A Bull's Content

My husband and I like to take rides around the Maine countryside whenever possible, even if only for half an hour. With all this work going on, we need an occasional break!

There's so much to see in Maine: of Americana, rural life, and local color. Each home, farm or village seems to call out it's own unique history. The slick and staccato nervous pulse of the city is replaced by nature. And the story of each piece of property, reflecting the lives of its past and present owners, is often hinted at, if not readily apparent. I'm fascinated not only by the lay of the lush green land, but by the trappings of life, both humble and high-reaching but always human, that are visible from the road.

Above you see a shed that caught my interest, it's somewhat dilapidated form seeming to declare that it has been abandoned. "Stop the car," I said when I first spotted it and rolled down the window. To accomodate my photographic whim, my husband applied the brakes.

I was shooting the aged wood and rusty old tools and enjoying the angles of this country shed when my husband said, "Holy cow, there's an animal in there!"

At that very moment a gigantic bull emerged into the light to see what the commotion was, and stared at us somewhat dispassionately in the glaring afternoon light. No cow was he, but a very large animal, to say the least.



Here he is, pulled into view by my telephoto lens. Lucky me: I didn't have to move any closer! Even a young bull (witness the small, emerging horns) who seems complacent and may even have been castrated, was no draw for this cautious, city slicker. I kept my distance!



Yet he looked so sweet, all whiskers and soft, curious eyes, with strands of his (late) lunch protruding from the side of his mouth. No question about it, though, he was quite a large animal, young or not. It would be best to move off, let him have his peace and finish his lunch.

I hope he's comfortable inside his little house in the sunshine of the Maine countryside.

I love the landscape of the Northeast United States, particularly Maine. What places have you visited that take you out of your everyday frame of mind, or even take your breath away?

In the coming weeks I'll share more images from scenic Maine, with you. I apologize for being late in visiting your blogs, but I will get there as much as weeks of painting doors and a thousand moldings, will permit. I'm glad I wrote this post ahead of time, as I would not have been able to write it this week...


All text and photos c Lynda Lehmann. If you would like to see more of my art, photos, digital art and paintings, please visit www.lyndalehmann.com.

A Horse is a Horse, Of Course, Of Course!

My husband and I "met" this lovely steed at a local historic event in rural Maine last summer. Scribner's Mill, to be exact, where local history and customs were being celebrated. Here, "Molly The Hungry Horse" takes time out for a late afternoon snack of hay. She was personable enough to give us a glance, even as we interrupted her meal. I'm taken by the shock of hair in her eyes, her long whiskers, and the morsels of hay protruding from her mouth. Cuteness aside, horses are beautiful and noble animals.

Unfortunately for me, those times in my life when I sat on top of one, were not too pleasant. I remember three experiences in particular. When I was about eight my father took me horseback riding. My steed was the only one who galloped down the steep hill at the end of the trail, straight for the lake! He turned so abruptly at the last minute, that I nearly flew into the water. I was speechless and so grateful to dismount, I probably didn't speak for the rest of the day!

Another time when I had paid for a horseback ride, they gave me a mule instead. I was a teenager and too embarrassed to protest. (Cute guys around, you know...) This stubborn critter walked me into every available low-hanging branch along our trail, so that I spent the entire time ducking and flailing. Now THAT was embarrassing, as were the scratches on my face!

The third time did me in. My husband and I were on our honeymoon, just a 3-day trip to Mount Airy Lodge in Pennsylvania, which we could barely afford in those years. A cold snap had the winter landscape in its icy vice-grip, but we opted for a horseback ride anyway. We needed to get away from the opulent meals and most of all, the chocolate desserts we had been over-consuming.

My horse didn't want to leave the stable and made that known early on, when he stubbornly circled instead of falling into the queue. I help my breath in the icy air as we entered the forest. My apparently fatigued and willful horse fell to his knees on the rocky and root-crossed path and rocked sideways, while I sat perched on his back, my mouth open and my heart jumping out of my chest. Not only was it minus three degrees that day, almost too cold to breathe, but I was SURE my marriage was going to be cut short by my untimely death upon the ice-encrusted rocks of a forest horse path.

Image and text c Lynda Lehmann.

Parallel Lives

An elderly woman walks her bicycle down a narrow Alassio street, while a younger woman veers off the street into an adjacent doorway. They are in such close proximity in space and time, but each is oblivious of the other.

"Parallel Lives" can be looked at in several ways, I guess. It's a good metaphor for alienation and depersonalization and such. It could also be a metaphor for pattern and routine and limited consciousness/entrenched thinking, with the way the structures of those doors wall the woman in. And it could be a comment on aging, of course. Or culture. What does it make you think of? Image c Lynda Lehmann.

You will soon be able to purchase this image, framed or unframed, on my Imagekind site:
http://www.lyndalehmann.imagekind.com/