Photography And Half-Thoughts By Mitchell Hegman

...because some of it is pretty and some of it is not.

Monday, March 18, 2024

The Mattress

Driving along and seeing litter snapping by me along the edge of the roadway distresses me. My way of addressing this is to collect and properly dispose of what litter I can. To this end, I regularly stop to pick up cans, bottles, and whatnot on the country road leading to my house.  I also collect litter along Lake Helena Drive and will grab litter elsewhere if it annoys me enough—especially big things such as whole bags or big boxes alongside the road.

A few days ago, I saw a mattress from a single bed lying conspicuously in the grassy barrow near the Masonic Home in the valley. Feeling sufficiently annoyed, I stopped and dragged the mattress up closer to the road. My intent being to toss it my truck the next time I drove the truck to town on that route.

Yesterday, I drove my truck by the place where I left the mattress and found that someone else had picked it up.

I love it when that happens!

Mitchell Hegman

Sunday, March 17, 2024

Little Miss Muffet

After witnessing a spider rapidly descend from the ceiling on a web not far from me, I thought about the old nursery rhyme 'Little Miss Muffet.' As you may recall, the rhyme goes something like this:

Little Miss Muffet

Sat on a tuffet,

Eating her curds and whey;

Along came a big spider,

Who sat down beside her,

And frightened Miss Muffet away.

After watching my particular spider drop into my hoya plant and scuttle away, I decided to amend the rhyme as follows:

Little Miss Muffet

Sat on a tuffet,

Eating her curds and whey;

Along came a big spider,

Who sat down beside her,

So, she squashed it dead.

Mitchell Hegman

Saturday, March 16, 2024

Game Trail

I followed a game trail into the hills of juniper and jack pine. The decision to follow the trail proved a good one. Produced almost entirely by deer, the trail charted the gentlest route through the glacially carved swells of earth and stone. I thought about my age as I walked. As defined by the number, I am what children have long defined as old. My face and hands wear the permanent scars of time. But I am upright and that is good enough for a walk in the hills.

After a time, I encountered a single chickadee. The bird alighted on a juniper not much more than an arm’s reach from me.

“I am happy to meet you,” I told the bird. “You are welcome to follow me along if you wish. But I must warn you, I am particularly self-absorbed today, and the deer are unwittingly guiding me.”

That said, the chickadee abandoned me with a half-dozen quick wing-beats. I walked on, taking the easy way as defined by deer.

Mitchell Hegman

Friday, March 15, 2024

Memorial Services

On a day when the sun stands high and the righteous have marked their place by firmly planting flags at their feet, we commit our departed to the earth. This is done as it has always been done: in somber ceremony, with murmured supplications and clenched fists.

The deceased shall henceforth love us forever, and we them. Tomorrow, we will plant our grain and stack together the stones of our choosing. In the morrow, we shall dance with our young and begin anew, imagining for the whole time that we have a choice.

Mitchell Hegman

Thursday, March 14, 2024

Flight of the Bluebird

 Bluebirds display quick and distinctive flight patterns when they take to the sky. The patterns are easily recognizable from almost any distance. If their flight were translated into music, it would mirror the immediacy and intensity of "Flight of the Bumblebee." At the same time, bluebirds exhibit remarkable gracefulness in their movements—lifting, veering, swooping their elegant cursive-like signatures through the air.

Bluebirds also have the remarkable ability to hover in mid-air when they spy something of interest amidst the prairie grass below them. I cannot ignore the sight of a hovering bluebird. If I see one doing so, I am compelled to stop whatever thing I am doing so I can witness. To fly is one thing; to hover is another.

Mitchell Hegman

Wednesday, March 13, 2024

First Bluebird

On Tuesday, March 19, 2024, spring will officially begin temporally, but in my exact corner of the universe, spring is official when I see the first bluebird freshly returned from overwintering in the south. As luck would have it, I spotted my first pair yesterday morning. They spent several minutes appraising my bluebird box, and I even managed to get a photograph of the pair at the box.

Welcome back, bluebirds!"

Bluebirds Checking Out the Nesting Box

Mitchell Hegman

Tuesday, March 12, 2024

Salt

Amanda Ava Koci, known professionally as Ava Max, is an American singer and songwriter. Her song “Salt” is one of those songs that tends to catch my attention enough to make me stop and listen for at least a moment or two before I can go on again. I am sharing the acoustic version here today.

—Mitchell Hegman