Have Camera, Will Travel

My daughter and I had an hour of bonding time yesterday—meaning we went out to breakfast. Don’t tell her dad, because this involved moola we are not supposed to be spending, but as the days tick away, I can’t over estimate the value of across-the-table time spent with my high school senior, so eggs, bacon and cornbread it was.

Most times I bring the camera with me when off alone but I am less inclined to do so when on a jaunt with my daughter or my husband, since eye-rolling often occurs when I pause for what they call an “artsy shot.” Though I acquiesce to their desires on many occasions, our girl pays a steep price for that, since she spends more time in the car with me than anyone and has arrived at the point where she'd love to throttle me every time she hears me mutter: “Why didn’t I bring the camera?” Yesterday though, it was a foregone conclusion that after we ate in our favorite breakfast spot, a trip by the scenic beach in that town would be in order, so in spite of her grumbling I plunked the camera behind the driver’s seat.

At this point, I could, I suppose, include a picture of the pummeling surf hitting the beach wall after the three-day record-breaking rain storm we just endured, because I took about 20 shots after we ate, but I’ve taken a million of them over the years; you've seen more than enough here at Middle Passages, I'm sure.

Instead, I’ll tell you about this. The “scenic” route home travels down a stone-lined straight-a-way with long grass fields flowing on either side, leading to two gray antique farm houses sitting close to the road across from each other. As we came upon these fields, we noticed a lump in the middle of one. When the car took us closer, I slowed down to investigate and at the same moment, my daughter and I began babbling: “Is it a fox? Yes, no, yes, no! No, it’s a coyote!” By this point, I had pulled over and we stared at the mangy juvenile, who sat in the middle of the sunny field at 11:00 a.m. with his ears perked and his head cocked as he gazed back at us. Then I cried: “OMG. For once I have the camera.”

Maybe it’s an age thing, because that coyote looked like a teenager, and as my daughter took off the lens cap, you could almost see the animal thinking the same way she does every time I try to take her picture— “Camera? Nope. I’m out of here” and with that, he got up and jogged away. Nonetheless, the seventeen-year-old got a few shots off before he disappeared completely.  And, yea, okay, just for fun, I'll offer a few ocean photos too.