It's the kind of road that leaves your stomach behind. But at least it's asphalt. The sign at the entrance said the viewing area was eight miles, so I looked at my odometer. Up and down and up and down so much I was getting seasick. I saw a long glittery thing off in the distance and wondered if it were a lake. The name of the road was the name of a lake - Harris Lake? I can't remember. I thought maybe the wildlife would be near a lake. Eventually I passed this relic from the past:
Somehow it seems to have so much potential. Just as it is. That canopy at the entrance actually angles toward the left, a little unusual. There was no sign of life there. Not far from this building was another of the wildlife viewing signs, the picture of binoculars, pointing right, so I headed down what was now a dirt road. Gravel and dirt. I was getting a little nervous now, thinking what would I do if my car got stuck in the sand, but I plowed on. I passed this house, somehow perfect where it was:
The very desolation of the landscape both encouraged and discouraged me. When I saw this row of trees, extending well beyond the plane of this picture, I wondered if it might be home to birds:
The road got more difficult. I kept following the signs, landing on what seemed like a farm road. When I had reached about eight miles I looked around and decided that enough was enough. If I were to go further I might get seriously stuck and it was obvious I had no idea what I was seeing. I stopped the car and took a shot of what was there:
This is a job for a four-wheeler and a guide, I decided. Perhaps in the spring there might be tours? I had to count this one as a failure...almost. Because on the way out I got back on the asphalt road and headed for the glittery light, which was:
The solar farm! It stretches farther than I could see and my camera couldn't begin to take it in. I had indeed found it, and I would not have if I had not been off looking for wildlife.
