Morning Constitutional & The Prairie Dog Whisperer

I’m up at 7 AM, I glance out my window, sure enough, it’s morning. I don’t usually wake up this early when I work the evening shift, but something about the mornings being cooler with a slight breeze encourages me to start the day. I skip breakfast, too anxious to eat anyway, and head out for a walk along the lakeshore. Yesterday, during my morning constitutional, I stumbled upon a family of prairie dogs. I have my trusty Nikon and head out the door, hoping for a second encounter.

     In my limited experience, I’ve found it difficult to photograph woodland creatures, patience doesn’t seem to be a virtue I possess. As I approach their home I hear one of them begin to call out. Some say their cry sounds like a squeaky toy. Not only did I find this to be true, but it sounded like this squeaky toy was currently being used by a very excited dog! I gave them a wide berth, walking close to the lake, all the while the little furry squeaky toy kept on yapping. 

Patience, I thought to myself, patience. I pass on and headed to the pier, figuring while I was out I might as well take a look. I approached the pier, hesitantly at first as there were fishermen at work, but they didn’t seem to take much notice of a lone photographer. Embarking upon this well used structure I think to myself, this pier must have been made rather inexpensively. Instead of trustworthy planks with several sets of nails, there lay in front of me rows of plywood, with nails only at the seams. What’s more, the plywood was old, chipped and warping, looking like it had been bearing years of memories and hours of patient fishing. 

Putting one foot in front of the other, I followed a trail of nail heads to the end of the pier. Once at the end I took a deep breath, made it! I took a survey of my surroundings, snapping some photographs of the general landscape and hope-filled fisherman, sharing in the peace of the morning air. I placed my hand on the rail for safety, but found more than safety. Upon these white weather worn railings was more than the mark of time, there were names. Rusted from old age, the scratches in the surface reflected the patrons of this faithful, yet barely safe, pier.

Finally back on solid ground, I decided to return and give the prairie dogs another go. They were still out grazing what little grass was left around their holes of sanctuary.  I knew they had seen me, but they made no mention of it. Once again I stayed near the edge to allay any intimidation. I moved closer to their home and with the help of the sun captured some decent shots. Pleased with my work thus far I continued. Just as I was making my way around to get a better view, and elderly man, whose name I would later learn was Mike, began walking toward the little creatures bearing bread. With all possible confidence, he sat down and started slapping the bread on the ground and calling them by name. To my delight two members of the little family wobbled their way over to the man with the bread. As he fed them he told me their story.

The fattest one was actually the offspring and use to be quite tiny, but now bore what might be considered a pot belly among prairie dogs. The mom was the second bread connoisseur, and was so use to this man that she let him pet her. I felt like I was intruding, and would have left had the man not engaged me in conversation. He told me he could even get the mom to sit in his lap and he’d scratch her tummy from time to time. I sat in amazement snapping as many photos as I could while this golden opportunity lasted. 

Now that the mom and her young had their fill of bread they began grazing for more fibrous sustenance and I made my way over to Mike. He asked where I lived and what I did for a living. We talked about the low lake levels and how the lake had been dry back in the 70s. He spoke of his past in Vietnam and how he’d been wounded five times. After a pensive moment he remarked on how thankful he was for the ability to walk around, and have all his limbs. We watched the two prairie dogs continue to eat, and I silently thanked God for people like Mike.

The glory of young men is their strength,

but the splendor of old men is their gray hair.

Proverbs 20:29

To see all of the pictures from my morning walk follow this link http://bit.ly/RhU29Z

Trash to Vintage Polaroid

Recently I came in to the possession of about 4 boxes of old Polaroid film. Though Polaroid film can't boast great expose and fades over the years, I find the vintage look of the frame appealing, and so was anxious to use them. Unfortunately, they were well past their “use by” date, so all you got when you took a picture was a brown background.

Here I was with these good for nothing Polaroid pictures. I didn’t want to just throw away something that had so well represented the early stages of photography, and I really wanted to take advantage of that well known white frame. I got the idea that I could cut out the middle and utilize the white border, pasting it onto a cropped photo. I set out to do just that. I flipped the expired Polaroid film over and took my XACTO® knife to the seam.

To my surprise it cut quite easily, and I was left with an easy way to slide a cropped photo into the Polaroid "sleeve". With this new discovery I got to work measuring the opening in order to crop the photo. The end result must be 82mm X 82mm. I cut my photo accordingly, slipped the newly cropped photo into the Polaroid sleeve and taped the seam. 

So if you have any expired Polaroid film, or Polaroids that are so old you can't tell what the picture was, use this simple procedure to give your new photos that vintage look.