there was to be no subterfuge: All lovers would know about the others. Denise recently came out to her Mother-Earth-News, aging-hippy community as a polyamorist, giving a couple of talks. Martin was in the audience. So I figure it's fair to post their portrait here.

6.22.2016

the hired man

His first job, at 12, was as a paper boy at the West Plains Daily Quill, when Frank Martin was the editor and publisher. Barry claimed to be 13, the minimum age for employment, and no one asked for ID.  He recently picked up a few hours haying for the Martins and marvels,  "I never thought I'd be working for Frank Martin again 40 years later."

6.20.2016

solstice moonwatch


The Goose in Summer

It's full moon and the summer solstice (Litha, to Wiccans)—the first time that has happened in my lifetime. To celebrate, you are supposed to stay out of doors. Farmer Dianne will be able to spend the longest day of the year haying, which she prefers to do in the evening when it's a hair under 80 degrees. I will celebrate the season with a run into town for water. When I got here on Saturday, I had a bit, but I plunged immediately into entertainments and ran through it. Potable water, that is.
You can watch the strawberry moon broadcast live from the Canary Islands here.

6.17.2016

morehead

Hmm. Nice place name. Yes, I am in Morehead, Kentucky, after a beautiful drive on a beautiful day. To be continued tomorrow.
Here's Merle Haggard on my disease, White Line Fever.

getting down to them


6.15.2016

the case of the missing pillows

The possible escape route

The crime scene
Only one week into season and we have The Case of the Missing Pillows. Where dd they go? Did they run to the balcony and drop to the ground, silently in dead of night? Had they been stabbed, there would be telltale feathers. Or perhaps it was a case of mistaken identity—those last seen with the pillows might have thought they were theirs.
   In any case, there will be plenty more cases as the season wears on. We already have The Case of the Mysterious Aerobeds. Next: The Case of the Missing Pillow Cases. But all will be subsumed by The Case of the Disappearing Phone Chargers. . .

6.14.2016

a little bird told me

The Brooklyn experiment

Bird in the lobby of 98. Manhattan
 Some people say I never go to Brooklyn. They lie. There is nothing like a fine day in the outer boroughs. Yes. I have been to the Bronx, too. OK, Queens and Staten Island not so much.
In other news, Chien Chi Chang is selling prints at Magnum. Donna Ferrato has a domestic violence film at Time and a write-up about how her photos changed attitudes at HuffPost. Our pl Jane Evelyn Atwood was the subject of a piece in the New Yorker. And Peter Meyer debuts his  newsletter about education.
Brooklyn sky