(Photograph copyright 2010 by Dan Routh)
Portrait, university student, Greensboro, North Carolina.
Commercial, Advertising & Editorial Photographer • Greensboro, North Carolina • Studio & Location • Musings by a Starving Artist
Friday, July 30, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Peaches and Melons
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Truman's Limo
Sunday my son and I stopped by the North Carolina Aviation Museum in Asheboro, North Carolina to take a look at their newest artifact, a 1948 Lincoln limousine used by President Harry Truman. At 6500 pounds, with bullet proof doors and a Sherman tank transmission, it's quite a vehicle and will soon be undergoing restoration. Above, local attorney Alan Pugh sits in the seat that the President occupied many times. Alan considers Harry Truman his favorite modern President.
(Photographs copyright 2010 by Dan Routh)
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Turtle Fishing
Turtle Fishing
Under stagnant algae blooms
where slimy catfish feast on muck,
a spiny snapping turtle looms
before it bites a baited hook.
He sinks the point into his beak
then feels a tugging from the line
towards which he cannot help but creep
and follow with his ancient mind.
It leads him right up to the edge
of where the water meets the air;
A skillful hand then starts to dredge
his shell out from his muddy lair.
The turtle now alone on land
begins to hiss and snap with ire.
My grandpa then wipes off his hand
to cock the .410 bore and fire.
I watch him then remove the hook
to add a piece of beef as bait.
It was the second time he took
a turtle from the pond that day.
"I'm only gonna take a few,"
he said before he cut the beef.
"We'll only get the old ones who
are eating all the baby geese."
The buzzards would have only five
big shells to pick away for meat.
The goslings then could learn to fly
with baby turtles at their feet.
There was a time I wondered why
we could not let the turtles thrive.
But looking back I realize
that death helps new things come alive.
(Poetry copyright 2010 by Devin Routh. Used with permission.)
(Photographs copyright 2010 by Dan Routh)
Monday, July 26, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
Feeding Time
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Fixing Fence
(Photograph copyright 2010 by Dan Routh)
Fixing Fence
With wire stretchers, fencing tools,
a spool of wire, galvanized
new staples and ten-penny nails
we'd pack the Gator with the tools
to fix whatever fence was down.
An aged elm with rotting limbs
might fall just near a pasture's edge,
or herds of deer might jump the fence
and nick the top lines with their hooves.
Before we'd start, we'd clear the brush
and briars from the cedar posts
that stood before my Grandpa Routh
was even born; they'll never rot.
I'd dread the prick of those damn plants
because they always stuck me more
than any of the metal barbs
adorning all the fence our cows
could lean against without a care.
My brother Tristan, Dad, and I
would all wear gloves to keep our hands
from being tattered while we worked.
But Grandpa Routh would skip the gloves,
his hands were like a white oak's bark.
His arms, however, weren't the same;
they'd tear and drip with viscous blood,
but never once in all those days
do I recall him grimacing.
When I was young, I wondered how
it felt to feel what pain was like
if I were him with all his years.
I'd know the pain of sawing off
my finger, feel the stitches used
to sew it back so I could bend
it better than the other ones
arthritis would consume with age.
I'd know a thousand hammer blows
intended for a nail or tack
that hit my fingernails instead.
To live and farm like he once did,
to stretch a wire taut and straight
or clear a tangled briar patch,
to use the tools as he was taught
when he spent time with his grandpa,
would be to know the pain involved
and know what makes it worth it all.
(Poetry copyright 2010 by Devin Routh. Used with permission.)
Fixing Fence
With wire stretchers, fencing tools,
a spool of wire, galvanized
new staples and ten-penny nails
we'd pack the Gator with the tools
to fix whatever fence was down.
An aged elm with rotting limbs
might fall just near a pasture's edge,
or herds of deer might jump the fence
and nick the top lines with their hooves.
Before we'd start, we'd clear the brush
and briars from the cedar posts
that stood before my Grandpa Routh
was even born; they'll never rot.
I'd dread the prick of those damn plants
because they always stuck me more
than any of the metal barbs
adorning all the fence our cows
could lean against without a care.
My brother Tristan, Dad, and I
would all wear gloves to keep our hands
from being tattered while we worked.
But Grandpa Routh would skip the gloves,
his hands were like a white oak's bark.
His arms, however, weren't the same;
they'd tear and drip with viscous blood,
but never once in all those days
do I recall him grimacing.
When I was young, I wondered how
it felt to feel what pain was like
if I were him with all his years.
I'd know the pain of sawing off
my finger, feel the stitches used
to sew it back so I could bend
it better than the other ones
arthritis would consume with age.
I'd know a thousand hammer blows
intended for a nail or tack
that hit my fingernails instead.
To live and farm like he once did,
to stretch a wire taut and straight
or clear a tangled briar patch,
to use the tools as he was taught
when he spent time with his grandpa,
would be to know the pain involved
and know what makes it worth it all.
(Poetry copyright 2010 by Devin Routh. Used with permission.)
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Checking Things Out
Monday, July 19, 2010
Summer Dinner
Summertime at our home in Grays Chapel, North Carolina means fresh vegetables and fruit, and with my wife and daughter-in-law working together in the kitchen, dinner is a special time. Friday, there was a crumb top plum pie fresh from our trees and flash fried okra with eggplant parmesan made with fresh eggplant and marinara sauce from the garden. Add fresh tomatoes and cantaloupe and you're good to go.
(Photographs copyright 2010 by Dan Routh)
Friday, July 16, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Baby Calves
We're in the middle of calving on our farm in Grays Chapel, North Carolina. Our breeding schedule is a little off and it is a little late in the year with all the hot weather, but the cows and the calves seem to be handling things pretty well. We have a set of twins this year, which isn't all that unusual, but what is unusual for us anyway is that the mama is taking care of both of them very well without our assistance. Sometimes, cows get confused with twins and we have to bottle raise one of them. This mom, who my wife has named "Queen", seems to have things well in hand although she certainly has her hands full.
(Photographs copyright 2010 by Dan Routh)