Blog Archives
Ethanol, first
This is how it is: after 7.5 years of driving past the ethanol plant and never stopping, I went twice in three days.
I’ve been watching these dunes beside the plant for a few weeks now, and have been intrigued by the color variations in them so the other Sunday, the Patient Spouse* and I took a little drive. (Like Old People, really, on a Sunday afternoon drive to see stuff. Only we went the speed limit.)
Anyway, to get to the point, those dunes are made from millet, a grain that’s used ethanol production. (Here’s something boring to read.) (Here’s something entertaining to read.)
Hockley County, Texas
photographed 3.19.2017
*The other day, I referred to the Patient Spouse as my traveling companion (Yes! Not even capitalized!). He said it made him sound like a dog.
Fog and Ethanol
I go by this ethanol plant on my way to work, and it’s almost the highlight of the trip.* Over the years, I’ve learned that there are a few days in October and again in April when the morning sun hits the metal structure in a way that turns it into a huge cross. And that on the coldest days of the year, the low sun can make the clouds of steam glow a magnificent bright yellow. And that sometimes there’ll be a train on the long curving track moving continuously, but so slow it’s nearly imperceptible, as the grain is off-loaded.
But until the other day, when it was shrouded in fog, I’d never even turned off the main road to go look more closely at the place.
Hockley County, Texas
photographed 3.16.2017
*I know. That’s kind of pathetic.
Deepening shadows
This building is under renovation – one of these days, it’ll be office space for Hockley County.
I happen to know the architect* for the project, and was able to get a tour one afternoon. Of course, the tour wasn’t planned in advance or anything like that**, so the only camera I had with me was the one on my phone. Which is better than no camera at all, of course. And the phone did a great job of capturing the way the shadows deepened in waves across that far wall.
Levelland, Texas
photographed 11.11.2014
* Because I’m married to him.
** Even though I am licensed planner! (Don’t tell the American Institute of Certified Planners – I’d hate for them to revoke my license!)
Howling
“but the wind yes the wind keeps howling”
-from “Shake” by The Head and the Heart
Out here on the plains, the wind blows nearly every day, and usually from the south or southwest. Anyone who’s been around here long enough could look at this picture and just know that the photo was taken looking to the west. How? Because the tree, the remains of the house, and the other tree all lean to the right, having spent their lives being pushed that way by the every-present southerly wind.
So now you know.
Hockley County, Texas
photographed 10.16.2010
Three views of the same storm
Hockley County, Texas
photographed 7.4.2009, 2:28 p.m.
Ropesville, Texas
photographed 7.4.2009, 2:36 p.m.
Hockley County, Texas
photographed 7.4.2009, 2:54 p.m.
I love thunderstorms, and here’s why.
The land’s so flat you can see them building up out to the west.
The drama in the ever-shifting clouds.
The lightning – the kind that lights up the clouds from within, and the kind that makes those long jagged slashes to the ground.
The way the air smells when the storm’s near.
The sound of thunder.
The damp-earth smell of the first few raindrops.
The urgency of the rain, when it’s falling so hard that it’s noisy.
Oh, and you can take pictures of them.
One Day | One Image 