#adryseason

Instagram photos and videos

#adryseason#watershedstories#wildcountry#natgeo#writers#photographers#archaeology#explorer#engineering#myth#polynesian#easterisland#oceans#scuba#rivers#rapanui#moai#science#captaincook#carving#repost#backwoods#bears#sunbear#ozarks#littlebuffaloriver#arkansas#bearsofinstagram#new_haiga#bush#northernterritory

Hashtags #adryseason for Instagram

by @silcockmercia

Even though you may be going through a dry area in your life Know that in Christ you have Hope to bloom again because He suffered so that you may have life in abundance #bloom #adryseason #floweragain #renewedhope #hopefortoday #trustGod #seasonshavereasons


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by @luisserrano

#repost from @natgeo
photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — At that time of year the water ran high and from a boat you could spot trails made by gravid females as they hauled themselves up the riverbank to scratch nests in fresh mud. If you were daring or hungry or poor enough, the nests waited like prizes at the tops of those raw slick ruts—caches filled with 40, 50, 60 eggs, each a tiny universe of salt and protein. The best hunters worked in teams. Some of the boys dug into the nest while others watched for mother, who might return at any moment. It was hard to imagine, during those rushed raids, the one-ton potential of the creatures curled inside the eggs—to imagine those baby crocs hatching and growing huge on a diet of dogs and barramundi, haunting the rivers for a century. Easier to just fill a bucket and trade them in at a croc farm for a few bucks. Anyway you’d never see how they turned out—flensed and stretched into belts. You’d never wear the expensive boots made from bellies and tails. Hunger was your outfit, and so you scooped out the eggs and let the cash warm your pocket for a while. The rest of us, having forgotten the ancient nightmare—the one about being eaten alive—watch from safe distance. We stay in the boat, daydreaming of close calls, Crocodile Dundee and animal welfare. Not needing to risk all for an egg, we pay for reminders of how often we ended up lunch.

#australia #topend #northernterritory #outback #bush #outback #adelaideriver #saltwatercrocodile #crocodile #barramundi #rivers #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.

Cafe paris
1

by @johnsonrwegasila

— At that time of year the water ran high and from a boat you could spot trails made by gravid females as they hauled themselves up the riverbank to scratch nests in fresh mud. If you were daring or hungry or poor enough, the nests waited like prizes at the tops of those raw slick ruts—caches filled with 40, 50, 60 eggs, each a tiny universe of salt and protein. The best hunters worked in teams. Some of the boys dug into the nest while others watched for mother, who might return at any moment. It was hard to imagine, during those rushed raids, the one-ton potential of the creatures curled inside the eggs—to imagine those baby crocs hatching and growing huge on a diet of dogs and barramundi, haunting the rivers for a century. Easier to just fill a bucket and trade them in at a croc farm for a few bucks. Anyway you’d never see how they turned out—flensed and stretched into belts. You’d never wear the expensive boots made from bellies and tails. Hunger was your outfit, and so you scooped out the eggs and let the cash warm your pocket for a while. The rest of us, having forgotten the ancient nightmare—the one about being eaten alive—watch from safe distance. We stay in the boat, daydreaming of close calls, Crocodile Dundee and animal welfare. Not needing to risk all for an egg, we pay for reminders of how often we ended up lunch.

#australia #topend #northernterritory #outback #bush #outback #adelaideriver #saltwatercrocodile #crocodile #barramundi #rivers #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


2

by @natgeo

photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — At that time of year the water ran high and from a boat you could spot trails made by gravid females as they hauled themselves up the riverbank to scratch nests in fresh mud. If you were daring or hungry or poor enough, the nests waited like prizes at the tops of those raw slick ruts—caches filled with 40, 50, 60 eggs, each a tiny universe of salt and protein. The best hunters worked in teams. Some of the boys dug into the nest while others watched for mother, who might return at any moment. It was hard to imagine, during those rushed raids, the one-ton potential of the creatures curled inside the eggs—to imagine those baby crocs hatching and growing huge on a diet of dogs and barramundi, haunting the rivers for a century. Easier to just fill a bucket and trade them in at a croc farm for a few bucks. Anyway you’d never see how they turned out—flensed and stretched into belts. You’d never wear the expensive boots made from bellies and tails. Hunger was your outfit, and so you scooped out the eggs and let the cash warm your pocket for a while. The rest of us, having forgotten the ancient nightmare—the one about being eaten alive—watch from safe distance. We stay in the boat, daydreaming of close calls, Crocodile Dundee and animal welfare. Not needing to risk all for an egg, we pay for reminders of how often we ended up lunch.

#australia #topend #northernterritory #outback #bush #outback #adelaideriver #saltwatercrocodile #crocodile #barramundi #rivers #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


745

by @queen_of_contrast

The trees are turning yellow...it’s only July😓😔🙁😨May the forecasted ⛈ ⚡️actually come tomorrow...
#adryseason #drought #rainplease #enoughalready #heat

Järtas Park
1

by @best_photo_society

Photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — At that time of year the water ran high and from a boat you could spot trails made by gravid females as they hauled themselves up the riverbank to scratch nests in fresh mud. If you were daring or hungry or poor enough, the nests waited like prizes at the tops of those raw slick ruts—caches filled with 40, 50, 60 eggs, each a tiny universe of salt and protein. The best hunters worked in teams. Some of the boys dug into the nest while others watched for mother, who might return at any moment. It was hard to imagine, during those rushed raids, the one-ton potential of the creatures curled inside the eggs—to imagine those baby crocs hatching and growing huge on a diet of dogs and barramundi, haunting the rivers for a century. Easier to just fill a bucket and trade them in at a croc farm for a few bucks. Anyway you’d never see how they turned out—flensed and stretched into belts. You’d never wear the expensive boots made from bellies and tails. Hunger was your outfit, and so you scooped out the eggs and let the cash warm your pocket for a while. The rest of us, having forgotten the ancient nightmare—the one about being eaten alive—watch from safe distance. We stay in the boat, daydreaming of close calls, Crocodile Dundee and animal welfare. Not needing to risk all for an egg, we pay for reminders of how often we ended up lunch.

#australia #topend #northernterritory #outback #bush #outback #adelaideriver #saltwatercrocodile #crocodile #barramundi #rivers #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


1

by @thephotosociety

Photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — At that time of year the water ran high and from a boat you could spot trails made by gravid females as they hauled themselves up the riverbank to scratch nests in fresh mud. If you were daring or hungry or poor enough, the nests waited like prizes at the tops of those raw slick ruts—caches filled with 40, 50, 60 eggs, each a tiny universe of salt and protein. The best hunters worked in teams. Some of the boys dug into the nest while others watched for mother, who might return at any moment. It was hard to imagine, during those rushed raids, the one-ton potential of the creatures curled inside the eggs—to imagine those baby crocs hatching and growing huge on a diet of dogs and barramundi, haunting the rivers for a century. Easier to just fill a bucket and trade them in at a croc farm for a few bucks. Anyway you’d never see how they turned out—flensed and stretched into belts. You’d never wear the expensive boots made from bellies and tails. Hunger was your outfit, and so you scooped out the eggs and let the cash warm your pocket for a while. The rest of us, having forgotten the ancient nightmare—the one about being eaten alive—watch from safe distance. We stay in the boat, daydreaming of close calls, Crocodile Dundee and animal welfare. Not needing to risk all for an egg, we pay for reminders of how often we ended up lunch.

#australia #topend #northernterritory #outback #bush #outback #adelaideriver #saltwatercrocodile #crocodile #barramundi #rivers #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


51

by @timcoxfineart

"A couple of years back, I was helping a ranch gather a group of older cattle to sell. The rains hadn’t come and the pastures were dry. It was in the early hours of the day when the light is low and the colors warm. The backlit dust helped creat a mood that inspired me to try and capture it on canvas." ~ Tim Cox ~
“A Dry Season” by @timcoxfineart
20” X 30” Oil
$25,000 ORIGINAL Sold by draw

Tim will also have a 24" X 48" painting - "God's Gift To Man" with rays of what we call God Light and a guy bringing in about 50 head of horses. I don’t have pricing on it yet.

Prix de West Show
June 8th & 9th, 2018
National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum ~ Oklahoma City
#ADrySeason. #timcoxfineart #cowboyart #PrixDeWest. #cattle. #sunrise #ranchhorses #hereford


10

by @neilshea13

photos by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — At that time of year the water ran high and from a boat you could spot trails made by gravid females as they hauled themselves up the riverbank to scratch nests in fresh mud. If you were daring or hungry or poor enough, the nests waited like prizes at the tops of those raw slick ruts—caches filled with 40, 50, 60 eggs, each a tiny universe of salt and protein. The best hunters worked in teams. Some of the boys dug into the nest while others watched for mother, who might return at any moment. It was hard to imagine, during those raids, the one-ton potential of the creatures curled inside the eggs—to imagine those baby crocs hatching and growing huge on a diet of dogs and barramundi, haunting the rivers for a century. Easier to just fill a bucket and trade them in at a croc farm for a few bucks. Anyway you’d never see how they turned out—flensed and stretched into belts. You’d never wear the expensive boots made from bellies and tails. Hunger was your outfit, and so you scooped out the eggs and let the cash warm your pocket for a while. The rest of us, having forgotten the ancient nightmare—the one about being eaten alive—watch from safe distance. We stay in the boat, daydreaming of close calls, Crocodile Dundee and animal welfare. Not needing to risk all for an egg, we pay for reminders of how often we ended up lunch.

#australia #topend #northernterritory #outback #bush #outback #adelaideriver #saltwatercrocodile #crocodile #barramundi #rivers #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


28

by @randyolson

photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — Listen to locals on Easter Island and they’ll tell you the big statues once walked—loped out of the quarry and over the treeless hills to set themselves up on dark stone pedestals near the shore or plant themselves, backs to the sea, farther inland. It’s a good story and true, but if it does not answer your questions then archaeologists will offer another, one of earthly forces, friction and gravity, ropes and logs. Teams of men and maybe women who tipped, wobbled and pulled nearly 900 moai across the landscape to anchor the sky to earth and the ancestors to their children. This also is a good, true story. So, which will it be? Magic or data, faith or muscle? Both have their attractions. Both deliver you into a world that Europeans glimpsed only for a moment before it vanished. You could choose the middle ground, somewhere between a stroll and a drag, but these days almost nobody lasts very long in there. Take your time deciding, then. There’s really no wrong answer. In the meantime, I feel compelled to mention that this moai—sunken, surrounded by divers—is fake. Yeah. It’s concrete. Cast onshore and then dumped, not so long ago, into the sea. I’m sorry. I wanted it to be real, too—this figure, alone, walking out beyond the others. It would have been the best story of all.

@thephotosociety @natgeocreative, #easterisland #rapanui #polynesian #moai #captaincook #oceans #science #myth #archaeology #carving #engineering #wildcountry #explorer #scuba #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


56

by @natgeoocean

photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — Listen to locals on Easter Island and they’ll tell you the big statues once walked—loped out of the quarry and over the treeless hills to set themselves up on dark stone pedestals near the shore or plant themselves, backs to the sea, farther inland. It’s a good story and true, but if it does not answer your questions then archaeologists will offer another, one of earthly forces, friction and gravity, ropes and logs. Teams of men and maybe women who tipped, wobbled and pulled nearly 900 moai across the landscape to anchor the sky to earth and the ancestors to their children. This also is a good, true story. So, which will it be? Magic or data, faith or muscle? Both have their attractions. Both deliver you into a world that Europeans glimpsed only for a moment before it vanished. You could choose the middle ground, somewhere between a stroll and a drag, but these days almost nobody lasts very long in there. Take your time deciding, then. There’s really no wrong answer. In the meantime, I feel compelled to mention that this moai—sunken, surrounded by divers—is fake. Yeah. It’s concrete. Cast onshore and then dumped, not so long ago, into the sea. I’m sorry. I wanted it to be real, too—this figure, alone, walking out beyond the others. It would have been the best story of all.

@thephotosociety @natgeocreative #easterisland #rapanui #polynesian #moai #captaincook #oceans #science #myth #archaeology #carving #engineering #wildcountry #explorer #scuba #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.

Easter Island
5

by @_theuniverse8

#Repost @natgeo (@get_repost)
・・・
photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — Listen to locals on Easter Island and they’ll tell you the big statues once walked—loped out of the quarry and over the treeless hills to set themselves up on dark stone pedestals near the shore or plant themselves, backs to the sea, farther inland. It’s a good story and true, but if it does not answer your questions then archaeologists will offer another, one of earthly forces, friction and gravity, ropes and logs. Teams of men and maybe women who tipped, wobbled and pulled nearly 900 moai across the landscape to anchor the sky to earth and the ancestors to their children. This also is a good, true story. So, which will it be? Magic or data, faith or muscle? Both have their attractions. Both deliver you into a world that Europeans glimpsed only for a moment before it vanished. You could choose the middle ground, somewhere between a stroll and a drag, but these days almost nobody lasts very long in there. Take your time deciding, then. There’s really no wrong answer. In the meantime, I feel compelled to mention that this moai—sunken, surrounded by divers—is fake. Yeah. It’s concrete. Cast onshore and then dumped, not so long ago, into the sea. I’m sorry. I wanted it to be real, too—this figure, alone, walking out beyond the others. It would have been the best story of all.

@thephotosociety @natgeocreative #easterisland #rapanui #polynesian #moai #captaincook #oceans #science #myth #archaeology #carving #engineering #wildcountry #explorer #scuba #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


0

by @a.beautiful.canada

photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — Listen to locals on Easter Island and they’ll tell you the big statues once walked—loped out of the quarry and over the treeless hills to set themselves up on dark stone pedestals near the shore or plant themselves, backs to the sea, farther inland. It’s a good story and true, but if it does not answer your questions then archaeologists will offer another, one of earthly forces, friction and gravity, ropes and logs. Teams of men and maybe women who tipped, wobbled and pulled nearly 900 moai across the landscape to anchor the sky to earth and the ancestors to their children. This also is a good, true story. So, which will it be? Magic or data, faith or muscle? Both have their attractions. Both deliver you into a world that Europeans glimpsed only for a moment before it vanished. You could choose the middle ground, somewhere between a stroll and a drag, but these days almost nobody lasts very long in there. Take your time deciding, then. There’s really no wrong answer. In the meantime, I feel compelled to mention that this moai—sunken, surrounded by divers—is fake. Yeah. It’s concrete. Cast onshore and then dumped, not so long ago, into the sea. I’m sorry. I wanted it to be real, too—this figure, alone, walking out beyond the others. It would have been the best story of all.

@thephotosociety @natgeocreative #easterisland #rapanui #polynesian #moai #captaincook #oceans #science #myth #archaeology #carving #engineering #wildcountry #explorer #scuba #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


0

by @arakenfranca

#Repost @natgeo
・・・
photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — Listen to locals on Easter Island and they’ll tell you the big statues once walked—loped out of the quarry and over the treeless hills to set themselves up on dark stone pedestals near the shore or plant themselves, backs to the sea, farther inland. It’s a good story and true, but if it does not answer your questions then archaeologists will offer another, one of earthly forces, friction and gravity, ropes and logs. Teams of men and maybe women who tipped, wobbled and pulled nearly 900 moai across the landscape to anchor the sky to earth and the ancestors to their children. This also is a good, true story. So, which will it be? Magic or data, faith or muscle? Both have their attractions. Both deliver you into a world that Europeans glimpsed only for a moment before it vanished. You could choose the middle ground, somewhere between a stroll and a drag, but these days almost nobody lasts very long in there. Take your time deciding, then. There’s really no wrong answer. In the meantime, I feel compelled to mention that this moai—sunken, surrounded by divers—is fake. Yeah. It’s concrete. Cast onshore and then dumped, not so long ago, into the sea. I’m sorry. I wanted it to be real, too—this figure, alone, walking out beyond the others. It would have been the best story of all.

@thephotosociety @natgeocreative #easterisland #rapanui #polynesian #moai #captaincook #oceans #science #myth #archaeology #carving #engineering #wildcountry #explorer #scuba #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


0

by @expatintheuae

Listen to locals on Easter Island and they’ll tell you the big statues once walked—loped out of the quarry and over the treeless hills to set themselves up on dark stone pedestals near the shore or plant themselves, backs to the sea, farther inland. It’s a good story and true, but if it does not answer your questions then archaeologists will offer another, one of earthly forces, friction and gravity, ropes and logs. Teams of men and maybe women who tipped, wobbled and pulled nearly 900 moai across the landscape to anchor the sky to earth and the ancestors to their children. This also is a good, true story. So, which will it be? Magic or data, faith or muscle? Both have their attractions. Both deliver you into a world that Europeans glimpsed only for a moment before it vanished. You could choose the middle ground, somewhere between a stroll and a drag, but these days almost nobody lasts very long in there. Take your time deciding, then. There’s really no wrong answer. In the meantime, I feel compelled to mention that this moai—sunken, surrounded by divers—is fake. Yeah. It’s concrete. Cast onshore and then dumped, not so long ago, into the sea. I’m sorry. I wanted it to be real, too—this figure, alone, walking out beyond the others. It would have been the best story of all.

@thephotosociety @natgeocreative #easterisland #rapanui #polynesian #moai #captaincook #oceans #science #myth #archaeology #carving #engineering #wildcountry #explorer #scuba #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.
#Repost @natgeo photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 #expatintheuae


1

by @neilshea13

photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — Listen to locals on Easter Island and they’ll tell you the big statues once walked—loped out of the quarry and over the treeless hills to set themselves up on dark stone pedestals near the shore or plant themselves, backs to the sea, farther inland. It’s a good story and true, but if it does not answer your questions then archaeologists will offer another, one of earthly forces, friction and gravity, ropes and logs. Teams of men and maybe women who tipped, wobbled and pulled nearly 900 moai across the landscape to anchor the sky to earth and the ancestors to their children. This also is a good, true story. So, which will it be? Magic or data, faith or muscle? Both have their attractions. Both deliver you into a world that Europeans glimpsed only for a moment before it vanished. You could choose the middle ground, somewhere between a stroll and a drag, but these days nobody lasts very long in there. Take your time deciding, then. There’s really no wrong answer. In the meantime, I feel compelled to mention that this moai—sunken, surrounded by divers—is fake. Yeah. It’s concrete. Cast onshore and then dumped, not so long ago, into the sea. I’m sorry. I wanted it to be real, too—this figure, alone, walking out beyond the others. It would have been the best story of all.

#chile #easterisland #rapanui #polynesian #moai #captaincook #oceans #science #myth #archaeology #carving #engineering #wildcountry #explorer #scuba #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories #remulon

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


36

by @gregletson_personal

📷 @randyolson | words by @neilshea13
When you arrive to Easter Island and if you listen closely the locals will tell you that the big statues, the moai, walked to their places without human help—loped out of the quarry and over the treeless hills and set themselves up on dark stone pedestals near the shore or planted themselves, backs to the sea, farther inland. It’s a good story, though you may already be trained to disregard it. In that case archaeologists will offer another, one of earthly forces, friction and gravity, ropes and logs. Teams of men and maybe women who pushed, tipped, and pulled nearly 900 moai across the landscape and wrestled them into position. This too is a good story. So, which will it be? Magic or data? Faith or muscle? Both have their attractions. Both deliver you into an ancient world that Europeans glimpsed only for a moment before it vanished. Take your time deciding. There’s really no wrong answer. The mysteries of Rapa Nui will be preserved. In the meantime I feel compelled to mention that this particular moai is fake. Yeah. It’s concrete, dumped into the sea not that long ago for the benefit of scuba divers. I’m sorry, I wanted it to be real, too. The idea that this one, alone, walked out beyond the others.

#easterisland #rapanui #polynesian #moai #captaincook #oceans #science #myth #archaeology #engineering #wildcountry #explorer #scuba #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories @thephotosociety @natgeocreative

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.

via @thephotosociety


1

by @thephotosociety

Photos by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — When you arrive to Easter Island and if you listen closely the locals will tell you that the big statues, the moai, walked to their places without human help—loped out of the quarry and over the treeless hills and set themselves up on dark stone pedestals near the shore or planted themselves, backs to the sea, farther inland. It’s a good story, though you may already be trained to disregard it. In that case archaeologists will offer another, one of earthly forces, friction and gravity, ropes and logs. Teams of men and maybe women who pushed, tipped, and pulled nearly 900 moai across the landscape and wrestled them into position. This too is a good story. So, which will it be? Magic or data? Faith or muscle? Both have their attractions. Both deliver you into an ancient world that Europeans glimpsed only for a moment before it vanished. Take your time deciding. There’s really no wrong answer. The mysteries of Rapa Nui will be preserved. In the meantime I feel compelled to mention that this particular moai is fake. Yeah. It’s concrete, dumped into the sea not that long ago for the benefit of scuba divers. I’m sorry, I wanted it to be real, too. The idea that this one, alone, walked out beyond the others.

#easterisland #rapanui #polynesian #moai #captaincook #oceans #science #myth #archaeology #engineering #wildcountry #explorer #scuba #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories @thephotosociety @natgeocreative

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning


88

by @turnzeworld

#Repost @natgeo
・・・
photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — Listen to locals on Easter Island and they’ll tell you the big statues once walked—loped out of the quarry and over the treeless hills to set themselves up on dark stone pedestals near the shore or plant themselves, backs to the sea, farther inland. It’s a good story and true, but if it does not answer your questions then archaeologists will offer another, one of earthly forces, friction and gravity, ropes and logs. Teams of men and maybe women who tipped, wobbled and pulled nearly 900 moai across the landscape to anchor the sky to earth and the ancestors to their children. This also is a good, true story. So, which will it be? Magic or data, faith or muscle? Both have their attractions. Both deliver you into a world that Europeans glimpsed only for a moment before it vanished. You could choose the middle ground, somewhere between a stroll and a drag, but these days almost nobody lasts very long in there. Take your time deciding, then. There’s really no wrong answer. In the meantime, I feel compelled to mention that this moai—sunken, surrounded by divers—is fake. Yeah. It’s concrete. Cast onshore and then dumped, not so long ago, into the sea. I’m sorry. I wanted it to be real, too—this figure, alone, walking out beyond the others. It would have been the best story of all.
#easterisland #rapanui #polynesian #moai #captaincook #oceans #science #myth #archaeology #carving #engineering #wildcountry #explorer #scuba #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories


0

by @intip_cori

#Repost @natgeo with @get_repost
・・・
photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — Listen to locals on Easter Island and they’ll tell you the big statues once walked—loped out of the quarry and over the treeless hills to set themselves up on dark stone pedestals near the shore or plant themselves, backs to the sea, farther inland. It’s a good story and true, but if it does not answer your questions then archaeologists will offer another, one of earthly forces, friction and gravity, ropes and logs. Teams of men and maybe women who tipped, wobbled and pulled nearly 900 moai across the landscape to anchor the sky to earth and the ancestors to their children. This also is a good, true story. So, which will it be? Magic or data, faith or muscle? Both have their attractions. Both deliver you into a world that Europeans glimpsed only for a moment before it vanished. You could choose the middle ground, somewhere between a stroll and a drag, but these days almost nobody lasts very long in there. Take your time deciding, then. There’s really no wrong answer. In the meantime, I feel compelled to mention that this moai—sunken, surrounded by divers—is fake. Yeah. It’s concrete. Cast onshore and then dumped, not so long ago, into the sea. I’m sorry. I wanted it to be real, too—this figure, alone, walking out beyond the others. It would have been the best story of all.

@thephotosociety @natgeocreative #easterisland #rapanui #polynesian #moai #captaincook #oceans #science #myth #archaeology #carving #engineering #wildcountry #explorer #scuba #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


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by @krysbatts

Photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — Listen to locals on Easter Island and they’ll tell you the big statues once walked—loped out of the quarry and over the treeless hills to set themselves up on dark stone pedestals near the shore or plant themselves, backs to the sea, farther inland. It’s a good story and true, but if it does not answer your questions then archaeologists will offer another, one of earthly forces, friction and gravity, ropes and logs. Teams of men and maybe women who tipped, wobbled and pulled nearly 900 moai across the landscape to anchor the sky to earth and the ancestors to their children. This also is a good, true story. So, which will it be? Magic or data, faith or muscle? Both have their attractions. Both deliver you into a world that Europeans glimpsed only for a moment before it vanished. You could choose the middle ground, somewhere between a stroll and a drag, but these days almost nobody lasts very long in there. Take your time deciding, then. There’s really no wrong answer. In the meantime, I feel compelled to mention that this moai—sunken, surrounded by divers—is fake. Yeah. It’s concrete. Cast onshore and then dumped, not so long ago, into the sea. I’m sorry. I wanted it to be real, too—this figure, alone, walking out beyond the others. It would have been the best story of all.

@thephotosociety @natgeocreative #easterisland #rapanui #polynesian #moai #captaincook #oceans #science #myth #archaeology #carving #engineering #wildcountry #explorer #scuba #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


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by @natgeo

photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — Listen to locals on Easter Island and they’ll tell you the big statues once walked—loped out of the quarry and over the treeless hills to set themselves up on dark stone pedestals near the shore or plant themselves, backs to the sea, farther inland. It’s a good story and true, but if it does not answer your questions then archaeologists will offer another, one of earthly forces, friction and gravity, ropes and logs. Teams of men and maybe women who tipped, wobbled and pulled nearly 900 moai across the landscape to anchor the sky to earth and the ancestors to their children. This also is a good, true story. So, which will it be? Magic or data, faith or muscle? Both have their attractions. Both deliver you into a world that Europeans glimpsed only for a moment before it vanished. You could choose the middle ground, somewhere between a stroll and a drag, but these days almost nobody lasts very long in there. Take your time deciding, then. There’s really no wrong answer. In the meantime, I feel compelled to mention that this moai—sunken, surrounded by divers—is fake. Yeah. It’s concrete. Cast onshore and then dumped, not so long ago, into the sea. I’m sorry. I wanted it to be real, too—this figure, alone, walking out beyond the others. It would have been the best story of all.

@thephotosociety @natgeocreative #easterisland #rapanui #polynesian #moai #captaincook #oceans #science #myth #archaeology #carving #engineering #wildcountry #explorer #scuba #natgeo #photographers #writers #adryseason #watershedstories

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


2,365

by @randyolson

photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — Larry said he did it all the time, walked Cocoa down a path behind the general store to the river and let him play. Nobody paid much mind. Normal to hear them crashing through the water, wrestling, like brothers. The guy who’d owned the store previously kept pit bulls, loud and mean, awful things, and so Cocoa was an improvement even if people had never seen such a creature before in the Ozarks. Larry called him a cinnamon bear, though the chest stripe suggested a land far more exotic, and in the mornings you’d find him sitting on the bench swing outside the store, straight-backed, folded paws, just another customer waiting for Larry to open shop. Imagine that—You come over early looking for coffee and find Cocoa, silent and watchful, like you hadn’t yet come all the way up from a dream. Larry kept him on a chain most of the time and used the stick not for hurting but for guiding. Suggesting. Keeping a little distance. On this day, though, the play turned bad and Cocoa ended up on top of Larry, pinning him to the bottom of the Little Buffalo, watching his air go. It was a great game—all those bubbles, the little arms flailing, the lousy stick floating downstream. When Cocoa finally let off, Larry slowly rose and stood there in the water, half-drowned and drooling. Eventually the two dripped back toward shore. There were chores ahead, customers waiting. Day was getting hot. Who knows what had passed between them or where things went from there.

#arkansas #ozarks #littlebuffaloriver #bears #sunbear #bearsofinstagram #rivers #adryseason #watershedstories #new_haiga #wildcountry #backwoods @natgeo @natgeocreative @thephotosociety
Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


122

by @thephotosociety

Photos by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — Larry said he did it all the time, walked Cocoa down a path behind the general store to the river and let him play. Nobody paid much mind. Normal to hear them crashing through the water, wrestling, like brothers. The guy who’d owned the store previously kept pit bulls, loud and mean, awful things, and so Cocoa was an improvement even if people had never seen such a creature before in the Ozarks. Larry called him a cinnamon bear, though the chest stripe suggested a land far more exotic, and in the mornings you’d find him sitting on the bench swing outside the store, straight-backed, folded paws, just another customer waiting for Larry to open shop. Imagine that—You come over early looking for coffee and find Cocoa, silent and watchful, like you hadn’t yet come all the way up from a dream. Larry kept him on a chain most of the time and used the stick not for hurting but for guiding. Suggesting. Keeping a little distance. On this day, though, the play turned bad and Cocoa ended up on top of Larry, pinning him to the bottom of the Little Buffalo, watching his air go. It was a great game—all those bubbles, the little arms flailing, the lousy stick floating downstream. When Cocoa finally let off, Larry slowly rose and stood there in the water, half-drowned and drooling. Eventually the two dripped back toward shore. There were chores ahead, customers waiting. Day was getting hot. Who knows what had passed between them or where things went from there.

#arkansas #ozarks #littlebuffaloriver #bears #sunbear #bearsofinstagram #rivers #adryseason #watershedstories #new_haiga #wildcountry #backwoods @natgeo @natgeocreative

Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


168

by @offtima

#Repost @natgeo (@get_repost)
・・・
photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — Larry said he did it all the time, walked Coco down a path behind the general store to the river and let him play. Nobody paid much mind. Normal to hear them crashing through the water, wrestling, like brothers. The guy who’d owned the store previously kept pit bulls, loud and mean, awful things, and so Coco was an improvement even if people had never seen such a creature before in the Ozarks. Larry called him a cinnamon bear, though the chest stripe suggested a land far more exotic, and in the mornings you’d find him sitting on the bench swing outside the store, straight-backed, folded paws, just another customer waiting for Larry to open shop. Imagine that—You come over early looking for coffee and find Coco, silent and watchful, like you hadn’t yet come all the way up from a dream. Larry kept him on a chain most of the time and used the stick not for hurting but for guiding. Suggesting. Keeping a little distance. On this day, though, the play turned bad and Coco ended up on top of Larry, pinning him to the bottom of the Little Buffalo, watching his air go. It was a great game—all those bubbles, the little arms flailing, the lousy stick floating downstream. When Coco finally let off, Larry slowly rose and stood there in the water, half-drowned and drooling. Eventually the two dripped back toward shore. There were chores ahead, customers waiting. Day was getting hot. Who knows what had passed between them or where things went from there.

#arkansas #ozarks #littlebuffaloriver #bears #sunbear #bearsofinstagram #rivers #adryseason #watershedstories #new_haiga #wildcountry #backwoods @thephotosociety
Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


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by @environment.friendly

#Repost @natgeo (@get_repost)
・・・
photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — Larry said he did it all the time, walked Coco down a path behind the general store to the river and let him play. Nobody paid much mind. Normal to hear them crashing through the water, wrestling, like brothers. The guy who’d owned the store previously kept pit bulls, loud and mean, awful things, and so Coco was an improvement even if people had never seen such a creature before in the Ozarks. Larry called him a cinnamon bear, though the chest stripe suggested a land far more exotic, and in the mornings you’d find him sitting on the bench swing outside the store, straight-backed, folded paws, just another customer waiting for Larry to open shop. Imagine that—You come over early looking for coffee and find Coco, silent and watchful, like you hadn’t yet come all the way up from a dream. Larry kept him on a chain most of the time and used the stick not for hurting but for guiding. Suggesting. Keeping a little distance. On this day, though, the play turned bad and Coco ended up on top of Larry, pinning him to the bottom of the Little Buffalo, watching his air go. It was a great game—all those bubbles, the little arms flailing, the lousy stick floating downstream. When Coco finally let off, Larry slowly rose and stood there in the water, half-drowned and drooling. Eventually the two dripped back toward shore. There were chores ahead, customers waiting. Day was getting hot. Who knows what had passed between them or where things went from there.

#arkansas #ozarks #littlebuffaloriver #bears #sunbear #bearsofinstagram #rivers #adryseason #watershedstories #new_haiga #wildcountry #backwoods @thephotosociety
Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


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by @elvice_urio

@natgeo photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — Larry said he did it all the time, walked Coco down a path behind the general store to the river and let him play. Nobody paid much mind. Normal to hear them crashing through the water, wrestling, like brothers. The guy who’d owned the store previously kept pit bulls, loud and mean, awful things, and so Coco was an improvement even if people had never seen such a creature before in the Ozarks. Larry called him a cinnamon bear, though the chest stripe suggested a land far more exotic, and in the mornings you’d find him sitting on the bench swing outside the store, straight-backed, folded paws, just another customer waiting for Larry to open shop. Imagine that—You come over early looking for coffee and find Coco, silent and watchful, like you hadn’t yet come all the way up from a dream. Larry kept him on a chain most of the time and used the stick not for hurting but for guiding. Suggesting. Keeping a little distance. On this day, though, the play turned bad and Coco ended up on top of Larry, pinning him to the bottom of the Little Buffalo, watching his air go. It was a great game—all those bubbles, the little arms flailing, the lousy stick floating downstream. When Coco finally let off, Larry slowly rose and stood there in the water, half-drowned and drooling. Eventually the two dripped back toward shore. There were chores ahead, customers waiting. Day was getting hot. Who knows what had passed between them or where things went from there.

#arkansas #ozarks #littlebuffaloriver #bears #sunbear #bearsofinstagram #rivers #adryseason #watershedstories #new_haiga #wildcountry #backwoods @thephotosociety
Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


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by @near_contest

photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — Larry said he did it all the time, walked Cocoa down a path behind the general store to the river and let him play. Nobody paid much mind. Normal to hear them crashing through the water, wrestling, like brothers. The guy who’d owned the store previously kept pit bulls, loud and mean, awful things, and so Cocoa was an improvement even if people had never seen such a creature before in the Ozarks. Larry called him a cinnamon bear, though the chest stripe suggested a land far more exotic, and in the mornings you’d find him sitting on the bench swing outside the store, straight-backed, folded paws, just another customer waiting for Larry to open shop. Imagine that—You come over early looking for coffee and find Cocoa, silent and watchful, like you hadn’t yet come all the way up from a dream. Larry kept him on a chain most of the time and used the stick not for hurting but for guiding. Suggesting. Keeping a little distance. On this day, though, the play turned bad and Cocoa ended up on top of Larry, pinning him to the bottom of the Little Buffalo, watching his air go. It was a great game—all those bubbles, the little arms flailing, the lousy stick floating downstream. When Cocoa finally let off, Larry slowly rose and stood there in the water, half-drowned and drooling. Eventually the two dripped back toward shore. There were chores ahead, customers waiting. Day was getting hot. Who knows what had passed between them or where things went from there.

#arkansas #ozarks #littlebuffaloriver #bears #sunbear #bearsofinstagram #rivers #adryseason #watershedstories #new_haiga #wildcountry #backwoods @thephotosociety
Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning.


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by @morgan_drums

#Repost from @natgeo by @quicksave.app
・・・
photo by @randyolson | words by @neilshea13 — Larry said he did it all the time, walked Cocoa down a path behind the general store to the river and let him play. Nobody paid much mind. Normal to hear them crashing through the water, wrestling, like brothers. The guy who’d owned the store previously kept pit bulls, loud and mean, awful things, and so Cocoa was an improvement even if people had never seen such a creature before in the Ozarks. Larry called him a cinnamon bear, though the chest stripe suggested a land far more exotic, and in the mornings you’d find him sitting on the bench swing outside the store, straight-backed, folded paws, just another customer waiting for Larry to open shop. Imagine that—You come over early looking for coffee and find Cocoa, silent and watchful, like you hadn’t yet come all the way up from a dream. Larry kept him on a chain most of the time and used the stick not for hurting but for guiding. Suggesting. Keeping a little distance. On this day, though, the play turned bad and Cocoa ended up on top of Larry, pinning him to the bottom of the Little Buffalo, watching his air go. It was a great game—all those bubbles, the little arms flailing, the lousy stick floating downstream. When Cocoa finally let off, Larry slowly rose and stood there in the water, half-drowned and drooling. Eventually the two dripped back toward shore. There were chores ahead, customers waiting. Day was getting hot. Who knows what had passed between them or where things went from there.

#arkansas #ozarks #littlebuffaloriver #bears #sunbear #bearsofinstagram #rivers #adryseason #watershedstories #new_haiga #wildcountry #backwoods @thephotosociety
Part of a series exploring the small stories that surround and connect us, and how we stumble through them—capturing, missing, and making meaning. #InstaSaveApp #QuickSaveApp


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