Chalk Ridge Falls Park is a good place to spend some time.  And there’s no entrance fee.  Located near the Lampasas River and Lake Belton in Bell County, it has a sweet waterfall.   The trail system leading to the falls is pretty, but the footing  was sometimes  tricky, thanks in part to an abundance of recent rain.  There’s a suspension bridge, too.  Be sure to hold onto the cables when crossing.  I was toting two cameras, three lenses and a tripod.  If I can make it, anyone can!  There’s only one place to get a straight-on shot of the waterfall.  That involved walking along a very narrow trail.  I’m pretty sure I heard a rattler nearby. We avoid each other.  Once at the destination,  I found a family who welcomed the intrusion.  A  dog named Cane figured out the rushing water.  His human was there to help him along.   Note that there’s movement in all the waterfall photos.  I could’ve used a faster shutter speed with Cane, but decided to stick with the original plan.  Almost back to the car, I happened on a curious little deer, probably not much bigger than our dog.  Bambi.   From my home in Taylor, it only took about 45 minutes to get there.  From Georgetown, probably 30 minutes.  From Austin, an hour.   It’s along F.M. 1670.  

Each year the Carnegie Hero Fund Commission awards 18 Carnegie medals to civilians who’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty.  One of this year’s recipients is Williamson County Sheriff’s Office Deputy Jonathan A. Hudash, who was presented the medal this morning in Hutto.  I was there for the Austin American-Statesman.  Family members, including Hudash’s parents and grandmother, traveled from Irvine, California for the event.  His immediate family was here, too, including 2-year-old Grayson, shown holding onto daddy in the opening photo.  Grayson’s also holding onto daddy’s award in two photos.  Also on hand was Hudash’s wife, Lexi, and their 5-year-old son, Carter.  The award was presented by Congressman John Carter.  On April 15. 2020, Hudash responded to a serious vehicle accident in Round Rock.  A 22-year-old man was trapped in a burning van.  Despite intense heat and flames, the deputy was able to free the man from the vehicle, but he later died from his injuries.  Hudash sustained burns on his hands.   The last photo shows Carter having a good time with his grandpa, Ray Hudash, Jonathan’s dad.   It was a good event to cover for

No windmills with these two photos, friends.   I just like the skies as they are, but with a little bit of corn below each one.  The opening photo is west of Granger.  The second photo was taken last evening in Bell County, not far from Holland.

Even though Elgin is only about 20 minutes south of Taylor, it’s been years since I’ve taken any photos there.  Last evening, I drove down Texas 95 to visit the town’s historic district for a few minutes.   The latest population figures, from 2019, place it around 10,000.   If all you do is drive through there on the busy Highway 290, you’ll miss out.   In 1871, the Houston Texas and Central Railroad called the community Glasscock, named for George Washington Glasscock, an early settler who later moved to Georgetown.  In 1872, the community was renamed for railroad land commissioner Robert Morris Elgin.  By 1879, with a population approaching 400, it had a newspaper, churches, a cotton gin and gristmill.  The town is mostly in Bastrop County, a few miles east of Austin.   These are just impressions, nothing more.   Can you find the faces in the last two photos?  They’re subtle.   The last image was made on the way out of town.

it’s a night where I need windmill therapy.   These are from the last two evenings.    Like them or not.

Expect stormy weather photos for a while.  I’ve never seen so many days in a row like what we’ve experienced in May and June in Central Texas.  Granted, I like weather images, but at some point we’ll have to move on.    For now, it’s storms.  And a calf next to mama at the end. 

Earlier this week, I stopped by Taylor’s Bull Branch Park on an evening when the constant rain slowed down.    With tripod in hand, my goal was to take photos of the fast-moving creek.   I did that, but a visitor hunting for a meal appeared, seemingly unbothered by my presence.  The longest lens I had was a 70-200mm.   If you know focal lengths, you might surmise she was pretty close.   So I watched her for a while.   I’ve photographed Great Blue Herons for years, but seldom come away with  a shot of them actually catching a fish.  Luck was with me this time.  She was so focused on task, I was able to shoot a couple of these at very slow shutter speeds.  The tripod was handy.   One image was just over a second, with no bird movement.  The last photo is a five-second exposure.   You can see her head move a little, but I like the scene.  So there.

We’re still in the midst of days and days of stormy weather, but at least for a while this evening, the sunshine peeked through the clouds.   These are photos from Georgetown and East Williamson County.   Included is the spire of Georgetown’s First United Methodist Church, plus the Palace’s Doug Smith Performance Center.   Moving east, there’s a shiny road leading to some nice grain elevators, finally, a few minutes after sunset, a car passing along a field of corn.   We take any sun we can get these days.

I suppose it’s a good thing, this rain.  Are farmers starting to say it’s enough yet?  I don’t know.  Our backyard hasn’t dried out in a week.  At any rate, more scenes from rain and storms on the Blackland Prairie, including (in order of presentation) a barn in Noack, an old farmhouse east of Thrall and three wise horses north of Norman’s Crossing.  That trio belongs to some friends.  

Since coming to this area of Central Texas in 2009, an ongoing project has been documenting   the Blackland Prairie, acres and acres of farm and ranch country.   Places are disappearing from the landscape at a rapid pace.  Barns go away.   Trees are clearcut.  Farmhouses disappear.   County roads become crowded multi-lane highways.   Bit by bit, character is removed.  Thus tonight’s post.   There’s an old farmhouse, located on a dirt road in East Williamson County. Every year, it would lean a little bit more.  Humans hadn’t lived here for years.  Every few months I’d drive along that road.    On my Sunday evening drive, the house was gone, an empty space surrounded by cornfields.