Headed out for a walk around the Whitman College campus. On the way some disparate elements form a scene of sorts:
Approaching campus we cross one of the Mill Creek bridges:
And on the walk home there is always an abundance of flowers to see and smell:
Every time we return from a walk in the wild, we have to carefully examine and brush our clothing in an attempt to discover and rid ourselves of any ticks (aka wood tick or dog tick) that may have hitched a ride. Charlie is particularly vulnerable; Kim seems to be constantly scrutinizing him. Despite our caution, some are not revealed for a day or more. Like two days after a walk in the brush, I felt an eerie sensation above an ear as I was typing away at the computer keyboard. Reaching up and flicking brought this guy (my research indicates it was a male) to my desktop. Whereupon we used our preferred method of capture — enveloping these beasts in a half-inch chunk of Scotch tape. I quickly tried for a handheld capture in lousy light (below) but by the time I had left the scene to secure my tripod to permit better (an uptick?) quality, Kim had disposed of the creature.
Some local businesses opening again around town, but we stick to our customary outdoors walks and hikes, again at the Veterans trails and fields and wooded areas.
Tiny flowers are underfoot.
One of these days I will remember to carry along a tripod. In the meantime:
Charlie says hello:
Keeping it up close and avoiding crowds …
The country’s death toll appears to be on track to hit (and exceed) 100,000. Community Bank downtown runs its flag at half-mast.
After days of rain and flooding threat, the sun pops out today. So we revisit Peopeomoxmox across the street from my building’s parking lot to see if anything has changed. It has: more flowers are in bloom.
On the way back home, our neighbor rolls his old classic Merc out into the street and cheerily greets us (not pictured; he is maskless).
A rainy morning. Kim and Charlie take off early to the “bird park” (Pioneer), and I promise to catch up with them after I finish breakfast. On the way, the usual miscellany:
I see another old geezer with a camera at the Pioneer Park Rose Garden and almost approach him, but think better of it as he is in deep concentration and there is always the matter of social distancing.
Inside the park:
Suddenly my beautiful bride and her vicious hound appear over the park’s “burial mound”:
Walking home before it starts raining hard:
Sunday. Might be a good time to venture downtown.
A few vehicles here and there. Behind me I hear a distinctive sound, and turn to see friend/CPA Michael’s 47-year-old purple autocrosser (dubbed “Barney”) buzz past.
Flora is probably the only consistently cheerful visual element out there these days. (Did I ever mention that I have never seen, outside of Hawaii, more ubiquitous streetside and yard display of flowers than in WaWaWA?)
Finally, no sooner than I return home, Kim announces that a hummingbird (she has a feeder for them on the deck) just crashed into the patio sliding door. I grabbed my camera, quickly clicked in the general direction from waist level without composing, hoping to capture *something* before the tiny winged dinosaur regained its composure. It flew away as I slid the door open, and I didn’t realize that I had actually grabbed an image until I later uploaded the files.
