mills

GPOYW: Frank / GI Joe edition.

Abby, Will, John, Rebecca, Andy, and I went to the ranch for a few days of filth, scrum, shooting, swimming, high-bluff-jumping, smoking, night-photography, drinking, and more. We didn’t take enough photos, possibly because we were too busy having a good time.

We followed some deer and some hogs and even caught some rain, despite the drought. Worse than usual, I am having a hard time being back.

The photos are here; I’ll probably post some more when I get the chance.

I’ve posted yet another photoset from the ranch, where I’ve been with Q (Syd’s husband), John, Andy, and Lucas. There are few pictures, and none are particularly interesting, because this was far and away the most purely redneck trip we’ve made, and whipping out the camera while people are shooting plants, getting vehicles stuck, and jumping off of the bluffs at midnight into black water just didn’t seem right.

Warning: I made a questionable ethical decision, as well. My dogs are getting old; Bayou is eight and Five is nine. In accordance with their instincts, they’ve attempted to kill many animals through the years, and in accordance with my ethics (or, if you prefer, my wussiness) I’ve not let them.

On this trip, however, I decided to finally let them do as they wished: I let them kill an armadillo. Depending on your sensibilities, and probably your birthplace, this will either seem loathsome or inconsequential. I regretted it as it happened, and afterward; I’ve thought about it far too much, in fact, and can only say that while I’m glad they had their animalistic fill, it won’t happen again.

In any event, there are some rather gruesome photos of the incident in the set, so if you -like me- don’t wish to see them, this is your warning. My thanks to Q for ending the poor creature’s suffering when it became clear that a quick kill wasn’t likely.

I’m back from the ranch in Texas, although not happily. I’m learning, slowly, that I’m happier alone, far away from the various social and technological stimuli I stupidly seek in cities, happier when constantly reminded by nature of geologic, centurial, and seasonal time. Those scales, which so dwarf the emotional cycles of my scattered psyche, are calming, reassuring: moods are small things.

But I’m back. Some things happened, most of which are in the photoset here; a few are below:

Bayou chased, and then was chased by, wild pigs:

Five developed a blissful obsession with armadillos which my dad compared to “The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber”:

Bayou came tubing, and we got seriously lost for many hours:

Record-setting fish were caught:

In virtually every photo in the set, my lower lip protrudes due to the presence of Kodiak. I apologize to the many who find this reprehensible. Also, note that this isn’t a particularly great set of photos; better shots are here.