I saw this turtle in the middle of a country highway. I turned around, stopped my car, and carried him across. You see a lot of dead armadillos, racoons, possums, skunks, and deer along Texas roadways, but not many dead turtles, so maybe he would have been OK on his own. Maybe I scared him more than the speeding traffic. He certainly kept his head tightly inside his shell.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Confederate Cemetary?
Driving through Flatonia, Texas, I noticed that the town cemetary was freshly populated with Confederate flags. I stopped to take photos wondering if the flags represented a contemporary political statement or tribute to actual Confederate soldiers. Although I can't completely discount the possibility that some number of these flags are politically motivated, most of them appeared to be decorating graves of men who were alive during the Civil War --such as the one below of W.D. Gale, who died in 1896.
Although many of the grave stones made explicit reference to military service in WWI and WWII, I didn't see such references to the Civil War. As Texas did not play a central role in the Civil War, I found it surprising to find so many potential grave sites of Confederate soldiers in a small-town Texas cemetary. And how amazing is it that W.D. Gale, who died over 100 years ago, is still remembered by someone who cares enough to mark his grave and honor his memory? The following two photos are representative of the grave sites decorated with Confederate flags.
Although many of the grave stones made explicit reference to military service in WWI and WWII, I didn't see such references to the Civil War. As Texas did not play a central role in the Civil War, I found it surprising to find so many potential grave sites of Confederate soldiers in a small-town Texas cemetary. And how amazing is it that W.D. Gale, who died over 100 years ago, is still remembered by someone who cares enough to mark his grave and honor his memory? The following two photos are representative of the grave sites decorated with Confederate flags.
Gone But Not Forgotten
A road side grave site in Flatonia, Texas, decorated for Easter. Compare this one to my previous photo of the same site posted in February, and titled "graveflowers."
Round Here
This is a wall that obviously needs a door. Taken in an alley in Taylor, Texas. Just before I took this photo a guy in a truck stopped and asked, rather aggressively, just why I was taking pictures. He didn't ask what I was taking pictures of, but "why" I was taking them.
This is one of those questions that can't be answered for anyone who has to ask, but, foolishly, I tried. In retrospect, it would have been smarter to make up a story, like, "I'm scouting movie locations," or, "a real estate developer hired me to find a spot for a new mall." Somebody who stops his truck to ask a question like this isn't looking for enlightenment, he's just looking for some way to feel good about himself.
Neighborhood Hydrant
I'm not sure I can explain exactly why, but I have begun a process of taking a variety of fire hydrant photos. When I have enough of them, maybe I'll construct a photo essay. I selected this hydrant more for how it blends with the background rather than anything unusual about the hydrant itself. Taken in my neighborhood.
Front Door Jesus
An Easter decoration still on display well past Easter. This painted cutout of Jesus is draped in a real cloth robe.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Junkyard Dogma
A junkyard can be a history lesson, of sorts, for those who take the time to see, and those who take the time to know; or, it can be a bookshelf of the imagination, each vehicle suggesting an album of snapshots or a diary of recollections that evoke a personal voyage across an ocean of memory. You can't look through a lot, or a pile, of broken, rusting, and decaying remnants of once used, and, perhaps, once loved, automobiles, without wondering how they got where they are now, and what happened to their owners.
More pointedly, a junkyard is a sometimes comforting reminder of our own mortality. Generations of automobiles have fallen into rot, rust, and decay, and are now exhibited before us, and we live on with the prospect that many more such generations will expire before we must face our own ends. But these ghosts of abandoned machines speak of past lives as well as past fads, and it is in this collision between history and nostalgia that we often find our disquiet.
Still, there can be great beauty in decay, in rust, in rot, and even in destruction. A junkyard presents us with a collection from which we may pick and choose our own aesthetic of disintegration.
The following five photos were taken at a junkyard east of Austin, Texas, on Highway 71.
More pointedly, a junkyard is a sometimes comforting reminder of our own mortality. Generations of automobiles have fallen into rot, rust, and decay, and are now exhibited before us, and we live on with the prospect that many more such generations will expire before we must face our own ends. But these ghosts of abandoned machines speak of past lives as well as past fads, and it is in this collision between history and nostalgia that we often find our disquiet.
Still, there can be great beauty in decay, in rust, in rot, and even in destruction. A junkyard presents us with a collection from which we may pick and choose our own aesthetic of disintegration.
The following five photos were taken at a junkyard east of Austin, Texas, on Highway 71.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
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