Riding the Fall Thermals

We’d locked eyes as it had slowly flown through the high canopy. The tall oaks rooted in the bottom of the rocky rimmed grag on which I stood filled the gap between cliffs with their wide spanning branches. I’d been perched here for a long time, waiting as I sat on the edge listening. The sudden sound of an alarmed squirrel indicated a predator in the area. Thick pines that defined this ancient forest stood sentinel at the head of the grag. As I slowly stood and readied my camera I routinely glanced at the top menu window. Just then the battery life indicator blinked a few times and the screen went dead. Timing.

Knowing that I’d never be fast enough to swap batteries before whatever lurked in those green shadows emerged, I simply enjoyed the moment. I made eye contact as it wound it’s way slowly through the wide spanning branches of the oaks. Chuckling at my own fortune, the “mass” of its presence captured my imagination for a moment. I remembered something from my past.

Photos would have been amazing but the experience would have been removed by a filter of glass and circuits. Remembering who I am, and what I was about I made my way down the valley. As I stood next to a small trout stream this particular bird you see here seemed fixated on my position. Odds are good it was just after some small snack I was flushing from cover.

Either that or it was the same bird, only this time saying, “HEY! Look! I glow with the Sun now! Take my picture already!”

So I did.

#thedriftless #driftlessregion #driftlessart #driftlessadventure #driftlessarea #wisconsin #discoverwisconsin #wisconsinphotographer #wisconsinlife #wisconsinartist #wisconsinoutdoors #wisconsinart #pinerelictforest #pinerelict #naturearea #wisconsinbirds #birding #birdingphotography #birdinginthewild #RedtailedHawk #Buteo_jamaicensis #Buteojamaicensis

Driftless Strong 2020

Black Hills Uplift

Dark thoughts lifted away. Their wings feathered with the moments that torture me. The times I’ve forgotten myself. They turn and bank into enveloping mist which carries them away to be lost in an undulating horizon.

The smoke stained skies blur the definition of what is water and what is earth. Banking away from me they swoop through that margine and vanish.

For the first time I just let them go. Without anger.

Feeling somehow “different” I got back on the road West; I had to go get Peggy.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Fleeting Thoughts

As I coasted to a quiet stop a small herd of pronghorn grazed on patches of green just to the side of the road. The second fastest land animal topping out at 55mph for about a half mile distance, they can cruise around at 35mph for about four miles before stopping. The cheetah may be faster but these fleet footed relatives of giraffes can run for longer periods of time. They fill a parallel niche on this continent as the antelope do in Africa and Eurasia. Out running their ancient predators through eons they outpaced extinction only to be nearly wiped out at the turn of the 20th Century by mankind.

They also make for horrid art on the roadways. I began to just think of them as “blood bags.” The scattered frequency of their exploded remains decorated the highways in Romero tones of color. Sometimes there's only one and sometimes there’d be a small group all killed together. The semi-trucks towing up to three trailers leave little but a rouge, chunky spatter.



No matter how much I tried to just ignore it, the sound of them passing under my wheels would always register in my mind. A mind rolling over its own splotches of roadkill as it explored the back roads of my memories. Just about every bloody, intense encounter of my life decorated the way. I tried not to look too closely at what bright, alive part of me had been pulverized by the hauled freight of trauma, all three trailers driven by myself of course. Cruising in my rig of pain I also began to realize that a lot of the freight was not my own.



This very real journey was different though. Instead of just dashed remains I began to take note of every living prairie antelope I saw. By the time I came to a stop to look back I felt hope for what lay ahead.

I was going to leave as much freight as I could on the road I was taking to go get Peggy.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Cretaceous Contemplations

As I left the hotel to start my second day of driving I was in much better spirits. The route I had taken the day before had helped make this trip somewhat enjoyable. I picked a random spot on the map to go have my coffee and breakfast. Not knowing really where I was, it was sheer randomness that led me to the perfect spot.

The sign said, “Road Impassable When Wet” as I made my way up a dirt track. It wound through the edge of some very hilly, scenic terrain. The blood red sun was rising in the smoke filled skies lending warm colors to the cool, fading night sky. I found a small ridge overlooking the plane below. A view to the distant, hazy night stained horizon toward the west. I parked on the side of the dusty road and got out to stretch and enjoy my breakfast. Alone on the knee of a giant, silent except for the faintest of sounds from a highway far off to my west. I actually relaxed.



As I indulged in the creative act of taking photos a private rhythm built in my heart. It was lent to me by a dark line of pines combing through the blushing dawn smoke. The smell of dry grasses, juniper and sage wrapped around my mind like the long hair of a lover’s embrace. The texture of the soil under my feet grounding my fears into the scarred, exposed bedrock I felt in my heart that everything was going to be fine on the other end of this trip. My mind stilled. The chaotic thoughts of the day before calmed.

It wasn’t until I came home to look at the location information of my cellphone photos that I discovered it had been the Northern Black Hills that had given me courage that morning. Also coincidentally, it was a land made unique by repeated, vastly powerful deformations in the very strata of the Earth. Geological chaos. I was “Home.”



I knew then I was going to make it all the way to go get Peggy. I’d decide the “bring her home” part once I actually met her. We’ve more than our share of real maniacs on all sides of our family. What if she’s dangerous? I’d have to take the heat from everyone if I did so. The Black Hills had spoken.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Ȟe Sápa Dawn

I’d left our home in Wisconsin and driven for nearly fifteen hours the previous day. Had I taken the main roads I may have saved a few hours but I would have woken less rested. Doing this trip “my way,” rambling down dirt roads when I could. It wasn't just about trying to explore or find a thrill. Ever since my very first jeep gave me the means to escape everything the sound of tires on dirt has soothed my mind. I think it’s a personality trait directly influenced by my mother’s father, “Papa” as I called him.

In fact there’s not a day that passes where he’s NOT in my thoughts at some point. “Crazy Louie” would just roam in his car indulging his obsession with CB radios during his later days. Character voices played out their roles on a stage built of radio frequencies. A staticy echo of when he drove a forward spotting jeep during “The War” for Patton’s artillery. From Tunisia, through Sicily, Italy, France, Germany and into Eastern Europe he rained hell on his enemies. In his later years it was the radio waves that he vented that same hell onto. His broken, angry mind free to reach as far as his voice could be carried on the ether. His sharp, “friendly” banter on air is usually dark and harsh. He laughs only at other’s folly. People often hate him and he thinks it’s all a joke.

And I’d be a kid just riding along in the backseat. Listening.

The sound of the road seemed to soothe his anger. He’d relax. So would I.

The sound of gravel on dirt connects me to who I am, which is not my grandfather. His wounds are his own, and mine are mine and together we share anger. The drone of gravel had sanded away much of my anxiety and chaotic thoughts of the day before. I woke feeling ready. It was going to be an awesome day to get back on the road.

I still had two days to go before I could pick up Peggy, whoever she may be.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest

Tilting at Windmills

My prolonged isolation in the tiny patches of Driftless prairie remnants has made me somewhat “elusive” with other people. I’ve only been speaking in person to my very immediate family or my Doctor. Even that contact is fleeting at times. I do post online and communicate so I am not a total lunatic. Just a bit of one.

I have been open about my struggle with drinking but not the root causes of my strife. My family knows that when I do drink you can get either of two Rons. Usually it’s the relaxed, happy to tell crazy, funny and perhaps inappropriate stories. Occasionally it’s “Tormented Ron” who nobody should have to endure. Least of all those closest to me.

Thankfully I began getting real medical assistance. It's been helping. Simply being officially diagnosed with PTSD, being able to discuss some of my darker experiences is like dragging these tar-like skinned, tentacled, writhing, shrieking “moments” out into the light. It seems to help dissipate the dread. A dread that isn’t always present, only sometimes; like when I go into the madness of a burning, sick world.

I have been the family peacekeeper for about half of my adult life. There have been many, varied, horrible situations. Mental, emotional and spiritual upheavals are no strangers to me. Nearly always the potential for violence or extreme emotional meltdowns is present. Usually by myself when dealing with these things, there’s no backup. Knocking at doors at dawn. Entering other people’s turmoil. There has been blood. Screams. People who do this 24/7 as First Responders amaze me. For me, it's just dealing with family craziness as we try to “keep things quiet.”

My wife says I'm really good at it. That it's when I'm at my “best.” It takes a crisis I guess.

Smoke shrouded wind turbines spun on smokey winds. They generated electric power not unlike my dark fears of what may lay ahead. If no one has seen this family member in over fifty years, what trauma has driven her away? How broken was this soul going to be? What kind of madness was I driving into now?

I lowered my lance and charged.

I had to get Peggy.

#GottaGetPeggy #OIIIIIIIO #JourneyToTheWest