Today is the first game of a new season!

The grass is green. My neighbor has already mowed his lawn twice. Basketball is over, with dribbling and shooting. Now it's time to kick the ball! And we get to take our lawnchairs out this morning and watch our granddaughter and her friends play a little soccer. It's great to live close enough that this is part of the joy of living in Nashville! Go, Maddy!

My friend, Dan Dietrich, is one of the most talented men I know.

I think he can do about anything, fix everything. He loves the outdoors, carves decoys, built his own boat. And he taught me to cook for a large crowd (so I cooked for district Christmas parties and mother-daughter banquets), but I cannot fry fish like Dan. I was stunned when I watched him recently as he exercised his two retrievers. Dan trains dogs (and their owners), and I haven't witnessed more disciplined dogs, responding to commands from his whistle and the extension of his arms.

He almost makes me want to have a dog.

I just don't know if I'm trainable.

One of my favorite places to go when I visit my mother is the Auburn-Cord-Duesenburg Museum in Auburn, Indiana. I take my camera and spend the afternoon admiring these amazing automobiles.

One of the volunteers said, "I've seen you before. You can never get enough pictures of these cars." No, I told him, as I searched for the right words, "they're works of art." I heard him tell another volunteer that I was taking pictures of art. The photo above is the lower portion of a Duesenburg radiator grille. Now I know that the art above is different from the art below, from the Ringling Museum of Art in Sarasota, Florida.

But the creators were no less proud, no less inspired, no less dedicated to their craft. They took their time to design not only an efficient, powerful automobile, but stylized machines that caused anyone who saw them to pause and wonder. It looks like art to me. Or maybe, it's my camera and me that creates art. Sometimes it might just jump that hurdle.

Obviously, I am no expert. I did have to take Art Appreciation twice in college, in order to pass it once, but that's another story. I still think it's art.

No one builds a barn without help from someone else. At least, I don't think it's possible. No, the more I consider this structure, I am convinced that it can't be done alone.

This barn comes from a different era. Buildings were community and family projects with few being compensated for their efforts. All worked together and shared the labor to complete the job. A friend once told me about a contrary neighbor that got his tractor stuck in the field. His dad, even though he didn't like the neighbor, went over to help. His son couldn't understand why his dad would work to get the tractor free for the contrary man. His dad replied that next time he might be the one who needed help.

The barn, that represented a different era, burned down last week. I trust that cooperation and community effort are not disappearing as well.

In a recent post I claimed that I was a fun guy. A friend agreed. I think she did. April fool?

When I was a kid, I loved the jokes and tricks of April Fools' Day. One of my customers on my newspaper route helped me make a finger bandage out of gauze, a chewing gum package, and a nail that was bent to go around my finger. When you put all the parts together, it looked like I had a nail piercing my bandaged finger. Of course, I'm a fun guy, and put on my best act to convince others I was wounded. And then we would all laugh together.

About the same time, Terry Noland had a song "There Was a Fungus Among Us" that I remember hearing on WLS, Chicago. You can find it on YouTube. It's not great music, but stuck in my mind, along with other non sequitur phrases like "static in the attic". Sometimes I wish I had more noble memories stuck in my brain.

This image of fungus caught my attention and of those walking with me. I do not know what it is. Do you know that there are 1.5 to 5 million species of fungi with only 5% identified? More than I knew, there is fungus among us. Really. And that's no April Fool.

I'm not a celebrity. Few of us are.

No river is named after me. There is a Hartle Road, somewhere in Florida. I did have my fifteen minutes of fame (more like 5) when Tom Brokaw talked about me and my church at the close of the evening news broadcast in December of 1984. We do live in a celebrity culture. But I'm fascinated by how few celebrities have accomplished more than just being famous. I recall decades ago that I wanted to make a difference in the world. I'm uncertain that I'll be remembered for long. Actually, retirement will make you humble as one's "significance" vanishes. So here's this building that's covered with names on all four sides. I wonder if there is room for me to paint my name?

Better still, I hope my name is painted within the hearts and memories of others. There's where I believe it will last longer than any faded paint or evening newscast. I know I have a bunch of names within me, that I cherish, who are significant and accomplished and generous and compassionate and grace-filled.

I think it is difficult enough to photograph what you see...

But I read a challenge recently to photograph what you feel. I recognize when I am drawn to an image, more by emotion than sight. But to make those images is a growing desire of mine. How can I see more deeply? And how can that be communicated visually?

Today is the Fourth Sunday in Lent, and the gospel lesson is a favorite of mine that tells well the story of the healing of the blind man. Scene after scene builds throughout the account. An excerpt of Barbara Brown Taylor's most recent book, Learning to Walk in the Dark, published in the April 2, 2014 edition of the Christian Century, relates the experience of Jacques Lusseyran, who although blind experienced light within. He wrote: "The source of light is not in the outer world. We believe that it is only because of a common delusion. The light dwells where life also dwells: within ourselves." There is seeing that happens without eyes. Sometimes you can even tell it in a photograph.

Most places I am a tourist, although I have lived numerous places. And usually if you have a camera draped around your neck, then it is assumed you must be a tourist. But if your camera is on a tripod, ah, you must be an expert. And so people ask you questions. The questions run the gamut, besides the common photography questions. Where does this road go? Have you been to that waterfall? What flower is this? Once in the early spring when I was photographing in the Smokies, a couple from the Northeast asked about a tree that they had been seeing numerous places. They said it was purple. And they tried to describe it, but I had my dunce hat on that day, and couldn't imagine what tree they were seeking to identify. Only later in the day, did I realize that they were talking about redbud trees.

There are a number of trees that announce spring: star magnolia, tulip magnolia (brown from the recent late frost), Bradford pear (in bloom now), and then redbud and dogwood. Now I have friends that don't care for this heavy pollen season, but I think the range of color is beautiful. And I'm ready for the next announcement of spring. We are all ready. By the way, today's photo is from northern Arkansas.