Posts Tagged ‘wildflowers’

Finally – Tangier and the American Legation – after crossing more mountains


Last stop ahead

Time for the last big drive, Al Hoceima to Tangier.  At this point I believe we were regarding this as a strenuous trip because we had NO IDEA how much driving would be involved.  As we left Al Hoceima, the countryside was beautiful with orchards in bloom, wild lavender by the road.

Orchard outside of Al Hoceima

Some of the hills looked like the farms along The Three Gorges in China – multi-colored and terraced.

The weather was gorgeous and there were people alongside the road gathering herbs.

We passed fascinating haystacks.

Haystack outside Al Hoceima

We passed prickly pear in full fruit, but we noticed something alarming.

We were going up.  We had forgotten about the Rif.  We were driving Morocco’s third major mountain range.  But the weather was lovely, we could still see the Mediterranean – how bad could this be?

Bad is the answer.  It was getting colder and I did not have my long underwear on.  The car heater of course was still broken.  And it was foggy, then raining.  We passed patches of snow up on a hill.  I took a picture, thinking, “Ooh, I’ll show the kids how high we were and how close to snow!”

Snow in the distance

You might be asking yourself right now, as I am asking myself, what do the kids care if we are passing snow?  We have snow all the time at our cabin in Alta Sierra.  And the kids aren’t little either.  The youngest is 37.  Old habits die hard.  So when we passed snow at the side of the road, I took a photo of that also.

Closer patches of snow

If I’d had my crystal ball with me I would have known that in a matter of moments we would be driving through a snowstorm.


Yes, for about 1½ hours.

Visibility was low.  And snow was starting to coat the roads.

The snow starts to stick

Snow is beautiful, one must admit, even in the midst of it.  The trees were turning white.

And then rain.  The road tricked us – we’d be descending and Mark would say, “We’re out of it now, going down.” And we’d go up again.  Each time, Mark hopefully said the same thing, and finally, at last, the snow and rain and fog were gone and we were out of the Rif.  We’d seen the snow plows going up to 7,000 feet, where we had been, and where the roads had been awful.  It registered now why Joaquin had said, as we drove away from Casa Paca, that the roads probably hadn’t been fixed yet since winter.  This place gets torn up each year from snow and ice and rain.

And all of a sudden, as if we’d never been through rain, fog and snow, there were wildflowers.


So.  Tangier.  We lived there for six weeks in 1971 during our Peace Corps training.  And we were going back.  The American Legation, where we trained and lived, was the first property the United States owned on foreign soil, and it is currently the only National Historic Site not in the United States.

George Washington and King Mohammed I had correspondence back when, trying to solve the Barbary pirate situation.  And thus Morocco came to be the first country to officially recognize the United States as an independent nation.  We couldn’t wait to see it again.

But we needed to get rid of that rental car which meant find the airport.  Signage had been pretty good throughout the country so I just said to Mark, let’s drive into town and we’re sure to see an airport sign somewhere.  Now understand that “town” has gotten a whole lot bigger and we drove a very long way, before, on the verge of desperation, we saw a sign.  We knew we couldn’t go very much farther without landing in the Atlantic Ocean, and we knew the airport was south of town near the coast, but nonetheless, we were beginning to look for airplanes and what direction they were landing.

Walking happily into the airport to the car rental desk, eager to tell them about the lack of oil and the squeaky brakes and the lack of heat, we found – no one.  There was one person in the whole array of rental car agencies and he said, oh, they aren’t here, just put the papers under the window.  OK? OK, we did, and found Andrew from Dar Jand who was picking us up, and we were on our way to the medina.

We wanted to stay in the medina since the Legation was in the medina and it would be like old times, sort of.  On tripadvisor I found Dar Jand.

Dar Jand

And a plug for tripadvisor – it was invaluable.  I got most of our lodging based on recommendations on tripadvisor, and none of them were in the guide  books.  Unless it’s Rick Steves, I don’t really trust those books like Frommers and Fodors anymore.

Andrew and Janet – the JAND of Dar Jand, are an American couple who own a quirky, four (or was it five) story place in the medina.  Janet spent five years renovating it while Andrew was still working in the states and I am in total awe of what she accomplished.  When she arrived she spoke no French or Arabic, and she says now she’d never do it again – had no idea just what she was in for.  But she did a fantastic job.  Honestly? It was nice to be with Americans and speak English.  Andrew showed us where everything was, including the laundry.  We’d been three days in the same clothes and I mean all the same clothes and were desperate for something clean.

View from Dar Jand - Medina Rooftops

How was it that we knew that medina inside and out once?  It’s a rabbit warren, a maze, it tricks you into walking in circles.  But we’d had the adventure squeezed out of us by now and lacked the energy to care about where we ate or what we saw.  We just wanted to be there.  And visit the Legation.

Medina steps outside Dar Jand

Andrew gave us directions, we set out, walked in circles and got lost.  Someone offered to lead us so we knew a tip would be in order, which was fine with us.  It’s a way of working, it provides a service, and everyone we saw in this country worked hard.  We wondered about how unemployment is defined.  Are people selling their vegetables in the souks considered unemployed? Or people selling on the side of the road?  What kind of living do those people make compared to the cost of living? One thing is clear, I expect to the population in general as well as outsiders: the country runs on tourism.  It’s only 10% of the GNP and that’s hard to believe.  The unrest in the Arab world isn’t good for Moroccan tourism, although Morocco is completely safe.

So we were happy to pay our self-appointed guide to reach the legation.  Jerry Loftus, the director of the Legation museum, met us and actually got pretty excited when he realized we really truly had lived there during a Peace Corps training.  We were searching for our room; when we lived there we had the best room of all since having a two-year-old daughter gave us privileges. Where other volunteers bunked together and shared bathrooms, we got our own room and bath!  We did not just have any room, however.  Ours had a secret door with a hidden area that one could escape to if one didn’t want to be found.  And I don’t think it was for getting “alone time.” Perhaps the area could be treacherous.  We explained all this to Jerry but we couldn’t find the room.  I knew in my head exactly how to describe it, and now we’ve found that Jerry is actually living in that room – but since he has not found the secret door, he didn’t match our description to his room.  It may not be there but then again…it was a secret.

Jennifer outside of our room 1971

How did Jerry figure out he was living in the room? We sent him old photos after our return, which he was happy to have, room identified or not, as there is very little in the way of records for that time period.  He did bring out a very old, very crude scrapbook that someone had given him, and Jerry wondered about the photos.  We knew who the people were because it was our training group!  (By saying “very crude” scrapbook, I’m not disparaging the work of whoever made it – but it sure makes a stark contrast to all the technology available today.)

Scrapbook in legation

Little by little, the Legation is being restored and the museum enhanced.  There are copies of letters between George Washington and Mohammed I – difficult to read with the florid script of the day but thrilling nonetheless.

Courtyard steps 1971

Legation courtyard 1971

Dining room American Legation today

Dining room during Peace Corps training 1971

Jenny at kid's table 1971 - on the balcony

Legation balcony today

Exterior Legation crossing over alley

A neat feature of the American Legation is that it spans the road in the medina.

So it was over.  We’d seen what we came back for – Oujda, the Legation, Tangier, and points in between.  Tangier was the most different of anywhere.  A tourist in Tangier used to feel like a gladiator thrown into the pit, set upon by people offering to sell you goods, guide you, or pick your pocket.  It was not so much like that now, blessedly.  Plus, many shops do not bargain anymore, which is a huge relief no doubt and makes the tourist experience livable.  So many of Tangier’s tourists make day trips from Spain, and to have one’s first experience of Morocco seem like a hell-hole can’t be good for extended tourism.

Tangier is also feeling more like part of the country.  Hassan II did not like the North and never set foot in Tangier, which left them the poor stepchildren of Morocco.  Mohammed VI, however, has a residence there, visits, and it’s made a terrific difference to the populace to feel like they count.  That, at least, according to our host Andrew, and if I’ve misremembered, I offer apologies.

Here are a few pictures of our wanderings in the medina.  Everything is interesting, colorful, exciting.

Purple wall, Tangier medina

Blue wall, Tangier

Blue passage, Tangier medina

Inside a holistic herb store, Tangier medina

Medina port, Tangier

Now our zip was completely gone.  We were ready for Spain.  We’re getting old and organized tour groups are looking better and better; but we couldn’t have seen all we’d wanted to without driving the country and it was worth it for sure.  We’d been on camels, in planes, cars, taxis and trains in a little over two weeks.  We found a country we loved that had developed incredibly in 40 years yet still retained its character and heart.  We headed through the medina to the port to catch a fast ferry to Tarifa  to the bus for Sevilla.  We got one last look at Tangier as the ferry pulled away.

View of Tangier from ferry

We’ll be back.  Next year is the 50th Anniversary of the Peace Corps in Morocco so chances are good we’ll attend, then go to Agadir and spend a week or so at a beach resort and spend time with Krim.  As soon as we recover our energy from this trip, it’ll look a whole lot better for a return.

Next – to Sevilla.


Looking for hair in all the wrong places… (and a couple of odds and ends)


I wanna talk about me

Wanna talk about I

Wanna talk about number one

What I think, what I like, what I know, what I want , what I see

Wanna talk about hair.

(So Toby Keith doesn’t say the hair part.  Sorry, Toby.)

Let’s talk about ME first: the odds and ends, before I get into the distressing subject of hair.

Odds and Ends One: the Kaiser Show

Kaiser Permanente asked the Arts Council of Kern to hold a juried show, and from the works accepted, Kaiser would purchase some to hang in their new building in downtown, Bakersfield.  I almost didn’t enter, then thought photographs printed on canvas would be a winning combo.  And it was!  They purchased all three of my works- hip, hip, hooray!  Gosh it feels good to sell something, even if I barely recouped my costs.  I think this was fantastic of Kaiser to do for the community.

I did a triptych of poppies:

I cropped this poppy into a square and then flipped it.  So each end had a poppy leaning out of the triptych, and in the center there was a similar poppy but straight up.  They looked phenomenal printed on canvas.

Then I submitted two that were about 18×30:

Odds and Ends Two: Etsy

I don’t know about Etsy.  With so many wonderful hand-crafted articles out there, it seems awfully hard to carve out a market share.  I’ve sold a few photos, which is nutty because they look gorgeous printed on Velvet Fine Art paper, especially for the price.  So I’m trying something new – note cards.  I had some made for a trial run and they’re quite nice, so if they don’t sell, I’ll have some note cards.  If you want to take a look, there’s a link on the sidebar.  If you have any Etsy advice and are willing to share, please do!

And now, for the main event:  Wanna talk about HAIR

And I’m not talking about the musical.  I’m talking about us, in particular, women of a certain age. I’m talking gray. This is a vexing issue.  First, let’s just dispense with the dye question.  Without whatever color it is my stylist puts on my hair (it gets a lot of compliments), I’m quite sure I’d be gray.  I don’t think I’m ready to be gray yet, BUT…I’m starting to wonder what it would look like instead of rejecting the idea out of hand.  That must mean something.  I’d save so much money ($85 every four weeks), and I wouldn’t be putting chemicals on my head, close to my brain, so often.  Chemicals can’t be good.

Looking for hair in all the wrong places: Cue music (and apologies to Waylan Jennings)

I was looking for hair in all the wrong places
Looking for hair, on my head, not my face
Searching with my eyes, looking for traces
Of what…. I used to have on my head.
Hopin’ to find some growth and some color
God bless the day I discover
A thick head of hair…on my head. (end song)

Yes, the hair on our heads gets thinner as we age.  Can’t just pull it into a ponytail without artfully arranging it, or else bald spots will show.  Best to just wear it down.  BUT the ultimate insult is, while we are straining to fine enough hair on our head for some sort of style, it’s growing everywhere else! In all the wrong places.

This was demonstrated to me the last time I had my eyebrows waxed.  I mostly keep them up myself, but once in a while a wax is in order.  So I’m lying there, and the esthetician approaches me with scissors! While my head of hair is thinning, my brows are growing longer.  Great. I suppose men with bushy eyebrows are acceptable, but I can’t have them sticking up all over the place.

So now I have to trim my EYEBROWS.  And buy eyebrow wax to smooth them down.

Magnifying mirrors are a must.  Now and then, a stray hair will grow on my chin, under my chin, or at the side of what I suppose I need to call a moustache.  Sometimes it’s white, sometimes gray, always bristly.  Every morning I inspect my face for stray long hairs where they oughtn’t be.  Those suckers grow fast.

Finally, oh my, the esthetician waxed my moustache AND my NASAL hair.  It gets longer too.

This is some kind of perverse joke on us.  Hair growth goes haywire.  Hairs Gone Wild might be a popular video for the over 60 crowd.

There you have it.  Hair. In all the wrong places.

The Permanence of Temporary Things


Today I drove up to the cabin.  It’s been a long time because our impulse purchase of a house kept us pretty busy.  Plus the soccer tourney in Las Vegas, and visiting my daughter in Colorado. Oh, and the Black Eyed Peas concert.  Yes, we picked a busy time to move and as far as art goes, it’s been a long dry spell.  In Colorado, I resorted to finger painting with the grandkids. I’ve got some art ideas, though, so I loaded the car and headed up for almost a week.  It’s ridiculous how much I bring so I can work – but what can I do? I can’t afford two studios.

I didn’t bring the cats this time!  My husband took out the carriers a little too soon; Lily took a look and went behind the couch.  This time, Tiger joined her.  And I found myself thinking, the cats will be bored at the cabin. They can’t go outside.  Here, they have a full and rich life.  A full and rich life? Seemed odd to think of a cat’s life in that way.  But my husband also realized they should stay home to chase birds and stare at frogs.  Add those activities to sleeping and it’s a cat’s full and rich life.

As I drove, I found myself noticing the progression of grasses and plants.  Down at the lower elevations, all the lush green spring grass is brown, and the profusion of wildflowers is no more.  They don’t last – their presence is temporary.  But next year, if the rains are good, they’ll be back.  If not, the year after or the next.  In that regard, the wildflowers have permanence.  They are always, permanently, a part of spring, they just don’t last long.

Gaining some elevation, the grass under the trees was still green.

And higher yet, wildflowers.

Those fleeting, transitory bursts of color are now blooming at the higher elevations.

They didn’t cover entire fields as they do at the lower elevations– no matter.  They had taken the stage once again, only to have a short but brilliant run.

I saw a silvery bush and thought, oh, what’s that?  Should I stop?  Then I remembered.  It’s the purple thistle, the latest bloomer.  We could count on it again.  Doesn’t that make it permanent?  Another purple plant was making its last stand – for this year.

I missed the blooming of the buckeye trees this year – it doesn’t last all that long.  But next year I’ll see them.  Those stem-like things pointing up all over the trees? When in bloom, they are a mass of white flowers.  Stunning.  Again, I missed bloom due to its transitory nature, but baring a major environmental catastrophe, they’ll bloom again as the permanence of their cycle repeats.

We have free range cattle on one section of the road – Highway 155.  A calf was feeding right at the roadside, so I grabbed my camera and shot through the windshield just in case.

But as I pulled up with the side window down, the cow just stared at me.  Usually, they run, but that calf was intent on its meal.

You can talk about permanence as temporary here also.  The calves are born, grow and eventually die.  Meanwhile, the permanence of that cycle continues.

Can I interrupt here for a photography moment? There’s a tab for photo tips on this blog, and somewhere in there I talk about looking closely at your shots and not rejecting them out of hand if something doesn’t seem good enough.  And sure enough, look at this next cow picture.  Partial cows – a throwaway?  No.  Mom and baby match – how much their heads show, one eye.  It’s kind of cool to see it that way.

Interruption concluded.

Almost at Old State Road, the turnoff to Alta Sierra where our cabin is, I saw a blinding flash of color.  Oh my gosh, it was a bird.  Lucky I drive slowly up here, because I stopped to marvel at this bright yellow bird with the bright orange head.  Luckily again, the people behind me were driving slowly also, because they had to stop.  I’m sure they wondered what that crazy lady was looking at, because of course the tanager (it was a Western Tanager) was gone.  This image is from a bird website.

Just in case, I pulled over and watched for a while.  No luck.  That tanager is still there but for me it was a fleeting, impermanent moment.

I concluded that the whole idea was like eating in season.  You eat blueberries when blueberries are in season.  Then the rest of the year you don’t.  Same for all produce.  Again, foods of a transitory nature that are permanent in that they grow each year.  Especially if someone plants them.

It’s a good way to organize parts of life. We don’t get tired of what we have for that very short time (except zucchini, we get tired of zucchini) so we appreciate it all the more.  That’s why the artists Jean-Claude (deceased this year) and Christo make temporary art.  My husband and I worked on the Umbrellas and the Gates projects.  People lamented losing the umbrellas after their short blooming.  But if they were there still?  They’d be tattered and faded and no one would be looking any more.

But Mark and I look, and we still see them.  Every time we drive by Gorman and see the big sign, (this photo is courtesy of this photostream – anarchosyn’s photostream – on flickr) –

we think our umbrella hills are those, right there, where we installed them and opened them on that magic day.  For us, they are permanent.

Wildflowers: A Story of Spring and Renewal


Yesterday I talked about Kern County oil and agriculture as the base of our economy.  Today, wildflowers will tell a story of Spring.  Spring, in turn, tells a story of renewal, rebirth, and hope.  We all feel it.  As Spring approaches, the days get nicer, the trees and bushes start to hint of new green, but the first day that feels like Spring is different.  The air is balmy, we want to go outside, life is relaxed all of a sudden, and of course it stays light longer.

We’ve had such abundant rainfall here in Kern County so it’s a good year for wildflowers, one of the most exciting signs of spring.  Yesterday I took some wildflower photos on Highway 223, but today I drove up to Rancheria Road, one of my favorites.  Yesterday I tempted you with poppies.  Here’s another.

It was perfect lighting.  The trouble with nature is it doesn’t do what we want when we want.  Today, for example, it was hazy – not perfect conditions for wildflower photography.  But yesterday…

California Poppies are exciting.  When entire hillsides are covered and the sun is out, the landscape is ablaze.  Intense and fiery.

I’m not sure what these little flowers are, but they are always alone.

Today I set out again, this time to Rancheria Road.  This road goes from Highway 178 up to Highway 155 and comes out right near our cabin in Alta Sierra.  It’s still closed on our end though due to snow, so I couldn’t go all the way through.  And although there were flowers everywhere, it was so hazy.  C’est la vie.

So, yup, it’s me, trying to take a self-portrait that also has flowers in it.  It’s kind of weird, but then again so am I at times.

This little guy was so delicate and pretty.  Names? I really don’t know too many of the wildflower names, and whereas at one time I would have looked them all up and tried to remember, now I just enjoy them.  I have enough other stuff to remember.

Here’s my trusty Ford Escape Hybrid.  I love this car – the Awy Team (away team).  It’s a Star Trek license plate.  Did you see the college decal in the photo in yesterday’s post?

Looking closely, all kinds of little flowers show up.  Spring is a story of diversity.

They all mix together.  Spring is not only a story of diversity, it’s a story of inclusion.  Think how much calmer we would all be in this life if we could just open our arms and embrace inclusion.

Bringing a tripod would have made it a lot easier to include myself in photos, but this was a story of adventure.  And a story of “How Fast can Susan Move?”  Fast enough, as you can see next.

Haha – I didn’t even know when the camera went off but I made it.  Isn’t the landscape gorgeous? The rolling hills?  That’s the road down there.

Beautiful.  New growth, new color, and the seeds for next year’s growth.  Spring is indeed a story of renewal.

One more for today.  Tomorrow I should pack, but I have a feeling I’ll be heading up Hwy 155 to see what’s blooming up there.  I should visit my parents first, then I already know I’ll head for the hills.  Why fool myself?  Spring is a story of rebirth, renewal, diversity, inclusion, and adventure.  I have to get my adventures as they present themselves.

Who knows where the road will take me?  As I always say, if you come to a fork in the road, take it.

By the way, on my web page in the Floral Gallery, there are lots of photos of last year’s wildflowers on Rancheria Road.  Take a look – they are stunning.

Kern County: A Photo Jouney through Oil and Agriculture (and Wildflowers)


Kern County is oil.  Kern County is agriculture.  Today I set out on a little drive to check out the wildflowers, but it turned into a story of oil and ag also.  This is me.  Ready, set, go.

When I say our economy here is based on oil and agriculture, I mean it.  Sometimes they are inseperable.

See what I mean? They share the same fields!  Kern County is technically a desert, but that drainage ditch shows a precious ingredient, water.  As they say, food grows where water flows.  And the San Joaquin Valley, where Kern County is located, California’s Central Valley, is known as the breadbasket of the world.

Next time you buy carrots, look at the package.  They will almost certainly be from Grimmway Farms or Bolthouse Farms – the biggest carrot growers in the world.  The drive I took today took me through the little towns of Arvin, Lamont, and Weedpatch, where Grimmway Farms is.

Yes, we have a town called Weedpatch.

When the first shuttle landing was taking place at Edwards Air Force Base – also in Kern County – I remember that the news organizations were all over the place.  There were actually correspondents stationed in Weedpatch waiting to hear the sonic boom.  Don’t you love it? “Reporting from Weedpatch, California…”

So I set out, taking a meandering path, going where the road took me.

I went past some orange groves.  This tree has oranges on it.  We see these every day; we even have an orange tree in our backyard.  Most of us have lemons too.  But when I was in Palm Springs for the Adam Lambert concert, I went to lunch with a group of Glamberts, and we passed orange, grapefruit and lemon trees.  You would have thought we’d seen the space ship Enterprise or something, everyone was so excited.  And I remembered that in most of the country, people don’t have orange trees, that to some people these are exotic.  All what you’re used to.  Anyhow, this was a scraggly orange tree.  Needed trimming.  And the trimmer was in action.

The machine in the middle of the rows has rotary blades that can cut the tops and sides of the trees.  There’s no sense letting the trees get so big that oranges can’t be picked.

Gotta say, I was pretty excited to see this.  I was standing at the front of the row with my camera, and didn’t realize how fast this thing was coming – so I had to scramble and jump in the car and move it just in  case this contraption had a wide turning radius.  Needn’t have worried.

This brings me back to oil, water and ag.

Cool picture, huh?  You can see it all, including a faint tinge of orange in the distant hills.  From here I got back on Highway 58 only to exit on General Beale Road just in case there was something to see.  And there was.  A whole truck of beehives was being unloaded with a forklift.  The driver was in full bee-keeping regalia.

I bought a book on beekeeping once.  I was going to be a bee keeper during the late 60s – you know, when we made our own granola, baked all our bread, and went to gather dandelions for dandelion wine.  Except if you’ve ever tried that, you know it’s physically impossible to collect enough dandelions for wine.

Here’s a picture showing the full scene where the bees are.

Kern County is BIG.  We’re the third-largest county in California, area-wise.

Here’s a close up of a bee hive I took last year.  The hives are being distributed, by the way, because the bees pollinate the crops.

As I was getting back on the freeway, I saw a stop sign where obviously someone hadn’t stopped.

I started out in pursuit of wildflowers, which I did find, but I found so much on the way to wildflowers, that I’m saving them for tomorrow.  So I tootled on up to Highway 223 and passed this cattle shute.  Cattle is also a big Kern County crop.

What’s cool about this is that last time I was out here, maybe 10 years ago? I took a photo of this but it was a misty day and it had a ghostly appearance to it.  I entered that photo in the Kern County Museum of Art annual Visual Arts Fest and won the first prize!  I wanted to jump right in here and take the same angle but now there are signs posted about security cameras.  Phooey.  In compensation, though, there was a really cool fence.

Onward!  Highway 223 winds up a hill and back down again, which reminds me of a song I sang endlessly as a child.  Mom says that for a long time, every morning when she and Dad got up, I was in my room with my wind-up phonograph, singing to a record: “The King of France with 40,000 men,  marched up the hill and then marched down again.” Powerful lyrics, huh.  I loved that song.

The point being, from that hill we have a nice view of the agriculture down in the valley.

Tempting you for tomorrow with view of wildflowers.  Here’s some more temptation.

While I was up there I took a nifty rear-view mirror photo so you can see my college decal on the back window.

I was now down in the valley, the valley so low.  And hungry so I went by McDonalds in Arvin, where a kid’s meal cheeseburger tastes the same as it does in New York, and found an orchard not yet in bloom to eat in.  Actually, the trees may be dead.  I don’t know.  But on my web site, there are photos of other types of Kern County orchards in bloom – almonds and wow, something I don’t know but the blossoms are pink.  The first three are almonds, then more almonds at G4-99, and at G4-117 you get the pink blossoms.  Conveniently numbered in case you want to buy some, uh huh.

Across the street was evidence of another huge Kern County crop – grapes.  The vines are still dormant but I love them like this – they make me think of a city with an electric grid.

I headed on home, but stopped for a huge bag of oranges at a roadside stand between Lamont and Weedpatch – only $3.00.

So that’s just a short tour of one teensy bit of Kern County.  And to tempt you, here’s a little of what tomorrow’s post will look like.

This was a great day – my favorite kind.  Just driving around and seeing what’s out there.