Posts in Category: Photography

Hatchlings – The Day The Sandhill Cranes Are Born

The day the Sandhill Crane colts are born is the most highly anticipated of the year at the Lakehouse. On May 1st, 2013, I was awakened by Bud and Lydia, the nesting pair of Sandhill Cranes that lived on the marsh, trumpeting the arrival of the year’s brood. Neighboring cranes replied, either to share in their joy or to announce the hatching of their babies. 

I jumped out of bed and rushed to the marsh with camera in hand, hoping to meet and photograph the colts. I was not disappointed. Two newly hatched chicks wobbled in wide-eyed wonder between their parent’s feet. I was overjoyed. The opportunity to photograph the cranes on the nest seldom occurs as the cranes most often select a more secluded location.

 As with all babies, I have hopes and dreams for their future. Among the most basic is that they survive a day, a week, and then fly off in the fall with their parents. However, being born is not a guarantee of survival. The colts face many dangers from land, sky, water, and weather. Yet, with that much stacked against them, their very survival seems miraculous. Beyond that, I hope they will be healthy, find mates, and build their own families. 

The Sandhill Crane colts receive names based on current events, behavior, or just on a whim. The colts of 2013 were named Rusty and Red due to their orangish-red coloration. Below, I have listed the names of all the cranes from past years. 

  • 2006 Roger & Lydia – The original nesting pair of Sandhill Cranes at the Lakehouse
  • 2007 Roger & Lydia – David 
  • 2008 Roger & Lydia – Bud and Diane
  • 2009 Lydia & Bud – Dori & Nemo (Neither survived)
  • 2009 Lydia & Bud – Chance & Rerun (Chance did not survive)
  • 2010 Lydia & Bud – Trip and Mayday 
  • 2011 Lydia & Bud – Corky and Cedar (Neither survived)
  • 2012 Lydia & Bud – Sherwood and Forest
  • 2013 Lydia & Bud – Rusty & Red
  • 2014 Lydia & Bud – Jut
  • 2015 Lydia & Bud – Stormy & Weather
  • 2016 Lydia & Bud – Spur & Moment (Spur did not survive)
  • 2017 Lydia & Bud – Roger Jr.
  • 2018 Lydia & Bud – Crystal & Jack Frost (Jack Frost did not survive)
  • 2019 Lydia & Bud – Hans & Solo (Neither survived & Lydia died)
  • 2020 Bud did not return after Lydia’s death
  • 2020 Rosebud & Billy (Crystal) – Lemon Meringue & Olivia (Olivia did not survive)
  • 2021 Rosebud & Billy (Crystal) – April May
  • 2022 Rosebud & Billy (Crystal) – WAITING!!!!!

Bud and Lydia would bring the colts to the yard daily. It is always fascinating to watch them grow from sleepy little walking birds to flying adult-sized ones when they leave in the fall. The babies are born about the size of a baseball and grow to be 3 1/2 to 4 feet tall. They lose their fluffy orange feathers and grow long brown feathers as the season progresses, much like their parents. 

The physical appearance of Sandhill Cranes is very similar. There is no remarkable difference between an adult male and female, and all the colts look the same. Identification of the birds then indeed relies upon behavior. In the case of the Cranes of the Lakehouse, Bud always took a step away when approached. Conversely, Lydia came toward me and often walked inches away. 

The colts, too, have distinct behaviors. Though I can’t know whether they are truly male or female, the colts display what we think of as masculine or feminine behaviors. For example, the more feminine bird sits on the ground while the more masculine leans back on its knees when resting. Additionally, when there are two colts, one walks with purpose flapping its tiny wings continuously. The other lazily wanders about and takes frequent naps. 

Having Sandhill Cranes in the yard is a mixed blessing. Their call is loud and shrill, often untimely, and could wake the proverbial dead. In addition, the cranes constantly forage for food with their long beaks. They create holes in the ground and uproot and toss aside any newly planted greenery. 

However, the antics of the Sandhill Cranes make the collateral damage tolerable. The colts, just like human children, pick fights with one another for no apparent reason. And, often, the parents express their frustration with them with a low chortle that says, you better behave. And, watching a colt eat its first grub is priceless. An adult will pass the insect from its beak to the colts. The colt will take the bug greedily but struggles as it swallows it whole. Once ingested, the grub is visible as it passes down the colt’s neck. When the live bug reaches the colt’s stomach, the colt will often squirm, shake, and run around aimlessly until it settles. 

Bud provided one of the most memorable Sandhill Crane moments during his first year. He was a lazy colt. While his sister, Diane, was athletic and flapped her wings continuously as she walked, Bud lagged, causing his parents much frustration. It was the first flight day for the colts, and Roger and Lydia called and danced with encouragement as Diane took to the air. Her lift off from the marsh, flight, and landing in the yard could not have been more perfect—all of her wing flapping while afoot paid off. 

Then it was Bud’s turn. Roger & Lydia again called and danced to celebrate Bud’s first flight. But, Bud was hesitant, and it became clear that he did not want to fly. Finally, he stumbled through takeoff, awkwardly flew twenty feet into the air, and stopped flapping his wings. Bud faceplanted in the muck of the marsh. Roger and Lydia flew to the yard to meet Diane. Thirty minutes later, Bud arrived by foot mud-covered and humiliated. 

Now it is March of 2022. Billy and Rosebud have returned from winter migration. They have danced, mated, and found a nest. The easy days of spring are nearly over. Once Rosebud lays eggs, each bird will take its turn at the nest as the other takes a break to eat and stretch its wings. Then, about thirty days later, one or two colts will hatch. I can barely wait!

I hope you will join the adventure that this season will bring. 

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Thank you…..Gail


Note: Hatchlings was originally written in 2013 as The Day The Cranes Are Born. This is an updated version of that post.

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© Gail Howarth and Living At The Lakehouse, 2022. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Gail Howarth and Living At The Lakehouse with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

 

A Time To Heal

A Time To Heal is a project that utilizes photography and words that share the journey of vastly different people. The views of the people that have participated may or may not be the same as mine or yours. Still, A Time To Heal intends to encourage constructive conversations related to difficult topics, such as the Covid-19 Pandemic, Racism, the LGBTQIA community, and more.

I am a child of the ’60s. I watched my parent’s reactions as the world as they knew it unraveled. My mother wept uncontrollably when President Kennedy was assassinated. I was only three, but the image of her sitting on the steps leading to our upstairs, face in her hands, and body shaking, is still vivid today. The civil rights movement was disturbing to my parents. Not because they were opposed, but because they did not understand why folks had to fight so hard to have the same rights as others. To them, people were people.

My father cursed at the television nightly. The topics varied but were most often related to draft dodgers, Vietnam War Protesters, Rock & Roll, Hippies, and the feminist movement. Later in life, my father admitted that he was wrong about Vietnam, draft dodgers, and parts of the feminist movement.

We learned as a nation that all things were possible when the first man walked upon the moon, yet feared a nuclear war with the Soviet Union to the point of encouraging citizens to build their bomb shelters in their homes. At school, children practiced duck and cover drills and given dog tags. The student name, address, and the letter P, C, or J. Religious affiliation, Protestant, Catholic, or Jewish was listed to ensure the proper burial of victims of a nuclear strike.

So what does the social revolution in the 1960s have to do with an artistic endeavor and exhibit in 2020? Absolutely everything. Peace, love, and unity filled the airwaves in the late 1960s. Pop songs such as All You Need Is Love, What The World Needs Now (is Love Sweet Love), and Get Together touched my heart. The lyrics, combined with my deep faith in God, led me to believe that love can heal all wounds. 

The United States is once again at a point of extreme unrest. We are more divided today than ever, and a social revolution has begun. When people feel unheard, marginalized, oppressed, or unsafe for long, revolution is inevitable. A Time To Heal will introduce viewers and readers to people they might never meet in their community. I hope that by getting to know one another, we can begin healing conversations that will peacefully close the chasm that divides us, and that one day we can honestly say, We The People, and genuinely mean it.

A Time to Heal, the exhibit, will be held at City Center Arts in Muskegon in late August and through September. I will post blogs chronicling the lives of participants and post the links on Facebook.


 

Interested in participating? Message me.

Gail is the owner of Lakehouse Photo LLC and The Gratitude Project By Lakehouse Photo LLC. Learn more about Gail, The Gratitude Project, and her photography at the sites listed below. Additionally, Gail’s photography can be purchased from Lakehousephoto.com, City Center Arts in Muskegon, http://citycenterarts.com/, NCCA-Artplace in Fremont, http://www.ncca-artsplace.org/ or directly from the artist. 

Photography Website: https://www.lakehousephoto.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/livingatlakehouse/

The Gratitude Project: http://gratitudebylakehouse.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/gratitude_by_lakehouse_photo/

2020© Gail Howarth, Living At The Lakehouse, and Lakehouse Photo. Unauthorized use or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Gail Howarth, Living At The Lakehouse, and The Gratitude Project By Lakehouse Photo, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Grace & Gratitude

Yesterday I was mad. Not just a little heated up, but over the top angry. And, the fact that I could not put my anger in its right place made me furious. Didn’t my anger know I had important things to do! 2020 is the year of Gratitude, and I have articles to write, plans to make, people to meet, photos to capture, and stories to gather. And didn’t my anger know that I am a woman of peace and love? My mission, no matter how lofty it seems, is to make this world a better place by uniting people with different ideas and belief systems.

The irony is that I was upset with an organization that has different ideas and belief system than my own.  Yes, please, let me have that anger with a large helping of humility. That stopped me dead in my tracks. I glanced in the mirror and did not like what I saw. I want to say that I took the high road, let go of my anger, and continued my journey to spread peace and love to all the nations. But I felt I justified in my rage. I was right, and they were wrong. I recounted all the years of feeling discounted, rejected, and judged by this group. No, despite the image in the mirror, I held onto my anger. After all, I earned the right to feel this way.

I spent my entire day wondering how I, an angry woman, could move forward with The Gratitude Project. How could I launch a project to encourage the building of bridges between communities when, in this circumstance, I was refusing to place the first plank or hammer the first nail?  Late in the evening, I found the answer. In an attempt to do something positive, I began to look at photographs that I had taken in the fall. Perhaps I could edit  a few images. The first picture I saw brought tears to my eyes and I felt a knowing in my heart. I was humbled for the second time of the day.

The photo was of a Maple Tree. I have always thought if love were a tree, it would be a Maple. They are big, tall, strong, and have branches that extend slightly upturned like arms to hold children just right when they climb upon them. The light honey-brown wood is stunning and often used in home construction. If that is not enough, they even feed us with their sugary sap. 

The Maple tree reminded me that we are all one. As I studied the image, I noticed first, the trunk, then branches, smaller branches, and finally the leaves. Each had a unique shape, color, and texture. The tree was magnificently complex and beautiful. My mind shifted and I began to think of the trunk of the tree as God, the branches as nations of people, breaking off into smaller and smaller groups, and finally, the leaves as individuals. Again, I thought, we are all one.

How is it then that my anger could possibly be justified? By withholding my love, forgiveness, and compassion from any group, I, in turn, withhold it from myself. I have been building and maintaining this wall of anger for over thirty years. Sadly, I only recently realized that it is not impacting the group that caused me pain. Instead, it has hurt the people I love the most and me. For that, I am truly sorry. 

So, to answer the question, how will I, an angry woman, go forward with The Gratitude Project? I will deconstruct the wall. It will take time. It will take practice. And, it will take an abundance of Grace and Gratitude.

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Authors Note: Would you or your organization (e.g., community group, retreat) like to participate in The Gratitude Project?  Please feel free to contact me at Gail@Lakehousecc.com.

Song of the Post: Amazing Grace (My Chains Are Gone) By BYU Noteworthy – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X6Mtpk4jeVA

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The Gratitude Project – https://lakehousecc.com/

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2019© Gail Howarth, Living At The Lakehouse, and The Gratitude Project By Lakehouse Photo. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Gail Howarth, Living At The Lakehouse, and The Gratitude Project By Lakehouse Photo, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Nature Knows – Moms, Kids, & Grief

Saying Goodbye to Hans

The Sandhill Cranes of the Lakehouse have had a tough year. The matriarch of the lake, Lydia, was injured early in the season. She was no longer able to defend her territory, be a suitable mate for Bud, or to care for her unhatched colts. In a strange twist, Crystal, Lydia’s colt from the previous summer stepped in as a replacement mother and mate to Bud. Lydia’s fate is currently unknown. She may be living on the fringe of the lake with the other unmated birds, or she may have died. Either way, her departure from the Lakehouse has been a devastating loss.

Crystal cared for the eggs as though they were her own, taking turns with Bud to keep them safe and warm. She has been a good and doting mother to this year’s colts, Hans and Solo. But as any mother knows, it only takes a moment for a child to step into danger. Hans did just that on Wednesday, May 29.

I could hear the horn of the passing car clearly from inside the Lakehouse. This happens from time to time. The cranes are, after all, birds and have very little sense about the dangers of the roadway. Most often, the cranes come away uninjured and unfazed by their close calls with passing vehicles. But in this instance, I felt quite certain that one or more of the birds were injured or killed. Bud & Crystal’s distress calls clearly communicated that a colt was seriously injured or dead. I searched for Hans along the roadside but found nothing. Perhaps I was wrong.

As the day passed, I watched the cranes closely. I saw Bud and Solo together in the bog, but not Crystal. I worried that Crystal, as a new mom, might have been unsettled enough by the event to abandon her new family. Or, maybe Hans was not gone and for some odd reason, Crystal was spending time alone with him. That, however, would be highly unusual. There is safety in numbers, and crane families stay together.

Around 8 pm, I heard Crystal knocking on the basement door. She normally does this to let me know that there is no bird seed on the ground. However, there was plenty, and there was no need for her to knock. She met me at the door and just stood there looking up at me intensely. I don’t know for sure what she wanted or what she was trying to tell me, but I believe she was sharing her loss. I said from my heart in my out loud voice, “I love you, Crystal, I know that Hans is likely gone, I am so very very sorry, I will miss him too. And, Crystal, I am so very proud of you. You did your best. You are a great mom.” She held my eyes with hers for some time. Tears fell as I focused on sending love from my heart to hers.

Thursday morning arrived, and no cranes came to the yard. I could still see Bud and Solo in the bog, but not Crystal. The afternoon passed, and then, the evening came. I could no longer accept Crystal’s absence. I had to find her. Perhaps I could see her more easily from the kayak. It did not take long to locate them. While I was saddened to see that Hans was indeed missing, I was relieved to see Bud, Crystal, & Solo together.

I was disheartened, but at peace. The remaining family was safe and together as a unit. For this, I was grateful. I paddled around the lake for a bit longer feeling my feelings, talking to God, and taking in the sights, and sounds of the lake.  As the sun began to set, I recorded and posted a video on Facebook sharing the sad news of Hans passing.

On my return to the dock, I noticed the cranes settling on their nest for the night. I called out to them, “Come back to the yard tomorrow, ok!” At that moment, I saw something that was not right. It was a patch of orange where it should not have been. My heart sank, and tears began to fall. Hans lifeless body lay below Crystal’s feet. She must have carried him from the roadway back to the nest. The mystery of her absence from the others was now solved. Crystal looked down at Hans and then at me with an expression that was not unfamiliar. It was, in fact, an expression I hoped never to see again as long as I lived.

Grief has its own timeline. It comes and goes without warning. Sometimes it lasts for minutes but often lingers for days or even months. Grief feels like a lonely Godless place. No one, absolutely no one can feel your pain. No one can bare it for you. And, God, where is God when every cell of your being aches for someone or something that is no longer here? With just one glance from a distraught bird, vivid images from my mother’s final days played out in my mind’s eye, and I plunged into the depths of grief. Grief makes no apologies. It is an opportunist that shamelessly marches in, sets up camp, and stays until the heart heals enough to send it packing.

Three days before my mother passed, she was standing in our kitchen getting ready to take her night time meds. Instead of opening one section of her pill minder, the entire lid came off and one week’s worth of pills scattered across the floor. She quickly got down on hands and knees and began picking them up. As suddenly as she started, she stopped and stood up. She was confused. She looked up at me and like small child opened her upturned fists to show me what she held. She said, “I don’t know what to do.” At that moment, my mother realized that the cancer in her brain was winning. Her eyes pleaded in the same way as Crystal’s. Both were saying, Help me, can you fix this, won’t you please fix this. I took the pills from my mother’s hands and then held her in my arms and rocked her gently as she wept. I said It’s ok, it’s my turn to take care of you now. When she stopped crying, I put her to bed.

What is a person to do when pleading eyes ask the impossible? What is a person to do when there is nothing to be done? I could not fix my mother’s failing brain or make the cancer go away. I could not bring Hans back to life. I could not give my mother or Crystal what they wanted. In that helpless, hopeless place, all one can do is show up. To bear witness to the other’s suffering and in some small way, help to carry the burden. I sat quietly in the kayak and held Crystal’s gaze until she looked away.

Grief is a Godless place, but it is often where we find the Divine. It is frequently in our darkest moments that we call on God to lead us out of suffering and into the light. It is the journey back from the despair experienced during grief that strengthens our relationship with God and heals our hearts. As for me, I am shaken, and my heart is badly bruised. But, I know that the grief will pass and that the sorrow will be replaced with gratitude.

This piece is dedicated to the memory of Harold and Lynnie Howarth, Lydia, and Hans.

My connection to nature is a direct gift from my parents. It is where I connect most often with them and is where I see God. Without my mother and father’s demonstration of love and reverence for nature, I would likely have never befriended a nesting pair of sandhill cranes. I am grateful beyond words for my folks. They were good people. I am grateful beyond words for the odd connection I have with these splendid birds.

Song of the Post: How Can I Help You Say Goodbye By Patty Loveless https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4F_cXGQN9k

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Thank you…..Gail


Other ways to follow or support me. 

Photography Sales Site: https://www.lakehousephoto.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/livingatlakehouse/

Etsy Shop: https://www.etsy.com/shop/LakehousePhotoStore

© Gail Howarth and Living At The Lakehouse, 2022. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Gail Howarth and Living At The Lakehouse with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

The Selfie

The Day I Invented The Selfie

It happened one day when I was up to no good! I was perhaps four or five years old. I had grown fascinated with a small black box, and the shiny silver cone shaped attachment that was capable of creating massive explosions of light. It seemed that whenever mother used the black box, it created quite a ruckus!  Laughter and excitement filled our home. I wasn’t sure what it did or how it worked, but I knew I had to find out what it was that made people so happy.

Mother stored the black box and all of its parts in a larger yellow brown cardboard box on a high shelf in her bedroom. I watched her time and again, as she sat on her bed and carefully replaced each part into its own special cutout within the box. I knew the shelf was too high for me to reach, but I was determined that one day when the moment was right, I would see and touch everything inside.

Opportunity literally knocked one day when a neighbor stopped in for coffee. While mother and our neighbor chatted and laughed in the kitchen, I snuck off to her bedroom. I, carefully and quietly, climbed up each of the shelves until I finally reached the box. With the coveted bounty clutched close to my chest, I cautiously lowered myself down the shelves.

I sat cross legged on mom’s bed with the box before me. Time stood still as I began my examination. First, I traced each of the red and white letters on the outside of the cardboard box. Though I could not understand at the time, the letters formed the words, Kodak Brownie Hawkeye. Then, I held my breath and slowly lifted the lid. My nose tingled as the slightly acrid chemical smell of film and burnt flash bulbs was released into the air. My heart raced as I lifted the black box from its cutout. My tiny hands explored every button, lever, circle, and even the leather strap. Next was the shiny cone shaped item. This part was not nearly as interesting as the first, so I quickly connected it to the black box, as I had seen mother do so often. I plucked a bulb from its holding place and admired the smooth surface. Then I placed it in the cone.

I was feeling quite satisfied with my accomplishment. I had successfully escaped my mother’s notice, climbed to an impossible height, captured the desire of my heart, studied and held it in my hands, when it occurred to me, I had forgotten one thing. What about the explosion of light? And what about that sizzling sound that accompanied the light? I lifted the black box once again, turned it toward myself, and started pushing buttons. Suddenly, the flash went off! I sat in a stunned blind silence. I feared I would never see again!  And that is when the wailing began. Of course, my mother and the neighbor rushed to the bedroom. Alas, my coup was discovered. I expected a lecture, but instead mom just held me and laughed. I suspect she thought that nearly blinding myself was punishment enough for my misdeeds.

This event is significant for a couple of reasons. First, it was the beginning of my career in photography. One would think that the experience would have discouraged me, but it did quite the opposite. Second, and most important, is that it was when I invented the Selfie! Though I understand that it took a good forty five to fifty years to catch on, I feel proud that I could so significantly contribute to this “new” genre of photography.

In all seriousness, this was the beginning of my fascination with the camera. The ability to freeze a singular moment in time is pure magic. My hope is to capture compelling images of beauty, love, joy, and of things long forgotten. My photography has been, and will continue to be, a work in progress. I would like to acknowledge and thank a few photographers for taking the time to teach and inspire me along the journey. They are: Master of Portrait Photography, Jennifer Praniewicz of Jenuine Creations; Master of Sunsets and East Coast Living, Helen Cogan of Helen Photography; Master of Portrait and Landscape Photography, Tammy Bair-Riner of Tammy Riner Photography; and last but not least, Master of Macro and Unique Perspective Photography, Roxie Coeling of PicturedRox.

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Thanks to Carmel Steffen for editing.

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For more of Gail’s Photos please consider:  http://www.lakehousephoto.com/

© Gail Howarth and Living At The Lakehouse, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Gail Howarth and Living At The Lakehouse with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Migration – Spring Is On Its Way

Spring Is On Its Way

Spring Is On Its Way

As I was waking, I heard the Blue Jays chattering outside my window this morning. Their conversation was markedly different from just a few short days ago. I lingered under the covers for some time, savoring the moment. After all, the noisy birds were announcing such good news. They celebrated the end of a relentless winter and proclaimed that spring would soon arrive. 

I began to think about Bud and Lydia, the nesting pair of Sandhill Cranes that reside in my backyard. I wondered how far they had traveled on their Northward journey and hoped they had not experienced any difficulties. I made an attempt to telepathically tell them not to rush home. Though the snow has begun to thaw, it is still deep enough that there will be little food available..

I pondered what wakes an animal from its winter slumber. Or, precisely what tells a bird to leave its warm, comfortable winter home in the South? To travel countless miles, often through brutal weather conditions, only to arrive in the less hospitable North, seems quite absurd. Yet, I would be tempted to disregard the internal niggling if it were me. I would, without thought, hit the snooze button! I would sleep a little longer or remain in the warmth of the Southern sun.

It occurred to me then! How often have I ignored my own internal knowing? How often have I hit the snooze button when something inside has told me to get up, get moving, or start anew? How often did I stay in the comfort of the sunshine when I knew I was being called to run through the cold rain? Too numerous to count, I am sure.

Spring is nearly here, and I can hardly wait. It is the season that inspires hope and encourages one to dream. It is time to plant seeds, nurture them, and watch them grow. It is the time that we are reminded to listen to our inner knowing and, like the migrating bird, move forward without reason or hesitation.

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Subscribe to my Youtube channel to learn more about the Sandhill Cranes of the Lakehouse at: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC4o5Xi8vzfl0Ed58uAPlXqw

Sign up to receive notice of new blog posts at the bottom of the page.  

Thank you…..Gail


Other ways to follow or support me. 

Photography Sales Site: https://www.lakehousephoto.com/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/livingatlakehouse/

Etsy Shop: https://www.etsy.com/shop/LakehousePhotoStore

© Gail Howarth and Living At The Lakehouse, 2022. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Gail Howarth and Living At The Lakehouse with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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For more photos consider:  http://www.lakehousephoto.com/

Bud & Lydia Meet Thin

Bud & Lydia Meet Thin

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