I was prepping several more shots from the feed mill, but this one has to be a stand-alone.
Tags: Most of the structure is still covered in this corrugated siding.
Tags: Beach Boys
Early stages of a feed mill tear-down. (5 photos)
On Wednesday, my friend Marjorie rode shotgun for me when I delivered a piece to the Miller Gallery in Sturgeon Bay for the upcoming Juried Annual there. When we arrived… in the pouring rain, of course…she found me an illegal parking spot behind the building and located someone to both open the back door AND carry my work inside.
She also paid for half of my lemon biscotti when I ran out of money, but that was later.
Subtle or what? I think I slipped in the “piece at the Miller” business very smoothly.
Business done, we tried out a new coffee house and spent the next hour successfully reorganizing the universe, a task made easier with the help of caffeine and sugar, the only two food groups that really matter.
The old grain elevator stands near the channel within easy view of the coffeehouse parking lot and is in the earliest stages of a tear-down. Between the door of the coffee house and the door of my car, I heard its siren song broadcasting on max volume and it was only a matter of driving across two parking lots, two lanes of traffic and a sort of open sandy space to answer that call.
When we stepped out of the car, the air was thick and wet and gray, but stopped just short of actual rain. Half way around the building, that thick gray air began morphing into a persistent cold mist.
By the time I was finishing with the fourth side, I could no longer pretend that it was simply mist pelting me in the head. Rain was coming down hard, forcing me to tuck my camera up under my jacket and sprint back to the car.
Okay…sprint has always been a relative term for your friend, Wabi Sabi, but you could tell I had visibly shifted two gears up from amble.
Note to self: must work on timing. An hour’s worth of espresso and biscotti in a warm little coffee shop should have been scheduled for AFTER a thorough drubbing by the rain gods, not before.
But isn’t that newly-exposed wood absolutely gorgeous?
Tags: The turkey is a native of the Americas. A male turkey is called a "Tom."
Your friend, Wabi Sabi, is a fearless woman but Life can sometimes surprise her.
This is what she saw outside the window as she wandered into her living room this morning:
Oh! said Wabi Sabi. Why is a prehistoric creature standing on my deck and where is my camera?
This guy has been coming around for a couple of weeks. I think he’s been eyeing up the finch feeder and trying to figure out how to cash in on some free food. At first, I only found his…um…calling cards on my deck. (He pooped on my deck. There. I said it. He pooped. And if there are any jokes about the “poop deck,” you are grounded.)
Then I actually saw him out there one afternoon, but by the time I’d grabbed my camera, he’d disappeared. Turkeys are a skittish lot.
But today? Now look: I am setting you up for a really bad joke here.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I mean it: you can still bail out before I get to the end of this story.
I admit it: I was shocked to come around a corner and come face to face with a…wait for it…wait for it…
okay, this is it…
Disclaimer: I gave you more than ample warning on this one. You could have walked away any time.