Camouflage

Here's a tree  which happens to have a  cleverly disguised house underneath it.

Since the only recent photo excursion was the crabbing trip, I'm officially out of fresh photos.

(Officially Out of Fresh Photos is a very uncomfortable label with which I do not care to associate.)

Here are a few shots from about a month ago, before the leaves started sprouting on all the trees.

For extra bemusement amusement, I've decided to tell two stories simultaneously today.  

One is going on in the captions underneath the photos.  The other is obvious.

Let's begin.

Here the tree is raising its arms up in victory.
The tree has self-declared as winner in this endurance/longevity contest.

These first three pictures are of a house in the woods in the general Port Haywood vicinity.

(I think. I really can't remember.)

I love how the house has taken on the color of the tree;

how the house dons full camouflage gear,

as if to say, "There's nothing to see here, folks, keep movin'."

Here, it looks like the house still has a chance.  Perhaps it does.

These last few are of a house down Redart.

This is a different house that appears strong.  Solid.  Sturdy. Hardy.

This treasure sits at an intersection of two exceedingly narrow roads with practically no shoulders.  I pulled over somehow or another, which meant the car was still in the road; leaped across the ditch; and started snapping away.

Until I heard a car approaching.

Then I calmly and confidently walked out of the woods towards my car.  

...Except for the roof and a few minor cosmetic issues out back..

The approaching car (which was actually a truck) had its turn signal on and was slowing down.

Oh no, here we go, I thought.

I was somewhat relieved to see someone I know behind the wheel: the son of my high school track coach.

"Chesapeake Bay Woman?" he asked.

"Yes, it's me. I'm just taking a few pictures of that old house," pointing weakly behind me, without even looking, knowing he wouldn't get it.

"I was wondering what you were doing."  (I get that a lot. It's a polite way of saying that they really thought I was someone up to no good.But then they realize I'm not and it all works itself out.)  

He continued, "My parents almost bought this property just so they could tear this old eyesore down."

I didn't dare tell him how much I admired the eyesore or how relieved I was that nobody had torn it down.

Yet.

We exchanged a few pleasantries and went about our business. 

The End.

I don't know why I love old, decrepit houses so much, but I do.
I tend to find beauty in imperfection.
Perfection bores me.
The End.