A walk, a trip, a story

I walked 11 miles this morning.  I went over to Coin Church, then took the road less traveled to the left, down to the first intersection.  Took the right turn there, up the hill, through the weeds to the old Pete Bell place.  Took the left turn past Uncle Ben McClain's old place, past Grandpa Powell's, over to the top of Morris Hill, past farm 2 where Frankie works, down past Bert Plotts old past, back to the Church and then home.

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.

Grandpa's place.

Helen's house way over beyond the electric  pole.

A Church and a dog.

A flower with rain spots on the leaves.