Sight, Sights Unseen and Plain Sight

When 'sympatico' with a person, work of literature, architecture, or place, those who perceive see much that others cannot/do not. When standing before an exquisite Adams (James, John, Robert or William, it matters not) building, seeing with the soul, not the eyes, one can perhaps envision the fullness of the beauty as the mind of the designer saw it, even before committing ink to paper. The same may be said in appreciation of a garden, a fence or headstone, -if- the rational mind can be silenced long enough for the higher thought processes to develop the concept to fruition.

 Likewise, much the same can be said of those who 'take snapshots' versus 'create images.' These days, with the tremendous computing power within a digital camera, a four year old can produce sharp representational images. But is that capturing or understanding the object in front of the lens? Mr. Fuzzy would say nay. The sharp image on the camera's memory card is but a beginning; the creation of an image of what the photographer saw in their own mind, informed by experience and sensitivity is yet nascent, requiring deliberation, craftsmanship and inspiration.

Rather than a dry written essay arguing or belabouring the issue, Mr. Fuzzy prefers to present to the reader a few examples from Edinburgh of what he beheld in his mind's eye.

Then you, dear reader, may form your own thoughts whether this concept has any merit whatsoever.
These images are meant to be viewed much larger than represented here; please click on them to enlarge...

Chicken killer

Last night saw another raid on the chicken coop, resulting in the death of the last survivor of the original chickens four and a half years ago, the big Dominique rooster. The killer gnawed through the corrugated plastic wall of the green house, a first. I'll miss that old rooster, he was a fine one.

It came from the old coop side, where the intruder could, it seemed, not be stopped from entering. After examining it myself and with two neighbors, we were baffled by where a full grown raccoon could enter. Well, a careful inspection today in the late afternoon raking winter light revealed the entrance, see the photo below. I will now board that up and hope the problem is solved.

Last but not least, the silly Forsythia bushes... whatever kind of Forsythia these are, they bloom a bit all year, except for the dead of winter. Mind you, it has been as cold as 21F here recently and yet it blooms onward... talk about optimism.

Hiraeth

Noble readers, Mr. Fuzzy apologizes once more for the dearth of postings - it has been a month since last committing pen to paper, or electrons to the ether.

Today brings the first real winter storm to Stratheden Farm with some chance of snow. Mr. Fuzzy was absent for a fortnight (more on that below) and the season went from just past the peak of autumnal colours to a bare winter landscape with no leaves or weeds. Several times the low temperature has been 24F and tonight it may plunge to 21F; the temperature has fallen all morning.

Mr. Fuzzy had scheduled a trip to Scotland last May to attend a Royal Photographic Society biennial seminar and receive an award fro the Society. Alas, some sort of infection in both lungs laid him low for more than a month and any travel was prohibited. Thus, this trip was rescheduled to October in order to not lose the entire value of the airline fares. Another example of Divine Intervention; although it would have been most pleasant to attend the RPS seminar, by autumn, Mr. Fuzzy needed this trip and the timing was perfect.

There was relatively little sight-seeing but mostly visiting old friends not seen in six years. Beginning with dear friends, nay, family, in Edinburgh, and ending in Cupar, Fife, where Mr. Fuzzy once dwelt, the entire time was simultaneously restorative and exhausting. Over 3,000 photographs were made in the fortnight and it will take some months to sort through them before presenting the very best to you, devoted readers. For now, a few images of Auld Reekie (Edinburgh) must suffice.

Scotland, the country and its denizens, have always treated Mr. Fuzzy undeservedly well and this was no exception. Edinburgh is the only large city that Mr. Fuzzy has enjoyed - or loved. She is like a first love, now absent physically but never absent from memory & desire. Hence, hiraeth is the theme.

Edinburgh has multiple personalities: the obvious tourist sites such as the iconic castle, bustling neighborhoods with services utilized only by locals, and an overlap between the local and universal, such as the fine museums. Below is a visual tour of the toun, mayhaps will bring visual pleasure or warm memories to you. Until we meet again, I remain your obedient servant, Mr. Fuzzy.

Martin's Station on Wilderness Road

Dear Readers, this past weekend was the autumn encampment at Martin's Station near Rose Hill, Virginia, just a few miles from Cumberland Gap and Kentucky. The weather approached ideal which enhances any event of this sort. Many re-enactors came from far away to take their roles and interpret 1775 on the frontier to school groups, tourists and inquisitive locals. Friday is when the schools bring their students on field trips; with the elimination of travel budgets, no Kentucky or Tennessee school districts participate any more, and the Virginia schools are nearby. The number of students brought to learn about the frontier has been more than halved as education budgets continue to be slashed. Now most groups are private schools or home school cooperatives.

Saturday is the primary day for adults and families to visit. Some arrive on Sunday but by noon many re-enactors are already on the road home, still many hours away. To the right you may observe the Artillery Sergeant educating tourists on the care and use of a 'grasshopper' cannon such as was in use at the fort (one of a pair) in the 1770s. Every hour there is a firing of this cannon with but one-quarter of the regulation charge and yet it is enough to rattle the wits of all present. It is not easy to imagine how it roared when fed a full charge of powder & shotte.


 Thanks to David Wright's suggestion some years ago, Mr. Fuzzy has always pitched his tent in the hunters' camp, wherein the two finest camp cooks of the modern era create succulent dishes over the hot coals. Below is one of those great talents, enjoying a brief moment of respite whilst the lunch cooks. These two men are truly Iron Chefs as all cookware is cast iron.

The other outstanding chef prepares the 'big meal' inside the fort where tourists can observe method and technique. It is amazing how few questions are asked. Below you will view Chef Two (on the right) and his comrade in musical duets, Bertie's Son (on the left). These gents have hundreds of period songs and music at their fingertips/vocal chords, and each night perform to small and extremely appreciative audiences of re-enactors long after the public has returned home. Their music sets the ambiance for all the others in a manner so subtle and deep that for Mr. Fuzzy, it is one of the most important activities present.

This year, three ladies of the fort labored to transform one of the rude settler's cabins into a tavern for the evening, serving cookies and hot cider whilst the duo (left) performed their magical spells of 18th century music and song. This transported all present through a temporal portal into the 18th century for a few fine hours. Thank you, Sirs, for your crucial ingredients in the weekend transformation.

This was the first time for the one-night tavern and it was immensely enjoyed by all present. It is sincerely hoped this becomes a fixture of the weekend event. Mr. Fuzzy thanks and congratulates these fine ladies for their endeavors which significantly enhanced the experience for all involved.





It is nearly impossible to explain the bonds between the individuals who constitute the family of historical re-enactors but the ties are deep and strong throughout the year, not just on the occassions when they come together at an historic site. Moreover, amongst the Captain, Sergeant, Corporal and some long-hunters there exists a further, deeper, stronger and more ancient bond, one which Mr. Fuzzy shares with them. The outpouring of love and support was the strongest tonic to cure the situation in which he has been involved of recent. Mr. Fuzzy appreciates all the affection & advice proffered. May the Creator bless you all.

arty images

Dearest Readers,

As Rocket J. Squirrel used to say, "And now for something we hope you really like."

In the hundreds of photos posted over the last five years on this blog, most have been rather straight documentary images. Mr. Fuzzy also creates images that began as photographs and have endured substantial manipulation to achieve the look desired. A few will be posted for your edification and hopefully, your viewing pleasure. In order to appreciate the fine points, it would be best to enlarge the image. Criticism that will aid in refining the images and approaches will be appreciated.

All four images were made on the Sunday Drive. An enjoyable and productive time.

More days in the country

Wednesday a friend took Mr. Fuzzy to lunch at the local cafe. As the last bits of Southern comfort foods were devoured, he inquired if I had an hour of free time. To be truthful, I did not, but the deaths of thirteen friends this year has taught the lesson of not missing opportunities to enjoy the pleasure of a friend's company, thus Mr. Fuzzy said "sure."

The friend is in his late seventies and although not a native of Floyd county, has spent 50 years here, and knows the roads, landmarks and people as well as anyone alive. With him at the wheel, we motored off to the far southeastern portions of the county where he thought the fall colors would be best. As usual, he was correct. Even at the lower elevations, the tree leaves were considerably more enveloped in their autumnal finery than on Stratheden Farms. The pattern was somewhat unusual in that dogwoods, gums and maples have reached their climax whereas other trees have yet to display a single coloured leaf.

Knowing well of Mr. Fuzzy's interest in history, the tour's primary goal was to introduce him to some of 

the county's earliest cemeteries, all active before 1800, some with Revolutionary War veterans, some with War of 1812 veterans, and probably all with Civil War veterans. Old cemeteries in Floyd county are generally very well kept, in some cases because direct descendants still dwell within walking distance, in other cases, simply due to respect. Mr. Fuzzy was taken to an unusually derelict cemetery, hardly visible amongst the trees and ground cover. The headstones were mostly home made, some nothing more than obelisk shaped field stones, some with reversed letters, and misspelled names. Out of dozens of stones, only one seems to have been commercially manufactured. Visually it was all stunning and Mr. Fuzzy's camera was worked hard. Most were of the same family name, one still found in the county; it must be wondered what happened that this sacred ground was deemed unworthy of maintenance by succeeding generations and neighbors.


The route for returning to town was delightfully circuitous, based on gravel lanes completely shaded by trees, all visual and sensual delights.The blessings of good friends is with Mr. Fuzzy every day and he is thankful.






Mr. Fuzzy wishes to thank friends from near and far who have offered support regarding a recent issue. He is especially grateful for those who live far away who have volunteered to come at their own expense and testify if necessary. You have taught Mr. Fuzzy new and valuable lessons about the power of friendship.

A Country Day

The weather has been superb for more than a week with one needed rain and otherwise, clear and still. The smell of the air itself has changed and the north sky is deep azure. The dogwoods have entirely shifted their leaves to reds and near purples; the gums are mostly bright red and the maples are turning.

The cooler temperatures (46F this fine morn) have preserved flowers already in bloom. The potted flowers on the patio might lead one to think it was early August rather than the very end of September. But then the two reddish dog woods in the background correct that misimpression.

Many flowers bloomed very late this year. The constant dampness encouraged every weed seed in the pastures to germinate. Last year it seemed that after three years of labouring with a hoe, the nasty horse thistles were finally under control. This year, alas, they were worse than ever and Mr. Fuzzy thought all was lost. They should have bloomed nearly six weeks ago yet most plants still have no flowers or even buds. Perhaps the scourge will not be as severe as it once looked.

With the onset of the cooler and drier weather, Mr. Fuzzy has desperately been cutting firewood, a task best completed by mid-June. The nearly daily rains and Mr. Fuzzy's slow recovery from a lung infection prevented the optimal period from possibility. Four of the last seven days saw Mr. Fuzzy waltzing the chain saw over downed oak trees. With much luck and continued dry days, this wood may be seasoned enough to burn well by January. Yesterday an odd movement of a severed tree limb pinched the chain saw bar and it could not be extracted. The wood on each side was too large for Mr. Fuzzy to move. Eventually a call to a neighbor yielded a long crow bar with enough length for leverage and the chain saw was freed at last.

Today saw another pass at the downed oak until the chain saw gas tank was exhausted. And so was Mr. Fuzzy who thought better of loading, transporting and stacking a load of wood right then. Lunch sounded the better idea. Driving down the gravel county road, there was one of the neighbors working on his fences. It would be considered rude to simply wave and drive past thus the car was pulled over and a conversation ensued. After about ten minutes, the neighbor inquired whether Mr. Fuzzy was in a hurry? If not, he could have a guided tour around the neighbor's large holdings. Although hungry, this was too auspicious to deny and an hour's exploration resulted - a very, very enjoyable experience. At the outset. topping a rise gave a fine view of Stratheden II, forty-one acres not attached to the main body of the farm. Here it is below - the bright green in the distance. Mr. Fuzzy had never seen it so clearly before.

Near the end of the tour, a superb view to the northwest showed itself as you may see:

Eventually Mr. Fuzzy was bound for Tuggle's Gap and and received a call from a friend who had not yet consumed his lunch either; we shared a most enjoyable hour over good grub. On the way home, it was the opportune time to return the large crowbar borrowed the day before - and its owner insisted I pull up a chair and visit a while with him on this nice day.

Thus Mr. Fuzzy passed several hours of his afternoon in unplanned pleasant conversation with friends. Such is the way of life here. One dear neighbor died two weeks ago and served as a reminder that tomorrow may not arrive - don't pass opportunities to visit with those you cherish.