Thursday, September 28, 2017
Within the Wild Horse Range, we saw a lot of Big Horn Sheep but only one horse far in the distance. I read that some of the wild horses live in the desert lowlands of the range, and many of these can be seen along Highway 37 in Bighorn Canyon National Recreation Area. We drove Highway 37 for that specific purpose of searching for the wild horses. Because of the landscape and behavior of these horses, it is often difficult to find them. Highway 37 is a well maintained, paved highway that was easy for driving. Big Horn Canyon Recreation Area is so large it spreads from Montana to Wyoming. The Wild Horse Range is located in the Montana side of the park.
Wednesday, September 27, 2017
Big Horn Mountain Range in Big Horn Canyon Recreation Area in Wyoming. We had the park mainly to ourselves since we were the only tourist on the road. We drove miles without seeing a car or truck. We had visitors of Big Horn Sheep to block the road. The scenery was truly spectacular!
I visited Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument Park. This area memorializes the U.S. Army's 7th Cavalry and the Sioux and Cheyenne in one of the Indian's last armed efforts to preserve their way of life. Here on June 25 and 26 of 1876, 263 soldiers, including Lt. Col. George A. Custer and attached personnel of the U.S. Army, died fighting several thousand Lakota, and Cheyenne warriors. The picture above is the monument to the Indians who died at the battle.
Thursday, July 13, 2017
We drove six different scenic routes while we were visiting Montana. The Luther-Roscoe Scenic Drive was on our way to Red Lodge where we stayed for two nights in the mountains. Red Lodge was one of my favorite places for an authentic mountain town environment.
The Absarokee Scenic Loop passes through the small western towns of Absarokee, Fishtail and NYE. From the grassland prairie outside of Fishtail, you get a stunning view of the Beartooth Mountains. It reminded me a lot of New Zealand's rolling hills with sheep farms.
Wednesday, May 31, 2017
It was 14 months ago I saw the Lone Tree on Lake Wanaka. We search throughout Wanaka looking for the tree. Photographers in Queenstown has made the tree very popular with tourist by selling prints of the tree in the art shows. That was how I discovered the tree. I only had a rainy afternoon and the next morning to take pictures of the tree. The tree looks extraordinary in its environment by the way it is frame with the shore and trees in a semi-circle on the left and the mountains in the background. In Florida and south Georgia, it is common to see trees growing in shadow lakes and swamps but not as colorful and flamboyant as the lone tree of Lake Wanaka.
Wednesday, May 24, 2017
28 “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29 Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.
Thursday, May 4, 2017
Patience Taught By Nature
By Elizabeth Barrett Browning
'O DREARY life,' we cry, ' O dreary life ! 'And still the generations of the birds
Sing through our sighing, and the flocks and herds
Serenely live while we are keeping strife
With Heaven's true purpose in us, as a knife
Against which we may struggle ! Ocean girds
Unslackened the dry land, savannah-swards
Unweary sweep, hills watch unworn, and rife
Meek leaves drop year]y from the forest-trees
To show, above, the unwasted stars that pass
In their old glory: O thou God of old,
Grant me some smaller grace than comes to these !--
But so much patience as a blade of grass
Grows by, contented through the heat and cold.
Friday, April 21, 2017
Song of the Chattahoochee
Out of the hills of Habersham,
Down the valleys of Hall,
I hurry amain to reach the plain,
Run the rapid and leap the fall,
Split at the rock and together again,
Accept my bed, or narrow or wide,
And flee from folly on every side
With a lover's pain to attain the plain
Far from the hills of Habersham,
Far from the valleys of Hall.
All down the hills of Habersham,
All through the valleys of Hall,
The rushes cried Abide, abide,
The wilful waterweeds held me thrall,
The laving laurel turned my tide,
The ferns and the fondling grass said Stay,
The dewberry dipped for to work delay,
And the little reeds sighed Abide, abide,
Here in the hills of Habersham,
Here in the valleys of Hall.
Thursday, April 20, 2017
The World Is Too Much With Us
By William Wordsworth
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.
Monday, April 17, 2017
The Horses of the Sea
By Christina Georgina Rossetti
The horses of the sea
Rear a foaming crest,
But the horses of the land
Serve us the best.
The horses of the land
Munch corn and clover,
While the foaming sea-horses
Toss and turn over.
Nature is what we see
By Emily Dickinson
"Nature" is what we see—
The Hill—the Afternoon—
Squirrel—Eclipse— the Bumble bee—
Nay—Nature is Heaven—
Nature is what we hear—
The Bobolink—the Sea—
Nay—Nature is Harmony—
Nature is what we know—
Yet have no art to say—
So impotent Our Wisdom is
To her Simplicity.
By Percy Bysshe Shelley
By Percy Bysshe Shelley
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under,
And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.
I sift the snow on the mountains below,
And their great pines groan aghast;
And all the night 'tis my pillow white,
While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers,
Lightning my pilot sits;
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,
It struggles and howls at fits;
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,
This pilot is guiding me,
Lured by the love of the genii that move
In the depths of the purple sea;
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,
Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,
The Spirit he loves remains;
And I all the while bask in Heaven's blue smile,
Whilst he is dissolving in rains.