Sunday, February 9, 2014
Pine Buff, Arkansas

Snow here in LA (lower Arkansas) is not unusual, but suffice to say, it is infrequent.  Most of the time snow events here are pitiful dustings, which last an hour or less.  Even so, mere mention of the “S” word sends many of our denizens scurrying toward the store to grab up more milk and bread than they would normally consume in a month.

This week we were on the receiving end of a snow storm triggered by a jet-stream dip southward.  This event was an overnight success, starting after dark and ending before first light the next day.  Our deposit was two-to-three inches or so.  On the aesthetic scale, I’d give it a five on a scale of ten.  Reason being for that downgrade is, that a two-to-three inch snow still leaves more than a few uglies protruding from an otherwise pristine white blanket.  Six inches or so covers 90% or more of the offending protrusions, and eight-to-ten pretty well covers all but the most persistent interloping objects.

Despite the less-than-ideal conditions, I sallied forth to record images in the less-than-ideal aftermath of the five-on-a-scale-of-ten snow event.

Not a Fire Sale.

This exterior display at our local Supercenter provides fertile opportunities for a funny caption.  I invite you to fill in the blanks in your own mind.  I shot these bicycles as I was leaving with my milk and bread.

Snowmellia

Those of you who follow this series of prosaic belches probably recall that I like to extol the virtues of my favorite camellia bush.  Here it is, the fabled plant — showing a doughnut effect focusing on lights from a neighbor’s living room.

Having run out of urban targets, I pointed the well-traveled pickup to a nearby agricultural area laced with bayous, swamps, and cypress.  I was not disappointed.

On Your Way, Boy.  We're Here for the Grub.

The road known as Wilbur West Road, AKA Old Main Street Pike, AKA Grider Field Road, has yielded an abundance of photo ops in years past.  It worked again.  I found this gaggle of geese, an ecumenical group eschewing genetic grouping as they foraged for what foodstuffs were left behind in this cut-over bean field.  After this shot, I honked the horn, waved my arms, and gave them a loud, peppery verbal dressing down in an attempt to get them to break and fly.  They were on to me, as if to say, “On your way, boy.  We are here for the grub.”  They stood their ground.

'Old Holler Tree'

Not far from the geese stands my favorite “old holler tree.”  It is easily seen from a bridge over the bayou in which it lived, died, and still resides.  It and its neighbors collected a bit of snow, which gives contrast to its visual message, “Wander in here at your own risk.”  I have watched and photographed this tree for years, hoping to spot a critter poking his or her head from the hollow.  To date, the win-loss record on that pursuit is pitifully lopsided.  The day I spot the critter, I will probably buy a lottery ticket.

Although the snow that inspired my trip was nothing to write home about, the pursuit of imagery was satisfying, not far from home base — and it beat sitting at home wondering what I missed.