Natural flavor

It’s not that I’ve lost interest in blogging.  In fact, I have an endless supply of stories to tell and photos to share.

But the requisites of life care not for personal endeavors.

I’m the youngest person at our family farm.  I should add that I’m the youngest by decades.  And I’m the healthiest person here—healthiest despite back surgery, knee surgery, sinus surgery, leukemia, and all that jazz.

But this is a real farm with real livestock and real work to be done: animals to be fed and cared for, pastures to be tended, fences to be put up or fixed, crops to be grown and nurtured, vehicles and equipment to be maintained, pets to be managed, meals to be cooked, supplies to be acquired, technology to be administered…

And yet this is also a household with real needs beyond the farm: be the copy editor for family newsletters and stories; take care of everyone’s cell phones, satellite internet, computers and modems and routers and printers/scanners/fax machines; find the best deal for this, that or the other; fix televisions and satellite TV services; plant and care for flowers and bushes and fruit trees and vegetables and whatnot; find solutions to rodent problems that plague gardens and households and livestock and…

Well, let’s just say that this is a real farm and a real household with real work and real needs and a diminishing lack of able bodies.

Except me.

In my “spare” time I’m still writing books, still snapping photos, still looking for paid work I can do without taking away from the farm, still being there for my parents and family through their increasing health issues, still hoping for another visit with my nieces and nephews and brothers and sister and aunts and uncles and…

Well…  Still wishing life had dealt me a more manageable hand than the one I have to play, still thinking that I’ll catch a break as soon as the universe realizes it gave me bad cards, still trying to maintain a poker face whilst clinging to sanity.

Nevertheless, blogging and photography and…  Well—again—let’s just say that my aspirations cower behind a deck stacked against them, and they and I don’t seem to have any input into the deal or play of cards.

To wit, I want to do this but I have to do that.

I want to write more, publishing books and novellas and articles.  I want to delve into people photography, whether for profit or for fun.  I want to continue my nature photography, published or otherwise.  I want to keep abreast with technology and remain an expert in that arena, able to deal with any question or need no matter the platform.  I want to set aside my work for the people—Well, let’s just say that I want to focus on personal efforts instead of what’s required of me by the populace (who need me but don’t even know they need me).

Only I’m not someone’s bitch, not time’s nor life’s nor the world’s.  So here’s where I take control of my digital existence.  Or so I tell myself.

Close-up of a black & yellow argiope (Argiope aurantia) silhouetted by the sun (20081011_13628)

Because—let’s be honest here—we spin our webs and catch our prey without a thought for what we control.  We live life sans a care for what we feel, let alone for what we manage.

Early morning crepuscular rays seen through trees and ground fog (20131018_08774)

And the rays of light carry us from moment to moment, from morning to morning, from here to there.

White-tailed deer (Odocoileus virginianus) jumping a pasture fence (20140114_09569)

We jump our fences.  We find our way through the mayhem of what is and what comes.

Close-up of a Texas dandelion (Pyrrhopappus carolinianus) in sunshine (20140525_10603)

We bloom when nothing matters, when nothing counts, when the world measures itself for naught.

A beetle atop blooming prairie fleabane (Erigeron strigosus) (20140529_10696)

We stand upon the blooms we discount only because they hold us up and carry us forward.

A male giant stag beetle (Lucanus elaphus) walking across gravel (20140625_11524)

We march forward without a care for the world.

A zebra swallowtail (Eurytides marcellus) eating minerals from the ground (20140703_11720)

We flit from here to there so we can consume sustenance, so we can survive.

A brown morph female blue-fronted dancer (Argia apicalis) resting on wood (20140811_12152)

We rest.  We lie comfortably so we can rest.  And we rest.

A leucistic female ruby-throated hummingbird (Archilochus colubris) perched on a feeder (20140811_12304)

We stand out from the crowd when we’re nothing more than what is.

A female green anole (Anolis carolinensis) peering around a corner at me (20140923_12528)

And we catch a peek when we can.  We look upon what is and accept that we are what was.

Because we’re more than what we thought, we’re more than what we believed.  In the end, we are more.

Thus, I’m more.

And I want to be more.

And I will be more.

Because I’m going to move forward.

I’m going to win.

I’m going to survive.

I’m going to overcome.

— — — — — — — — — —

Photos:

  1. Black & yellow argiope (a.k.a. yellow garden spider; Argiope aurantia) – female
  2. Crepuscular rays
  3. White-tailed deer (a.k.a. whitetail deer; Odocoileus virginianus)
  4. Texas dandelion (a.k.a. false dandelion, Carolina desert-chicory, leafy false dandelion or Florida dandelion; Pyrrhopappus carolinianus)
  5. Prairie fleabane (a.k.a. daisy fleabane or rough fleabane; Erigeron strigosus)
  6. Giant stag beetle (a.k.a. American stag beetle; Lucanus elaphus) – male
  7. Zebra swallowtail (a.k.a. black-barred swallowtail; pawpaw butterfly or kite swallowtail; Eurytides marcellus)
  8. Blue-fronted dancer (Argia apicalis) – brown morph female
  9. Ruby-throated hummingbird (Archilochus colubris) – leucistic female
  10. Green anole (a.k.a. Carolina anole; Anolis carolinensis) – female

3 thoughts on “Natural flavor”

  1. I identify with this. I’ve only just been released (temporarily or
    not, time will tell) from most of 3 years of care/assistance to my
    parents, while also working for a living. The many things I wanted
    to do have been on hold. Now that I may be able to go back to them,
    I’m like the animal with the open door that doesn’t know how to
    leave and live outside its cage. But not for long.

  2. It’s good to hear from you again. To put things bluntly, I don’t
    know whether this is your blogging “swan song” or just a beautiful
    “place holder” to let us readers know your still out there in East
    Texas and will get back to “life” eventually.

  3. You are in my mind and memory and feel like family just from your
    stories you have shared and the hub bub that is your life. Thank
    you for being a part of my life through the years. My sister is
    thrust into being the guardian of the parent and the family farm.
    It is not easy.

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