. . . roamed the junkyard

Some people go on vacation over the Fourth of July. . . to the beach, to the mountains; others to to family reunions or neighborhood picnics or to the lake. . . not me, nosiree. I go to the junkyard. And it's fine with me. Great inspiration for new art, so much so that I can't wait to get to the studio and get to work.


So we're in an industrial area of Kansas City, Kansas, again. We are underneath a viaduct somewhere, maybe off 10th Street, but I don't know for sure. We found streets of junkyards, all closed but one storage place for those huge trash receptacles that people rent when they are renovating buildings. The area is near the BNSF railroad yards, also pretty much deserted. I get out of the car and start shooting away. Suddenly, KABOOM. . . a little jumpy, I continue, hoping that someone was setting off firecrackers. Then, a proverbial junkyard dog starts howling and growling. Fortunately, it is fenced in, on the other side of the fence from where I am. As I wander farther away from the car, I notice that my husband is getting out of it. This is unusual. . . he usually just humors me as I take pictures and sits in the car listening to a game or sports talk radio. I turn, and there is possibly the dirtiest human I have ever encountered. As my husband and I both approach him, he asks if I am here to buy the merchandise. No, no, no, just taking pictures. I ask if it's all right, and he says it's fine. A nice guy, but a bit startling, coming basically out of nowhere. He wouldn't let me take his picture, though. The man's face was like a topographical map of the Sierra Madre mountains.


Then we ate supper with my daughter and her family. Heard but did not see any fireworks displays, but drove through an area that was getting ready for a huge crowd, apparently. . . cops, signs, orange cones, cordoned-off streets, the whole works. Not for me, no way. All in all, a good day. Hope yours was wonderful, too.