On the hillside, before the Bell place, a saw a little buck in velvet. He was about 10 feet from me and as we stared each other down, I moved closer. He still stood his ground. The our black dog caught up with me and barked at him. He moved six feet or so and still just stood there looking at me. I took a couple dozen pictures and moved on. I wonder if he is not a tame deer, but he was on the side of the road, not in a pen. If he keeps standing his ground, in November he is a goner.
Helen is home. She has the trip and the story. Well, her story is a trip. I do not know that I believe it all. She stopped between town and here and bought a bunch of junk.
Pete Bell's barn. Maybe Grandpa built this.
Helen's house way over beyond the electric pole.
A Church and a dog.
A flower with rain spots on the leaves.