Being there

I've been here a dozen times at least, in all kinds of weather. Once, I happened to be here when the tribe's bison were all in a bunch on that hill on the horizon. I've not been so lucky since. 

But you've got to love this picture of the monument, in great part because it involves even the heavens. The image here--the monument itself--just wouldn't be the same if the sky were crystalline. 

The monument, on the Yankton Reservation, commemorates the 1858 Treaty and includes the names of a number of the signers, including Struck by the Ree, the most famous of the old Yankton headmen. 

Here's his grave--same day, same sky. It'd be a wholly different shot on a grey day, with a big orange dawn behind him, or yet another crystalline sky. Here, the tempestuousness of the sky is even more evident, or so it seems to me; but it's less ego driven. This sky doesn't make demands on the picture. On the treaty monument picture above, the rumbling sky isn't just backdrop but the story itself.

Yesterday, I was enlisted to take my grandson to the Omaha airport, the kind of job my family knows I'd covet if someone else did it. I packed the camera, thinking that maybe, just maybe.

I'd been to the Union Pacific Railroad Museum before--a nice place--but I thought I'd run back and look around a little. I did. Outside, it was a gorgeous day, the sun just above the treetops when I came out in old Council Bluffs. I thought it possible to get to DeSoto Wildlife Refuge before dark. 

The GPS told me the place would close before I got there, but I wasn't thinking of going into the building. I wanted to get a chance to take a shot or two of the Missouri River, and I knew that the Refuge took me right down to the banks.

One huge cloud spread itself over the sky, a massive tablecloth; but behind it, at the edge of the horizon, the sky was clear. It was not hard to see that real possibilities were there, the sun lighting up that cloud as if that tablecloth were afire once it emerged. 

I left I-29 at Missouri Valley, turned left toward DeSoto, the sun so bright I was afraid I'd miss the park entrance altogether.  In fact, I had to pull over on the right when I got to what I thought was the sign. There wasn't much traffic.

Photography is all about light and all about being there. I'm thrilled to say I was there when the light was a miracle. Look--

It's the same look as the Yankton monuments, but the foreground is even brighter because when a dusky sun is low atop the horizon, it picks up whatever dusty materials are in the air and turns everything gold. Late in the day, the sun is King Midas. 

What makes the picture attractive is the light and the time. I was there. You want good pictures, some experts say, you gotta be there. 

I wish I could say that it's my expert skills that sacked this shot. Nope. It's just that I took my grandson to the airport and figured, maybe--just maybe--I could take some pics of a million ducks and geese. I saw about a dozen, but who cares?--what I saw was a light show, a gorgeous display of heaven and earth.

What about the river? Didn't I think I could get a good shot or two of the river? Yes, and I did. The skies move quickly in hard winds like yesterday's, and the setting for a shot like the one above exists at best for only a couple of minutes.  Or less.

But down the road south from those miracle trees, the river flows up from the west and north, and while it took a little scrambling, I think I found a good spot to get some nice river shots. You judge:

They're not stunning, but they'll do to add to the Missouri River collection.  And this one may be the best--taken with my phone!!

Yesterday, the story was the sky. I mean, the river's always here. On some desolate, late morning, it'll be looking the same. It has no Sunday clothes. But the sky, King David says, the sky does the preaching--"the heavens declare. . ."