Shallow spurs

A long time ago (in blog time) I was sent a special gift by a woman I had never met. It was to change the way I thought about blogging and it would allow me to make a real connection with a place somewhere on the other side of the world.
You can read about it here if you don't know what I am rabbiting on about.
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Anyway, this week the fabulous Ree is running another contest at her place. For photos exhibiting a 'shallow depth of field' - she does a great tutorial on it here if that phrase bamboozles you. Basically she wants mostly blurry and a bit in focus. And the shots I took of that gift sent by Debby just over a year ago fit the bill.
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I don't own a lens that REALLY gets down low (in the aperture department) but the limits of my little 18-200mm zoom did their very best for this one.

It was shot on my kitchen bench in natural light the day I got it home.

It is uncropped and run with PW's Fresh and Colorful action...

(How's that for ironic? 'Fresh and Colorful' on 'Old and Rusty'?).

It's still one of my favourite photos ever...

perhaps not for technical reasons, but it never fails to make me smile.

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What's your favourite photo? And why?

And if you are entering PW's contest please add your link to the comments so we can all admire...

For those who haven't, the whole lot of amazing images can be found here.

Man there are some talented bloggers out there...

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Late note: I made a list, I made a list!

Day 2 finalists are here. And the spur is tucked in amongst the awesome snow and bubble shots. I won't get any further than that (the standard of pics is staggering!) but am utterly stoked to have been chosen for a day list.

Something old, something new - a weather update for you!

It's Wednesday, Australian time.

And you know what that means:

Weather Watch time!

(I know, keep your raging excitement under control please!)

Before I rush into the forecast for the weekend, the image I am sharing is one snapped recently down at the stables. It's of old rusted horse shoes (duh) hanging on an equally weathered old gate. I really love the authentic stamp Mother Nature and Father Time stamp on man-made things (well most of 'em... p'raps not roads... or airplanes!).

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And this shot is relevent because...

My youngest cousin and his wonderful fiance get married this weekend.

(This couple here).

And I am shooting the pair of them. With a Nikon (unless Tom gives me too much cheek, then all bets are off!). And I guess this is my bloggy way of sharing "something old" (and horse-shoe-lucky) with them in the lead-up to their wedding day. They need no luck though - the most laid-back, well-suited pair you ever did see. Here's hoping Jeanie's paradise brings them sweet weather and a joyous day...

FORECAST FOR GRANITE GLEN

Temp: 7 - 28 degrees C

UV: high

Wind: 13 km/hr N (warm and nasty for fires)

Chance of Rain - sweet F/A (OK, that was my term)

Outlook: mostly sunny (and v. dusty. Again, my call!)

&

FORCAST FOR 'PARADISE' on Saturday:

Temp: 13-26 degrees C

UV - high

Outlook: Mostly Sunny

Wind: 19km/hr ESE (perfect for veil tossing!)

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So peoples... how's the weather outside your window today?

And any special events it might affect this weekend?

Seeking a sepia series...or not?

Ever just messed with something,

decided that you loved it,
and then (feeling rather chuffed with yourself)

attempted to recreate it,
and just couldn't quite remember how you did it?

Happens to me all the time...

This is a shot I took of Violet recently...

I love this image with her hair all mid-swing and the background all lovely and bokeh,

and I ran a little sepia Photoshop action on it.

And VOILA.

Violet from 100 years ago.

Well, as good as...

I adore sepia.

Have I confessed this before?

Those who are regularly here will probably have guessed.

Photos. Old Stuff. Sepia. Natch.

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So I thought I would do a little Sepia Series...

all lovely matchy-matchy sepia images from all over my hard drive.

Sepia windmills...

Sweet before-and-after gnarly dead-tree roots against the sky...
Hmmm....

And I would swing on by, back to the swing set...
Do you see my problem here?

All exactly the same action.

All amazingly DIFFERENT results.

Of course, if you aren't into matchy-matchy,

and the inner-gizzard workings of Photoshop,

you probably couldn't care less.

You very likely tuned out at the start of this post,

and just looked at the pictures!

So my question... More sepia?
Anyone.
And if so... why??

Trek back in time...

Are you sick of reading about puppies and foals and bulls yet?

Have my Lovers of Old Stuff abandoned ship in the deluge of all things furry?

Can you still recall how I like to wax lyrical about fabulous old rusty spurs...

and discarded snakeskins?

Do you miss rusty and dried-up and peeling?

(I shall spank anyone who makes a crack about those adjectives describing this blog author!)

Fear not friends...
I have discovered as-yet-unpublished images from the bowels of my external hard drive which I have meant to post here for ages...

...photos that have been gathering dust and growing cobwebs.

Kinda apt, one might say?

This is a window at one of the old pubs in a tiny town near Granite Glen.

It has pink bouganvillea creeping around it's windows and festive lights draped haphazardly along the wall year-round...

I took these shots while waiting for Mr Incredible to pick up a carton of wine from the lovely owners of this pub, with kids asleep in the back seat of the Prado.
It's what I do.

This is the miniscule timber church in the blink-and-you'll-miss-it township where I went to school as a kid. We had Sunday School here, attended church services at Easter and Christmas here. The lawn was always mown and fresh native flowers decorated the alter (usually arranged by my green-thumbed Aunt Bon Bon). This was the place I took one of my first communions.
Cool timber pews welcomed sturdy big bottoms and impatient little ones.

There is no lining on the walls and I was always fascinated by the shafts of light streaming in through the rarely-opened windows - highlighting the tiny particles of dust dancing in the air.

I love that it is unprepossessing - no ornate gold leaf here.

I like my religion unfettered by the grandiose human touch.

Actually, I like lots of things that way.

You might have noticed.

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How 'bout you?

Are you drawn to the decorative or unadorned?

Delight in the details: the anti-anti-aging post

I have to admit to being a little hot under the collar lately...

about all this anti-aging attitude on TV.

One Aussie show in particular - Ten Years Younger in Ten Days - has really bothered me. It promotes botox injections and surgical eye lifts among it's 'tools' to 'improve' people's appearance. It bothered me not ONLY because I think of makeovers involving surgery as 'Only in America' activities (sorry my Yankee friends) but because it seems to reflect how society (the global village society) looks upon the more mature citizens of this world.

The ones that have actually DONE SOMETHING.

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Now I am not devoid of vanity - I make the occasional effort to look good. I have no issue with people making the most of their looks, in buffing up, fixing teeth, feeling better about themselves. (Heck I should do some more of that myself!).

But when we clear our faces of expression, of our trademark lines and natural responses, aren't we clearing our personal history and even a piece of who we are?

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What does it say when we decide someones worth is in how young they look?

What does it tell our kids when we elevate lack of laugh lines to 'must have' status?

What does it give away about our own sense of being when immobile brows and surgically-enhanced eyes - to the point it's possible our own families wouldn't recognise us - is seen as essential to our state of mind?

Something bloody frightening, that's what it says.

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You know, I don't get het up much - and I really have liked Sonya Kruger (the presenter of this TYYiTD) who is generally pretty and sharp and funny. But I swear - if I hear her say

"Your kids won't know you"

(and giggle like it's a good thing)

one more time - I will scream.

I take photos of people and things. Old and young.

And let me tell you something, Ms Kruger:

It all gets more beautiful (in my eyes) the older anything is.

Sure the paint might not be perfect and line-free,

but the stories of adventure and life and strength lie in each crack, each flake, each non-sheer inch that faces the world, make it something to gaze at in quiet appreciation.

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And sure, the odd hinge might be a little rusty...

...but it's changed patina echoes the incredible job it has done throughout the years

and the weathered pieces surrounding it have a charm no buffed-up new planks could possibly hope to share.

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And, in certain lights, the surreal glow of aging metal - earned through years of service and dependability and practicality - can pretty much stop you in your tracks. The elegance and character born of years of gravity and the elements is impossible to achieve with anything less than the teamwork of Mother Nature and Father Time.
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Even weeds rejuvenate naturally with the seasons - beauty in the bloom and in the fading flower. One no better than the other.
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Why do we think it's any different for humans?

Why can't we cherish & revere faces that have stood the Tests of Time,

as we do weathered sheds

and antique furniture

and fine wine?

Damn it.

I think we should.

Come drive with me, let's drive... part1

We have been a little busy here on the property lately.

Lots of bookwork and DNA testing for cows and blah-de-blah blah...

But seeing as how it was our anniversary last week, Mr Incredible took time out to take us all to town for a pub meal (not glam but not-too-bad food and someone else washing up!).

And part of the celebratory day was a drive. Something other than the straight-to-town-and-straight-home route usually taken in the minimum possible time...

Would you like climb into the Prado to join us for part of the journey?

I'll take that as a 'yes'...

Ready?

Firstly I'd like to introduce you to our dash and the view beyond...

For you Yanks, the driver (Mr Incredible) is seated to the right of screen.

Don't freak out.

He knows what he is doing.

And it IS the right side of the car to have the steering wheel!

It's also really important to not be scared of dirt roads.

Really, they are ALMOST as good as bitumen (blacktop), the dust will eventually wash off, and have waaayyy less traffic.

Massive bonus!
And you can stop every so often

right in the middle of the road

without a truck rear-ending you.
Shall we try?

Good, this'll do.

Ignore Mr Incredible's frown.

He's not all that keen on the 'stopping-regularly-to-take-photos' part of being married to me.

Seriously, after 14 years of knowing me and eight years of marriage, you think he'd be settled with it, wouldn't you? Heh.

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But if you don't stop,

then you can never fully appreciate

treasures like this...

Hello Old Abandoned House...

and Fabulous Wonky Shed...

That little 28-200mm zoom lense was all-out for this snap.

Can't you just imagine the scene half-a-century ago...

A gaggle of kids rounding up shaggy ponies in the paddocks, Ma and Pa having a hot cuppa on that open verandah, looking proudly over the then-new carport housing some pale blue 1950s Holden rig? No TV, no Nintendo DS's, no dial-phones, no internet?

I shudder a little at the final thought...

Then a little further along the track, this fence-and-road-and-horizon-and-power-pole view rises up before you.

I took this one through the windscreen.

It was too soon after the 1950s family home to stop again!!

I love the openness-yet-tamed feel of this scene...
You?

Oh look...

It's a groovy still-used littlechurch sitting calmly on its own, out on the plateau...

It was somewhere near here that my brother asked his girlfriend to marry him. He was in a ute. A red ute. She said yes. They now have three kids and are all happy little Vegemites.

There is good vibe to this place.

You can feel it... can't you?

Had enough yet?

Let me know if you are

carsick, bored to tears,

or ready for another instalment...

-to be continued-

Mystery revealed: rusty wonderings

So, as the sign on our outdoor loo used to say:

'here tis':

The "real" story behind this week's mystery...

It was a clear sunny day, just before my sister's wedding,

when a very special parcel arrived at her place,

addressed to me, from far, far away...

It came from a place in Pennsylvania, a place I had only ever heard of.

From a woman who thought she had something I might enjoy.

Someone she imagined might share with her a love of "old stuff".

I had no idea what to expect in this box.

The possibilities seemed endless...

What on earth could it possibly be?

I opened it cautiously. Carefully. With great anticipation.

And under a carefully folded letter, I found this...

These...

I gasped.

A pair of rusty spurs.

They were just beautiful...

Then I read that carefully folded letter.

From Debby.

And I understood.

I understood that she had shared something important.

Something fantastic.

Something earthy and real and filled with untold stories and wonder.

And I felt utterly humbled.
For these old, old spurs were found by her, when she was just 12.
First one, on the banks of a creek near her home.
Then, a week later, the other.
She chanced on it, following her instincts, further down the same creek.
Spurs rusted and decayed from decades and decades and decades of weather.
Once worn by an unknown rider.
A man. Sometime before 1900. Maybe well before.
Possibly a Civil War soldier.

A man who lost both spurs one day.

Near a creek.
In rural Pennsylvania.
A man who had little idea his simple spurs would spark the imagination of a 12-year-old girl... And then, almost four decades later, a woman on the opposite side of the globe would hold them, feel them, and be transported with wonderings and ponderings.
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He might have also been amazed that the intrigue would spread further. How could he know that the this-side-of-the-world woman had a four-year-old daughter would also hold them and demand that the carefully folded letter be read one more time. And as the words spilled once again over her little blonde head, her fingers would grip tighter over the rusty rollers and her brown eyes light up in wonder.

At the soldier's spurs, from the other side of the world.
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Thankyou Deb.

Mystery Photo: rust-ic edition

OK my friends... it's mysery photo time again!

A chance to take home one of your favourite images from this blog.

A full colour 8x12 inch print.

Gratis.

Free.

For nada!!

For real.

All you gotta do is...

Tell me about this:

Previous players will know that the "truth" behind the image is not important. 'Cause I'll tell you that part (eventually) anyway. What you need to do is let your mind run free, and share with us where your thoughts lead. What your imagination tells you might possibly (or impossibly) be behind the photo you see here. The more colourful, imaginative and coffee-spitworthy, the better.

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Then check back later to see how crazy everyone has gone!

I'm letting this one run til midnight Thursday (GG time, see clock to the right).

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You ready?

You steady?

Go!!

State of the Art, Baby!

I was inspired to do this post by the Pioneer Woman, herself... Ree posted about their state of the art hay picking-up machinery thingies (that was possibly not the technical term but you'll have to check with her to get the guff).

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It made me think about our own equipment, here at Granite Glen.

Now we are part of a pretty well-run enterprise ... but I'm not sure that our general machinery is, well, cutting edge. Sure we have the latest computerised gadgets for weighing and scanning and identifying cattle, cause that's our business. But the everyday maintenance of the property is often taken care of with items of a less impressive degree of shiny-ness.

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For example, for as long as I can recall, we have had a grader here to take care of the many kilometres of dirt and gravel roads through our paddocks. Not everyone has a grader, so really, we should be happy we actually own one. Trouble is, not everyone exactly had their hand up to drive this particular vehicle.

If you could really call it a vehicle...

Hello Grader... Hello Dad, the grader driver... Hello SSB the driver of the tractor pulling the grader... Yup, that's it on the left: no engine, no shock absorbers, lots of elbow grease required!

The operator is required to frantically pull the big vertical metal wheels to lift and lower the blade as it passes over the road, requiring some pretty good co-ordination between tractor driver and grader driver (both of whom have to watch where they are travelling as well as shout over the noise of the tractor to each other!).

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So as Dad's workforce increased and his joints began to protest more at the jolting ride our antique equipment offered, he 'got rash' and lashed out.

He bought a new grader!!!

'Not', he said, 'that there is really anything wrong with the old one. Still works. Be nice to have one that I can drive on my own though. Leave you blokes do the hard work for a change!'

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We all gathered to see the spanking new addition to the Granite Glen machinery shed.

There were arguments over who would get first ride in the cabin alongside Pagi...

Dash won and we all watched breathlessly to see the new grader in action...

Hmmmmmm... Dad gets a feel for the gears and Dash gives us the one-finger salute (the nice one!).

Well it IS more recently painted than its predecessor, it doesn't require a tractor and it has a windscreen! A major upgrade. When asked if he didn't think he should have found a vehicle with actual air-conditioning, Dad replied:

"It IS bloody well air-conditioned. The NATURAL way - just open the blinkin' window!".

And with that, he was off. Happy as a lark, purring along in his new old grader, grandson at his side. You couldn't have made him any happier by handing him the keys to a Ferrari. I imagined what his response might be if you did such a thing:

"For heaven's sake - what use is that thing to me? It'd just get a bloody stone chip!"

And that would be that.

And the old grader??

Having an honourable retirement in a scenic paddock, drawing curious glances from passers by.

Oh, we say, that's the OLD grader. You wait til you see the new one!

The 'Old Stuff' disease

I love old stuff.
You may have noticed.

I cannot NOT photograph it.

It's a sickness.

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When I started this little blog, it was supposed to be a spot to file my photos of kids and lifestyle. Somewhere to put the gazillion images I shoot in my day-to-day life.

But somehow it has instead prompted me to take MORE photos.

More photos of people.

More photos of animals.

More photos of trees (for heaven's sake).

And more photos of Old Stuff.

Like at the Granite Glen Hilton recently.

Where this caught my eye.

Don't ask me why...

Something about the peeling paint,

the exposed wiring,

the haphazard angle of the actual switch...

Am I insane for being so intrigued by the details of Mother Time?

Is there a name for such an illness?

Help!!

BB

Meet Midnight...

Some of you have been suffering under the illusion that you have met ALL the Granite Glen menagerie...

Sure, you may have met dogs and horses, cattle and emus, goannas and birds...
But there is one particular member of our household I have been tardy in introducing...
Her name is Midnight.

Middy for short.
(And in Australia, everything gets shortened.)
She is not one of your cuddly, suck-up kinda felines.
She was a wild kitten, who adopted my mother about 8 years ago. Well, that's Mum's story - Mum had a bit to do with it too. She would leave out tidbits for this scrap of black fluff, and earned her trust bit by bit. My mother is most definitely a cat person. Actually she's an animal person who harboured dreams of being a vet. But that's another story.
Today we are talking about Middy.

She is quite beautiful - a witch's cat with soft black fur and lamp-like eyes. But she is not a particularly outgoing creature. In fact Middy disappears whenever visitors come to our home. It took her a good week to show her huge yellow eyes near the house after we moved in. And she is particularly not a fan of kids. She has been known to vanish at the mere mention of them.
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But it seems Middy is mellowing in her middle age, and is content these days to curl up in a corner as long as our children (no visitors!) aren't being too rowdy or obnoxious.
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Late at night, often when I am posting on my blog, she'll even deign to climb onto my lap and sit there for a few minutes, contentedly clawing my thigh. We endure this charade of cat-love for about ten minutes (max) and then I get up and find some fresh meat for her to eat. She smiles her little black cat grin and settled down to her hard-earned tucker.
It's our little arrangement.

I do love Middy, but perhaps in a different way to the up-close-and-personal way I adored her earliest predecessor (in this house)... he was a Siamese named Gabriel, who lived to 18 and was positively half-human. Now he loved humans. Couldn't get enough of us. I have a photo somewhere of him lying in one of our doll cots, where we had tucked him in.

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Middy doesn't mind us. So long as we feed her and give her somewhere warm to curl up.
It's really not so much for a wild cat to ask, eh Middy?.