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Archive for June, 2014

Land of Algonquians

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Union Hill overlooking Shockoe.

Church Hill overlooking Shockoe.

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I mistakenly drove to King William County thinking for some reason the pow-wow was there this weekend. I’ve been told recently to quit pretending to be Mr. Magoo! I’ve been trying! chuckle………

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POW WOW photos from Osborne Park below.

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This man is a wealth of knowledge.


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Oregon Hill Mural

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I went out to go two places early morning, Ekundayo’s Mural and the pipeline.

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“Media Frenzy” : Wes21 and Onur

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Taken Friday the 13th at the LOVEBOMB. When I have time this will be my first true test in correcting noise from pushing my camera to the highest ISO on my vintage camera with Adobe Lightroom which I’m still learning.

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This is my usual fix in the past for image noise (Parlor tricks). Not Khalima! the photograph………..

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On the 13th morning I caught the mated hawks feeding again. I try not to display much of the gore but am witness and photographing it too.

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A un-published dragonfly macro from last summer.


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“a jayhawk is a fictional bird based on non-fictional occurences. jayhawkers were kansan’s during the civil war who would go to missouri and steal back slaves for their freedom. this resulted in much blood shed and the eventual burning down of the city of Lawrence.”


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This past weekend I felt I had lost all my friends, that my cat had eaten them all. Our local birds were still flying down for peanuts and the Carolina Wren hopped up and looked in the backdoor for us. Even witness to a chickadee in bird bath which was amusing. The young birds are buried with sorrow under our already 10 feet tall banana trees. Our backyard has always been treated as a national park and looks to be. The chance to take a portrait of a mature hawk really made my day even though it was the result of a squirrel for dinner. These are rough-cuts, hope to have time to refine many photographs as I learn Lightroom!

more pending………….

forgotten monster

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About five years ago when photographing the fall line of the Little River my friend pointed out this old tree, which hope to identify soon.


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This was taken the year before and took over night to process, one of my favorite snap shot, mega shot, panos. This is redone in Adobe Lightroom which I hope to get better with!

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Great Dismal Swamp

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Upon our return to civilization our friend John Moser read aloud Thomas Moore’s ballad : Irish poet Thomas Moore visited the swamp in 1803, before the drainage canal into Chesapeake Bay was completed. He wrote his poem, “A Ballad – The Lake of Dismal Swamp,” the best known of the Great Dismal Swamp folk legends, spreading this local tale throughout the English-speaking world. The ghost ballad sparked a tourist boom to the area in the early nineteenth century. Lake Drummond, a moss-green tarn that lies in the very center of the swamp, was the setting for this ballad.

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A Ballad: The Lake of the Dismal Swamp
Written at Norfolk, in Virginia

“They made her a grave, too cold and damp
For a soul so warm and true;
And she’s gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp,
Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp,
She paddles her white canoe.

“And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see,
And her paddle I soon shall hear;
Long and loving our life shall be,
And I’ll hide the maid in a cypress tree,
When the footstep of death is near.”

Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds—
His path was rugged and sore,
Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds,
Through many a fen where the serpent feeds,
And man never trod before.

And when on the earth he sunk to sleep,
If slumber his eyelids knew,
He lay where the deadly vine doth weep
Its venomous tear and nightly steep
The flesh with blistering dew!

And near him the she-wolf stirr’d the brake,
And the copper-snake breath’d in his ear,
Till he starting cried, from his dream awake,
“Oh! when shall I see the dusky Lake,
And the white canoe of my dear?”

He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright
Quick over its surface play’d—
“Welcome,” he said, “my dear one’s light!”
And the dim shore echoed for many a night
The name of the death-cold maid.

Till he hollow’d a boat of the birchen bark,
Which carried him off from shore;
Far, far he follow’d the meteor spark,
The wind was high and the clouds were dark,
And the boat return’d no more.

But oft, from the Indian hunter’s camp,
This lover and maid so true
Are seen at the hour of midnight damp
To cross the Lake by a fire-fly lamp,
And paddle their white canoe!

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(In the Great Dismal Swamp) “…the horrible desert, the foul damps ascend without ceasing, corrupt the air and render it unfit for respiration … never was rum – that cordial of life – found more necessary than in this dirty place.”

–Colonel William Byrd

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“Bald Cypress tree approximately 800 years old. Although the entire Dismal Swamp has been logged, a few old-growth trees like this remain. This tree was topped by lightning and is only about one-half to two-thirds of its original height.” (may have better picture on other camera)


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If you stopped moving you were prey for bugs, but spent some time being bit up to get this macro portrait of a dragonfly, which dozens danced around our vehicle the whole trip in swamp.

More pending : of which my friend called the Sasquatch series


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This is my “Crossley ID Guide” photo, which the park ranger showed us and recommended as a good reference book.

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road trip photos below…

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“it’s never too late”

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– to make new friends, unfortunately our cat ate a catbird of all things today?

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circa 2010, O3 photo, just an idea that hope to execute better. I would have erased the silly title if I was able to scan.