So this morning we spend a couple of hours revisiting the “amphitheater“, the space in the side of the ridge up Owsley Canyon that seems made to order for an outdoor concert. Looks like it could have been a prehistoric sports arena or an old rock quarry or collapsed cave or something like that. Anyway, as usual, Kim and Charlie were soon lost to my view as we hiked the trail that spirals from the canyon to the top of the ridge. I had last seen them a quarter of a mile away, but they don’t wait for me while I fritter away my time with the camera. So when I realized they were far, far ahead, I cut away from the trail and climbed straight up the steep, rocky terrain, hoping to reach the ridge summit so as to then follow it east to the top of the amphitheater. By the time I got there, I saw Kim and Charlie again, far below me, but they had already arrived, resting at the outer opening of the amphitheater. Okay, here goes:
As I walked home this morning from a 103 visit, I noticed a slightly unusual number of crows in the air, seeming to come from all directions toward a common destination. By the time, I passed the EOU sports stadium, I could see that its south end grounds were covered by the creatures, and more were flying in. The distance and angle of view didn’t afford a good photo vantage point. I could quickly estimate that there were a few hundred on the ground. The main entrance gates were locked, so I had to run around the north end and down the street to get onto the premises, hoping to shoot from the top of the bleachers. When I approached, most of them took flight, and as I finally gave up and walked away, I could see over my shoulder that they were returning to the stadium field, but I don’t know why. Never did get the view I wanted, but here is some evidence of the proceedings …
This fascinating article from The Atlantic digs into the perception and reality of time and some of the latest theories in this hotly-debated field of scientific and philosophic thought.
First, we drop by the EOU (Eastern Oregon University, if you don’t know) Outdoor Shop to check out the selection of rental backpacks in anticipation of Kim’s forthcoming Eagle Caps Wilderness trek (women only). While there, I discover a wonderful set of sculptural objects festooning the wall. These assemblages apparently were conjured up by an art student who was inspired by study of extinct creatures in a Natural History class, so artifacts of outdoor gear and found materials were combined to suggest new species. (Anybody reminded of Picasso’s “Bull’s Head“?)
Next, while Kim visits her dentist for routine oil change and service, I spend some time in the nearby library. There I discover a most fascinating magazine — FP, referring to Foreign Policy — chock full of way-above-average photography and some excellent writing. Associated with the limited (free) access digital media outlet, http://foreignpolicy.com/. I’ve read two issues just about cover to cover on my last couple of visits to our library (our best local government service, IMHO).
Then, we join up to visit the next door Farmers Market, selecting fresh berries, corn and outstanding locally-made cheese, listening to busker music and smelling the fresh flowers.
The Cheese Guy
Music in the Heat
Finally, after the heat of the day has dissipated a bit, we hit the nearby middle/high school track for running of the Charlie-bull and where I try to get a good number of briskly-walked laps several times a week. Kids and other dog-owners are out now in the more tolerable early evening temp. Here, as I zen-walk down the track, I am reminded of childhood on the farm when we “hoed ‘beans”. This operation was undertaken under direct sun, all day long, when soybeans had grown too high to be cultivated mechanically with a tractor-mounted cultivator rig, but still were infested with too many weeds. So it required taking machete (aka “corn knife”) in hand and walking down every row and chopping out weeds growing among the intermingled waist-high soybean bushes, typically for $1/hour or less unless you were working unpaid on your own family farm. I digress …
Brother Dennis turns our attention to this video published on July 18, 2016 by The New Yorker contrasting the long-disappeared Bunker Hill area of downtown Los Angeles of today with that of seventy years ago.
Kim and I often used to bicycle this area early on Sunday mornings in the 80s and early 90s. When I first arrived in Los Angeles in 1964, the “improvements” and “renovations” were pretty much complete.
