Light of my Life?

Hydroelectric power is harnessed from many dams along the Columbia River on the Oregon -Washington border and is sent thousands of miles in various directions. These particular

power lines cross Highway 20 East of Bend, Oregon, and, I assume, carry current south to light up customers in Nevada or California. Like soldiers at attention, these towers stand unflinchingly in pairs across the desert's monotonous parade ground. It is an eerie feeling in this desolate landscape to see these metal and wire interlopers weave their path through fields of sage and bitterbrush, across dry creeks and scorched hillsides. Like the thoughts of a child who has stuck large pins in an unwanted doll, so were the minds of those who decided that this architecture suitable and practical for worthless space. The priorities of progress demand sacrifice. This grid brings convenience. It is not about art or beauty. Remember your Genesis. Is that what is meant by "Let there be light."?

Ridin' into the wind

In front of the Deschutes County Court House in Bend, Oregon, I spied this simply designed sculpture. It showed a cowboy twirling his lasso in order to rope bicycles. I thought how much I would have liked to have tied my road bike there and snapped a picture, but, as it was, I had driven my car to the spot. Having been an avid cyclist all my life, and someone who rides every week, I appreciate how much this area and the state promotes bicycling. Nonetheless, as more people cycle, the more difficult it becomes for riders and automobile drivers to share the space safely. I read with sadness that last weekend a Canadian woman, who was touring the Oregon Coast Highway, failed to "unclick" properly from her pedal at a traffic light, fell into a passing car and was crushed. It is dangerous out there, and yet, in spite of the challenges, most bicycle riders agree that it is worth having such a great freeing experience. Maybe, that metal cowboy knows that too. "Yup, like ridin' a horse."

Living off the land

Every Wednesday, weather permitting, Bend, Oregon, has a farmer's market. I snapped a picture of this gentleman chatting with the lady in red. I didn't overhear the conversation, but I must assume, no surprise, it has something to do with agriculture. If you have ever questioned the validity of the adage "clothes makes the man", I think this should assuage any doubt. I believe that this fellow can grow a righteous crop of almost anything, knows plenty about chicken manure, and can fix damn near anything, except probably a computer. I love listening to these country folks. The experience generally humbles me . These farmers have learned so many skills and develop incredible knowledge of their occupation. They work long hours and have to endure the caprice of the weather, the insects and the market prices. In any case, it is easy to forget, when biting into that sandwich or eating green beans, what effort was required to deliver that to the table. I think the guy looks great, and deserves to be memorialized by this post.

lights, camera.....

Looking from the pedestrian walkway on Colorado Ave, in Bend, Oregon, I was able to capture the reflection on the other side of the bridge one of the restored Old Mill buildings glimmering on the surface of the Deschutes River. Everything in the picture appears to be bathed in a violet wash, since this particular sunset was especially enhanced, because the setting sun's rays were refracted by smoke from a nagging forest fire burning on the western slopes of the Cascades.

In the foreground, the deep-purple mirror of the horizontal concrete deck and the vertical bridge pylons form a shadow box which takes the eye inward through a progression of watery, color-laden, rectangular shapes to the windows. Here, harnessed by glass and river, the white-gold molten sun is divided and cooled, and appears like a bank of stadium lights just before game time.

A little of this

This afternoon I drove 15 miles South of Bend, Oregon, to visit Kline Falls State Park. Having not carefully consulted my guidebook which told that the waterfall was a mile downriver, I proceeded with much gusto on a narrow overgrown trail upriver. After about an hour of climbing over rocks and roots in unseasonable heat, I decided to cool off at the above location. In this country, it is easy to find special spots to relax. I sat, had a nutrition bar, and thought about the trout, like myself, resting behind rocks and eating. After a while, I turned back. It would not be long before I would be behind the wheel, changing lanes, using my directional signal, watching for traffic and be in the thick of it.

joy of innocence

Yesterday afternoon, I snapped this photo of children on a jungle jim at an elementary school in Bend, Oregon. I liked the balance of each child sitting opposite one another at peace in the world of the playground. It was my intention to post a picture where the subject matter would be without a particular theme and not illicit further discussion in contrast to my previous posts.
Yet I have to admit that the story is not in the picture. I actually found myself nervous, standing outside the fence, camera in hand. I expected any moment a parent or passerby or a policeman to suddenly tap me on the shoulder and ask me what I was doing and why I was photographing children. Please don't think I'm unnecessarily paranoid. Our adult world is full of fear and a little crazy, don't you think?

water, water everywhere.....

As I left the supermarket on an unseasonably hot afternoon in Bend, Oregon, I spied this motley collection of water and soft drink vending machines. I was suddenly reminded of an old episode of Rod Serling's Twilight Zone, where a shy and reluctant Nevada casino visitor is magically spoken to by a brightly-colored one-armed bandit, which first implores, and then demands the guest to feed more and more shiny coins into its hungry slot. The mousy man, seduced by its voice to pull the handle, slowly transforms into a compulsive lunatic and proceeds to lose his life savings.
After having just resisted purchasing a lot of useless, non-nutritional crap in the market, I was hardly tempted by these allegedly thirst-quenching charlatans to give them even one thin dime, even though they had succeeded in reminding me that I could possibly want a drink of something. By clicking and enlarging this photo, you can read the text on the bottles on the face of the machine and try to decipher what is being sold. Much has been written about the bottled water controversy and is best described in Elizabeth Royte's Bottlemania: Big Business, Local Springs and the Battle over America's Drinking Water. It is a complicated issue. In any case, rather than becoming dizzy and faint on the spot from the stress of temptation, I jumped in my car, drove home and turned on the tap. I have to admit that it is convenient to carry water, and have bought it in the past by the box. Yet I felt my municipal home-brew left a good taste in my mouth and quenched something greater in me than thirst.