In January, we took a side trip through Fayetteville on our way to Huntsville, Alabama. Or one could say, it was sort of on the way, depends how you get there. As we drove the selected route, I couldn't help but notice the building with the painted bricks, and made a quick U-turn. I was caught by the green doors, the faded paint, the shadows of the overhead wires, and even the wooden bench. 

Apparently, the sign has gone through several variations over the years, with any distinction between the letter styles blurred by history. I suspect the previous sign was painted over with a new sign on top, and maybe even a third variation. I can't tell which because they have all faded together.

Portions of my past have faded as well. It  is just as well that some of it has faded, erased, mercifully forgiven. Thank God for grace.

For some time Mike had talked to me about seeing this barn and it's unique construction. As we drove up the lane and neared the barn, it looked from the outside like many an old barn with several outbuildings. But we walked around back and I saw why this was no ordinary structure. The outside was covered with weathered boards, but beyond the vertical slats, the walls were constructed of stacked logs.

One could see why it was called stovepipe or stovewood or cordwood construction. The 16" logs were stacked with mortar between each log. The buildings were simple to construct and provided insulation against the cold winters. It's likely 100 years old or more.

We crawled through an opening to see what it looked like from the inside. (We had permission). Mike said, "You have to see it from the inside." And sure enough he was right.

Reminds me that stained glass windows are beautiful from the outside, but you have to go inside to see what it's all about. I think I knew that before. Must be why it's called insight.

Mike said, "When you're done photographing the barn, you've got to see what's in this house." I was visiting Mike and Marcia in Door County, Wisconsin, and Mike had taken me to an abandoned farm to photograph the barns that were constructed in an unusual manner. (I'll save that for another time.) I was fascinated by the barns and the texture and the light, and could barely tear myself away from my photography, but Mike's invitation seemed mysterious. "What's in the house?" He replied that he wasn't going to tell me. "You'll have to see for yourself." As I went in, it seemed like an ordinary empty farmhouse. And it was empty except for one thing. There on the kitchen counter was a half-finished wooden airplane. And so the mystery continued. I saw it, but what did it mean? Why was it left there? Who had begun to build it? Did someone intend to come back and retrieve it? Sometimes in the seeing, there is no resolution, but more questions. There must be a story here...

A few days ago my friend Byron Jorjorian who blogs at http://byronjorjorian.wordpress.com/ posted a photo with the following quote: “In every landscape should reside jewels of abstract art waiting to be discovered.” – Melissa Brown

Byron and I have had conversation about abstract art and I found his photo and the quote to be stimulating of my own reflection. Last month as I escaped the cold by being in Florida, Judy and I went one day to Venice, Florida. Many wildlife photographers know about the rookery that is there. Often there is a collection of photographers and tripods and long lenses. That day was no exception and I met several others who were there to photograph the birds. I don't consider myself to specialize in birds although I find them a fascinating subject and a challenge to capture visually. As we stood there, a young Great Blue Heron flew over and landed right next to me. He was too close to even get a picture of him with my 400mm lens. So Judy handed me the other camera with the 70-200 lens and I got several shots.

But what caught my eye about the photo later was the detail of the young bird's feathers as I processed the image when I got back home. I thought that my moment of "seeing" was when I focused the lens and pushed the shutter button. I admit I was thrilled at the moment, but as I looked later and saw the detail in the abstract, I was filled with even more wonder. Thanks Byron for the reminder.

The liturgical calendar notes that today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent, a time of spiritual reflection prior to Easter, a time of sacrifice and fasting as one considers the suffering of Christ. Today also would have been my father's 87th birthday. And it is the anniversary of Judy and my first date: we walked to Big John's Pancake house for Sunday supper. Pancakes are not too Lent-like, rather belonging to the practice of some for Fat Tuesday and Mardi Gras. I was never too good at Lent, since I didn't grow up in the church, and found self-denial challenging. Not unlike a lot of folks, probably. So as I contemplate Lent from the position of no longer preaching, nor leading a church, I am planning a different kind of spiritual reflection. I wrote to a friend this morning about the significance of "seeing" and pausing to wonder. The folks who predict the weather "see" a week of warmth ahead for Nashville. Possibly, today marks the end of winter, and the beginning of "seeing". I certainly pray so.

I know it's a picture of waffles, and not pancakes. But you get the "picture"!

This winter has been such a contrast with last year. The coldest low temperatures in 2013 occurred in January and there were just two mornings that were below 20 degrees. I kept the pool open all winter, and there were even several days during the winter that I heated the spa to enjoy on warmer days. Ah, but this winter... I installed a freeze protection thermostat to the pool filter so that when the outside air temperature was below 39 degrees the pump would circulate the water and prevent the water from freezing. It has worked well, except it has been so cold this month with numerous single-digit temperatures that the surface of the pool has frozen for a few days at a time. And yesterday morning as I went out, I noticed that on a few persistent half-submerged leaves frost had formed above the surface of the ice. And I couldn't resist taking a few photos. The sun was shining, the wind wasn't blowing. And I enjoyed the quick process of capturing an image. It almost takes my mind off the cold!

I'm eleven months into retirement and this new journey, and I continually laugh at my self for being concerned that my experience of wildlife in my new home would be limited. I'm enjoying feeding the birds, but I must also be feeding a dozen squirrels, and who knows how many rabbits. Canada geese fly over the deck honking each morning and then reverse the pattern in the evening, often flying so low that I can hear the "squeak" of their wings. And then we had the joy of more than 10 nests of Great Blue Herons just 600 yards south of our house on the far side of the pond. Yep, this must be the city!

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Reflection at Breakfast
 

Before the rain started this morning I noticed this reflection which suggests a different location than middle Tennessee. Pause and reflect, giving thanks for another morning.