View allAll Photos Tagged digging
A Rufous Hummingbird digs deep in search of nectar, it was an amazing scene of activity as the morning broke and they began to feed
mileage 23
because my tire and odometer are being changed, I will be back to '0' on the next ride so remember this number, 87. I'll call this the pre-season and tack that mileage on at the end of the season.
But until it warms up again, I'll be picking up sticks.
In the trees by the Holme Observatory this Goldfinch was happily feeding on pine seeds sheltered from the winds.
Please help identify this lovely bird. It's not that small, about the size of a pigeon....
With a bit of "digging" on my part, it could be a female Northern flicker.
Nagarkot , Nepal! It was chilly morning. Went for a walk in Nagarkot, I wish I had take many more photos.
With Kevin Rose, founder of Digg, and Nathan Myhrvold (former CTO of Microsoft). The founders of Google and Twitter were to my right for this TED Braintrust lunch.
An usual confluence of invitations had me dining with Gates for lunch and dinner on the same day (coincidentally, philosopher-king Daniel Dennett was also at both meals).
After we sat down, Gates lamented the setback from the Muslim clerics who preached that polio vaccines made the girls infertile: "The anti-vaccine movement has killed many people. It's frustrating. But we are working with the clerics. It is very hierarchical, so we can start at the top. In the next three years, we will either conquer polio, or we won't. It's a very important time."
This is one of two pictures on a page labeled "The gang down in 'the dump'". In reality, it was a large drainage catch, about 50-100 feet on each side, littered with weeds, old paint cans, broken pieces of wood, and other junk. I very much remember digging a hole in the side of the dirt, deep enough that two or three of us could climb inside (whereupon we were, of course, covered in dust and dirt). I also remember that one of the big sports was to take an old, round, packing barrel that we found somewhere, place it at the top of the hill with one of us inside, and then let it roll and bump all the way to the bottom...
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Some of the photos in this album are “originals” from the year that my family spent in Denver in 1952-53 — i.e., the period before Omaha, before Riverside, and before Roswell (which you may have seen already in my Flickr archives). I went back nearly 40 years later, as part of some research that I was doing for a novel called Do-Overs, the beginning of which can be found here on my website
www.yourdon.com/personal/fiction/doovers/index.html
and the relevant chapter (concerning Denver) can be found here:
www.yourdon.com/personal/fiction/doovers/chapters/ch6.html
Before I get into the details, let me make a strong request — if you’re looking at these photos, and if you are getting any enjoyment at all of this brief look at some mundane Americana from 60+ years ago: find a similar episode in your own life, and write it down. Gather the pictures, clean them up, and upload them somewhere on the Internet where they can be found. Trust me: there will come a day when the only person on the planet who actually experienced those events is you. Your own memories may be fuzzy and incomplete; but they will be invaluable to your friends and family members, and to many generations of your descendants.
Actually, I should listen to my own advice: unlike my subsequent visits to Roswell, Riverside, and Omaha I did not take any photos when I tracked down my old homes from the 1952-53 period in Denver. I did locate the second house, and I was stunned to see how it had changed over a period of 40 years: as you’ll see in the photos in this album, it was a new house, under construction, when we moved in. The only “trees” were a few scrawny saplings that my Dad planted in the front and back yard. 40 years later, the trees towered above the house … but the house itself seemed tiny, in comparison to what had seemed like an enormous mansion to an 8 year old boy.
While most of our residential occupancies last just a single year, the period in Denver lasted roughly two years. But it felt almost like two separate cities: first we lived in a rented house in the Denver suburb of Aurora; and then we moved into a new house that my parents purchased somewhere on the south side of Denver. So, as usual, I ended up going to two different schools, and developed a fairly superficial set of friendships with two different groups of kids.
So, what do I remember about the two years that I spent in Denver? Not much at the moment, though I’m sure more details will occur to me in the days to come — and I’ll add them to these notes, along with additional photos that I’m tweaking and editing now.
For now, here is a random list of things I remember:
1. While living in our first home, I finished off my second-grade school year. I did reasonably well in school on most subjects — it was a couple years later, in Roswell, that I announced at breakfast that I had mentally calculated the number of seconds in a century, in the hope that it would help me fall asleep. I rattled off the number, and when my Dad repeated the calculations on his slide rule, he shook his head and told me that I had forgotten to account for leap years. Anyway, in Denver, my 2nd-grade teacher told me I had a much more serious educational problem: my penmanship was atrocious. The school authorities insisted that I spend the summer practicing penmanship, and strongly suggested to my parents that the *real* problem was that I was left-handed. Several attempts were made to make me start writing with my right hand — all of which were dismal failures. I eventually gave up on penmanship, and began printing everything … a habit that continued until I was given a hand-me-down manual typewriter by my parents at the age of 12.
2. The summer of 1951 was hot and humid; and like many other families in the area, my mother took me and the older of my two sisters (the other one was born a year later) to a large public swimming pool (it seemed enormous at the time, but it was probably pretty small). Anyway, it was a great breeding place for germs of all kinds; and sometime in the late summer, everyone but my mother came down with polio. We were all taken off to three different hospitals; and the neighbors were so panicked that my mother might be infectious that they stopped speaking to her altogether. Miraculously, all three of us had gotten the least-virulent form of polio, and we all recovered sufficiently within a week or two that we could come home. I was fairly weak for the next couple of weeks, and had to take a hot bath every day; but aside from that, none of us suffered any no permanent effects.
3. It was late 1951 or early 1952 when we moved into the house that my parents had purchased in another part of town; I remember that my younger sister was born there on St. Patrick’s Day. As usual, I was allowed to wander anywhere I wanted, on foot or on bicycle, as long as I came home on time for dinner. One day I took a long section of rope, climbed way up into a tree a mile or two away from home, and then way out on a long sturdy branch. I tied one end of the rope around the branch, and then wrapped another part of the rope twice around my (left) hand. I swung down from the branch, intending to descend in an orderly fashion, just like I had seen firemen doing it in the movies. Unfortunately, it didn’t work: I slid helter-skelter to the ground, landing in a heap, and the rope around my hand cut through the skin, almost through the tendons, and all the way to the bone. I had to have my hand wrapped in bandages for the first month of my 3rd grade school year; and once again the Authorities tried to use the opportunity to get me to use my right hand for penmanship. Once again, they failed.
4. In the summer of 1952, I was sent off to a sleep-away camp for two weeks, somewhere in the mountains of Colorado. I have no idea why, but it was a lot of fun … until I was thrown off a horse and knocked unconscious. The camp authorities decided there was no reason to inform my parents, though my parents were rather curious when I subsequently refused to climb up on a horse wherever we went. They also noticed that I was limping when I came home from camp, which the camp authorities had apparently not noticed; I had hiked all the way to the top of a mountain with my fellow camp-mates, and I had a rock in one of my boots. It caused a blister, which got infected, and I was probably lucky that they didn’t have to amputate my foot. All in all, the camp experienced was deemed a failure, and I was never sent away again.
5. I got my first slingshot in Denver. It was not a “professional” Wham-O slingshot with natural rubber and ash wood; instead, Dad made one for me from a Y-shaped chunk of plywood, and with strips of rubber from an old automobile inner tube. I thought it was the most amazing thing I had ever seen — and immediately began shooting at every bird I could see on a telephone wire or branch of a tree. I never did hit a single one of the. (By the way, Wham-O eventually went on to achieve even more fame with its hula hoop, frisbee, and hack sack. You can read all about them here on the Internet: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wham-O )
6. The next best thing, besides a slingshot, was the top of a coffee can. They tended to have fairly sharp edges, but if you held it carefully and threw it just right, it would sail for miles and miles … at least it seemed that way. It wouldn’t return to you, a la boomerangs (which every kid had heard about, but none had ever actually seen) — but it was just like throwing a flying saucer. Unfortunately, coffee-can-tops were not readily found, especially since we kids never drank any coffee. We had to wait patiently for our parents to finish off an entire can of coffee, and then scoop it out of the garbage can when it was thrown out.
E-P5 / Olympus 60mm 2.8 / Raynox DCR-250
Messing around with a new technique, doing combined natural light and flash focus stack of unknown parasitoid wasp. Was observed taking massive beetles much larger than itself from a tree in a controlled fall and dragging them into a burrow in muddy soil next to mangroves.
With the rear of the train clearing a speed restriction right behind me the helpers and DPU dig in and start the hard shove up Bozeman seen rolling down the Livingston West Long Lead.
New Girl in Town, Chapter 4 of The Black Duke of Nightrose, a continuing photographic melodrama, sponsored by Laminak, your first stop for all your medieval/gothic furnishings needs. See the main store at maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Queens%20Lake/127/134/22.
Also sponsored by Quills and Curiosities (maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Diagon%20Alley/138/156/2201), where Macabre meets Marvellous!
Also sponsored by Del-ka Aedilis (maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/DA%20Estate/151/93/1003), specialists in Roman, Viking and Medieval structures and accessories. When in Rome, turn to Del-ka Aedilis.
And now to our story....
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Digging into History
Young Hollish then spent the rest of the day in the Castle's vast library, and after climbing several ladders to find unused, dust covered cabinets locked with strange spells and heavy iron bands, she came away with a family history of Nightrose.
No such traditions as the Duke described were mentioned, and certainly nothing about flaming puppies of any kind. It did however mention that every other Solstice, the Duke's bride had to be sacrificed to appease "The Vengeful Harpy of the Woods"...whatever that was.
It said this Harpy was kept imprisoned just beyond the tree line towards the coast and she resolved loudly to go investigate it that very evening.
The Duke, sneaking around behind her...was less than pleased about that resolve, but grateful that being young and mostly innocent she tended to speak all her thoughts out loud as exposition.
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Decor - Lord Audley Armchair and Footstool, Double Wheel Candelabra, Rotating Bookcase and assorted decor by Laminak, (maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Queens%20Lake/108/129/25)
Additional Decor by Noctis
His pose by Indigo
Castle Blackrose by Varonis
Kevin is played by a Sentient Sludge from Quills and Curiosities.
Garb:
HIS: Acolyte II from RFyre, Alaric Beret by Nyoko
HERS: Gown from Kitty Creations
Musical Inspiration - Paranoid by Palaye Royale (youtu.be/7J2uP7RRnfQ)
Me digging out after our most recent snow event. The weather people say more is coming. Photo by Deb Coffey
My name is VAN, I’m 40 years old and I’m from Vietnam. I’m a artist, I’m performance artist. I’m hire to the people to profile their fantasies, their DEEP. DARK. FANTASIES - to finally sort out all of their parts. I was gonna be a LEGO designer, you know, with modelling and constructing. After the hundred and two additions and small parts, you know, I’m decide and deny, I had enough, when I’m getting to freelance work.
The clients telling a request a lot of… Am… Pieces. So. Im just decide to go, you know, FULL MASTER, and - change my hold-tire house into DUNGEON, I’m DUNGEON MASTER, I with a FULL DUNGEON of cassette-storing boxes for parts in my house, and it’s go very well!
SORTING IS THREE HUNDRED STUDS. And usually I’m have to work hard so that dude really relaxes and easily finds the right parts. I have a SEPARATOR that saved my FINGERS from being permanently STUCK IN DAT PIECES. I use LATEX GLOVE, which stretches all the way to the armpit, so as not to dirty the details once again. It's a long process: putting your hand in there, in a bag with a bunch of half-disassembled kits, but it gives more pleasure to another person, I think for me too. Let it be more difficult physically for your hand, but for some reason it brings more emotions, more feelings between you, you guess together from which sets certain details are, think about their future use in MOCs, remember a series of past years, you know, it's really strange, at the same time I find these sessions quite exhausting.
I don't know, I feel like I'm naked, because I'm looking at myself for the first time, well, not really at myself, at this part of life for the first time - some guy is digging into children's toys. It been harsh, I hadn't thought about it for about three or five years.
Some kind of sadness, I do not know why sadness and because of what...
Brown Bear (Ursus arctos) digging for clams on the shoreline of Admiralty Island near Pack Creek, Alaska.
Hit 'L' to view on large.
Finally made it to the top of this building currently undergoing renovation with some of the best views in London.
This was on the way down from the top in the early hours.
Too bad it was extremely windy and it was hard work keeping the tripod steady.
Digging for Gold to show against the emerald
Sweat Bee collecting pollen from coneflowers at Springton Manor Park.
2015_07_09_EOS 7D_1104 v1
One of the artworks adorning the walls of the Williamson Tunnels Heritage Centre in Edge Hill , Liverpool .
Bullied Battle of Britain Pacific 34067 "Tangmere" gets stuck in on Grayrigg Bank at Benson Hall with the Northbound Winter Cumbrian Express 1Z86 06:39 London Euston to Carlisle on 1st February 2025.
Copyright Stephen Willetts - No unauthorised use
Western Maryland Scenic's former Chesapeake and Ohio 2-6-6-2 1309 was about to cross Cash Valley Road and enter Helmstetter's Curve with a Santa Claus special out of Cumberland in 2022.
With both EMD's roaring on a fully loaded 5444N Westons grain from Penny's Rd at Bellata, SSR102 and SSR101 bog down and struggle up the harsh 1/40 grade as they snake their way out of Doughboy Hollow to the top of Ardglen Bank.
The train would arrive into Newcastle long after dark and become one of the first SSR trains to tip at Carrington, where the train would form to 4841N and head West to load again.
Two soldiers working on a dug-out or a mine. There's a photo from the same set that shows soldiers inside of a mine:
www.flickr.com/photos/drakegoodman/14229574759/
Stamp on reverse: "Eduard Ertl, Bodenmais, bay. Wald".