Random Thoughts

I like to tell myself that I'm really not the superstitious type--about most things, that is. When it came to showing Vander, there was a routine that if I deviated from I noticed things didn't go the way I thought they should. I had to put his cool coat on him for at least a few minutes on the table before I took him down and walked him to the ring. I also usually had someone else pick up his armband. And, before he came off the table, I always patted his shoulder and said, "Let's go get our butt kicked." That was to keep me from getting too cocky. Showing an incredible dog as he was lent itself to getting cocky. 

There is one superstition, though, that has kicked my butt. The first time Darling Husband (DH) and I traveled to Wyoming I started to hyperventilate the closer we drove to the state line on our way to Denver International to return to reality. I had to pull over before we left Wyoming and I made DH drive us out of the state. He thought I was crazy, but I told him that if I drove out, I'd never return. Insert epic eye roll from DH, a long-suffering sigh, but he drove us out of the state and at the first on-off ramp in Colorado, he pulled off so I could take over driving. (He really hated driving anywhere and I love to drive.)
For twenty eight years, every trip ever made on what became an annual pilgrimage to Wyoming, I didn't drive out of the state. Even when I had to cross Wyoming while traveling to the Collie Nationals (twice in CA, once in NV, and once in ID), I made sure I had a co-pilot who could drive across the state line. Even my son knew of that superstition and a few years ago when we vacationed in Wyoming with him and our grand-daughter, he knew when I said, "Co-pilot's control," he had to lean over and take the wheel until we were across the state line. (Thank heaven for cruise control.) 

Two years ago, I told myself it was just a superstition. I could drive out. I didn't turn control of the wheel over to my co-pilot, my best buddy, Jacque. DH was sitting behind me and couldn't take the wheel. Two years ago...and I haven't been back. I knew the moment the tires crossed the state line. My throat tightened with a huge lump, my heart started racing, and I felt as if I'd just lost something so precious it could never be replaced. 
I've been close--Deadwood, SD is darn close, but last summer, we had to hurry back to Flatlandia and couldn't swing over to the place where my soul needs to go to recharge. This summer--well--let's just say nothing went according to plan. 
So, now I find myself scrolling several Facebook pages dedicated to images of Wyoming. I have literally filled a thumb drive with images of that harsh, sometimes starkly barren, yet incredibly beautiful place. There is a German word: fernwah--that translates as "farsick." Sometimes, looking at these images I've saved, looking at the pictures I've shot, I am so "homesick" that it feels as if my heart has broken into pieces. It truly does feel as if a piece of my heart and a large portion of my soul are missing and I can only find those missing parts in Wyoming. 

Will I return to this place of stunning vistas, stark harsh landscapes, wide open spaces filled with a quiet so intense I can hear my own heart beating? If I have to walk there...I will return. And when I do, I will NEVER be the one to drive out again. 

Photographing hummingbirds requires patience. Lots and lots of patience. I don't have lots and lots of patience. But, I did manage to get a few fairly clear images of the hummingbirds sparring around one feeder. I'm always amazed at these little masters of aerial maneuvers. I have five feeders strategically placed around my porch and there is always the one feeder that they fight over. This year, it's the feeder outside my office window. I can even change the location of the feeders and they still fight over the one right outside my window this year. Last year, it was the feeder on the arch over the deck/breezeway between the two areas of the TN homestead. 

Photographing hummingbirds is rather like writing a book, I've noticed. A lot of high hopes, false starts, attacks (it is very unnerving to be dive-bombed by three aggressive male hummers because one of them saw his reflection in the end of the long lens), and the reward of getting the words down. FINALLY. Just as when the shutter clicks and you know before you even review it, you caught a decent image. I'm still waiting for that "STOP THE PRESSES", be still my heart moment both in writing and photographing critters. Those moments will come. They just require patience. (Please refer to the title of this post.)