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I'm as good a photographer as I am a writer. Ask me, I'll confirm it. The thing is, if you believe in yourself enough, nothing short of a baseball bat planted between your ears is gonna change your opinion of yourself. I know, some have tried. The photos below do not represent the best of my work, nor were they all taken by me (obviously, if I'm in a picture, I probably didn't snap it – probably – more than likely). These are all strictly PG (Perfect for Grandmas).
Wedding day, Sept. 25, 2003
The Hayseed in Korea. A sister-in-law and two nephews worked there at the time.
Aurea gets the drop on the Hayseed in their Arizona home
The moon from our farm in the Philippines, 2022
My pop in the Army about 1950. Now you know where I got my good looks. I lost'em somewhere along the way (like, right after birth), but this is where I got'em.
My Great, Great Grandfather, Truman Bonney, carved his name on this rock in Wyoming, in 1845. I found it in 1979.
My brother (the one on the right ruining this somber occasion) and I with our dad (rear right) maternal grandparents (Grandma next to Dad, and Grandpa with the newspaper). and great grandparents in the mid 1950s. I'm my usual attentive, respectful and quiet self.
You can be glad this is a B&W photo. The wallpaper on the back wall was hideous.
Wedding day, Sept. 25, 2003. The young lady – Liz Wade – to my right, stood in for her father as my "best man."
Dad and Mom before
I came along, which is why they look so happy here.
The Hayseed with the canon he built, in the back of his truck in about 2000.
An Egret in flight on our Philippine farm
The Hayseed with Aurea and Jennifer in 2018 all spiffed up for the picture-takin
Believed to be the Hayseed's great grandfather Evans
The mid-day sky over our farm in the Philippines
Great, Great Grandmother Jane Bonney, before her 1889 death. She died in this chair on the front porch of their farmhouse in Oregon, when she fell asleep and the corn cob pipe she was smoking, rolled over and dumped hot ashes on her dress.
The Hayseed at Jane Bonney's grave.
Jane Bonney's grave marker. She was scapled by Indians when she was a baby. Her entire family was killed, but Jane was taken in by others and raised as their own.
The Hayseed (on the right) waiting for the school bus to pick him up for his first day in school, probably around 1958. Five-year-old brother Rodney, not yet old enough for school, wore his cap-gun to make sure no bad guys knocked me off before the bus came. Either that, or someone had put out a contract on me and Rodney was there to finish me off. We may never know the truth.
Officer and great uncle Albert Bigelow, at the wheel of one of Portland, Oregon's first patrol cars, date unknown. He was known for breaking up opium dens in old Portland.
Shirley Evans (my Mom) on one of her horses, long before the Hayseed was imagined (or dreaded). I think her hat is on backwards, but don't tell her.
Dad hitching his team to his wagon, a few years before he passed away.
The Hayseed in China, 2002 looking especially dapper in his CNN disguise. Got me through many crowded events, ahead of long lines, and other pleasantries during my two weeks in the country. I'm sure they still talk about me. Pretty sure.
Water falls at Lake Tahoe, California 2006
Colorado, 2006
Colorado, 2006
Colorado, 2006
Oregon Trail wagon ruts in Wyoming, about 1980. My ancestors travelled this trail on their way to new lands in Oregon in 1845 by ox-drawn wagons. The journey took about six months. Today, you can drive modern highways on the same route and get there in 3 days, or fly in 4 hours.
The Homespun Hayseed at age six. Can't imagine why Mom took this photo. Film and developing was expensive. They were probably planning on dumping my body in the river and needed proof that "He was alive this mornin. See this here picture." Must have changed their minds, cause I'm still kickin.
My maternal grandparents. Grandma Ivy taught me to read. Grandpa Hershel taught me everything else, and then some.
My great grandparents, Ira and Carrie Bonney through the ages. Left: their wedding picture in the late 1800s. Center, in front of their car in the 1930s. At right, 1957. Ira passed away in the early 1960s, followed by Carrie around 1971. I was fortunate to know and spend quite a bit of time with them.
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