tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48504203956967413052024-03-13T05:26:21.637-08:00 Alaska and Beyond Through Artists' Eyes Paintings, Photographs and Adventures of Alaskan artists, Don and Karen CorneliusDon and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.comBlogger124125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-39108444280690791402023-12-28T18:59:00.000-09:002023-12-28T18:59:44.212-09:00Frances and the Sea Lion<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>The arrival of our helicopter on Seal Rock, a naked pile of stones off the southern entrance to Prince William Sound, scattered the adult sea lions like dandelion seeds in a gust of wind. It was the early 1970s and we were on a mission to brand their new-born pups, innocents born far from the presence of man -- until we showed up. This Steller’s sea lion natal rookery lays along the route the Exon Valdez would have taken had it not encountered Blye Reef. The research project goal -- to learn about the movements of these Sea Lions. After they matured, branded sea lions could be tracked as they roamed about the Gulf of Alaska. No one knew if populations from different rookeries moved about or remained faithful to their “rock of birth.” Armored with hip boots and heavy rain gear, we would wade into tide pools where the temporarily abandoned pups congregated. With the brands each one received it’s personal identity - kind of like it’s own social security number. <br /><br />If you’re envisioning clear pools of sea water, the substrate covered with flowing strands of green kelp, red and green sea stars decorating outcroppings and sea anemones waving their tentacles hoping to snare a passing bit of plankton, you haven’t been to a tide pool on Seal Rock. Sea lions are not house broken. When the mother gives birth, no mid wife cleans up the remnants. When a pup dies, there is no funeral procession to remove the last remains. These pools are opaque brown, the surrounding air fouled with their stench. Our job -- to wade into these septic messes and grab the pups in a frenzy of splashes in their attempt to get away.<br /><br />In the early 1970s the Alaska Department of Fish and Game was an undemocratic organization. Female biologists were not welcome beyond the office. Statements like “could you imagine how wives would feel if their husbands went into the field with a woman,” prevailed. Eventually a few courageous women braved that prejudice to be hired by the Division to work in the lab. Frances was the first woman in the Anchorage office to finally break the ultimate shatter-proof glass ceiling and go into the field. Her first trip -- a helicopter ride to Seal Rock. <br /><br />The project coordinator assigned Frances what seemed like a somewhat benign task. At the head of a large elongated tide pool, where most of our quarry congregated, a rock ridge separated the “pond” from the swells rolling in from the Gulf of Alaska. At low tide, the restless surface of the Gulf waters lay many feet below the level of the tide pool, but incoming swells swept high up the ridge. On the Gulf side a bull sea lion weighing as much as a Volkswagen Beetle seemed particularly intent with reclaiming his territory. Frances’ job -- Persuade him it was now hers. While she had a gun, the idea was that just by standing on the narrow rock outcrop, perhaps 10-feet above the pool and twice as far above the open ocean, he would agree. Wrong. As each swell surged up the rock face, the bull would rise with it, lunging towards Frances in an effort to show her who really owned that slab of real estate. <br /><br />With each surge the bull became more and more brazen until on one huge ocean wave he rose almost eye to eye with Francis. Reflexively she stepped backwards, lost her footing and plunged into the tide pool’s primordial soup. I can still envision the brown geyser that gushed out of her mouth as she emerged from beneath that “goo.” Frances did not enjoy the remainder of the field excursion. I wonder if she regretted her "good fortune" at the becoming the first woman to be a Game Division field biologist that day.<br /><br />Of course I packed my camera during these tagging operations and exposed more than a few rolls of 35 mm film. One head shot of a pup caught Karen’s attention. She wanted to paint it. It is Karen’s only oil painting, but demonstrates the versatility of this watercolorist recently turned acrylic artist. </i><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y7Vy-9XvuJw/UiIu2IWYEII/AAAAAAAAArE/4MToozo3dq8/s1600/Karen_Cornelius_Alaska_Waiting_for_Mama.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="502" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-y7Vy-9XvuJw/UiIu2IWYEII/AAAAAAAAArE/4MToozo3dq8/s640/Karen_Cornelius_Alaska_Waiting_for_Mama.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<i> Waiting for Mama 16 x 20 inches Oil on Canvas</i></div>
Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-19329729235594619422023-12-28T18:52:00.000-09:002023-12-28T18:52:28.871-09:00The Mermaid<p><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 16px;"><span style="background-color: white;">Karen misses swimming in 4-Mile Lake, Wisconsin, where she spent</span></i><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 16px;"><span style="background-color: white;"> summers during her childhood</span></i><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 16px;"><span style="background-color: white;"> years. She misses it a lot. And so, this past August, </span></i><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 16px;"><span style="background-color: white;">on a muggy (mid-60s) afternoon </span></i><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 16px;"><span style="background-color: white;">during a visit by her cousin Connie from Iowa, Karen, Connie and Don hiked up an alder-lined, barricaded gravel road ending at Petersburg's back-up water reservoir. Karen, her brow revealing beads of moisture, lamented how she wished she could plunge in that lake like she did back at 4 Mile. "Oh how I wish." </span></i></p><p><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 16px;"><span style="background-color: white;">Reaching the end of the road, Karen disappeared, wandering down to the shore of this wild lake surrounded by virgin spruce and hemlock forest and subalpine mountains. Not a soul appeared in sight...no one...just the lake, the forested mountains and us. There, ignoring the no trespassing signs, like the uninhibited child that still lives within, Karen succumbed. She stripped and plunged in -- Yes, skinny dipping in the town's back-up drinking water supply while Connie and Don, still on the road, thought she was off taking photos. Finally, refreshed, Karen emerged to bask on a rock and let the sun perform the duties of a plush cotton towel.</span></i></p><p><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 16px;"><span style="background-color: white;">And that's when the entire Petersburg high school cross-country track team on a training run crested the last rise in the road above the reservoir to view a </span></i><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 16px;"><span style="background-color: white;">76-year-old version of a </span></i><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 16px;"><span style="background-color: white;">scene reminiscent of Denmark's mermaid on a rock. Karen knew she had been caught when shortly afterwards the cross-country coach came breathlessly running up to ask, "is everything OK?" Then, spying Karen, dressed by that time e</span><span style="background-color: white;">xcept for her dripping hair and sans socks, shoes, and appearing quite refreshed, he grinned.</span></i></p><div style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Now the other character in this saga, Cousin Connie, delights in the variety of trails </i></span><i style="font-family: verdana;"> around Petersburg,</i><i style="font-family: verdana;"> but not the lack of rest room facilities. She asked. "</i><i style="font-family: verdana;">Would it be safe to pee in the woods?" "Sure," I assured her, "as long as you get well off the trail and behind a tree." And so, the day before Connie's visit ended, sure enough, the urge struck. Checking up and down the trail she determined she was alone, like at the reservoir, not a soul in sight or within earshot. Connie stepped off the trail but failed to fully heed the terms of my advice -- well off the trail, behind a tree. Need I tell you what happened next? Remember that high school cross-country team and their training runs? Yep!</i></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><br style="font-size: 16px;" /></i></span><div style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>That team had quite a summer.</i></span></div><div style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Alas, Karen accidentally deleted her photos of the reservoir that day so instead I'm including some of her favorite images from the past. </i></span><i style="font-family: verdana;">Also, included are a couple of photos Karen took of other swimmers in the reservoir. </i></div><div style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOcb1cGi7XcszVgyYqZHNm7jhdAa3TIK10gYNKkHdJc1JZDUyZXs2hym50i34jGTbYgsR0PcKEecRLd_coz_zCXH8WeHlPIxhvfcDqJBvfoTZV81lfYCbsxlxHvWYJIpEQfeuDLjTgA4zWNxyNJZrV1_Ml2Z-TnL7sf3o-iWfSI565a2RFGCX-3tteig/s5284/DSC03786.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2673" data-original-width="5284" height="330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOcb1cGi7XcszVgyYqZHNm7jhdAa3TIK10gYNKkHdJc1JZDUyZXs2hym50i34jGTbYgsR0PcKEecRLd_coz_zCXH8WeHlPIxhvfcDqJBvfoTZV81lfYCbsxlxHvWYJIpEQfeuDLjTgA4zWNxyNJZrV1_Ml2Z-TnL7sf3o-iWfSI565a2RFGCX-3tteig/w651-h330/DSC03786.jpeg" width="651" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The scene of the "crime"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWkq1R-C1CV7gYLbmVW6ceCv7Efm6-Z6566usVK_-S3a1kWe0GCZtvXg0OJy_bf3Cz341eoacnX8ZJDzmWnJ_3kWlCMEO3RWZHZ-5fEVwDbVjj2cOjjqwJDWxhvlrZLgV8mXyerHPTEPoXfK34YQaKNzudOSGKLtl55Am08EYer-2KyCrAGMNBZw_ASA/s3255/DSC00717.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2885" data-original-width="3255" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWkq1R-C1CV7gYLbmVW6ceCv7Efm6-Z6566usVK_-S3a1kWe0GCZtvXg0OJy_bf3Cz341eoacnX8ZJDzmWnJ_3kWlCMEO3RWZHZ-5fEVwDbVjj2cOjjqwJDWxhvlrZLgV8mXyerHPTEPoXfK34YQaKNzudOSGKLtl55Am08EYer-2KyCrAGMNBZw_ASA/w577-h512/DSC00717.jpeg" width="577" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><i>A Sitka black-tailed deer "guards" the entrance gate</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i> of the road</i><i> leading to the reservoir.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span></div><div style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQac4_2qOl7R8OYhYdRmZP4zuXRrGpc55qXhWVm3U0oJ71glxIEkO4SRZXwUcxNFGEyKUXlAGyTXiHMTXXEfOn37ZAM8Qyighf3Mzu9vXzd1EOPg6w-MLfrhYKnwxPJDIMKVnfTRqV6cQ_qyTUyYjEZ-5xwDEwGVnmC0ZahSQTjlgKNUAjFcxQlPkAQ/s5472/DSC08733.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3648" data-original-width="5472" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQac4_2qOl7R8OYhYdRmZP4zuXRrGpc55qXhWVm3U0oJ71glxIEkO4SRZXwUcxNFGEyKUXlAGyTXiHMTXXEfOn37ZAM8Qyighf3Mzu9vXzd1EOPg6w-MLfrhYKnwxPJDIMKVnfTRqV6cQ_qyTUyYjEZ-5xwDEwGVnmC0ZahSQTjlgKNUAjFcxQlPkAQ/w662-h440/DSC08733.jpeg" width="662" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Alders line the access road to the reservoir...</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqOFfIAjgnhRSMja3hWqqFGcfBqZP_aclyQ__cRjo5J-6KpIoIx4C9lM9l1BNv4jZYUTL16niVxYgFFWhqDcBaVJpj5mM5HYUI_QjTbnI6cX5Wwb2KC-4GmFIUHXIJjyghfuOgMFnSpJY9WLUmlEjhrwHPiAI-PA0KLuP4z4CALA1Sk9test66uwonw/s5472/DSC00763.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5472" data-original-width="3648" height="461" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxqOFfIAjgnhRSMja3hWqqFGcfBqZP_aclyQ__cRjo5J-6KpIoIx4C9lM9l1BNv4jZYUTL16niVxYgFFWhqDcBaVJpj5mM5HYUI_QjTbnI6cX5Wwb2KC-4GmFIUHXIJjyghfuOgMFnSpJY9WLUmlEjhrwHPiAI-PA0KLuP4z4CALA1Sk9test66uwonw/w307-h461/DSC00763.jpeg" width="307" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>as well as lupine, here seen blooming in the spring.</i></div><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsxHzh68YMDGbztUyvbys7qVk9opru57sWJTFDVmuJ3-hmEjqhykCkhF_GW9s8IazVseukAJrIeE3HbH9ywr9MrQH6sivUOxcDSAreLq1JPdRILOCmjWiAmuxUhEnjHgNNb0qfIG9IhaskKqpvY2QbwxyWGnMrKfROewbApuVf7C6G0FQDJvv969bVFw/s5340/DSC08629.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3560" data-original-width="5340" height="369" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsxHzh68YMDGbztUyvbys7qVk9opru57sWJTFDVmuJ3-hmEjqhykCkhF_GW9s8IazVseukAJrIeE3HbH9ywr9MrQH6sivUOxcDSAreLq1JPdRILOCmjWiAmuxUhEnjHgNNb0qfIG9IhaskKqpvY2QbwxyWGnMrKfROewbApuVf7C6G0FQDJvv969bVFw/w555-h369/DSC08629.jpeg" width="555" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><i>Another view of the reservoir in the spring.</i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKnZfS84wlZK1Ds4_MqLohmQuJL-ipHWIbn0XOL0RXHh1IB3XPU1C2vLVSv6DwmFVch7uxbpc6ofg8QDwaeCup6LpfnZ2YLQ2cRGAA3ziCa5BCH_SosKfEduJz6DN0Zm6ptiZTsh03EJE0sCLwqKQ41hN0LNm-853riSrjA8vHQ8vL4JQfJtkRmkpARw/s1698/DSC08813.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="942" data-original-width="1698" height="367" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKnZfS84wlZK1Ds4_MqLohmQuJL-ipHWIbn0XOL0RXHh1IB3XPU1C2vLVSv6DwmFVch7uxbpc6ofg8QDwaeCup6LpfnZ2YLQ2cRGAA3ziCa5BCH_SosKfEduJz6DN0Zm6ptiZTsh03EJE0sCLwqKQ41hN0LNm-853riSrjA8vHQ8vL4JQfJtkRmkpARw/w659-h367/DSC08813.jpeg" width="659" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Other swimmers in the reservoir, ring-neck ducks with the drake</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">revealing how the species got it's name. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I still wonder why they weren't called ring-billed ducks.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm2q0ekMqO8g1dXGYAsUQte5621P9Us6201GtNrx5Y6xCLqGz8LKQyrONDyd6D2rRYfrhciC-gXlbVKKxbI2MLv8SLWXfhCMnXxxyupAS1lQRa3YQl7mNbdumVk5wuWj9a4j9MWjAAnVT7gVJsgHqSUR8lkGOqEilymwKLgnMuWCw94mhJ3CJbH4EMEA/s1910/DSC08776.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1005" data-original-width="1910" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm2q0ekMqO8g1dXGYAsUQte5621P9Us6201GtNrx5Y6xCLqGz8LKQyrONDyd6D2rRYfrhciC-gXlbVKKxbI2MLv8SLWXfhCMnXxxyupAS1lQRa3YQl7mNbdumVk5wuWj9a4j9MWjAAnVT7gVJsgHqSUR8lkGOqEilymwKLgnMuWCw94mhJ3CJbH4EMEA/w638-h335/DSC08776.jpeg" width="638" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Another shot of the drake ring-neck duck.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio47a56dxTZdWg_xdQNSzjQsMP7kXQ4vqolS5enSqV6BHn3w64jV_htGXjeZiDda87bnTmU5qmKwx7aACbHXo2bV0nONL54ieInl2EdDGkVhHcEz9pKgjp7IgvIccBHuxVeVQduKRzVQAQVoW3TRc92eP5ehb4G0e4_eKmCEuWfoYPpT1RAaElmoIv6A/s3262/DSC03790.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1322" data-original-width="3262" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio47a56dxTZdWg_xdQNSzjQsMP7kXQ4vqolS5enSqV6BHn3w64jV_htGXjeZiDda87bnTmU5qmKwx7aACbHXo2bV0nONL54ieInl2EdDGkVhHcEz9pKgjp7IgvIccBHuxVeVQduKRzVQAQVoW3TRc92eP5ehb4G0e4_eKmCEuWfoYPpT1RAaElmoIv6A/w648-h263/DSC03790.jpeg" width="648" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Oh dear, a Vancouver Canada Goose on the reservoir needs some grooming.</i></div></div></span></div><div style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN42HW9SHzbhFpzUQLK8vffdxhRSfcjUEdr6whmzQ7ITtmPpNKMrm9RXWmCzpcxAUeBQBu3zTg6X8jdXHLAJKI0weuqMXPh3YB2CmRYz0aExthgh7jbjF3m8iHvIY9F55U7mQ4rf6j5HsrawNb_DBtsv8gs4DZ39JUSLJ7agQC7iRvcwRvNhJEdGtQQA/s3631/IMG_4346.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2664" data-original-width="3631" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN42HW9SHzbhFpzUQLK8vffdxhRSfcjUEdr6whmzQ7ITtmPpNKMrm9RXWmCzpcxAUeBQBu3zTg6X8jdXHLAJKI0weuqMXPh3YB2CmRYz0aExthgh7jbjF3m8iHvIY9F55U7mQ4rf6j5HsrawNb_DBtsv8gs4DZ39JUSLJ7agQC7iRvcwRvNhJEdGtQQA/w533-h391/IMG_4346.jpeg" width="533" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><i>Away from the reservoir, surely no one would see someone off the trail here.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiULrkjy862JZLgimitQENvpUokiPfxdKKoMXN4HEkn8fKJ9QzLj5WmC5An9raHMHt-o5ZnwJh7J4rqboh4gJMA8s7Fm8q2zaMgKXH4KVgjdqurmUA3pdOotYVeQJ2vs1D-OlhoF970geQ7OnaMFqWO4EF0fFJJGUxprnIhwh3Z017HGFosFK-7LpyVhA/s2004/DSC08855.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1317" data-original-width="2004" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiULrkjy862JZLgimitQENvpUokiPfxdKKoMXN4HEkn8fKJ9QzLj5WmC5An9raHMHt-o5ZnwJh7J4rqboh4gJMA8s7Fm8q2zaMgKXH4KVgjdqurmUA3pdOotYVeQJ2vs1D-OlhoF970geQ7OnaMFqWO4EF0fFJJGUxprnIhwh3Z017HGFosFK-7LpyVhA/w647-h425/DSC08855.jpeg" width="647" /></a></div><br /><i>Other walkers on Petersburg's trail system.</i></div></span></div>Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-53127392876443910302023-01-12T14:41:00.002-09:002023-01-19T15:12:54.842-09:00Fluff<p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Petersburg's<a href="https://clausenmuseum.com"> Clausen Memorial Museum</a>'s annual Christmas celebration included a Christmas ornament silent auction fundraiser. So when the call came out I decided to rise to the occasion. But what to do? Ah -- I'd needle felt a sheep and forget hanging it. My sheep would be a candidate for the lucky high-bidder's Christmas manger scene.</i></span></p><p><i><span style="font-size: medium;">I must say, the project provided more enjoyment than Christmas shopping, wrapping gifts, mailing letters (still not finished) and the other "have tos" that add stress to the holiday season. But, as for my sheep -- well Fluff, as he transed into a she, also proved that my idea of a sheep looked more like...well, a canine. Yes, evolution in real time. So, instead of fighting it, I went with the flow. </span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-size: medium;">After </span></i><i><span style="font-size: medium;">photographing her in the wild </span></i><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Karen delivered Fluff to the Museum. That's when I noticed in an image the museum posted on their website that Fluff looked a bit disheveled and had collected a bit of debris during her adventures with Karen. Off I trotted to collect Fluff for grooming only to discover she had been designated to hang via a paper clip attached to her collar. Surely <b>I</b> could rig up a harness for her -- no problem. Umm..er...dang...whoops...oh no...yikes...help...and so <b>Karen</b> did.</span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Without further ado, I present you with Fluff, Alaska' almost forgotten Iditarod Trail lead sled dog.</span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZHr94iXPqt-GUHjtVypQjpoQXr_Fvp0Q8Ca-MEaCCLC3m7b2DiXDOmrqOTZkPZTcY5xl3Jp9zicA7SOB8dBOIbHfvmxpw114bHPMYg6bBoDGSg1SvB57LLXizDNQilUiJH7_m3Hx_KlCs38wnpt8kxP_phkemmdsLWju1J0fo8ap5LEtVwq2hU-NboA/s1400/Fluff.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="982" data-original-width="1400" height="449" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZHr94iXPqt-GUHjtVypQjpoQXr_Fvp0Q8Ca-MEaCCLC3m7b2DiXDOmrqOTZkPZTcY5xl3Jp9zicA7SOB8dBOIbHfvmxpw114bHPMYg6bBoDGSg1SvB57LLXizDNQilUiJH7_m3Hx_KlCs38wnpt8kxP_phkemmdsLWju1J0fo8ap5LEtVwq2hU-NboA/w640-h449/Fluff.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">The original Fluff off on and adventure</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLLevz9M0W3Kvg5B0UvVSUqDix3NUx6bg4RrEwxyME7yUu-iaThbJSqCGNg5hJp-g2MTi_cDleEtO2fd2g7FOe1TdCqq0L8oVorPVXvB2rW2ZBMCVh6RtfQVJAWWrjdxbDi8pWK6rK9gh5RkuLy3EYer2PgKfy73a9Zdnbh83aGPb5I0LjMIwzWKN5Tw/s1400/DSC00721.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1050" data-original-width="1400" height="447" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLLevz9M0W3Kvg5B0UvVSUqDix3NUx6bg4RrEwxyME7yUu-iaThbJSqCGNg5hJp-g2MTi_cDleEtO2fd2g7FOe1TdCqq0L8oVorPVXvB2rW2ZBMCVh6RtfQVJAWWrjdxbDi8pWK6rK9gh5RkuLy3EYer2PgKfy73a9Zdnbh83aGPb5I0LjMIwzWKN5Tw/w597-h447/DSC00721.jpeg" width="597" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Gaining altitude for a better view</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiibW7GTxSTQizcT1KX660B4TGMGCPMs8VFvoGE9-WHbgM3GZjMEfk25CHk1V12IXCxOnPo8865FqDu3r0Cllrav-XuToQ1FTPXxD58vAlgdRTXgq1H3yOgzWxwp7HlStoF_DwLo06sSeuy92uh09gn_vsoi_B8nLQgAIyhY8bIxeJ55Kz16-FXW2f5Jw/s1400/DSC00812.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1051" data-original-width="1400" height="464" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiibW7GTxSTQizcT1KX660B4TGMGCPMs8VFvoGE9-WHbgM3GZjMEfk25CHk1V12IXCxOnPo8865FqDu3r0Cllrav-XuToQ1FTPXxD58vAlgdRTXgq1H3yOgzWxwp7HlStoF_DwLo06sSeuy92uh09gn_vsoi_B8nLQgAIyhY8bIxeJ55Kz16-FXW2f5Jw/w618-h464/DSC00812.jpeg" width="618" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Meeting the neighbors</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSQAV92lfYuvbNaV_Z6P4ckRreJ5HkEDyM40K_paI7Blk3wUAuY0UZ0Jx5GoZEkauR6X3reYpNwZn9IsDAKqf9hOWEOdjU4TG5nJyg9OwPNbf4TSoItXFMJ_Gp_DGZtV-kzci8dQWwcBFFA5G4Nex2I5yOIYeu9ieetmuNSIsEs6fpM4jo1SAcsKJk-w/s1958/Fluff%20in%20Harness.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1572" data-original-width="1958" height="487" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSQAV92lfYuvbNaV_Z6P4ckRreJ5HkEDyM40K_paI7Blk3wUAuY0UZ0Jx5GoZEkauR6X3reYpNwZn9IsDAKqf9hOWEOdjU4TG5nJyg9OwPNbf4TSoItXFMJ_Gp_DGZtV-kzci8dQWwcBFFA5G4Nex2I5yOIYeu9ieetmuNSIsEs6fpM4jo1SAcsKJk-w/w606-h487/Fluff%20in%20Harness.jpg" width="606" /></a></div><br /><i><span style="font-size: medium;">I present you with Fluff in her new harness</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPHifX1Zm6eCc5qjGRUpYFnv9LqRaCOTj6T-c9YQAJcqgaQXwWfz8aSxWcxR_fcmjdOXn7Ra7HXImOcI7Ht69-hOMcCls6vxOXMxsERaAHuKSYphtHpKwBX_qPPf7owHUzDXg8yhrKA3mvlm_HRpXGmMGWdtDpLJ079FnJhdRS-s1S0jf7iNqB5s7qhQ/s1201/Fluff%20head%20on.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1141" data-original-width="1201" height="526" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPHifX1Zm6eCc5qjGRUpYFnv9LqRaCOTj6T-c9YQAJcqgaQXwWfz8aSxWcxR_fcmjdOXn7Ra7HXImOcI7Ht69-hOMcCls6vxOXMxsERaAHuKSYphtHpKwBX_qPPf7owHUzDXg8yhrKA3mvlm_HRpXGmMGWdtDpLJ079FnJhdRS-s1S0jf7iNqB5s7qhQ/w554-h526/Fluff%20head%20on.jpg" width="554" /></a></div><br /><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Good dog, Fluff. Now...Mush!</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Of course now you probably want to know a little of Fluff's background so I did a background search and here's what I discovered.</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Chalkduster; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Chalkduster;">Excerpt from Wackopedia</span></div></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<p style="font-family: Chalkduster; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">Many people know delivery of a canister of diphtheria antitoxin saved Nome in January, 1925, and there, the story seemed to end. </span></p>
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<p style="font-family: Chalkduster; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">But, did it? No! That 20 pound canister of serum was sent off from Anchorage with a 5 cent deposit so it would be returned to be recycled. And as we all learned from Robert W. Service, "a promise made, is a debt unpaid." </span></p>
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<p style="font-family: Chalkduster; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">However, after delivery of the antitoxin, NOAA predicted nothing but intense blizzards for the rest of winter. While there were plenty of willing mushers, no dogs could be found able to navigate the Iditarod Trail through all that blowing snow. Could a disaster be averted? </span></p>
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<p style="font-family: Chalkduster; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">Yes! Up barked Fluff with her nose so bright. Fluff could bring that canister back to the recycling site.</span></p>
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<p style="font-family: Chalkduster; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">So now you know. Fluff, the almost forgotten lead sled dog from Nome, Alaska, led the dog team through endless blizzards to return that valued Diphtheria serum canister. Alas, no epic story appeared in the New York Times or even got a single Tweet. All that remains is this replica of Fluff needle felted down to the exact detail of that remarkable dog. </span></p>
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<p style="font-family: Chalkduster; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">Don Cornelius</span></p><div><span style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span></div></div></div>Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-20038559895138935242022-04-02T16:15:00.005-08:002022-10-12T16:51:14.494-08:00The Biggest Bear<p><i> <span style="font-family: Verdana;">Virtually every Alaskan or visitor to Alaska, who has spent more than 40 seconds out-of-doors, has a bear story.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana;">And while the settings and species vary, every story has two things in common:</span></i></p><p><i style="font-family: Verdana;">1. Each bear — black, brown aka grizzly, or polar — is the largest of it’s species ever encountered by any human being.</i></p>
<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>2. Every adventurer, be it a housewife picking peas in her garden, a </i><i>motorist driving down the highway in an 80-foot Winnebago, a passenger in the bar of a Princess cruise ship, or wilderness camper in a rain-filled tent, comes within the width of mosquito’s antenna from ... well, that's why it's their story. </i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>Those are simple facts of every bear encounter that cannot be disputed. Period. Other details can vary in infinite directions as long as bears play a central role. Karen and I are no exception to the rule.</i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>One of our adventures began with a two-week planned (note planned) kayak trip to a seabird rookery on a Pacific Ocean island south of Cold Bay, Alaska. That’s the last you’ll hear about the seabirds where I, as an aspiring wildlife photographer, planned great things. </i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>Kayaking down the salty Cold Bay as differentiated from the urban Cold Bay, we encountered Thin Point, a sandy spit laced with bear trails and vegetated with nothing taller than waving blades of grass. Beyond lay the rolling Pacific. There, Karen and I paused. Umm, we could get a bit damp launching our kayak in those waves. Could we land on the island? Could we get back off? My camera equipment costs $$. Lots of $$. Could there be a hole in our plan? Maybe two.</i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>We pitched our dome shaped tent “camouflaged” in the color of a grizzly and cached all our food plus anything that might have an odor in the tallest tree. Oops, there weren’t any trees. There weren’t any bushes. So we wrapped it all in multiple layers of plastic plus one more and stashed it in a low spot in the sand dunes well away from our tent. Safe!</i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>The wind blew.</i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>A night passed. We took a hike. Wow, bears. So many! I stood guard while Karen bathed in an icy pool of water in a creek draining Frosty Peak as a sow and cub brown bear grazed in a distant meadow above her -- an idylic Sierra Club calendar shot. </i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>Another day, more wind and I noticed the blowing sand and my shotgun had become good companions. It felt gritty.. Time to clean it. I unloaded the gun and laid the shells on my sleeping bag. I took the gun apart and searched for the cleaning supplies. Oh dear, the oily and thus smelly gun cleaning equipment nestled among the freeze-dried food in the food cache. </i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>I strode out into the dunes with the two section of the disassembled shotgun, peeled away the plastic, and found the oil and a rag. That’s when I glanced towards the tent. </i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>There a rangy Volkswagen-sized brown bear, not a pleasant-looking creature, stood, it’s nose to the tent door with Karen, totally unaware, engrossed in a book inside. Now the bear had possession of my wife and worse, my ammo. Or should it be vice versa? </i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>What to do?</i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>I had no choice. </i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>I charged the bear — okay slowly, but a meaningful charge, a noisy charge probably registering on the Richter scale, waving the two halves of the gun over my head, never considering that the bear may have dined on a creature or two with big thingies over its head — caribou antlers. But, I had no plan B. Actually I had no plan A either. </i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>And with a calm glance, with no malice, the bear looked up and simply exited stage left. </i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>The wind blew.</i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>We moved stage right as we packed the tent the other direction down the beach to a place where there must have been an old cabin because some weathered gray boards lay scattered on the sand. We re-pitched the tent so the boards lay in front of the tent. We propped the kayak paddles on two sides and the kayak on the other as a defense warning system. Safe. Sort of.</i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>That evening our bear “friend” cornered a sow brown bear with a watermelon-sized cub on top of a nearby bluff. His apparent plan — dine on her cub. We fell asleep that night to the sound of the two bears bellowing at one another as darkness enveloped Cold Bay.</i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>Sometime in the night a paddle crashed to the sand. I leaped out of my sleeping bag to peer in the darkness out the two tent portholes, the door. Nada. Surely the wind. We returned to peaceful slumber.</i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>The scenario repeated as the other paddle crashed to the sand and again, nada. Wow, some “wind.” Back to those dreams.</i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>Then … Creak. something large, something heavy stepped on a board. That wasn’t the wind. In dawns early light I peered out the tent door straight into the amber eyes of that Volkswagen-sized brown bear. I yelled. The bear, that creature ten times my size, with jaws that could crush a jar of peanut butter, simply turned, and once again, never displaying the loss of a shred of dignity, waddled back down the beach.</i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>With adrenalin flooding every cell in my body I emerged from the tent to find a well-worn bear trail circumventing it. A sandy bear paw print that dwarfed the size of my hand showed proof he had tested the nature of the fabric. Just once. He had bitten our Klepper kayak so the hole punctured the air chamber. Just once. We peacefully slept through all that — the repeated walking around the tent, the testing the tent, the chomping on the kayak. And I claim to be a light sleeper.</i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>Our food cache? Down the beach I found piles and piles of bear scat full of freeze-dried foods, peas, lentils, beans, carrots, shredded plastic, in fact all of our food and wrappers except half a jar of peanut butter and a packet of instant cocoa. Everything. The freeze-dried food had shot through the bear’s digestive system virtually unscathed. In truth we really could have salvaged it. We didn’t. He must have had quite some night. Oh, for the record, the bear didn’t eat the gun cleaning rag and oil either. </i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>The wind stopped blowing as we gathered up the remnants of our food cache and lit a bon fire. It stopped blowing as we patched our kayak with the ubiquitous duct tape. And it stopped blowing as we launched our kayak to retreat to Cold Bay paddling all evening and night to arrive in time to see the most glorious crimson sunrise over Pavlov Volcano, a sunrise that quickly yielded to a horrendous storm, a storm with horizontal sheets of rain that flattened our tent into our faces and defied all our illusions that it could repel water — a storm that would have pinned us on Thin Point with no food, soaking wet and that Volkswagen-sized bear had we not retreated the previous evening.</i></p>
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<p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>By the way, for the record, it was the biggest bear we’ve ever seen. Just say’n.</i></p><p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>Now Karen wonders what that bear tells his grandchildren about those odd two-legged kayakers.</i></p><p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>Lacking any photos of any of the bears we saw on that trip (three were too close and the rest, not close enough) and those were the days before digital photography, I'm including a painting of a smaller brown bear on Chichagof Island I did a few years ago.</i></p><p style="font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdXJYZI7e0h3IRqiglUTpRhZRp4H07BZ0_0Ivc8F7vkgk4Ayk_qogwFWIpgdMCi8qvn8o7sByS-DmURPg5jhbG7mQChFZwHfsL7VYcr5okNWdVLBKXYrA9aZVc62QuJoSNoANlLho5pm1LSJOhOKfoUsBGOSNpSoYueGBdNR1b5eh8hAA0RMCLKTlCIw/s3777/Termination%20copy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2835" data-original-width="3777" height="494" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdXJYZI7e0h3IRqiglUTpRhZRp4H07BZ0_0Ivc8F7vkgk4Ayk_qogwFWIpgdMCi8qvn8o7sByS-DmURPg5jhbG7mQChFZwHfsL7VYcr5okNWdVLBKXYrA9aZVc62QuJoSNoANlLho5pm1LSJOhOKfoUsBGOSNpSoYueGBdNR1b5eh8hAA0RMCLKTlCIw/w657-h494/Termination%20copy.jpg" width="657" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i> Termination 18 x 24 inches Alkyd on Canvas</i></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Verdana; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><i style="font-family: Verdana;"><br /></i><p></p>
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<p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13px;"><br /></p>Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-10827241584711087872022-03-07T16:01:00.009-09:002022-04-03T08:34:37.871-08:00Saving Karen's Sole<p><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After a long hiatus of binge watching Sunday services at Petersburg Lutheran Church on Facebook due to covid concerns, Karen and I have returned to in-person appearances. And, despite our masks, people even recognize us.</span></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Thus this morning Karen opted to put on her Sunday best — a beautiful brand newly acquired, 50 cents at the Salvation Army Thrift Store, imitation Dansk leather shoes. They dazzled as she dashed through the rain from our red Honda CR-V to church.</span></i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Of course, thanks to her husband, arriving a tad late in a bit of a rush Karen failed to notice the shoes were not waterproof like the red-rubber boots people often wear to church on these soggy Sundays.</span></i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Nor did Karen glance at her feet during most of the service until….her feet felt strange as she prepared to go to the front of the sanctuary for Communion. It seems her pair of imitation Dansk leather, 50 cents at the Salvation Army Thrift Store shoes were made for a climate approximating the Sonora Desert. Apparently the addition of water to the glue on both soles dissolved the glue. Both soles dangled like bats hanging from a cave ceiling off the balls of Karen’s feet. Pieces of the soles littered the floor under her pew.</span></i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i style="font-family: Verdana;">At that moment seconds before she needed to rise and go forth, before I could say “go barefoot,” Karen gestured to our friend Carol sitting next to her. Like a magician in an "America’s Got Talent" variety show, Carol pulled a pair of red shoes out of her handbag which, similar to Cinderella in Grimm’s fairy tale, fit Karen perfectly. In a flash Karen slipped them on and stepped up to the Communion table like the princess she is to me. Alas, the congregation lost the chance for a memorable public display of the "</i><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><i>holiest"</i></span><i style="font-family: Verdana;"> soles ever to grace Petersburg Lutheran Church.</i></span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Lacking any photos of the event, here are a few photos Karen took this winter that are one way she shares the beauty of God's creation. </i></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjTCl70YuXTha7zP9wVg6Z1tfavnOylNHiPMD288PUMHVHFoRr7KDTVNAsZGNFm19in4ncZBz4hfeYdmZBsBZY_7gPSihKA1-HuZYwJzo0jFn6XQGwPnXbeurGA-kth8tl168Ae6sXxzhpW87eltRcRwp4tvKNJRu5kc_0UI6Yy3AhdS4rOZ6nKxCA4PQ=s3598" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1970" data-original-width="3598" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjTCl70YuXTha7zP9wVg6Z1tfavnOylNHiPMD288PUMHVHFoRr7KDTVNAsZGNFm19in4ncZBz4hfeYdmZBsBZY_7gPSihKA1-HuZYwJzo0jFn6XQGwPnXbeurGA-kth8tl168Ae6sXxzhpW87eltRcRwp4tvKNJRu5kc_0UI6Yy3AhdS4rOZ6nKxCA4PQ=w648-h355" width="648" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Female Bufflehead</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDBmad-ZygaaxAhoTkgm1eUkUwYM4NGVwLYn0JSpk_tci43sZoPLjQW0SjBLP6DpHNuiDEDjUNiUf2yfMNjmN-t57kvNjtxJAV3gvmRWA2a9MeuyYehu3rOlqkELHAS9OLEvCyEEK0qwM_xTaBFgUFDX3WB6_6B4NCGMxaO6IrUR_5IE63JhxiolI9qA=s3589" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1639" data-original-width="3589" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDBmad-ZygaaxAhoTkgm1eUkUwYM4NGVwLYn0JSpk_tci43sZoPLjQW0SjBLP6DpHNuiDEDjUNiUf2yfMNjmN-t57kvNjtxJAV3gvmRWA2a9MeuyYehu3rOlqkELHAS9OLEvCyEEK0qwM_xTaBFgUFDX3WB6_6B4NCGMxaO6IrUR_5IE63JhxiolI9qA=w635-h288" width="635" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Abstract Ice Pattern</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMZVfIAyKu89sYRknvOKZtsaYuRzysH78RorBSIvaiozhKhRuqSAjR4DUw3J30ATyW_-PubIbWV_bfnPy2c4cKrdkt-HsC2FAq3r0FjKI0Qh1Gx58_NIPSbztXMaEzL5LikvFOZNMntAnZ2LMF28lXNaKrtGTdq3QM_StoMbEWRHUM9EwE-6OHNNw2DQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2191" data-original-width="3877" height="357" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMZVfIAyKu89sYRknvOKZtsaYuRzysH78RorBSIvaiozhKhRuqSAjR4DUw3J30ATyW_-PubIbWV_bfnPy2c4cKrdkt-HsC2FAq3r0FjKI0Qh1Gx58_NIPSbztXMaEzL5LikvFOZNMntAnZ2LMF28lXNaKrtGTdq3QM_StoMbEWRHUM9EwE-6OHNNw2DQ=w634-h357" width="634" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Red-breasted mergansers. Could they be saying grace before their next meal?</i></div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZ2hgUGIDlOvaSr_jRxETAJ5y44IVUGuBl3VWoNrwj9nVeQiMbVVLfLDwDeFRd6S_jD5JeJCTV5EJxF4WZua9WaOr6i5vMrNtDDeawkGZf3L73Zb2Rx-eZUvfYltKAZqh4Xzbx6EWEybj8BSR8LEGTcSu5RHdbRl5U1Ci4R5D2jYQGyanpoF7SKgwjCg=s2052" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="968" data-original-width="2052" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZ2hgUGIDlOvaSr_jRxETAJ5y44IVUGuBl3VWoNrwj9nVeQiMbVVLfLDwDeFRd6S_jD5JeJCTV5EJxF4WZua9WaOr6i5vMrNtDDeawkGZf3L73Zb2Rx-eZUvfYltKAZqh4Xzbx6EWEybj8BSR8LEGTcSu5RHdbRl5U1Ci4R5D2jYQGyanpoF7SKgwjCg=w635-h300" width="635" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>Common loon with shrimp dinner</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfJ8MoxNrR8FxdaHbFytSkMdHbx1ke4S9G8_FLHE7aLpu2CMysE79Q9tWsNric79fGPVW5RAlo-9rwrvhjFXhSJvTX7eMTM8NKFF_r00NTa-LsxDEkVNzXOx8-zqqxm6AqKEYv9osfaEIp69AaJHZu0zgK05AX54f7fWmnSqyNZkvWIyJEJ42PgowUDw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3361" data-original-width="3769" height="602" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfJ8MoxNrR8FxdaHbFytSkMdHbx1ke4S9G8_FLHE7aLpu2CMysE79Q9tWsNric79fGPVW5RAlo-9rwrvhjFXhSJvTX7eMTM8NKFF_r00NTa-LsxDEkVNzXOx8-zqqxm6AqKEYv9osfaEIp69AaJHZu0zgK05AX54f7fWmnSqyNZkvWIyJEJ42PgowUDw=w673-h602" width="673" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Sitka black-tailed deer</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTc2o97byDkoZFzBvJUf0pmmhmfJ6ga-uiTaU7Ake7M0U19B1tOHhoyOR8GrOho2Tdb0usTcrGxxwxEEcGpISohntpw2qsBITHa8jRQt9HV7ZyeYVkUeE4D5VhmAiaKoz8aWnTECX1gQkTog2SMeLXnrdPK6da9NX5WCOz7bCJCxid9lLXWeM3Rwdz3A" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="1728" height="447" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTc2o97byDkoZFzBvJUf0pmmhmfJ6ga-uiTaU7Ake7M0U19B1tOHhoyOR8GrOho2Tdb0usTcrGxxwxEEcGpISohntpw2qsBITHa8jRQt9HV7ZyeYVkUeE4D5VhmAiaKoz8aWnTECX1gQkTog2SMeLXnrdPK6da9NX5WCOz7bCJCxid9lLXWeM3Rwdz3A=w673-h447" width="673" /></a></div>Hello!<br /><br /></i></span></div></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><i><br /></i></span><p></p><div><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><br /></span></div>Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-35865567838345194282021-12-23T14:36:00.003-09:002021-12-23T14:36:58.773-09:00Merry Christmas from Snowy Petersburg, Alaska<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">What follows is our annual Christmas letter (sort of) to family and friends which we're posting here for anyone curious how we spent this past pandemic year. So, here goes:</i></div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhe4ORKuCATe9-XAbVSZWbEHumco0UHvW_sPfUEx3JvzYBY6k4SF2mHWq8TXzAsNGAiD_nWnLx5b7PROSxOjErME_Z0qnzuKKNpr-qrGgUdJzIYr-FSavwgbE6KrGfTomsQfSVuy85bRrDQMMLqH2qcZm9IyNDBGV5zxlC_ffMB8UIRgd2kf85YYOEYbw=s1728" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1296" data-original-width="1728" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhe4ORKuCATe9-XAbVSZWbEHumco0UHvW_sPfUEx3JvzYBY6k4SF2mHWq8TXzAsNGAiD_nWnLx5b7PROSxOjErME_Z0qnzuKKNpr-qrGgUdJzIYr-FSavwgbE6KrGfTomsQfSVuy85bRrDQMMLqH2qcZm9IyNDBGV5zxlC_ffMB8UIRgd2kf85YYOEYbw=w643-h438" width="643" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt;">We’re not sending Christmas greetings this year. You probably say we haven’t sent them in years, that they only came from an itinerant squirrel. However, said rodent has been deported south to a lovely spruce/hemlock forest where she can observe swans but not us. Her sin…making an unauthorized border crossing… to move into our abode. She wanted to spy on us as she gnawed on the wood frame that keeps our cabin standing erect.</i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>After unsuccessfully erecting a US Customs and Border Protection certified barrier (a stick stuck in a hole) and using a subsonic, undetectable-to-the human-ear noise-making machine, which only caused the pretty lady to ask “what’s that sound?”, we surrendered. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The impetus came in the form of the grouch presenting amaurosis fugax (look it up) which necessitated his being temporarily exported to Seattle for investigation.</i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Thus, we deported our Christmas letter scribe on the day of the grouch’s departure. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We feared she would solidify her reign on our log cabin home and bar us from reentry to the pile of sawdust that remained of the abode.</i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Not only did said rodent betray our loyalty, but even the grouch’s favorite tree, a cottonwood he conceived by sticking a branch in the ground in the 1980s, betrayed us. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>After our basement toilet erupted in a volcanic explosion rivaling Mt. St Helens, a camera forced through the sewer line revealed said cottonwood tree’s roots hanging like stalactites throughout the pipe preventing the movement of movements. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Beautiful, but… <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We replaced the sewer line. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The tree? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It remains unscathed except it’s “toenails” have been “trimmed.” </i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Barely relaxing after back to back traumatic events, we received a phone call. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A house painter would arrive the next day. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>This necessitated the panicked removal of every ornamental and not-so-ornamental object reclining against the house and car port — enough to furnish three condos. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Once begun, the paint job resulted in covering our windows with opaque plastic during this past summer’s only decent spell of sunny weather. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It gave us the unparalleled nightly opportunity to marvel at the beauty of an illuminated sheet of plastic as the sun retreated behind Petersburg Mountain.</i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Without the invasions of a rodent, a tree and a painter, life seemed boring so we took an autumn road trip to Wisconsin and Iowa. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A couple of days prior to our Alaska ferry departure, a friend of daughter Amanda offered a suggestion. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Since Mandy was taking a well-earned break between nursing jobs and her parents, at least the grouch, is getting decrepit, why shouldn’t she be their chauffeur? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Thus, the pretty lady rode shotgun while the grouch sat in the back seat for much of the trip as the two ladies up front still fulfilled their duties as back-seat drivers to the grouch. </i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>After a family rendezvous on the sun-drenched shores of Lake Michigan in Wisconsin and in Iowa, the three Corns aimed for Seattle via road and/or air. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>In transit the grouch and Mandy toured Colorado Springs guided by son/brother David a deliverer of people for Uber and Lyft and stuff for Amazon.</i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>While traveling, Mandy demonstrated the modern day convenience of locating coffee/pastry shops and reviewing restaurant menus on her cell phone. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The pastry part awed the grouch but he found comparing restaurant menus exceeded his level of desire to find basic grub. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>As a bonus Mandy (a barista in a past era) taught the fair lady in seven simple hand-written steps the fine art of ordering a latte that wouldn’t drive a barista nuts.</i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Regarding cell phones, a significant part of family time involved convincing the grouch that he and the pretty lady needed to be brought from the 18th century into the 21st. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The clincher! <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>So he could track her via “find my” as she wanders with her camera through territory inhabited by significantly sized black and brown furry creatures. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The hardest part, more difficult than purchasing an AK-47 with 1000 rounds of ammo — signing up for cell phone service. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We couldn’t convince any cell phone service provider who was skeptical we live in a post office box that 1002 Wrangell Avenue exists.</i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Can’t forget, just because we banished last year’s scribe doesn’t mean the pretty lady has ceased communing with non-humanoids. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Beyond our windows seven days per week you’ll spy large pleading brown eyes and hear clucking sounds. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The pretty lady’s personal deer herd and neighbor’s chickens all consider her to be their guardian angel as she hands out organic apples, carrots, cantaloupe rinds and halves of pomegranates minus their seeds… even popcorn she pops just for them and not the grouch.</i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i> </i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Incidentally, now that the pretty lady has a cell phone, the grouch knows she’s at the dentist’s office as he writes. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Alas that’s because he didn’t get a call from the dentist saying the didn’t show up. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The $1,200 cell phone? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It sits atop a dresser where it might as well be glued because she doesn’t want to damage it. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She just needs to dust it from time to time. </i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>And so, with this level of activity and, let’s face it, because the grouch gave up coffee which he blames for his laziness, we will not have a Christmas letter. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>However our prayer for each and everyone of you is simply this:</i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Rejoice that you are alive! Many of us struggle with aging knees and arthritic hands, but be thankful it means you have both knees and hands.</i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Rejoice that you have family and loved ones and friends that love you for who you are. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Friends who want the best for you are irreplaceable treasures.</i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>So many in our world struggle with bodies no longer whole and able; they struggle with broken relationships and shattered dreams; and they struggle with prejudice because of their nationality or color of their skin or with themselves because they are not receiving encouragement for the gifts they do have.</i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>We are thankful for all of you who have been so much a part of our lives. </i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>We are thankful for knowing where to take our gratitude, realizing that the kind of joy and peace that surpasses all understanding is found in that stable where a very little baby lay so very long ago.</i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Blessings and Joy to all of you, </i></span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">and, despite the notice at the start of this message, Merry Christmas.</i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Don and Karen</i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgqucVC3pgeyar-9zoqoUdtdOT_J7sz5o2iOz5RTPa5i6e-7U5Ydr_qWvYSa17jqaI0QWg01R1MsWVmE8CDRMuFH4H3vbzFB7ShwzcycHbV0xR5GDnkwrplwQregrafSFQuQCU9tzUI8E7e8GJP6EUYX8IG_W7OTIlyPfzrIvoARnKJWBH5TvvuOLoW0w=s2016" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="387" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgqucVC3pgeyar-9zoqoUdtdOT_J7sz5o2iOz5RTPa5i6e-7U5Ydr_qWvYSa17jqaI0QWg01R1MsWVmE8CDRMuFH4H3vbzFB7ShwzcycHbV0xR5GDnkwrplwQregrafSFQuQCU9tzUI8E7e8GJP6EUYX8IG_W7OTIlyPfzrIvoARnKJWBH5TvvuOLoW0w=w683-h387" width="683" /></a></div></span></div><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 12pt;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><i><br /></i></span><p></p>Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-22964668855567901712021-12-10T11:56:00.000-09:002021-12-10T11:56:05.264-09:00A Thanksgiving to Remember<p style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">For me Thanksgiving while I was “migrating” towards adulthood meant one of two things — often both — the obvious combination of duck hunting and football.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">With a workaholic father, those moments we spent together were my favorite memories of dad.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Thanksgiving mornings, at least when we lived in Utah during my early/mid-teens, were the days he would take me duck hunting in the marshes along the Great Salt Lake.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Initially, dad assigned me the roll as the family Labrador retriever — until my 14th birthday.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I shivered with excitement that Thanksgiving Day, the day I initiated my first hunting license.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Fortunately for the ducks, no adolescent ever did a better job of educating them on the perils of duck decoys.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Never mind, with no ducks to clean, my brother and I had more time to toss the ball around at halftime during football games.</span></span></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">One year, shortly before Thanksgiving, an errant shotgun pellet that I launched accidentally hit a Canada goose. I swelled with pride at the admiration I received from passing hunters as I lugged that “monstrous” bird down the dike leading back to our car. Back home dad announced that we should let it age before cleaning it. That's what he did growing up close to Barnegat Bay in southern New Jersey, but perhaps not the wisest strategy considering the heat of the garage during that warm Utah autumn. </span></i></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></i></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Finally, too long afterwards, we cleaned the goose — the centerpiece for a Thanksgiving dinner in the tradition of our forefathers and mothers. Soon the aroma from the roasting bird wafted through our house — driving everyone outside. Maybe, we wondered, had it aged too long? Still mom dutifully finished her job mistakingly assuming that dad knew best. At last we gathered around the table as dad carved my goose — a Thanksgiving dinner to remember. Alas, from there on, our story diverged from the original Thanksgiving, because after one sniff, no one touched my inedible Thanksgiving goose. Yes, it was indeed, a Thanksgiving to remember.</span></i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 13px; text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now in our autumn years Thanksgiving is still a time when birds remain a part of our season’s attractions, but in a more gentle manner. No longer am I the center of attraction dragging an enormous Canada Goose down a dike, but rather it's Karen attracting comments and dogs as she stalks birds throughout Petersburg. For Karen who would never even consider shooting a goose, duck or any avian (or mammalian) species, any bird is a wonderful target -- for her camera. But throwing a football around — nah.</span></i></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></i></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Karen, it turns out, is a far better hunter than I ever was. Here is just a sample of the many recent photos she has taken of birds.</span></i></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6Yb6vcYZJ5Q/YbEqls6kTFI/AAAAAAAACjs/9BvmS1VOZls7ib6xh8icz4pI4r0cXO5tACNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DSC02402%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1954" data-original-width="2048" height="539" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6Yb6vcYZJ5Q/YbEqls6kTFI/AAAAAAAACjs/9BvmS1VOZls7ib6xh8icz4pI4r0cXO5tACNcBGAsYHQ/w566-h539/DSC02402%2Bcopy.jpg" width="566" /></a></i></div><i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2oXlPdFJDRU/YbEqluhgujI/AAAAAAAACjw/fhC2xd9g4Hstwr0bhdDE1BiUp7hBdQM8wCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_9808%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1625" data-original-width="2048" height="350" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2oXlPdFJDRU/YbEqluhgujI/AAAAAAAACjw/fhC2xd9g4Hstwr0bhdDE1BiUp7hBdQM8wCNcBGAsYHQ/w441-h350/IMG_9808%2Bcopy.jpg" width="441" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cySM4HZ7QFk/YbEqlgSI6_I/AAAAAAAACjo/P5xFU7GTxQka5U4sILYSn0KPWgKB4pgVACNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DSC04898%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1322" data-original-width="2048" height="349" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cySM4HZ7QFk/YbEqlgSI6_I/AAAAAAAACjo/P5xFU7GTxQka5U4sILYSn0KPWgKB4pgVACNcBGAsYHQ/w539-h349/DSC04898%2Bcopy.jpg" width="539" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Vancouver Canada geese in Petersburg sense Karen is a "big threat."</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ifwPJtqzJ7s/YbEr4yiz93I/AAAAAAAACkA/SPhTU8l0RL4FPVC-ad_lInHjwChYXgQHwCNcBGAsYHQ/s1559/DSC01943%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="988" data-original-width="1559" height="345" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ifwPJtqzJ7s/YbEr4yiz93I/AAAAAAAACkA/SPhTU8l0RL4FPVC-ad_lInHjwChYXgQHwCNcBGAsYHQ/w544-h345/DSC01943%2Bcopy.jpg" width="544" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hDtVgF3NgoQ/YbEr5O5ihZI/AAAAAAAACkE/Irq-6A8p2XchHpEX5i0jRO_0K7cMUIoXgCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DSC08563%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1142" data-original-width="2048" height="294" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hDtVgF3NgoQ/YbEr5O5ihZI/AAAAAAAACkE/Irq-6A8p2XchHpEX5i0jRO_0K7cMUIoXgCNcBGAsYHQ/w527-h294/DSC08563%2Bcopy.jpg" width="527" /></a><i style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">As do mallard ducks that are obviously distressed by her presence.</span></i></div></div><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DrD6JhbMqy4/YbEtA4InFoI/AAAAAAAACkU/w46HZAzGTn40l2taZYrqz4PtHC5YegOcwCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DSC03649%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1385" data-original-width="2048" height="351" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DrD6JhbMqy4/YbEtA4InFoI/AAAAAAAACkU/w46HZAzGTn40l2taZYrqz4PtHC5YegOcwCNcBGAsYHQ/w520-h351/DSC03649%2Bcopy.jpg" width="520" /></a></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">A common loon stretches it's wings.</span></i></div><i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UqBvFncFqo/YbEtAkZCWkI/AAAAAAAACkQ/z_Dbx5WQ3OUyoA4rNQm8bDuLRUWHovBIQCNcBGAsYHQ/s1963/DSC07785.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1424" data-original-width="1963" height="372" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2UqBvFncFqo/YbEtAkZCWkI/AAAAAAAACkQ/z_Dbx5WQ3OUyoA4rNQm8bDuLRUWHovBIQCNcBGAsYHQ/w513-h372/DSC07785.jpg" width="513" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A Wilson's snipe contemplates if it should have migrated south.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vpd5WfaMr7o/YbEuGuOUYZI/AAAAAAAACkg/Mc-6wUmsuQs5Wp_sYiDZhHylaOGxUZx0ACNcBGAsYHQ/s2793/DSC01582%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1126" data-original-width="2793" height="263" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vpd5WfaMr7o/YbEuGuOUYZI/AAAAAAAACkg/Mc-6wUmsuQs5Wp_sYiDZhHylaOGxUZx0ACNcBGAsYHQ/w655-h263/DSC01582%2Bcopy.jpg" width="655" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A "tiny" flock of long-tailed ducks land in front of Karen</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RERJ87DZkoc/YbFlLyw1Q6I/AAAAAAAAClQ/GIEVkzPGsPk6qozHvwP1Jeh_e01adq4AwCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_2031%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="367" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RERJ87DZkoc/YbFlLyw1Q6I/AAAAAAAAClQ/GIEVkzPGsPk6qozHvwP1Jeh_e01adq4AwCNcBGAsYHQ/w490-h367/IMG_2031%2Bcopy.jpg" width="490" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">An American dipper wonders about that one-eyed critter (the camera lens)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oE8Q35NQdoo/YbFgnh-FwnI/AAAAAAAACkw/6WuOBHvwSGcrNZF-18XPTtVCMyqY5q4EQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DSC09130%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1483" data-original-width="2048" height="304" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oE8Q35NQdoo/YbFgnh-FwnI/AAAAAAAACkw/6WuOBHvwSGcrNZF-18XPTtVCMyqY5q4EQCNcBGAsYHQ/w419-h304/DSC09130%2Bcopy.jpg" width="419" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A surf scoter enjoys a bath.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6eLvl44BFiA/YbFht97yu3I/AAAAAAAAClA/_QEHN7Gl73A0yepJMaf7xd0sOY-ZZvOrQCNcBGAsYHQ/s2807/DSC04509%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1120" data-original-width="2807" height="184" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6eLvl44BFiA/YbFht97yu3I/AAAAAAAAClA/_QEHN7Gl73A0yepJMaf7xd0sOY-ZZvOrQCNcBGAsYHQ/w461-h184/DSC04509%2Bcopy.jpg" width="461" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A Barrow's goldenye surfs the waves of Frederick Sound.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p5uMiyPYYDU/YbFiHA8ys4I/AAAAAAAAClI/1htxrAS43E4a5fo8WUdz_kqid_Zhe0w_gCNcBGAsYHQ/s1983/DSC03770%2Bcopy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1437" data-original-width="1983" height="339" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p5uMiyPYYDU/YbFiHA8ys4I/AAAAAAAAClI/1htxrAS43E4a5fo8WUdz_kqid_Zhe0w_gCNcBGAsYHQ/w467-h339/DSC03770%2Bcopy.jpg" width="467" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">And her favorite, a raven with whom Karen exchanges pleasantries.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">These images are just a tiny sample of very patient Karen's latest "trophies." You can't eat them, but they don't drive you out of the house during Thanksgiving.<br /><br /></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i><p></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></i></span></p>Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-32798068311503450922021-12-07T15:55:00.004-09:002021-12-07T15:55:52.733-09:00Revenge of the Nerds<p><i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px;">We did it!!!</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px;">Yes, we finally became the 7th to the last people on earth over the age of six months to acquire iPhones or their equivalent.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px;">That’s partly because we opted to clear out deleted stuff from our previous Samsung phone —</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px;">all 7.99 Gigabytes of the 8.0 Gigabyte phone that refused to depart when we said “depart,” “OK, please depart.” “PRETTY PLEASE!” </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px;"> </span></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>The writers of software inserted in every modern electronic device have one personality defect, er, trait — they delight in human suffering. It’s revenge for being harassed for acting nerd-like during their middle school years.</i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Thus, unable to take even a single photo with the Samsung, thereby reducing it to no more than a metallic object useful for alerting TSA agents that we needed full body pat downs because we forgot it was in our pocket and little else, we followed Miss Google’s advice and pressed reset to factory settings. </i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>“Are you sure?” </i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>“Yes”</i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Surely that would truly purge everything we had purged including photos I can’t replace and viola, we’d have a healthy, practically new cell phone — the one ATT gave me free for forking over $100 to sign up for our original plan back when — I forget.</i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Purge completed we turned the phone on and began setting it up again, a process as smooth as talcum powder until….</i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>“Enter the google password you used to set up your phone.”</i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>What Google password? There was no Google password. I never could get on the internet to access Google with that contraption — ever!!! And I don’t want to get on Google anyway. I just want a phone. A TELEPHONE!</i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>However, those programers provided no options and over the eons I had Google passwords, maybe 38 of them, all deleted.</i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Enter the world of three guesses and you’re out! Reset your password and wait 24 hours until you get to try again.</i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>And again but each time just one try before having to enter another new password on that tiny screen where my finger spanned three letters.</i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>And again.</i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>And again.</i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Did I mention again, each time another 24 hour wait?</i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Are there any humanoids out there?</i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Another 38 passwords later that cold piece of Samsung metal with all it’s electronic components and rare earth components and unlimited minutes of calling and texts and 3 G of internet usage per month that I never could use because of — see discussion above — that I recently paid $200 plus tax to use until next April, sits glaring at me with its one eye, daring me to try again. I narrow my eyes and glare back.</i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>So now I am the owner of a brand new Apple iPhone which I wii never ever ever press reset to factory settings — if I can only figure out how to use it. Hint — so far when I try to take a photo, half the time I take a short movie, the other half — nothing. But, if I keep at it, I’ll soon be able to splice the movies together to create a feature length film. You can look for it coming out at a drive-in theater near you next winter.</i></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>OK, this needs a photo. How about a couple of Karen's from this week?</i></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><br /></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0yXVt2hGVMo/YbAAqhJ5j8I/AAAAAAAACdU/FpoilYNF7QsKbTm9vUbfaO5dU1xk5c1lgCNcBGAsYHQ/s2739/DSC08141.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1148" data-original-width="2739" height="245" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0yXVt2hGVMo/YbAAqhJ5j8I/AAAAAAAACdU/FpoilYNF7QsKbTm9vUbfaO5dU1xk5c1lgCNcBGAsYHQ/w621-h245/DSC08141.jpg" width="621" /></a></div><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i> Looking across Wrangell Narrows from Petersburg</i></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--PbkECEpzKE/YbABckto95I/AAAAAAAACdc/7553kB6nZWMB9iBUQzMht0IA6FN6dLVbACNcBGAsYHQ/s1728/DSC07840.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="1728" height="362" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--PbkECEpzKE/YbABckto95I/AAAAAAAACdc/7553kB6nZWMB9iBUQzMht0IA6FN6dLVbACNcBGAsYHQ/w544-h362/DSC07840.jpg" width="544" /></a></div><i> Just checking up on ya. (Sitka black-tailed deer)</i><p></p>Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-47227582372461805962021-10-25T16:03:00.002-08:002021-11-02T14:36:17.273-08:00Miracles<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>A prudent pilot leaves their plane tethered to the ground when fog rules the skies. However, a co-worker whom I'll call Joe (by coincidence his real name) failed to return from a moose hunt the previous evening. We had to do something, anything, so Lyman (actually his real name, too) offered to start an aerial search.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>The call reverberated through our office. Any volunteers to add a pair of eyes? So there I was sitting in the back seat of a red Citabria headed towards a snow encased birch forest west of Talkeetna, Alaska. Never mind that visibility in the area could be compared with peering through random keyholes while Lyman squeezed the plane between the frozen tree tops and a dense fog bank, a layer of air barely wide enough to accommodate the plane, it’s red-painted wings the only color in our line of sight. Down below we knew searchers reinforced our efforts, but the thick mantle of snow on the trees obscured any sign of them -- and of course, Joe. Undeterred, we persisted.</i></span></div>
<p style="font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">We knew it would take a miracle to spot Joe, but the point of the entire exercise, we were doing something and you can never spot a miracle in advance. </span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now, daylight, if you want to call it that, ends early in November at that latitude. That also coincided with our similarly dwindling fuel supply. Reluctantly, we turned towards Anchorage in the early afternoon. That's also about when a voice in Lyman's headset gave us the news. Searchers had found Joe, or was it vice versa? Either way, he had simply lost his race with nightfall to get back to his car the previous evening. Other than a frigid night and feeling embarrassed, he had a story for his grandchildren. </span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">That's also about the time we crossed the Petersville Road. Now remember, we constituted the filling between a white layer of fog and a white layer of snow-covered tree tops. What we did not know was a power line had been added to that filling -- strung along that road, just above the tree tops. That frost encased line bore a striking resemblance to everything above and below it. Talk about cammo!</span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">That was the moment the lights went out in some homestead along the Petersville Road. However, all I felt was a slight hesitation in our forward momentum. That's all. No sparks, no flying wires, no Hollywood-style pyrotechnics, just a momentary hesitation. Lyman turned to me and muttered, "we just screwed up." </span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">With that he banked left towards Talkeetna to make a stealth approach. We landed far out at the end of the runway, hoping our landing gear was intact and to escape notice. Lyman leaped out of the cockpit and dashed around the plane to make a hasty inspection of the plane's exterior. Satisfied that the apparently thin wire hadn't inflicted any obvious damage we roared off into the gathering twilight aiming south towards home. Joe was safe, we were safe, and we’d let someone else puzzle over the mystery of the severed power line.</span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Today, well beyond 40-years later I wonder why we survived. I've read multiple accounts of aircraft encounters with power lines. The wires always won. Always. Except this time. Like I said, you can never spot a miracle in advance.</span></i></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"> ------------------------------------------------------------------</span></i></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></i></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Lacking any digitized photos from the days of this event back in the 1970s, this seems like the time to augment a post with some of Karen's images that include, surprise, fog. </i></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GGZjEkwT8W0/YXdBPMI2FyI/AAAAAAAACcw/YuPFMV3DOcYm4rRWcbeQL3bL7wCcGLNpQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DSC06600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1172" data-original-width="2048" height="346" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GGZjEkwT8W0/YXdBPMI2FyI/AAAAAAAACcw/YuPFMV3DOcYm4rRWcbeQL3bL7wCcGLNpQCLcBGAsYHQ/w604-h346/DSC06600.jpg" width="604" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Wise "aviators" remaining grounded waiting for fog to lift.</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tYPsWtKpKlA/YXdCAxGTuyI/AAAAAAAACc4/UrAysvT2FXQU6oX6HqWYdi0rHrFAu61BACLcBGAsYHQ/s2788/DSC01660.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1128" data-original-width="2788" height="256" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tYPsWtKpKlA/YXdCAxGTuyI/AAAAAAAACc4/UrAysvT2FXQU6oX6HqWYdi0rHrFAu61BACLcBGAsYHQ/w636-h256/DSC01660.jpg" width="636" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>A commercial fishing boat sails into fog in SE Alaska.</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-95OpNBKXCcA/YXdC4_iXAJI/AAAAAAAACdA/EBjKczNRU34fpvL-dlIA7gZiek9QxrKKQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2798/DSC03474.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1124" data-original-width="2798" height="251" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-95OpNBKXCcA/YXdC4_iXAJI/AAAAAAAACdA/EBjKczNRU34fpvL-dlIA7gZiek9QxrKKQCLcBGAsYHQ/w622-h251/DSC03474.jpg" width="622" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Fog bank over Frederick Sound, Alaska.</i></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><i><br /></i></span><p></p>Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-74821414055864323992021-10-23T11:23:00.004-08:002021-11-02T14:38:44.873-08:00Disaster at Five Finger<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>While getting my second covid shot, a member of <a href="https://fivefingerlighthouse.com">Alaska's Five Finger Lighthouse Society</a> asked me to create a piece of artwork to be auctioned off in an online auction. The auction will fund needed maintenance projects at the lighthouse. What could I say? No, I was not the only artist they asked. I had just missed seeing two previous email requests sent to a number of artists.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Possible subjects swirreled around in my brain until I settled on the idea of another gnome painting figuring it would be something different from what other artists would produce. Of course it needed a story to go with it. As I painted my idea expanded and my level of fun in creating the piece and story increased. </i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fLksIU4J7SE/YXRaWqiPfeI/AAAAAAAACcI/MSjJjXv8vngzuxadHcfBZnWEBTrs_A2KwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Disaster%2Bat%2BFive%2BFinger.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1632" data-original-width="2048" height="517" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fLksIU4J7SE/YXRaWqiPfeI/AAAAAAAACcI/MSjJjXv8vngzuxadHcfBZnWEBTrs_A2KwCLcBGAsYHQ/w648-h517/Disaster%2Bat%2BFive%2BFinger.jpg" width="648" /></a></div><p><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b> Disaster at Five Finger</b> 12 x 16 inches Alkyd on canvas</span></i></p><p><b><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i> <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">Excerpt from Whackopedia</span></i></span></b></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; background-color: white; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">During the early years, a colony of seafaring gnomes inhabited the site of the later years </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; background-color: #fffec4;">Five</span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"> </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; background-color: #fffec4;">Finger</span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"> Lighthouse. Technologically advanced, they invented a powerful light consisting of a candle flame magnified with the lenses of the eyes of </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; background-color: #fffec4;">five</span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"> giant squid and one bald eagle. For thousands of years, they argued they didn't need sophisticated technology, that their manual "lighthouse" used the best available science. </span></span></i><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; background-color: white; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; background-color: white; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Thus, generations of "keepers of the "light" positioned themselves on a rock outcropping to warn passing ships of the danger posed by the islands -- until that fateful night. Ole, the current keeper of the light, had an addiction. Sadly, the demon, lutefisk, wrapped him firmly within its clutches. It also kept resident gnomes from checking on how well he performed his duties. They only connected the heavy scent of lutefisk on his breath and clothes with the same scent along the shoreline surrounding the "lighthouse" and the pile of noseeums laying on the ground gasping for breath each morning.</span></i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; background-color: white; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; background-color: white; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">That night, after succumbing more than usual to his addiction, Ole snoozed during his shift. Some say he passed out as did the first rescuers who inhaled the lutefisk fumes upon discovering the disaster. Either way, a grizzly scene greeted the remaining rescuers left standing.</span></i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; background-color: white; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; background-color: white; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">A passing gnome transport vessel, the captain lounging in the galley refilling her plate with, you almost guessed it, leftse, failed to notice a large land mass looming dead ahead. Ole, unable to perform his duties, did not signal the ship with the light, nor with his back-up warning method, a stern three blows from his nose followed by a trebled burp.</span></i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; background-color: white; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; background-color: white; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Fortunately all aboard survived the ensuing shipwreck, but responsible area residents decided time for a more reliable solution had come. There would be no more drama of this sort.</span></i></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; background-color: white; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></i></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; background-color: white; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">And thus, Ole had to file for temporary unemployment compensation as the colony moved to a quieter, still undisclosed location while construction of the first iteration of the present day structure began. Some say they moved east. Others, west. Still others, north and small contingent, even further north. However, on foggy nights a tiny speck of light on a neighboring island suggests they are still present warning passing vessels of dangers hidden in the gloom. However, now as backup, the odor of lutefisk in the air alerts ship captains to the dangers that lie nautical miles ahead.</span></i></span></p><div><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><br /></span></div>Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-12691729173103947202020-08-28T19:46:00.001-08:002020-08-28T19:50:05.957-08:00Frontier Justice<p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>In the early 1970s, the Palmer game warden, Fred Smith, occupied the corner office two doors down from where I was stationed as an Alaska Department of Fish and Game game biologist. Well past retirement age with fleeting eyesight and a receding gray hairline, Fred still made as many cases as the best of them. </i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>The reason: people identified with this friendly grandfatherly gentleman. Fred didn't have to sneak through dense willow thickets to pounce on poachers. Everyday citizens, fed up with seeing someone else steal their moose or salmon dinner, simply reported violations to Fred. He excelled at being a kind old man telling stories about the good old days. The public reciprocated with modern day versions. </i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>My opportunity to assist Fred came the night I registered for a mid-winter watercolor painting class. Returning home that frigid night on the winding remote (at that time) Matanuska Valley roads, a parked car seemed out-of-place. Strange, I thought, so slowed to read its license plate number. The notion that something didn't seem right gnawed at me until back home, I turned around and drove back.</i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>The car had disappeared. Instead I found blood in the road. Armed with a flashlight, my boots squeaking in the cold, I followed a trail of crimson flecked snow to a steaming moose gut pile. Back home I dialed Fred. </i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>Fred said he would check on the license number. A few minutes later my phone rang. It was Fred. Rumor had it the owner of the car whom I shall call "Robert" was a moose poacher who sold the meat to the poor. Fred still hadn't been able to make a case against this supposed modern-day Robin Hood. He said Robert would be at the Pioneer Cafe the next morning. I should meet him there.</i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>At 7:30 AM, sure enough, I found Fred standing in the Pioneer Cafe parking lot next to the drab weathered sedan I had seen the previous evening. The key to the trunk remained fixed in place, obviously ready for quick action. Fred twisted the key. The trunk popped open to reveal a blood-stained interior and moose hair, not the typical trunk used to transport suitcases to the airport. Fred directed me to collect a blood sample on a microscope slide and close the lid saying he'd be right back. I complied then dashed inside not wanting to miss the action.</i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>Inside the Pioneer Cafe Fred found a tall angular man clad in Army surplus "bunny boots" wearing a grease-stained parka right where he knew he'd find him, sitting at a counter stool in front of a plateful of bacon and eggs. </i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>Fred approached Robert and with a friendly smile, simply said, "When you're done, come on over to my office," and left. That was all. That's sure not how they do it on TV, I thought to myself.</i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>Fred and I went back to our respective Fish and Game offices and waited. It didn't take long before I saw Robert slouch past my door. I listened intently.</i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>"You never know when your friends are going to rat on you," I heard Fred say.</i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>"Who told you?," a panicked Robert replied. "Who was it?"</i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>Of course Fred was only making up a story, but that sounded like a confession to me. </i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>After more unsuccessful pleading from Robert about how Fred knew, I heard Fred state, "we need to go get the meat, it would be unlawful to leave it where it was."</i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Unlawful." Since when did that bother Robert? However, he fell for Fred's bluff and with that the two of them got up and Robert led Fred to the evidence -- the evidence Fred needed to make his case, a case for which Robert spent six months in jail. </i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>Today I muse at the chances. My love of art led me down that road. I had been disappointed that all we did was register for the watercolor painting class, receive our materials list and an announcement the class would begin the following week. Feeling let down, I drove home hours earlier than expected that evening. Later, when class would normally have ended, Robert would have vanished and, at best, I might have seen blood on the snow-covered pavement. </i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>Otherwise, a flock of ravens, maybe a pair of eagles at the top of a cottonwood tree would have alerted us that another moose had been poached. Why didn't we ever catch these guys? Chances -- chances and a bit of bluff from a kind old man broke the familiar pattern leading, for once, to frontier justice.</i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KGNtxQjO_jw/X0nHteQI58I/AAAAAAAACYQ/ckpog7f8VRAGBEBdSo0oFtBOMd7NFnxWwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Dance%2Bof%2Bthe%2BAspens.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1530" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KGNtxQjO_jw/X0nHteQI58I/AAAAAAAACYQ/ckpog7f8VRAGBEBdSo0oFtBOMd7NFnxWwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Dance%2Bof%2Bthe%2BAspens.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><i> <b>Dance of the Aspens</b> 9 x 12 inches Alkyd on Canvas Private Collection</i><p></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i>Other than a whimsical watercolor card, this is the only painting I have which includes a moose, Thus, wanting a moose painting for this post, it'll have to do.</i><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 18px;"> I started </i><b style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 18px;"><i>Dance of the Aspens</i></b><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 18px;"> as a plein air piece in the Yukon. There I was drawn to the aspens battered by wind and snow to take on every manner of twisted shapes. I didn't complete the painting that day, so brought it home to finish in my studio. As for the moose, she's an add on from a photo Karen took in a similar area Fred would have patrolled although, given his poor eyesight, probably never would have seen. In fact, neither did I. But, Karen did.</i></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 18px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="font-family: verdana; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><i><br /></i><p></p><div><i><br /></i></div><div><br /></div>Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-81580916334236955012020-08-08T15:34:00.003-08:002020-08-09T17:25:19.706-08:00Lead Astray<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i><span face="" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Summer made it. At last. Every weather service on the internet forecasted three days of golden sun-filled or at least sort of sun-filled skies to beam down on southeast Alaska before rain returned. Obviously a long overdue explore somewhere around our island had to be on the agenda. </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span face="" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">We selected a seldom-traveled loop with the plan only lacking a written description. But, this is Petersburg on 17-miles long by almost 10 miles-wide (at the point where it looks like it consumed too many of Karen's chocolate chip cookies) Mitkof Island. Here, getting lost would require dense fog and a blindfolded driver.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span face="" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><i>So, Karen packed a lunch, laid out 1/8 bag of lime-scented tortilla chips (the few broken survivors from — was it just the day before) and, naturally…..went outside to see if she could entice Ms Squirrel to take peanuts from her lap. What else does one do when they’re on the verge of setting off on an epic adventure?</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span face="" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Ah well, sun remained in the forecast for two more days and peanut butter and margarine sandwiches would taste delicious whether consumed with a squirrel in your lap or when we’re “lost” in a remote forested part of our island.</span></i></span><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FGza9pQQbgc/Xy8lddz9WfI/AAAAAAAACWA/uWfFPcaZ5p0olkmqyqRvg7k6WBs0z46KQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Building%2Bup%2Btrust.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1568" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FGza9pQQbgc/Xy8lddz9WfI/AAAAAAAACWA/uWfFPcaZ5p0olkmqyqRvg7k6WBs0z46KQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Building%2Bup%2Btrust.jpg" width="640" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i> Step one: Lure her close to Karen with peanuts </i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4evEV0v1mVE/Xy8nYZ-B2cI/AAAAAAAACWM/SzrVWTd_rg0lv2rRR7k0oCnnAD_8DA6sQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Getting%2BBolder.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1278" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4evEV0v1mVE/Xy8nYZ-B2cI/AAAAAAAACWM/SzrVWTd_rg0lv2rRR7k0oCnnAD_8DA6sQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Getting%2BBolder.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><i> "Oh Hi. I'm just looking for peanuts."</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pMeikz0QmJc/Xy8rXLUa0QI/AAAAAAAACWs/X-eJXDcQMaERKGhj85rMkU3YF3Py1TpIQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Temptation.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1856" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pMeikz0QmJc/Xy8rXLUa0QI/AAAAAAAACWs/X-eJXDcQMaERKGhj85rMkU3YF3Py1TpIQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Temptation.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>"Karen, you are really tempting me." Notice the jealous, but more wary Steller's jay, Gregory Peck, who just couldn't bring himself to take the risk.</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bzsrV9Q6n2c/Xy8swn6cXFI/AAAAAAAACW4/0SBfpN_I8gcFn3XIVOk5F1dfG4SKuUJ7wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Gregory%2BPeck.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1932" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bzsrV9Q6n2c/Xy8swn6cXFI/AAAAAAAACW4/0SBfpN_I8gcFn3XIVOk5F1dfG4SKuUJ7wCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Gregory%2BPeck.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><i>Poor Gregory Peck was losing a feather and couldn't bring himself to risk darting onto Karen's lap for a peanut.</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MZqDN0WANF4/Xy8vHlsRRII/AAAAAAAACXM/jSfAB6opFqsktPpNawZkE8heRc80YMWcQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Fine%2Bdining.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MZqDN0WANF4/Xy8vHlsRRII/AAAAAAAACXM/jSfAB6opFqsktPpNawZkE8heRc80YMWcQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Fine%2Bdining.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><i> Meanwhile back in Karen's lap.</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y2ZhvPRqkLA/Xy8vaWR6QII/AAAAAAAACXU/T0gXbf2x2Jcj_HT-DD-immGTk0OBhFXBwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1610/Would%2Byou%2Btake%2Bmy%2Bpicture%253F.jpg" style="display: inline; font-family: verdana; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1507" data-original-width="1610" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y2ZhvPRqkLA/Xy8vaWR6QII/AAAAAAAACXU/T0gXbf2x2Jcj_HT-DD-immGTk0OBhFXBwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Would%2Byou%2Btake%2Bmy%2Bpicture%253F.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i> "Would you take my picture?"</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5KG0OB6XZNE/Xy8wEZlV_TI/AAAAAAAACXc/Ece1Sc58AIsRTPAq5wm74w3FJ8E3iwCjQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Is%2Bthat%2Byou%252C%2BKaren%253F.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5KG0OB6XZNE/Xy8wEZlV_TI/AAAAAAAACXc/Ece1Sc58AIsRTPAq5wm74w3FJ8E3iwCjQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Is%2Bthat%2Byou%252C%2BKaren%253F.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><i> "Better yet, how about showing me how to use this camera?"</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gOlNjMSs3Qs/Xy8wr9XffgI/AAAAAAAACXk/jELWMiSqZeMJffj2Xohr4l8mQqA_V3fbwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/We%2527re%2Bbeing%2Bwatched.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1408" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gOlNjMSs3Qs/Xy8wr9XffgI/AAAAAAAACXk/jELWMiSqZeMJffj2Xohr4l8mQqA_V3fbwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/We%2527re%2Bbeing%2Bwatched.jpg" width="640" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CwFu9ZMoDsE/Xy8yDnCktNI/AAAAAAAACXw/5fadOz1DVfwGcsUFUaQqBGN4qG3egPy1gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1498/Chestnut-backed%2Bchickadee.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1498" data-original-width="1455" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CwFu9ZMoDsE/Xy8yDnCktNI/AAAAAAAACXw/5fadOz1DVfwGcsUFUaQqBGN4qG3egPy1gCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Chestnut-backed%2Bchickadee.jpg" /></a></div></div><i>Alas, Karen finally ran out of peanuts and Ms Squirrel realized she was being watched. Feeling camera shy with no more incentive to remain in Karen's lap, she scampered into the forest. </i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span face="" style="font-family: -webkit-standard; font-kerning: none;"><i><span face="" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Post script: Alas, we never made our epic drive. Exciting activities like manicuring our lawn -- I'm mowing around the buttercups in deference to the rights of insects so it (lawn) looks not-just-a-</span></i></span><span face="" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><i>little sketchy, battling the invasion of migrating rogue salmonberry bushes, and attending a birthday party for a friend who lives (and is) 1200 miles away (I wonder who ate his piece of cake?) -- stuff like that kept us grounded in town until....the sun departed in a thunderstorm that made the Washington Mall 4th of July fireworks show pale in comparison.</i></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-37987127717678542562020-07-20T12:04:00.000-08:002020-07-27T17:21:28.227-08:00Getting Squirrelly<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i>It began with a beat up, not-quite antique bread box — yet another one of Karen’s multitude of Salvation Army Thrift Store “eureka discoveries.” She lugged it home.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>“Don, could you convert this into a squirrel feeder?” </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i> Karen finds red squirrels, in fact any rodents for that matter, irresistible.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Karen has been feeding birds, and consequently red squirrels, on our deck for years with constant revisions to the theme. This, she hoped, would be her finest addition even though it lacked one thing -- any semblance of esthetics. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>And so Karen's dream languished for several years until one day a strange phenomenon struck. My motivation to make it real. I’m not sure what sparked my action but I’m guessing it was her 147th “suggestion.” </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>The wide ledge outside our kitchen nook where we had meals, made the perfect setting — OK, it’s just a board, but the bread box fit on it. Soon, with it's only semi-attractive feature, the door, removed, so she could push it against the window, I divided the bread box into two floors, drilled holes at each end, spruced it up with a paint job and viola, we had our own version of a National Geographic TV show directly in front of our kitchen table. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>With zero sense of appreciation for all the free handouts, Ms squirrel scolds Karen for daring to intrude on her deck.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>The almost daily routine — dump a couple of handfuls of peanuts in the feeder and watch the action. Often it involved territorial disputes between warring red squirrels or invasions by Steller’s jays and crows who would warily stretch their necks as far as they could into the box to snatch a peanut.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i> Madam squirrel contemplates reorganizing her feeder.</i></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6UCRDlVT8gg/XxUfBJbPsCI/AAAAAAAACUk/SYdYgFEN1fUzg81UkQ9qz0PpcJcoQkAyACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Peering-out-DSC06682.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1447" data-original-width="1600" height="361" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6UCRDlVT8gg/XxUfBJbPsCI/AAAAAAAACUk/SYdYgFEN1fUzg81UkQ9qz0PpcJcoQkAyACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/Peering-out-DSC06682.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i> "Guess it's OK. Don't mean to complain but it's not a great construction job."</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Thus began the spring of 2020. A sweet lass of a red squirrel, one of the babies from last year (there’s alway a new family every spring) frequented the bread box feeder. Karen, as she does every spring, filled various containers on our deck with dog hair for nesting squirrels or birds. Sure enough this squirrel started packing it off — probably enough to make a pair of socks for every Petersburg resident willing to don a pair of socks knitted by a squirrel. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Karen even baked cookies in exchange for dog hair from willing dog owners. Note to dog owners who supplied hair but did not receive cookies: Remind Karen she owes you because I always steal some when she’s not looking. We also noticed prominent nipples on her belly (the squirrel, not Karen), a sure sign she had a family secreted somewhere nearby.</i></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1tzhfpy63uE/XxT8aZpoKEI/AAAAAAAACTU/KonbbncRxfwvXd1NSjCb6ZQ6CEfF9l9LwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Collecting%2BDog%2BHair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1486" data-original-width="1600" height="593" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1tzhfpy63uE/XxT8aZpoKEI/AAAAAAAACTU/KonbbncRxfwvXd1NSjCb6ZQ6CEfF9l9LwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Collecting%2BDog%2BHair.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i> "Sure glad they brushed Molly today."</i></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-clPWtIiDMsg/XxXfOeQDwTI/AAAAAAAACU8/yZVYUAA8Ho0ibT--FtShUFMwIWQf0YIXACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Collecting-yarn-DSC02670.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1195" data-original-width="1600" height="476" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-clPWtIiDMsg/XxXfOeQDwTI/AAAAAAAACU8/yZVYUAA8Ho0ibT--FtShUFMwIWQf0YIXACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Collecting-yarn-DSC02670.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>"Cause when Karen runs out of dog hair she has to dig into her yarn collection to find a substitute."</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Eventually we spotted two babies (squirrels, not humans) chasing one another around a nearby tree. As the days wore on mama squirrel seemed to want to get away from her new brood more and more.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i> The babies -- about the only time red squirrels tolerate one another.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Then, one day — she did. Instead of the bread box feeder being empty, it had accumulated more peanuts than Karen put in it. A lot more. And grass. And sunflower seeds from other bird feeders. And dog hair. Our feeder had morphed into a squirrel cache.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i> Oh oh, things have changed in the feeder.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i> At least she's being neat.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Initially Ms squirrel meticulously filled her larder, carefully placing each item, sometimes even rearranging the nuts and often sweeping the floor of the feeder with her feet. She even separated highly treasured walnuts from the peanuts in a different corner of the feeder — now storage unit. Eventually she filled the first level completely. Time to tackle the second floor.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i> Guess I'll start in this corner.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>As the second floor filled tidiness gave way, at least in our eyes, to clutter. With no room on the floor to sweep, she stopped. Peanuts overflowed the second floor through a space between the feeder and our kitchen window. And they now combined with clumps of dog hair, grass, and wet sunflower seeds that looked like — no, I’d better not say. Suffice to say you won’t see it on the cover of a gourmet cooking magazine.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Karen finds it considerably less than appetizing as we sit down for dinner and desperately wants to clean up mama squirrel’s cache. Then I remind her that squirrels have a different set of values than she does (not so much her husband) and if we want to see nature in action this winter (do peanuts, dog hair and sunflower seeds count as nature?) — well, we should be patient.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>I'm not sure why Karen doesn't want to look at this piece of abstract art while she eats. Maybe it's because we can't clean the outside window in front of it so she gets a better view? Yeah, that's it.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>It is now impossible for mama squirrel to add more peanuts without the overflowing additions providing morsels for crows and jays. So Karen constructed a barrier of chunks of bark to block the entrance while providing a hole for mama squirrel to sneak through. It works — if you don’t factor in the new “alarm clock” Karen created. You see, every morning at first light (remember we’re at a northern latitude where that’s about 10 minutes after we went to bed) one jay has decided it is going to peck, and peck, and peck (did I mention peck?) down that barrier. And this entire contraption is right below our bedroom window. And I’m a light sleeper. And that peck sounds more like the jay has evolved into a pileated woodpecker drilling a hole into a hollow log.</i></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BEq1GWpSm5s/XxXjFsRkq6I/AAAAAAAACVU/CgUGTrKfBDEHJYU67qunntn77AEcZGuXwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Steller%2527s-jay-DSC05392.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1354" data-original-width="1600" height="540" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BEq1GWpSm5s/XxXjFsRkq6I/AAAAAAAACVU/CgUGTrKfBDEHJYU67qunntn77AEcZGuXwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Steller%2527s-jay-DSC05392.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i> Gregory Peck, the Steller's jay who wakes me up at dawns early light.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>However, since this is the year where we’re going “nutty” being grounded by the coronavirus, we should be thankful for a squirrel that is providing us with this distraction. Not so much the jay. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>I sure hope Karen bakes some more of those thank you for the dog hair cookies.</i></span><br />
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<i>Guess we'd better leave you with an endearing image of a red squirrel instead of a jay or soggy peanuts. So here's the next generation learning to climb a tree.</i><br />
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Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-55461572108313972262020-01-01T15:47:00.002-09:002020-01-03T09:49:19.147-09:00Karen's Best Photos of 2019<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Listening to the news as 2019 dipped towards the horizon we were inundated with the “best ofs.”</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">The best songs, the best cat videos, the best political blunders — if someone could think of a category, it had a best list.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">If I really want to dive into the subject, I could emerge with a list of best excuses for not keeping up with our blog during the past year.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">The problem is, it would get rather repetitious.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">That’s the area that reigns at the top of the list where I excel at recycling.</span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But now it’s our turn to join the parade. Karen has taken a bunch of thousands of photos Since January 1st, 2019 and only deleted a bunch of hundreds. Of these, we have many hundreds of favorites. The challenge for our last blog of the year is Karen’s best photos of 2019 in 10 images. Now, in reviewing the preliminary selection of 137 photos all deserving top prize, perhaps we should add two words to the description: Some of. And we’ve upped the ante to 12 plus added one of my own — of my favorite photographer.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Happy New Year. Can’t wait to see her photo contributions for 2020.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Karen snapped this image of a pink (humpback) salmon trying to navigate a rapids during extremely low water this past August. Obviously it was checking for any rocks that might be in the way up ahead.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>2019 marked the first year Karen encountered common yellowthroats and then it seemed they seemed to be (as their name suggests) common.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Speaking of common, a seemingly ubiquitous bird, the song sparrow has become one of Karen's favorites with more than 12 images all deserving top honors in her best of list.</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EXDM3WsLS0w/Xg0vkWw4XlI/AAAAAAAACP0/1ZcDtMCe2lwvbnGTPDf3eOtWWuIsSyPrwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_2361.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="1062" height="444" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EXDM3WsLS0w/Xg0vkWw4XlI/AAAAAAAACP0/1ZcDtMCe2lwvbnGTPDf3eOtWWuIsSyPrwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_2361.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Karen also had enough intertidal images to more than fill most photographers best of list, but she picked this one because if you look closely there is a barnacle to the left of the blue mussels that has it's feet out. I mean, look really closely. I tended to notice the pattern of the mussels.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Another category with which she could have stuffed the ballot bot is trumpeter swans like these two beauties coming in for a landing in Washington's Skagit River Valley. Oh, for another week there because...</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-slwJY38tAO8/Xg0xXm8VA_I/AAAAAAAACQI/OQObEvGYtckbPhrzMe2Tq6DfOXudLRVgwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/DSC04328.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="970" data-original-width="1600" height="388" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-slwJY38tAO8/Xg0xXm8VA_I/AAAAAAAACQI/OQObEvGYtckbPhrzMe2Tq6DfOXudLRVgwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/DSC04328.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>The swans were in the minority those early November days, where maybe 40 to 50 thousand snow geese kind of captured ones attention, especially when they all took off and flew directly overhead. Oh my, I just lowered my camera that day and stared in awe.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>I primed Karen with verbal images of how much she would enjoy a drive over Lolo Pass as she crossed the border from Montana into Idaho. So, it rained. One thing about Karen, she can find a good photo subject under the most unappealing circumstances.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Let's see, have I shown any song sparrow images yet? </i></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Igv6Vt4MIvw/Xg01N5ISHEI/AAAAAAAACQs/iTZxwsyfSKkWOjMXuC_L3wqPeIjaDIsEQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_0644.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Igv6Vt4MIvw/Xg01N5ISHEI/AAAAAAAACQs/iTZxwsyfSKkWOjMXuC_L3wqPeIjaDIsEQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_0644.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Or snow geese freshly arrived from the Arctic, perhaps Siberia or Alaska.</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WyYEVNFRdIg/Xg0190fAiCI/AAAAAAAACQ0/xz9TEDeQ9WccY9ckohl3kGn1-i_TZCvrQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_8092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1028" data-original-width="1600" height="410" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WyYEVNFRdIg/Xg0190fAiCI/AAAAAAAACQ0/xz9TEDeQ9WccY9ckohl3kGn1-i_TZCvrQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_8092.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>The reason Karen was where this humpback whale was diving is because she was off to look for rocks on a favorite beach. That's Alaska for you.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Two probably common merganser chicks -- such simplistic beauty -- unless you're a juvenile salmonid.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>What's wrong with this image? The white-breasted nuthatch photographed in Iowa is right-side up. They always seem to be upside down, "hopping" down a tree trunk, but, not this time. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>That completes Karen's top 10 list for 2019. We want to leave you wanting more, not less.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Happy New Year.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Oh, by the way, here are two bonus shots, one of the photographer and one of the editor.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wUrQyqiKt3w/Xg057QxyivI/AAAAAAAACRU/S8stOx0mFZQ9BLCAK5225RijweehYyd0wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/P1060863.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wUrQyqiKt3w/Xg057QxyivI/AAAAAAAACRU/S8stOx0mFZQ9BLCAK5225RijweehYyd0wCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/P1060863.jpg" width="640" /></a></i></span></div>
<i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">The photographer and a fan club in Viola, Idaho.</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>The editor being investigated.</i></span></div>
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Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-46587933766370509012019-12-24T19:39:00.003-09:002019-12-24T20:04:57.190-09:00Merry Christmas December 2019<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>To our friends who may not have received our Christmas greetings:</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><b><i>Christmas 2019</i></b></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FM39_1Alz8A/XgLsfmx7TCI/AAAAAAAACO8/kWlefA_7Uo8Ndivq73VRhWguUUDjt2krQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_0775.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FM39_1Alz8A/XgLsfmx7TCI/AAAAAAAACO8/kWlefA_7Uo8Ndivq73VRhWguUUDjt2krQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/IMG_0775.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i> Spoiling ourselves at a coffee house in LaConner, Washington</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Merry Christmas from the House of Corn</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Surprise! It’s me, the reason my great great grand second uncle coined the term squirreling away. That’s ‘cause I’ve been squirreling away peanuts the gentle lass spreads out for me and the jays and the crows and her illegal deer herd for the past year. By the way, don’t tell the police, but Bambi still eats apples out of her hand while she tickles him under the chin. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>They started 2019 with the utterly most fantastic non-trip of the century. After spending hours and hours, day after day after day, the grouch planning the ultimate winter getaway, he glanced up from their Apple computer screen and exclaimed “oh, it’s spring.” </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Besides, once again, after vowing they would never ever under any circumstance paint a large painting on watercolor paper to be cut up into pieces as a fund raiser for WAVE, a non-profit that works against domestic violence, they had a winter commitment. That’s ‘cause the grouch uttered that forbidden three letter word, “yes.” So the fair lass, now obligated without any form of consultation had one more “have to.” Naturally she wisely painted five individual paintings, each surrounded by a white margin, on her mega-sized sheet of paper. Meanwhile, he painted four very discrete paintings smartly tied together so they looked like one complete piece of art work — cleverly designed so no one could miss his conception. Brilliant!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Wrong! </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Her’s all sold intact — the largest purchased by a note-worthy art collector from Alaska — herself. Yep, she bought her own painting to save it from being cut up because…..</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>There was this little girl.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>An elementary school art critic.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Her mom gave her an itsy bitsy, I mean tiny, mat board with a cut out hole through which to select a portion of someone’s painting to be excised. To their mutual horror, this little girl sprinted back and forth trying to decide — cut out one of the lass’s deer or the gnome on the back of a goofy bear the grouch had painted? Whose work would be the victim? Oh the agony they each felt as she darted between their paintings. Back and forth, the lass’s heart sunk, back and forth, the grouch’s heart sunk, back and forth like a natural-born shopper. Ultimately…… </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>The gnome “won.” </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Now many downpours end with a rainbow, and that day proved to prove the tenet. A man sitting at their table saw the grouch’s anguish as he slumped in his chair realizing hours and hours of labor had just been obliterated. In an act of valor, he purchased the rest of that section of the big painting at a dollar per square inch as a gift to “the girl,” but in reality…you guessed it.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>By the way, that Alaskan art collector I mentioned earlier ended the evening with one additional purchase. There, on a silent auction table rested a painting the fair lass couldn’t resist — a gem left over from the previous WAVE Art by the Inch fund raiser. A delightful pair of penguins with a chick had somehow escaped the discerning eyes of other art collectors. Just why begs understanding, but she bid and now the fair lass’s very own painting from two years ago also hangs in their home. The grouch believes it would be best if the fair lass refrain from visiting our local art gallery where more of her art is for sale.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Still, the lass’s major enterprise this year came through the viewfinder of two cameras. If there is a duck, merganser, gull, loon, shorebird or bird from any other flock of the thousands that pass through Petersburg, whose image is not tucked safely in their computer, it’s not because she didn’t try. It was probably just out-of-focus. No, wait, if it’s out-of-focus, it’s still there.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>And now thanks to the fact that she celebrated another birthday this year, she has a new camera, a Sony DSL RX-10 IV which, if you check out reviews on line, has a manual translated into English by a committee comprised solely of members who do not read or write English. The name of the camera, RX-10 IV instead of RX-10 4 should be a clue. Thus, the grouch even bought her a book on how to use the camera so she could get started because this camera will do anything except floss your rear molars — if you can figure out how — except they couldn’t — figure out how to do most anything with it — the camera that is.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>So, it was while standing alongside maybe 40 or 50 thousand snow geese in Washington’s Skagit River Valley with her trusty old Canon that she struck up a conversation with a guy, and this guy showed them some photos of geese and swans that would roll your socks down and back up, and they asked him what kind of camera he had, and hallelujah, it was the same Sony DSL RX-10 IV which she wasn’t even using because — I think you understand about flossing your rear molars. Anyway, in a 10-second demonstration, he told her how to do what the grouch gave her the camera for. Of course, she immediately dug the Sony RX-10 IV camera out from under a pile a thrift store treasures and set out among the birds only to find that all three batteries were dead and now it was time to leave the 40 to 50 thousand snow geese and, did I mention, several hundred trumpeter swans?</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>I’ve deviated chronologically because the Skagit River Valley provided the equivalent of hot fudge ice cream cake being served when you thought you were being sent to bed without supper. It came while the grouch was grumbling because they were forced to wait a week for a ferry home as the finale of a 50-day trip across half of America and back — a trip that began with a drive down British Columbia to Bellingham, Washington. There in one of those “no way” coincidences, the grouch’s brother just happened to be visiting from the east coast at the same time. From there, he made a left turn to drive 2,000 stormy miles in four days lashed by rain, snow, wind and the spray from passing semis to Door County, Wisconsin, while the fair lass flew America’s stuffed skies being served a tiny bag of salty unidentified crunchy stuff along with a plastic cup of her beverage of limited choice over a parallel route. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Ten days in Door County on the shores of the over-full Lake Michigan with cousin Connie and her husband, Bob, provided the fair lass with hours and hours of rock/fossil collecting, enough to wreck havoc with her back, her knees and displace everything the grouch had carefully packed in their Honda CRV — enough displacement so he couldn’t find much of anything he had brought along for the rest of the trip. Between the rocks, the seats designed to carry nothing wider than a soda straw on cross-country Delta Airline flights and sagging, thrift store reject beds in the single $ motels the grouch found for their incredible deal lodging — the fair lass claims her spine feels like it has been compressed into the shape of a pretzel.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Of course, true to her Groth genetic heritage, the fair lass made fast friends with everyone she encountered. On the shores of Lake Michigan she had a conversation with an “ELDERLY” gentleman. Editors Note: He was about the SAME AGE as her YOUTHFUL self. And, as most people do in any conversation, he told the lass about his favorite high school teacher. Naturally that teacher just happened to be the fair lass’s late uncle, Waldo. The lass truly believes God has a hand in these “chance happenings.” </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Finally, back in Alaska when they departed the Alaska ferry, the fair damsel had amassed 47 more friends who want to maintain contact as well as order copies of her photo books plus she had bonded with 89 dogs, a dozen alpacas, two turtles and one toad. Surprised? As I said, she is a Groth. The grouch? I don’t think he lost too many friends and never met the toad.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>The grand finale for that 50-day odyssey came when the fair lass found the ultimate rock — a real gold “nugget.” Well, kind of. While flossing her teeth she reached into her mouth and pulled out a beautiful gold inlay about the size of pencil eraser. Of course no dentists were available to see her that Saturday. Maybe they can use that gold to purchase another one of the lass’s paintings at the next WAVE auction.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>I could have reported more, how she befriended the sweetest crow chick by giving it peanuts once, just once, really, only once, and for the next month it awakened the grouch every day at 4:00 AM and spent what seemed like forever mewing and cawing outside their bedroom window pleading, begging, willing to do anything for guess what? But, I’ve written enough so I won’t — report on it that is.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>The rest of their family appears sort of normal. David no longer delivers pizzas, but instead has begun delivering people via Uber and Lyft in Wasilla and Anchorage. Tamia continues her traditional feminine role of driving plows and equipment for the City of Anchorage while Mandy got her second bachelor’s degree — this one in nursing — and currently works where they hope you don’t meet her on a professional basis, in Seattle’s Virginia Mason Hospital. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>That’s about all I dare acknowledge about them for 2019. Now as a special Christmas gift to their friends the fair lass is offering to loan out rocks as table decorations during 2020 for any special events for which you may want to add a touch of class to the affair.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Oh no. Someone left the window open and the squirrel got in. Guess we ran out of peanuts. Better refill the feeder. But wait, now we don’t have to write a Christmas letter this year. All we have to add is what we most wanted to say:</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>May the blessings the miracle of Christmas fill your heart with the gift of Christ’s Love throughout the season and coming year.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>With love, Don and Karen</i></span></div>
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Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-65365697449759177932019-06-25T10:28:00.001-08:002020-07-29T14:37:57.455-08:00My Lord, What a Morning <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">It didn’t really start this morning — more like a month ago. The phone. “Karen, would you be willing to read the scriptures at Church one weekend in June?”</i></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Now, at Petersburg Lutheran Church the honor comes with a bonus, you’re also the Communion Assistant, but we’ll get to that later.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Before Church Karen attends Sunday School (held at Colleen’s home next to the church) with a flock of her feminine friends, one of whom, Sally, offered Karen a ride. Not wanting to delay Sally, Karen stood in front of our house ten minutes early. Never one famous for her patience, nine minutes later Karen decided she had been forgotten and scuttled off on foot.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Thus, when Sally knocked on our door perhaps a minute or two late Karen had disappeared out of sight. Off Sally drove figuring she’s pick Karen up along the route. No Karen. Fearing she may have fallen into a ditch, a most distressed Sally soon arrived at Sunday School, a distress she conveyed to Karen. Minutes later with Karen now feeling remorseful and a bit rattled for causing Sally to worry, Susan set her cup of coffee down next to Karen as Karen removed her sweater. Alas, a law of physics prevailed. Two objects cannot occupy the same space simultaneously, namely Karen’s fast-moving hand and the coffee cup. Yes, the coffee ended up all over Karen’s pants and the floor.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>With only les femmes present Colleen suggested they had time to wash the pants during the Sunday School lesson. Off they came and into the laundry room where Karen grabbed stain remover with which she doused her pants. Editors note: It might have been best if Karen had not removed her glasses when she took off her sweater. After spraying the coffee stains she realized the bottle of Shout Out for Clothes was still on the shelf. For the record, we now know that carpet stain remover can be substituted for clothes stain remover.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Also, for the record, Karen became the first woman in our Church known to participate in a Sunday School lesson pants/dress-free. The clothes had about dried as the lesson ended and Colleen’s clock read 10:00 — remember she was the scripture reader this morning and that comes very very early in the 10:00 service.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>That’s when Karen decided she’d better get her sweater back on. Of course that’s also when the zipper of the sweater snagged on her blouse. That’s also when the bells pealed to signal the start of the service. Now Karen was due on site in minutes as she sat clad in her lingerie with her pants in the dryer and her sweater and blouse badly intertwined while hung up high on her chest.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>A breathless wide-eyed Karen dashed into Church barely in time to read the Scriptures, but not before announcing to the entire congregation that they were lucky she had her pants on. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Still rattled she had to face Communion. Her job — hold two cups, one filled with wine, the second, grape juice. Now behind her when she served Communion were just two steps and her final duty was to mount those two steps and put the two vessels back on the altar. Just two steps. Only two. She cleared one. The grape juice flew onto the rug. The wine into her face, onto her blouse and into the Baptismal font positioned at the top of the steps. From my pew seat it looked like Karen was Baptizing herself as she washed wine out of her eyes with water from the font.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Finally Pastor Eric communed Karen. He handed her a wafer to dip into what little wine remained. She just ate it. He tried again. She just ate it. Ah well, there will be Communion next week.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>At the end of the service I couldn’t help but notice when I turned to the closing hymn, I first alighted on the preceding hymn: My Lord, What a Morning. We should have sung that one. I gave Karen a ride home.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> Courting Days 18 x 24 inches Alkyd on Canvas</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>This is an older painting I did of Karen of another memorable morning, OK maybe it was an afternoon, but it was one of those days that sent my heart racing as I fell in love with this gentle lass.</i></span></div>
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Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-87466332154636797872019-06-15T15:09:00.000-08:002019-06-15T15:26:30.807-08:00Never Again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Never again! That’s what Karen said two years ago. I echoed her statement with two, no three, exclamation points. The fundraiser for WAVE, Working Against Violence for Everyone — a local non-profit — is a gala event for attendees with alcoholic beverages flowing freely along with a plentiful assortment of delicacies for the most discriminating palates. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>However, the main attraction is the artwork, creations by artists mostly on a 22 X 30 inch sheet of watercolor paper to be cut up and sold by the square inch. Supporter/patrons chosen by random numbers circulate around the artwork with various sized mat boards. Each searches for the perfect layout they would like to see cut out of the artist’s creation to take home at the hefty price of $1.00 per square inch. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;"><i>I’ve suffered mightily in past years. I offered pieces I composed with obvious (to me) complete compositions that anyone could see — just put your mat board around the central parts and viola. They got decimated. Karen always painted discrete paintings surrounded by white borders. They always survived.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;"><i>This year I decided to adopt Karen’s tactic — sort of, neither one of us figuring on one little girl whose mother must have said “you can chose one little piece. Take this tiny mat board and have fun.” Alas, this juvenile art collector ended up being one of the first “art patrons” chosen to choose and she honed in on Karen’s and my artwork.</i></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Karen's <b>You Are So Dear to me </b>Watercolor/Acrylic</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;"><i>Back and forth she darted between the two. Again and again — so fast she’s obviously a future candidate for an Olympic track medal. Karen’s largest painting of bears or one my paintings of a bear with gnomes on it’s back was going to get destroyed with hours and hours of work spent on the rest of the painting laid to waste. We were miserable as we watched her dash back and forth between the pieces. Oh, the agony, the pain. In the end…the gnomes were chosen to be plucked off the back of the bear.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i> Don's <b>Gnome Fishing Strategies</b> </i></span><i> Alkyd </i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The gnomes would have been excised from the back of the bear. </span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;"><i>But then, an angel. His name, Richard. We had never met him before this event but he sat across from us at our table and saw our angst. Richard likes gnomes and when his turn came he did the unimaginable. He selected another of my gnome and bear paintings for himself plus….he purchased the entire gnome and bear painting the girl wanted part of so she could have the whole undefiled thing. My painting survived because of the generosity of Richard, my hero.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-kerning: none;"><i>In the end my four gnome paintings sold, as did Karen's eclectic selection of four paintings. Karen was so enamored with her own largest offering she sat on the edge of her seat dreading seeing it cut up or cut out -- until it was her turn to chose what artwork she wanted. It now resides on our living room wall.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> Karen's When <b>You're Done I Have a Question</b> </i><i>Watercolor/Acrylic</i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Now part of our own art collection. </span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Don's <b>A Beary Big Problem </b>Alkyd</span></i></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Two years from now we will receive another request. Would you be willing? If I breakdown and say yes, which I am vowing never to do again, but if I do which I won’t, the subject will be….blotches of unused paint from every painting I work on for months — a totally indescribable abstract — blotches of color that should never ever ever ever be placed within the same room of each other. Then, after that maybe WAVE will strike my name from their contact list. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i> Karen's <b>Are You Sure That Was Decaf?</b> </i></span><i>Watercolor/Acrylic</i></span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> Don's <b>Waiting For Some Action</b> Alkyd</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i> Karen's <b>Bird Grains </b></i></span><i>Watercolor/Acrylic</i></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Don's <b>A Gnome Family Outing On The River</b> Alkyd </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This piece didn't fare so well with the top of the mountains and one deer perishing when they were cut out of the painting.</span></i></div>
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Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-40172019622441718302017-12-14T13:46:00.000-09:002017-12-17T14:45:29.879-09:00Karen's High Arctic Adventure<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>Last June Karen fulfilled a long held dream — traveling to an Arctic wilderness. A guided trip rafting down the Kongakut River draining the north slope of Alaska’s Brooks Range enabled her to savor one of the wildest parts of North America free from the accouterments of civilization — OK, mostly without. She brought along her toothbrush.<br /><br />Prior to Karen setting off on that adventure with a close friend, four other soon to be friends and two guides, I restrained myself from encouraging her with suggestions such as: she gets airsick on small planes (she didn’t ), she’d be under siege by trillions of mosquitos (she wasn’t), and she was sure to get lost (she did). One out of three — that would be a good batting average for a New York Yankees left fielder.<br /><br />So, in mid June Karen departed Petersburg on an Alaska Airlines jet, downsized in Fairbanks and further downsized in Kaktovik on the shores of the Arctic Ocean. The only additional downsizing came when she disembarked the tiny bush plane supported by tundra tires that enabled it to land on a gravel bar in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. There, far up the Kongakut River, she downsized into a full-to-capacity raft to set off down the river — traversing some of the wildest, most remote country in North America. </i><br />
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<i>The Kongakut River originates in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge on the north slope of Alaska's Brooks Range. From there it winds it's way to the Beaufort Sea at the top of the North American continent.</i><br />
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<i> The drop off spot -- an Alaska-style "airport." </i><br />
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<i>The big question, of course, was now how do you fit four people in that thing? The answer is once the planes have departed you have no choice.</i><br />
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<i>Each day of rafting was interspersed with a day of explorations via foot. During those sorties mountain tops held the strongest allure for all of the group -- except Karen. There’s no way mountain tops can come close to competing with treasure hunts for rocks and bird photographs. Of course it was on one of those treasure hunts for rocks, when she rarely glances up to see where she is going, much less what direction, led to me being successful in one of my predictions — she spent three hours walking away from camp in a effort to get to it. Only Karen!</i><br />
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<i> Off for a day of exploration</i><br />
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<i>Carolyn surveys the upper Kongakut River from a vantage point on the way to the next vantage point one step further upslope.</i><br />
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<i>So, how did Karen manage to get lost when the encampment is to obvious? Hint, Karen, it's over on the left side of this photo.</i><br />
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<i>So many choices! Karen wanted to bring all of them home, but wait. They had to fit in the raft and plane, even Karen's pack. Can you guess which one of these now resides in our living room?</i><br />
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<i> Of course she wanted to bring this family of Arctic Ground Squirrels home, too.</i><br />
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<i>And this semipalmated plover. Then again, it may well fly to Petersburg every spring and fall during it's north and southbound migrations. Perhaps it's image even resides among Karen's 90,000 photographs on this computer. We'll have to check on that.</i><br />
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<i> Ah, a critter she may have actually brought home residing among the cells that constitute her body. </i><br />
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<i>A bull caribout that chanced upon Karen while she was visiting the trench that functioned as the camp loo. Inspired by Karen, the caribou emulated her action.</i><br />
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<i>Somehow politicians depiction of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge as being a wasteland doesn't jibe with our definition.</i><br />
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<i>Aufeis, Kongakut River overflow that built up in layers of ice last winter greeted the intrepid explorers as they approached the Beaufort Sea.</i><br />
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<i>The final destination: a gravel bar separating the Beaufort Sea (on the right) from a lagoon at the mouth of the Kongakut River.</i><br />
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<i> Remnants of last winter's Arctic Ocean ice pack line the shores of the Beaufort Sea.</i><br />
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<i>Just shy of the sea, aufeis lingers on even after summer solstice. Can it ever melt before winter? We won't know.</i><br />
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<i><br />It’s with great sadness that we now watch tax reform wrangling in Washington. Politicians, whose main concern is rewarding the oil industry for funding their campaigns, are on the threshold of turning parts of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge adjacent to the Kongakut River into an industrial zone. To add insult to injury, anyone who isn’t employed in the oil industry will be barred from even accessing the area. Politicians claims that effects on the refuge can be mitigated is total nonsense. </i><br />
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<i>The coastal plain of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. Seemingly so barren and yet it's the nursery for the Porcupine caribou herd as well as a myriad of bird species. Turning it into an industrial complex can't be mitigated and once lost, it's lost forever.</i></div>
Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-40557135433215320612017-05-21T18:51:00.001-08:002017-05-21T18:54:46.880-08:00Three Portraits<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Three portraits gave me reason to head into my basement studio this past winter and spring — a couple of “would yous?” and one “just couldn’t resist.” </i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> <b>Jay</b> 12 x 12 inches Alkyd on Canvas<br /><br />When I think of heroes, one of the first who pops into my mind is Jay. Summer after summer Jay and his wife, Carolyn, would charter a plane from Yellowknife in Canada’s Northwest Territories to fly into a lake surrounded by a continental sized wilderness. Left on their own in the middle of the Canadian Barrens they would set off in their canoe chasing the retreating winter’s ice as they paddled up some unexplored drainage to it’s headwaters, portage over the continental divide (the other one) and trace the path of another drainage until their journey ended as autumn reached the Arctic Ocean. They had zero room for error as they surveyed countless rapids before deciding whether to risk running them or to portage past, keeping in mind the date of their Arctic Ocean rendezvous with the plane flight home. Almost every year they explored a new drainage and most years they may have been the first people to ever set foot where they trod. The nearest person, with whom they had no contact anyway, might be the distance from Alaska to Seattle — maybe even further. At the end of one of their last expeditions, the two celebrated Jay’s 80th birthday by scaling a granite wall overlooking Bathurst Inlet, a branch of the Arctic Ocean. The top of that cliff is the setting for “Jay.”</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> <b>Ava</b> 12 x 12 inches Alkyd on canvas<br /><br />Ava presents a different inspiration — the creative kind. I often reflect on how an elementary school aged child can have such a fertile mind. Her grandma keeps us updated as to her comings and goings and there is no doubt Ava possesses “the gift.” Ava reportedly often retreats to her room after school where she creates fabulous art work. I only hope she can keep doing her own thing instead of someday being drawn into other’s expectations. I painted Ava based on one of her grandma’s favorite photos of her.</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> <b>Cadence Lost in Thought</b> 12x 12 inches Alkyd on Canvas<br /><br />I didn’t even know who Cadence was when I began painting her. A friend asked Karen to take some photographs during her son and soon-to-be daughter-in-law’s wedding rehearsal. As usual, Karen’s eye for strong images gave me fodder for more painting subjects. One photo of three children especially caught my eye. The young lass in the photo seemed a million miles away, maybe thinking of her own wedding someday. Who knows? That’s for whoever views “Cadence Lost in Thought” to figure out. <br /><br />Karen’s photo translated into my painting remind me of a poem I wrote several years ago:<br /><br />We passed in the morning<br />She a child<br />Lost in her dreams.<br />I a man<br />With mine.<br />Her eyes turned skyward<br />Yet not.<br />For hers was an inward gaze<br />Bound in some other world<br />From that which we traveled.<br /><br />She, an unfinished page<br />Her beaming face<br />Like the morning sun<br />Clothed in innocence<br />Unsoiled by time<br />Without a laugh,<br />Rising corners of her mouth<br />Said everything<br />And yet so little.<br /><br />Our eyes never met<br />Giving me the chance<br />To wonder.<br />Where was she as we passed?<br />Somewhere ahead,<br />Or just behind?<br />Today, tomorrow, or yesterday?<br /><br />There was no hint.<br />Only joy.<br />That enveloped my today<br />And made my tomorrow brighter.</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Don Cornelius </i></span></span></div>
Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-30122396256512161572017-04-30T14:21:00.001-08:002017-04-30T14:41:24.695-08:00Our 16-Dollar-a-Day Car<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Karen and I spent a couple of weeks in southern California and Nevada this past winter.. Naturally Karen excelled in documenting the trip with her camera. But our blog still needed a narrative link. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So</span> I focused on our rental car. Obviously, you probably think. So I wrote one, but wait, April is National Poetry Month. Why not? So this blog differs in one respect.</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> The </i></span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>ultimate </i></span></span>16-dollar deal </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /><b>Our 16-Dollar-a-Day Car</b><br /><br />We rented a car on a recent trip<br />Just 16 dollars a day said the ad.<br />A Toyota Corolla or equivalent<br />The price didn’t sound too bad.<br /><br />Oops, an insurance item remained.<br />Something more for the shopping cart.<br />That price couldn’t be retained,<br />We still needed the collision part<br /><br />For on our own car we save plenty of dough.<br />‘Cause for one year’s coverage the charge<br />Is more than the thing’s worth.<br />So we skip it, the saving’s large.<br /><br />But, for a mere ten dollars<br />Added just once per day,<br />A fender dent would ne'er be a worry.<br />It seemed wise to say OK.<br /><br />We reached the rental store<br />At 10:30 late that night,<br />Most weary and exhausted<br />From our third airplane flight.<br /><br />“Now, about the insurance?”<br />Grinned the car rental man.<br />I said “Oh, we’re covered <br />By your ten dollar a day plan.”<br /><br />“Hmm, I don’t see it here,” he smiled<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">,</span><br />As his computer he checked.<br />“Are you sure it’s worth the chance <br />If this car should turn up wrecked?”<br /><br />Drat, I strained to recall<br />The deal that bested my ability.<br />I didn’t bring the papers<br />What if I’d only bought liability?<br /><br />I give, I said, how much the cost,<br />What will be my outlay?<br />“That comes to 20 more dollars.<br />Oh, that’s once per day.”<br /><br />With a sigh we set off in our Corolla<br />Happy to be on the go,<br />Til the next day sunlight revealed<br />A front end designed to plow snow.<br /><br />A rock, parking lot speed bump<br />We go to places that’s got ‘em.<br />Disaster lay in the agenda<br />We’d surely tear up the bottom.<br /><br />Alas, our itinerary changed <br />We returned to the rental store.<br />Can we exchange this thing,<br />Something with clearance, just a wee bit more<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">?</span><br /><br />The nice man behind the counter<br />Scanning his computer found a blip.<br />Ah, yes we have a new Volvo,<br />Two hundred dollars for the rest of you trip.<br /><br />What’s the difference? I sadly moaned.<br />We’ve stretched our budget so far.<br />And we drove away from that town<br />In our 16 dollar a day car.</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> Our Morongo Valley destination as viewed from our <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">rental</span> car.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> Our neighbors -- a cottontail rabbit and...</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> A jack rabbit. Life has to be tough on big ears with all those prickly desert plants.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> Unless you're a ladder-backed woodpecker who finds a cactus a cozy place into which to snuggle.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Another neighbor, a northern mockingbird on a another sharp pointy plant, probably Mohave yucca, that I found out was nice to avoid -- the hard way. They're nature's natural sword.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> This blog needs some color. How about a vermillion fly catche<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">r?</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> And a western scrub jay.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>A real treat was hearing over-wintering white-crowned sparrows, whose notes evoke memories of tundra summers.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>We can't resist including an image of a phainopepia if for no other reasons than it's exotic name -- and head adornment.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Speaking of head adornments, how about this mustang's hat. The owner of the airbnb we stayed at has adopted two of them<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> -- mustangs that is.</span></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cIRUg73tj3U/WQYnyeEgwJI/AAAAAAAACDo/YYj3CkLsgZoGdzrVlHg4Oen6aqcCc9TjgCLcB/s1600/Mustang-nose_4740.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cIRUg73tj3U/WQYnyeEgwJI/AAAAAAAACDo/YYj3CkLsgZoGdzrVlHg4Oen6aqcCc9TjgCLcB/s640/Mustang-nose_4740.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> Oops, in the last image you couldn't tell the mustang has a nose. This photo rectifies that.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Did you think Karen forgot to photograph rodents during this tri<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">p?</span> Wrong. Here's <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">a shot</span> of one of the neighborhood's antelope ground squirrels.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Besides all the critters Karen "adopted" during this trip, another reason to visit the area -- Joshua Tree National Park. </i></span><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JkJk43fb-FM/WQZnknsR0cI/AAAAAAAACEU/_i2dIv4TwuYwRD3CoVRH_1WtvTumCd5AQCLcB/s1600/Joshua-Tree-Wedding_5099.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JkJk43fb-FM/WQZnknsR0cI/AAAAAAAACEU/_i2dIv4TwuYwRD3CoVRH_1WtvTumCd5AQCLcB/s640/Joshua-Tree-Wedding_5099.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>By the way, remember this is California so what might you expect to see out in the middle of nowhere? Yep, only <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">in California. </span></i></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>All rewards of travel in our 16-dollar-a-day rental car.</i></span></span></i></span></div>
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Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-22049928605430704562017-03-06T13:32:00.001-09:002017-04-28T10:42:55.682-08:00Cold<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>At the tender age of 76 the event still haunts me. <br /><br />The last game of the season — Manoa School vs our arch rival. Our team behind by a scant point. The ball poised a mere foot from the goal line. 4th down. Barely time for one last play and our place in history. The quarterback called a never-miss play. Cliff — I forgot his last name although I think it began with a Ke. — would make an easy end run. No sweat and we would be the never-to-be-forgotten champions.<br /><br />Then, from an obscure corner of the huddle, the fullback, an insecure 11-year-old, squeaked “let me take it this time. I’ve never scored a touchdown.”<br /><br />The perfect snap put the ball squarely in my arms and I plunged headlong towards the ragged wall of sweating players. Glory lay inches away that golden autumn day.<br /><br />Today I can still feel the sensation. So intent in crossing that goal line I forgot one essential item. Rather than tackling me, that opposing guard simply plucked the ball out of my arms as easy as picking a dandelion from a lawn. I tackled him, the buzzer sounded and the game ended. A would-be hero instantly turned into a goat.<br /><br />I was reminded of that traumatic day this winter. <br /><br />I have had paintings accepted and shown in the first two National Weather Center Biennial competitions — an international arts event in Norman, Oklahoma. One painting even ended up on a page in Southwest Art magazine. I felt I made up for that missed touchdown twice and was poised for a third. I entered three paintings in this year’s contest. My favorite was “Cold,” a portrait of Karen I painted specifically for this competition. Karen had taken a selfie of herself at the end of a snowstorm and this one seemed ripe for the contest. Karen documents her life by taking occasional selfies and I love how they reveal her personality in such an unassuming way. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> Cold 12 x 16 inches Alkyd on Canvas<br /><br />The email of acceptance came in mid-November. The congratulatory message came with a simple message, “further information will be coming soon.” That’s all. “When is soon?,” I wondered.<br /><br />One thing my parents impressed upon me was the old adage “patience is a virtue.” Maybe, when used judiciously! <br /><br />Every day I patiently waited for that message. I waded through volumes of filtered junk mail — an uncanny amount due to several lowly spammers, pre-Christmas offers, political stuff — over 200 per day. Nada. I knew the event was scheduled for Earth Day. Be patient!<br /><br />Finally, in mid-January, I decided I had better inquire. No response. A week later, another email netted an answer. “Sorry, you missed a December 31 deadline to send us another copy of your painting. You’re out of the show. We sent you several emails.” </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><br />I'm not so sure, but if that’s true, my favorite guess as to what happened is they did indeed send me emails. However when the show curator typed doncorn@gci.net a message popped up that I often get when forwarding something to myself. “Did you mean doncorn@gmail.com?” A simple yes would have sent the notifications to who knows where, but certainly not me. Other explanations seem equally plausible, but i vote for this one.<br /><br />I could be wrong, but one thing I know. Patience is best tempered with reason.<br /><br />Oh, in case you’re wondering, I’m against competitive sports until children are emotionally mature. Our society pays too much attention to the heroes, but what about the goats? As for me, I’m still waiting to reach that level of maturation. </i></span></div>
Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-1233246565650876042017-02-12T19:59:00.000-09:002017-02-12T19:59:55.239-09:00Another WAVE Rolls In<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>The unexpected call came in January. Would I be willing to participate in another Art by the Inch fundraiser for <a href="http://www.petersburgwave.org/">WAVE</a> (Working Against Violence for Everyone) — in the front half of February. Oh my! As much as we belie<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ve in the mission of the organization, </span>“No” was my only option. Sure if the call had come in November, but with that kind of timeline during which I had two out-of-town trips scheduled — yikes. That would leave me three weeks to complete a 22 x 30 inch painting I needed three months to complete without significant stress. No way!<br /><br />So I said yes. <br /><br />Several days later six sheets of wimpy 140 pound watercolor paper showed up at our door. Wait! I said I would paint one painting, said nothing about Karen and they were expecting six paintings. No way!<br /><br />So we compromised — I would do one and Karen would do one.<br /><br />Petersburg residents responded with enthusiasm during the first two Art by the Inch fundraisers and I have to admit, Karen and I enjoyed watching their responses — at first. The concept: artists complete a 22 by 30 inch painting to be hung on a wall at Petersburg’s Sons of Norway hall. On the big day, each <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">attendee</span> gets a number when they enter the venue. Clutching onto their number, they mill around the hanging artwork, oohing and aahing while they consider what part of a painting they would like to cut out to take home — for the cost of $1.00 per square inch. Yes — cut out. It’s brutal for artists like me. <br /><br />Finally, after feasting on tasty treats and getting lubricated with wine, to soften participants resist<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">a</span>nce, comes the big moment. The emcee draws ten participants numbers in random order, say 21 through 30, and those ten individuals, varying sized pieces of mat board in hand, get first crack at what part of whatever painting they want to take home. WAVE volunteers mark off their selections. When group one sits down, the second group gets their shot at the remnants and so forth for the remaining groups.<br /><br />Last time I carefully planned a piece (I only had time to complete a 22 x 15 inch painting) so that it was “totally obvious” where it should be cut up. Anyone could see that. Bad idea. Someone in the first group destroyed the painting by cutting something out of the middle. Lacking the heart to wait to see what happened next, we left.<br /><br />On the other hand, Karen, my wise wife, completed five separate paintings on her sheet of paper. All were some of the first chosen and all survived intact.<br /><br />Which brings us back to this year. Once again, Karen completed four separate paintings — at least after announcing she was <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">givin<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">g up after completing</span></span> a half sheet with two paintings on it.<br /><br />I, in my infinite wisdom, showed my lazy side deciding that painting multiple paintings exceeded my level of ambition. Thus. I began with one complete scenic subject covering the entire sheet. Done<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">! I smiled with satisfaction that I hadn't spent all three weeks working on it. </span>But wait — it needed some critters. Oh, and maybe a couple more. Alas, the number kept growing (it ended up with 2<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">4</span> plus <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">7</span> gnomes) until I ran out of time. Ultimately, I foresee another disaster as participants take a shot at it. At least this time we’ll be out of town during the event d<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ue</span> to the show being delayed to ac<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">c</span>ommodate other artists. We’re still curious, but at least we won’t have to cringe at the process.</i></span><br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-udWaDgVJ2oc/WKEyJG8mezI/AAAAAAAACAs/FRLF1Wy9p8QFNL9h-WZp5Z3adbnvF29OACLcB/s1600/Wave-Project-2017-Karen-Cornelius_Blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="474" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-udWaDgVJ2oc/WKEyJG8mezI/AAAAAAAACAs/FRLF1Wy9p8QFNL9h-WZp5Z3adbnvF29OACLcB/s640/Wave-Project-2017-Karen-Cornelius_Blog.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> Karen<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">'s WAVE Project Total 22 x 30 inches <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">W</span>atercolor<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">, acrylic and colored pencil</span></span></i></span><br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cP9jObvzVg0/WKEyuJifUeI/AAAAAAAACAw/aT7_EmylxJAJ4qgrGIZQ2Evbj3nMSWBvwCLcB/s1600/Lop-eared-Bunnies_Blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="458" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cP9jObvzVg0/WKEyuJifUeI/AAAAAAAACAw/aT7_EmylxJAJ4qgrGIZQ2Evbj3nMSWBvwCLcB/s640/Lop-eared-Bunnies_Blog.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span> Detail:Lop-eared Bunnies</span></span></i></span><br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--PMiN-RIXqs/WKEy_cGEKeI/AAAAAAAACA4/U7Uz1CliXH8WzyLLyWaVSh-2uD6tKVDMwCLcB/s1600/Sheltered_Blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="498" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/--PMiN-RIXqs/WKEy_cGEKeI/AAAAAAAACA4/U7Uz1CliXH8WzyLLyWaVSh-2uD6tKVDMwCLcB/s640/Sheltered_Blog.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Detail: Sheltered (Gentoo penguin chicks based on a photo by Robin Roberts)</span></span></i></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AbxKfep6wp8/WKEzpwkC6MI/AAAAAAAACBA/MXJGzYa1iRwv4occQoXSytYECj_LCVIHwCLcB/s1600/Pecking-Order_Blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="464" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AbxKfep6wp8/WKEzpwkC6MI/AAAAAAAACBA/MXJGzYa1iRwv4occQoXSytYECj_LCVIHwCLcB/s640/Pecking-Order_Blog.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Detail: Pecking Order</span></span></i></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aTsbgsFZX28/WKEz_9iMErI/AAAAAAAACBE/K9POOa6L4HY1xoJVXUkTKj2xVapywVAZwCLcB/s1600/Birds-of-a-Feather_Blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="446" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aTsbgsFZX28/WKEz_9iMErI/AAAAAAAACBE/K9POOa6L4HY1xoJVXUkTKj2xVapywVAZwCLcB/s640/Birds-of-a-Feather_Blog.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Detail: Birds of a Feather</span></span></i></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o7goODfyDrg/WKE3domTAyI/AAAAAAAACBY/lM_VWodxFQQ5yKJKWzoED3B0pspxCNmFwCLcB/s1600/Wave%2BMuskeg%2BMischief_Blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="486" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o7goODfyDrg/WKE3domTAyI/AAAAAAAACBY/lM_VWodxFQQ5yKJKWzoED3B0pspxCNmFwCLcB/s640/Wave%2BMuskeg%2BMischief_Blog.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Don's WAVE p<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ainting Muskeg Mischief 22 x 30 inches Alkyd Sorry about the somewhat folded over upper <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">left</span>-hand corner</span></span></span></i></span><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Sq2Vc-bMZiw/WKE3-q_JKJI/AAAAAAAACBg/x9SRfI7j38UoX86I2uGuBTYSqRV59ALIQCLcB/s1600/WAVE%2BIsland%2BCritters%2BCloseup2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Sq2Vc-bMZiw/WKE3-q_JKJI/AAAAAAAACBg/x9SRfI7j38UoX86I2uGuBTYSqRV59ALIQCLcB/s640/WAVE%2BIsland%2BCritters%2BCloseup2.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Detail: <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">L</span>eft side of Muskeg Mischief</span></span></span></i></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rZwVwr-zlcI/WKE4YRmnH7I/AAAAAAAACBo/ENhcwWzfGEISYGh9-ToqODTJBBdqIyCjgCLcB/s1600/WAVE%2BIsland%2BCritters%2BCloseup1_Blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rZwVwr-zlcI/WKE4YRmnH7I/AAAAAAAACBo/ENhcwWzfGEISYGh9-ToqODTJBBdqIyCjgCLcB/s640/WAVE%2BIsland%2BCritters%2BCloseup1_Blog.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Detail: Right side of Muskeg Mischief</span></span></span></i></span><br />
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Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-66039083504274915822017-01-06T10:38:00.000-09:002017-01-06T11:39:02.181-09:00Winter Harbor III<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Karen does not limit her focus to waterfowl when she prowls around Petersburg’s boat harbors. To her artist’s eye everything is fair game whether it moves or not. Nor does she feel limited to the harbors. Two sloughs duck down into Wrangell Narrows behind our harbors. Hammer Slough in particular is lined with historic and not-so-historic homes and fishing gear storage warehouses accessed by land or sea — your choice — although at low tide you might think twice about the water option.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> A small slough drains into Petersburg's South Harbor.<br /><br />I often look at the old weathered buildings along Hammer Slough and wish our log house had not been painted when we purchased it. Like an aged senior citizen, weathered wood has character. Then again, also like an aged senior citizen, in our rainforest climate, it also has a finite life span. We have seen a few historic buildings built on pilings in Hammer Slough succumb to the that mightiest of forces. No, not wind or waves, but a microscopic fungi or bacteria secretly nibbling it’s way into the wood while nobody’s looking until one of them takes that last “bite” and brings the whole structure down. You can imagine the admiration it’s companions have on that day. “Wow, you did THAT!”</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Life is <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">always scenic</span> when you live along Hammer Slough.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />Grassy areas, so boring in summer could be a vacant lot anywhere in America — a wasteland coveted by developers — a “blight” on the landscape. But add a layer of frost during clear, cold winter days and Karen discovers a magical world as exciting as any 4th of July fireworks display.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Just a plain old boring <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">spider web</span> or is it?</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Wild Celery is pretty in summer, too, but don't touch it when the sun is shining or you'll get burned.</span></i><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mxkS_RoQbd0/WG7fSi-ZLlI/AAAAAAAAB9w/c1YJrLS1EBQXXWAZmtSBQfA3BVPClyv7gCLcB/s1600/Hammer-Slough-Petersburg-Alaska-1264.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mxkS_RoQbd0/WG7fSi-ZLlI/AAAAAAAAB9w/c1YJrLS1EBQXXWAZmtSBQfA3BVPClyv7gCLcB/s640/Hammer-Slough-Petersburg-Alaska-1264.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> The door into this warehouse has more character than the finest California mansion.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">OK, this is not a fine mansion, but add a spot of sunlight hitting a frosty tree and it sure improves the decor.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> A tree reflects in the harbor.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A belted kingfisher scours the water for a fish. When it spots one, it does the improbable for a passerine bird. It dives into the water to capture it's dinner.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Speaking of a fish dinner -- this Pacific loon has caught a sculpin dinner -- if it's eyes weren't bigger than it's stomach.</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Maybe it should have shared with these harbor seals -- the one on the right seems to always be cruising around the harbor upside down. </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fWH1V1LgHq8/WG7nZAS201I/AAAAAAAAB_A/jfbMkm9YPagD9JcTYptcSycj6VL7UaOwgCLcB/s1600/Great-blue-heron-Petersburg-Alaska_1861.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fWH1V1LgHq8/WG7nZAS201I/AAAAAAAAB_A/jfbMkm9YPagD9JcTYptcSycj6VL7UaOwgCLcB/s640/Great-blue-heron-Petersburg-Alaska_1861.jpg" width="480" /></a></i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Come to think of it, with all the hungry predators, many with pointy beaks, Petersburg's harbors may be a lousy place to be a fish.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> Ah, somebody that doesn't cater to fish dinners -- a friendly song sparrow.</i></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">OK, we need some ducks -- in this case a mallard drake and hen take their ease along the harbor shoreline...</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> As a few Barrow's goldeneye cruise past.</span></i></div>
Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-7679220966244620902016-12-30T17:10:00.002-09:002016-12-30T20:47:00.228-09:00Winter Harbor II Colors<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Sometimes Karen comes home with photos having the strangest backgrounds — reflections of whatever lays beyond her subject — especially when she’s aiming her camera towards water. Normally, this isn’t a problem in wildlife photography — unless you’re photographing a raven sitting on a green dumpster or you find some inconsiderate person’s beer can in the image’s background when you download it onto your computer. </i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> Petersburg's South Harbor offers a wealth of background colors.<br /><br />The difference is — Petersburg’s harbors in no way resemble nature. Here you find boats, mostly commercial fishing vessels, painted in a wide array of colors — from a somewhat menacing black to first-responder red to electric blue, even rust. Should I include a pea soup-green fish-processing cannery? Here, they turn reflections across the harbor’s water into a myriad of colors — definitely not something natural.<br /><br />Now float a bird or even seal amidst those colors and viola, you have the most surreal wildlife photo. In other instances our low-angle winter sun, maybe blazing onto a snow-covered mountain, or even our rare blue skies expand that varied palette reflecting off the water. Add the ripple of waves and you have your subject resting in an abstract painting.</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> A male Barrow's Goldeneye in the most unreal setting. <br /><br />Of course Karen did not set out to capture unreal images. The birds decided where she would photograph them, but you can be sure few of these images would make the cut in a photo book of Alaskan birds. </i></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LcopEB5o57s/WGb_agRg35I/AAAAAAAAB7Q/arA0rgjXlcIwhi5he83Xj1KuJoDLqZYHwCLcB/s1600/Long-tailed-duck-Petersburg-Alaska_1453.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LcopEB5o57s/WGb_agRg35I/AAAAAAAAB7Q/arA0rgjXlcIwhi5he83Xj1KuJoDLqZYHwCLcB/s640/Long-tailed-duck-Petersburg-Alaska_1453.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Is this long-tailed duck (formerly known as oldsquaw until the group of poobahs who name birds decided to change it) backed by a boat or sky reflections?<br /><br />And since I’m not good at resisting temptation, why not include a couple of Karen’s photos of birds that, in themselves, provide an unreal level of color. While the females of most waterfowl species are well camouflaged, this is certainly not the case with the males. Since their role in propagating the species is limited to looking pretty for the “girls” — a couple of moments to pass on their genes, and poof, think I’ll pass on the parenting responsibilities — perhaps they’re more expendable. It certainly seems a brightly colored mallard drake would be an easier target for a hungry predator than his camo-clad mate.<br /><br />So here some of Karen’s latest colorful winter harbor creations.</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cHGMx5qMGNA/WGb9uCa1_uI/AAAAAAAAB7E/NbSyfX5jJLYD46W_fpX3UXGC4UYkfYwjwCEw/s1600/Long-tailed-duck-boat-harbor_0578.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cHGMx5qMGNA/WGb9uCa1_uI/AAAAAAAAB7E/NbSyfX5jJLYD46W_fpX3UXGC4UYkfYwjwCEw/s640/Long-tailed-duck-boat-harbor_0578.jpg" width="640" /></a></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> Guess there's no question where Karen found this male long-tailed duck</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> Low-angle sun shinning through morning fog created an atmospheric background for this bufflehead.</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> It looks like a bit of a mix of background colors for this pair of greater scaup.</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> A another pair -- this time Barrow's goldeneyes.</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> Two males, a surf scoter and a Barrow's goldeneye, emerge out of a sunlit foggy background</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> These barnacle-clad piling don't even need a bird to be appealing.</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Then again, this great-blue heron helps</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> It looks like blue sky for this surf scoter, but how can it hide with a bill like that.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> What lady duck could resist this American wigeon?</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>This mallard drake shows the trade off -- attract the "ladies" or predators. Judging at how successful mallards are, it looks like the "ladies" win.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> Then again put them in this harbor reflection and does it even matter?</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Oh, bet you thought I forgot the raven. Karen just zeroed in on a head shot. Viola, no dumpster. Now we're not sure about the white flecks on it. We hope it hadn't been roosting below a pigeon. </i></span><br />
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Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4850420395696741305.post-12490696966772450372016-12-26T16:51:00.000-09:002016-12-26T17:11:02.388-09:00Winter Harbor Part I<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">H</span>ere in this corner of Alaska <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">mid-December </span>blessed us with an abnormal stretch of clear cold weather. Combine that with Petersburg’s setting — one bounded by harbors </span></i></span><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">that </span></i></span>boats <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">share with</span> overwintering waterfowl and you have the recipe for a smile on Karen’s face despite cold hands and toes. Multiple species of waterfowl that could be far to the south basking along sunny beaches dodging sunscreen slathered tourists, <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">short circuit th<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">eir migrations to remain here where they</span> </span>add color and life to our little burg.</span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">At first glance, Petersburg's boat harbors look like they could have been taken anywhere in America -- er, make that Alaska.</span><br /><br />Of course Karen has been making daily forays to commune with the harbor denizens<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> with</span> her camera. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A</span>nd each day <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">she brings</span> back photographic treasures that are impossible to top -- until the next day. While further south in wildlife refuges, and <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">other</span> </span>areas popular with bird enthusiasts, she’d be shoulder to shoulder with camo-clad photographers vying for the best position, here Karen has the critters virtually all to herself — unless someone’s black Labrador retriever comes over to nuzzle her derrière while she’s zeroing in on a rare species she’s been stalking for half an hour. Of course! <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">S</span>he might toss a stick.<br /><br />OK, there are a set of different challenges for Karen, but she certainly rises to meet them. Now she’s suggesting she would like to carry dog biscuits for her four-footed friends. I’m not sure carrying such contraband would enhance her photographic efforts regarding the wild side of Petersburg<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But, then K<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">aren is not your everyday wildlife photographer. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">S</span>he seems just as </span></span></span>happy to bring home images of the domestic <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">citizens</span> too.</span></i></span><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HDX84Ui4o_k/WGGTnPrg8SI/AAAAAAAAB4w/93XJubEz7RALG6IQb9rtOV1BmCcDPrNVwCLcB/s1600/Old-man-and-dog-Petersburg-Alaska-IMG_0997.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HDX84Ui4o_k/WGGTnPrg8SI/AAAAAAAAB4w/93XJubEz7RALG6IQb9rtOV1BmCcDPrNVwCLcB/s640/Old-man-and-dog-Petersburg-Alaska-IMG_0997.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Actually both four-footed and two-footed friends can render an impressive stalk into a<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">n everyday scene around Petersburg<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">.</span></span></span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Naturally Karen has been so productive that it is hard to include as many images as we would like in a singl<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">e post</span>. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Thus</span>, we'll break this one up into several installments. </span></i></span><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wnPXSCnCSwA/WGGUf322gBI/AAAAAAAAB5A/bGIYI-InYhcpA_TYQZJguTQDZnR3CbF3wCLcB/s1600/Barrows-goldeneye-IMG_1063.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wnPXSCnCSwA/WGGUf322gBI/AAAAAAAAB5A/bGIYI-InYhcpA_TYQZJguTQDZnR3CbF3wCLcB/s640/Barrows-goldeneye-IMG_1063.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Barrow's goldeneye are a common resident <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">in</span> Pe<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">tersburg's harbors<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">.</span></span></span></i></span><br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Zvq55Jkauro/WGGVX77d6vI/AAAAAAAAB5I/gMct-3SM0sktZR5w0LjpocJiYJ1myIf7ACLcB/s1600/Mallards-Petersburg-Alaska-IMG_1082.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Zvq55Jkauro/WGGVX77d6vI/AAAAAAAAB5I/gMct-3SM0sktZR5w0LjpocJiYJ1myIf7ACLcB/s640/Mallards-Petersburg-Alaska-IMG_1082.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Mallard drakes<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">, so wary in areas frequented by waterfo<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">wl hunters find Karen about as threatening as a snowflake.</span></span></span></span></span></i></span><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-80QZ36GlQHk/WGGV9iKbm0I/AAAAAAAAB5M/XhouVxUL5IsMnZ8Ol-YUgpXfiPLN5hpcACLcB/s1600/Surf-scoters-IMG_1044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-80QZ36GlQHk/WGGV9iKbm0I/AAAAAAAAB5M/XhouVxUL5IsMnZ8Ol-YUgpXfiPLN5hpcACLcB/s640/Surf-scoters-IMG_1044.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Three male sur<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">f<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> scoters also <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">consider</span> Karen to be <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">just part of the scenery.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i></span><br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Cwmf45bR0t0/WGGWkqQk5GI/AAAAAAAAB5Y/9qD8IcE2CrEVQJrjBBcrmvUqnlnOQaOkgCLcB/s1600/Loon-preening-Petersburg-Alaska-IMG_1228.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Cwmf45bR0t0/WGGWkqQk5GI/AAAAAAAAB5Y/9qD8IcE2CrEVQJrjBBcrmvUqnlnOQaOkgCLcB/s640/Loon-preening-Petersburg-Alaska-IMG_1228.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For Karen common loons were <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">one of the favorite </span>parts of the north woods where she spent her <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">childhood summers. Now those north woo<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ds are down south in Wisconsin and the loon in winter plumage fails to match her childhood image.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i></span><br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L3LP6pVRNuA/WGGYHFTlBfI/AAAAAAAAB5o/vxVC8nnmGtI5wpk8pXbXIs0tidCoRXMTgCLcB/s1600/Common-merganser-female_0484.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L3LP6pVRNuA/WGGYHFTlBfI/AAAAAAAAB5o/vxVC8nnmGtI5wpk8pXbXIs0tidCoRXMTgCLcB/s640/Common-merganser-female_0484.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> A female common merganser <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">appears to have visited a local <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">beauty salon</span>. Then again, with a natural coiffure like this, she didn't need to. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IuaqSLTgrjA/WGGZSXatcjI/AAAAAAAAB50/7L_T6BSFN5s3W6dLkxN70_Kzj46ZLgcVQCLcB/s1600/Bufflehead-Petersburg-Alaska-IMG_1167.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IuaqSLTgrjA/WGGZSXatcjI/AAAAAAAAB50/7L_T6BSFN5s3W6dLkxN70_Kzj46ZLgcVQCLcB/s640/Bufflehead-Petersburg-Alaska-IMG_1167.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></span></span></span></i></span></div>
<i> A comparatively tiny female buff<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">lehead paddles <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">past Karen...</span></span></i><br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XtFCPYuU27Y/WGGZwIxg8lI/AAAAAAAAB54/FOM6rte5L0EDEF3livMe7BUPM9YNPWn_ACLcB/s1600/Mallards-Bufflehead-Petersburg-Alaska_0982.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XtFCPYuU27Y/WGGZwIxg8lI/AAAAAAAAB54/FOM6rte5L0EDEF3livMe7BUPM9YNPWn_ACLcB/s640/Mallards-Bufflehead-Petersburg-Alaska_0982.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> And through a flock of snoozing mallards.</span></span></span></i></span><br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_FRflqI9Sc8/WGGaIfsi8II/AAAAAAAAB6A/BYp_OlfFdPYTvlyIZwWd8XFibhq_bQhxgCLcB/s1600/Hooded-merganser-Petersburg-Alaska_0797.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_FRflqI9Sc8/WGGaIfsi8II/AAAAAAAAB6A/BYp_OlfFdPYTvlyIZwWd8XFibhq_bQhxgCLcB/s640/Hooded-merganser-Petersburg-Alaska_0797.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Karen was <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">very</span> excited to hear a hooded merganser was frequenting our harbor. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The sight of it</span> didn't disappoi<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">nt her.</span></span></span></span></i></span><br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Lglm0FlHW9g/WGGaqAaCM1I/AAAAAAAAB6I/y3DJriQecDYi6eDaxqjTo43arkZ0gwJ7ACLcB/s1600/Great-blue-heron-Petersburg-Alaska-IMG_0909.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Lglm0FlHW9g/WGGaqAaCM1I/AAAAAAAAB6I/y3DJriQecDYi6eDaxqjTo43arkZ0gwJ7ACLcB/s400/Great-blue-heron-Petersburg-Alaska-IMG_0909.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></span></span>A great-blue heron looks like a grumpy o<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ld bird as it rests on one of the harbor floats. This is the same species Karen has photographed in <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">other pacific northwest states and<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">, if she vent<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ured all the way to Florida, she <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">would likely still <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">be aiming her camera at one</span>.</span></span></span></span></span></span></i></span><br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oSyVeCDLBfg/WGGboWHVYVI/AAAAAAAAB6U/jAvpyCQv7a8AmAfSaGejvePsvF0v3zQlwCLcB/s1600/Frost-Petersburg-Alaska-IMG_1145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oSyVeCDLBfg/WGGboWHVYVI/AAAAAAAAB6U/jAvpyCQv7a8AmAfSaGejvePsvF0v3zQlwCLcB/s640/Frost-Petersburg-Alaska-IMG_1145.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Frost-covered grass kept distracting Karen, so she added it to her collection. </span></span></span></span></span></span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This is but a sample of images Karen captured this <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">month. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We plan to</span> pub<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">lish more very soon. Oh, and about the cold toes. <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It seems that when some footwear gets too cold it....<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">EXPLODES</span>.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xdwrHUlUjVY/WGGc0qHlqBI/AAAAAAAAB6k/dHwrGde06vIRXc9JBdgRYqQrc9V17m2FgCLcB/s1600/Exploded-boots_0497.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xdwrHUlUjVY/WGGc0qHlqBI/AAAAAAAAB6k/dHwrGde06vIRXc9JBdgRYqQrc9V17m2FgCLcB/s640/Exploded-boots_0497.jpg" width="480" /></a></span></span></span></span></i></span></div>
<i> M<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">aybe that Salvation Army thrift store pair of boot<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">s was not such a bargain after all.</span></span></i></div>
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Don and Karen Cornelius Artworkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10402139165830362040noreply@blogger.com0