This morning I covered a unique parade, hosted by the Georgetown Beard Club and Wilco Strong.  Because of concerns associated with the ongoing pandemic, Independence Day events throughout the country were cancelled, including the ones in Georgetown, Texas.   The hosts crafted a socially-distant parade, a caravan of cars, trucks and motorcycles that drove their vehicles past  area senior care and nursing facilities, including Wesleyan Skilled Nursing and Rehabilitation, The Wesleyan at Scenic and The Delaney at Georgetown Village.   Residents were able to come outside to watch thanks to the organizers considering safety first.    It’s been an unusual year.  My July 4th holidays have always been busy though.   I’m glad this one came together.

The Saharan dust flying through Texas is great for sunsets, but after waiting for the haze to clear tonight for an almost-full moon, I’m irritable.   The moon finally made an appearance, about 75 minutes late.   At any rate, you have a sunset, plus two moon photos, one at Prince of Peace Lutheran Church cemetery, another by a cornfield.   I’ll sign off now.

A few years ago, I photographed Georgetown’s Al Blaschke as he went skydiving on his 100th birthday.  Now 103 (and a half!), he repeated the feat, this time, joined in the Texas sky by his 22-year-old twin grandsons, Jason and Kevin.   Today’s tandem jump celebrated the brothers’ graduation from college, Jason from Texas A&M, Kevin from my alma mater UT-Austin.   But there was another goal to achieve this time, becoming the world’s oldest tandem skydiver.  The record has been held by a 101-year-old from the United Kingdom.  The Guinness folks are awaiting today’s results, but it looks like Al’s on top once verification is made.   These photos were  taken at Skydive Spaceland San Marcos, located in Fentress, Texas.   The last photo shows Al’s friend,  Ernie Columbus, as he snaps a keepsake photo of his buddy.  Ernie recently took up skydiving on his 100th birthday earlier this year.   Best wishes to both Al and Ernie!   And to the new college graduates.

Recently, a friend asked how I handled getting candid photos of children.  There’s no easy answer, especially in recent years.   When I first started taking these bits of life photos in the early-70s, people seemed much more trusting.    Tonight’s photos provide some real world examples from recent outings, one set as splash pads opened for the summer in Georgetown, the other, from Tuesday, as a dad and his sons enjoyed a fishing outing on the San Gabriel River.   In each case, I could’ve just started making photos, but in neither instance did it seem the right thing to do.  At the splash pad, I introduced myself  before making photos.  It didn’t mar the candid nature of the children’s fun.   At the river, I did start to take photos, but stopped to identify myself to dad, who was more than happy to oblige.   Granted, I was representing a newspaper for both situations.   That can work either for or against you.   The fishing outing went on without giving the camera a moment’s notice.   Sometimes, if there’s something happening that’s going to come and go quickly, I’ll shoot first, but then make sure parents or guardians are okay.  During recent protests, I honestly just take photos.  If adults bring their children along, they can anticipate photos being taken by many people with cameras.   It’s not easy in 2020, but showing the good side of childhood is not just cute, but important.

This is one of my occasional visits to some beautiful horses in Norman’s Crossing, Texas.  While most horses I photograph are taken quickly, from the roadside, these sweet babies belong to a friend, who graciously allows me to snap their photos.   This time, however, I planned ahead.   I brought carrots!   This trio finished off the entire bag in short order, gently taking each bite from my outstretched hand.   While I don’t know much about horses, I know they’re gorgeous, and very very smart.

For almost 50 years, I’ve thought of every day as camera day, but apparently there’s a National Camera Day, which falls each year on June 29th.   It seemed like a good time to post photos of one of my earliest cameras, a 1967 Nikon F.   I purchased it used in either 1971 or 1972.   It was in almost-new condition, too.  A few years of rugged news photography left a few scratches and dents along the way, but it’s a survivor.   Back then, cameras were mostly metal, quite durable.   Now it sits in my home office bookshelf, but it still works.   Note that this camera had no built-in light meter, no motor drive.  Even then, a motor drive for it was close to $2000, well above my pay grade.  And no auto exposure, no autofocus.   You want see an M on the command dial.    These photos were snapped this morning, using a lens only a few years newer than the camera.

It’s been cloudy all day, with a bit of occasional rain.   Is the Saharan dust cleared out?   I”m honestly not sure.   These photos are from this evening near Granger, Texas.   The turtle in the road merited a stop.   I felt bad for the little rascal, but didn’t want to touch him (her?), fearing it wouldn’t be good for him/her.   So I took his picture, then tried to get him to mosey on, out of harm’s way.   But rather than heading for the roadside, he scampered under my car.  Finally, I coaxed him to safety.   Then I saw kids enjoying a bike ride, their dogs standing sentry against  an invading picture taker.   The others were closer to Granger, concluding with an image of Saints Cyril & Methodius Catholic Church.  

Throughout the day, I assumed what I was seeing were cloudy skies, but no hint of rain materialized.   Finally, it came to me.  Saharan dust!    It’s very interesting to see its effect on our skies and landscapes.   The assumption was that the dust would cross the oceans, then slow down at the Gulf coast.   Then a fellow I follow on Instagram, a midwesterner, posted some images last night from his area. Dusty ones.   It’s a fascinating diversion from everything else happening in our lives.  The phenomenon tells me this: throughout the world, we are connected.  It’s regrettable many don’t see that. 

These were taken tonight along a county road near Thrall, Texas.   It’s wonderful when I find a new road to explore.  After eleven years back in Texas, this one found its way to me this week.  Maybe there’s some of that Saharan dust present.  If not, no worries.  A rainbow is okay, too.  

Most know by now, but my primary function for about 47 years hasn’t been those pictorial/landscape photos, but rather community photojournalism.    And yes, I still do some of that.    Among the numerous stories being covered around the United States are monuments and memorials to the Civil War, notably the Confederacy.    We’ve all watched recently as rioters have forcibly taken them down, or, through judicial action they are removed.   In Georgetown, there’s a statue on the courthouse lawn honoring Confederate soldiers.    I think it was installed in 1916.  The courthouse was dedicated in 1911.   Like other monuments, it’s getting increased scrutiny.  For the past few weeks, there have been peaceful demonstrations at the site.  This morning I was there as a group opposed to the statue’s presence made their case.   Also gathered were members of the Williamson County Grays, Sons of Confederate Veterans.    Civility was practiced from both sides.   The most interesting interchange, however, occurred as I was getting ready to leave.  A lady who was shopping stopped by and began an at-times heated discussion with one of the pro-removal protesters.  She wondered about the need to destroy history.  She finally threw up her arm and left.  To be fair, these protesters don’t want the monument destroyed, just removed from county property.  Three of the photos show this interchange.  The others provide a little more context.   Again, everyone was civil.   I wish everyone would follow their example, whatever your views. Oh, one other thing.  A lady who came to demonstrate against the statue mentioned “I don’t want my picture taken.”   I calmly walked over, explaining that she was in a public place, there to take part in a public protest.   If you attend a public event, expect us to do our jobs.