Where’s BroJoe? (Snort!)

Quite often, my brother e-mails pictures of sunrises wherever he is, usually somewhere along the North Carolina coast.

He’s an outdoor guy, so most of his photos are nature-related, like the one of the roadside wildflowers at the top of my blog.

(New snake boots are considered nature-related, right?  He sent two–one “at rest” and one in swampy water.)

"snake boots at rest"

BroJoe has been telling me of the wildfires along the Outer Banks, including the Alligator River Wildlife Refuge where he takes many of his pictures, including some of the critters for which that river was named.   The ground fires in that area are hard to control because of the peat bogs, which can burn eight feet deep.  As is the case with most other areas of the south, they need a long, soaking rain.

Still, when he sent a sunrise picture at the beginning of the week, I thought, YOWSAH!  It can’t be that dry!  

I looked at the Subject line:  BroJoe, somewhere in the Utah desert.

He followed that one with a series of photos of interesting rock formations, like this one.

BroJoe Zen, one subject line proclaimed.

Was this a new BroJoe, interested in American History and Philosophy…?

Fascinating artifacts!  What are those,  I wondered. . . Shoshone?  Navaho?  Pioute?   I e-mailed to ask.

“A pile of rocks,”  came his answer.

I patiently wrote back that I knew it was a pile of rocks,  but did he know anything about who arranged them there.

“I did.”  

Where are you?  I asked.

“A Romney convention.”

I pictured Mr. Smartass hiking alone in the Utah desert.  I hoped he had a GPS with him.   The only sign of life in any of the photos that kept appearing on his Facebook or in his e-mails to me was one of this snarling creature in bad need of orthodontia.   ACK!!!

There could be slithery things hiding underneath those rocks.  I hoped he had his snake boots.  When I asked what he was eating, he said nuts and beef jerky.

This photo had a name, at least:  Monticello…  a city in Utah.

Monticello.

He included a photo of himself in the desert, in case you’re curious.

Curious.

You decide.


Advertisements

17 thoughts on “Where’s BroJoe? (Snort!)

  1. Hahaha! A Romney convention! After Mitt told actual unemployed men that he too was “unemployed” (although he’s worth at least $250 million), I’m surprised he isn’t wandering in the desert for forty years.

    Love the “pile of rocks” photo. Sonny Bono used to joke that Cher thought Mt. Rushmore was a natural phenomenon, so don’t feel too bad. 🙂

  2. BroJoe is my favorite photographer. I have a picture of his dragonfly up as my wallpaper, so I see it every day. Tell him, okay? Now, he’s locally famous all over my kitchen and den. And very funny.

  3. Did he really arrange those rocks? They are so cool! And how close was that gnarly, gross looking …. wild pig? – or oops, guess that would be a wild boar… my apologies to the piggies of the world;).

    Since he’s there for the ‘romney’ convention, maybe Joe would be good enough to leave that turkey to roam in the desert for a few years… I’m sure the family dog won’t miss him!

    Love the pics – we all should be so lucky to have a brojoe!! Has he ever sent photos to National Geographic or entered contests? He sure should – that dragonfly picture was breathtaking!!

  4. Having a sense of humour runs in your family, doesn’t it! lol Love it! I tend to be very naive and believe everything my 4 brothers tell me, only to find out later it wasn’t true! lol BroJoe certainly does take stunning photos and if I’d run into those piled up rocks, I would definitely have thought they were put there by an ancient civilization!!! xoxo

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s