The mountain winds, like the dew and rain, sunshine and snow, are measured and bestowed with love on the forests to develop their strength and beauty. However restricted the scope of other forest influences, that of the winds is universal. The snow bends and trims the upper forests every winter, the lightning strikes a single tree here and there, while avalanches mow down thousands at a swoop as a gardener trims out a bed of flowers. But the winds go to every tree, fingering every leaf and branch and furrowed bole; not one is forgotten; the Mountain Pine towering with outstretched arms on the rugged buttresses of the icy peaks, the lowliest and most retiring tenant of the dells; they seek and find them all, caressing them tenderly, bending them in lusty exercise, stimulating their growth, plucking off a leaf or limb as required, or removing an entire tree or grove, now whispering and cooing through the branches like a sleepy child, now roaring like the ocean; the winds blessing the forests, the forests the winds, with ineffable beauty and harmony as the sure result.
After one has seen pines six feet in diameter bending like grasses before a mountain gale, and ever and anon some giant falling with a crash that shakes the hills, it seems astonishing that any, save the lowest thickset trees, could ever have found a period sufficiently stormless to establish themselves; or, once established, that they should not, sooner or later, have been blown down. But when the storm is over, and we behold the same forests tranquil again, towering fresh and unscathed in erect majesty, and consider what centuries of storms have fallen upon them since they were first planted,—hail, to break the tender seedlings; lightning, to scorch and shatter; snow, winds, and avalanches, to crush and overwhelm,—while the manifest result of all this wild storm-culture is the glorious perfection we behold; then faith in Nature’s forestry is established, and we cease to deplore the violence of her most destructive gales, or of any other storm-implement whatsoever.
John Muir 1894
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Last night was the annual Green Show in Ashland, Oregon.
Our beloved Pyrate Technics danced the night away...
|Our fire breathing dragons...|
|Matthew James dances with Poi|
|Master of Ceremonies Shamus T. Cannon|
|Robyn Vandiver dances with fire sword|
|Fire fan dancing with Angelica Case and Errin Bellwood|
|Josh Case dances with a triple headed fire staff. LOTS of fire!|
|Cera Collins, Fire Fan Dancer|
|Puddles of fire|
|Our boys stealing the show|
|The roar of the fire is intimidating!|
|Ladies give praise to the fire gods...|
|Would you give up your refrigerator shelves for this project??|
|Our eldest daughter, Angelica|
|Our baby girl, Tiffany|
|Eldest son, Joshua|
|Youngest Son, Johnny, preparing tools for the show|
|This isn't the best shot, but one of my favorite moves,|
Josh spins contact staff, using pivot points on his body to spin fire
It was an amazing show! Good job me lovelies!
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
I decided to go out with the camera and shoot what's in bloom in my garden now. So many of you are showing remarkable color and abundant blooms in your gardens. Here's mine...
That was quick, huh? It's cold out there!
Besides, there are more plants inside than out this time of year.
(At least they are evenly distributed this time instead of all in the kitchen.)
My poor family has to contend with my jungle life for 8 months out of the year...
Happy Gardening, indoors as well as out!