A VIEW Southern Girl’s
People and Places thru the Lens...
Vol. 1 Issue 1 JUL/AUG 2011
The Little Bighorn a place of legends...
MARK W. ALLEN
and his novel a historical fiction about
GALVESTON in 1900
read excerpt inside!
Inside the most glamorous party on the island!
Black Tie & Boots Gala Exclusive photos inside!
talks graduation, summer plans and the 2012 election
Vacationing in Taos Pueblo New Mexico
Froberg’s Farm Strawberry Picking is the Thing to Do!
Brooke wears her own clothes; photographed on location near San Leon, TX; read cover story on page 24
THE LITTLE BIGHORN A nation’s tragedy still remembered but changing with the times. Story and Photograph by Sandy Adams
SCHOOL’S OUT! ROCK ON... Brooke Ferree talks graduation, summer run and plans for future. Photography by Sandy Adams
ILL WIND A NOVEL Author Mark W. Allen discusses his historical novel ILL WIND and the Island of Galveston.
STRAWBERRY PICKING A look at Froberg’s Farm in Alvin, Texas Story and Photography by Sandy Adams
ILL WIND by Mark W. Allen Exclusive excerpt
LUCY’S TALES... TAOS PUEBLO A puppy’s travel adventures in Taos Pueblo, New Mexico. Story and Photography by Sandy Adams
Exclusive www.facebook.com/sandyadamsphotography “Like” SAP on Facebook for access to these online extras:
Click through bonus images from Sandy Adams’s “School’s Out! Rock on...” (story page 24) and watch the behindthe-scenes video.
JULY/AUGUST MOST WANTED KEMAH BOARDWALK Kid Krazy Mondays - Amazing discounts on kids meals, the Boardwalk Beast and All Day Ride Passes. (Coupon required, all details online.) (Jul/Aug) Rock the Dock Concert Series (every Thursday Jul/Aug) Aug 6 - Salsa Beats - Enjoy the exotic sounds of Salsa and Latin Jazz
GALVESTON ISLAND July! ! Jul 22! ! Jul 23! ! ! Aug 6! ! ! Aug 13! !
“History of Tourism” opens @ Hotel Galvez Moody Gardens presents Bands on the Sands... Vertigo Fourth Annual Swashbucklersʼ Soiree @ Texas Seaport Museum Moody Gardens - Cadillac presents “Rainforest Saturdays Ocean Star Family Day “Working under Water”
MOVIES Out Now!Harry Potter and the Deathly ! Hallows Part 2
Jul 21! ! Jul 29! ! ! Aug 5! ! Aug 19! ! !
Captain America Friends with Benefits Cowboys & Aliens Crazy, Stupid, Love The Smurfs Rise of the Planet of the Apes Conan the Barbarian Spy Kids: all the time in the world
INDEPENDENCE DAY Our country just celebrated the most important holiday in regards to our country’s development. Our forefathers, men of extraordinary values and determination, declared their independence against the great nation of Great Britain on July 4, 1776. It always amazes me that these men risked their lives and the lives of their families and friends for something that they believed so strongly in... the right of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. In preparing for this inaugural issue, I looked for stories about independence in some form or fashion. I found high school graduates of particular interest since they are ending one phase of their life and embarking on their true independence from their parents. My second story, The Little Bighorn, was chosen because of the battle between two peoples to maintain their independence. My intention with this magazine was to share stories and ideas that I found of interest both in Houston and elsewhere, but with photographs that I have taken of my journeys to specific places or of particular people. While many of the stories are written from my point of view (A Southern Girl’s View...), I try to maintain a certain objectivity and educational purpose behind each, while still making it interesting to read. Sandy Adams A Southern Girl’s View... Sandy Adams Photography
Wild Horse Sanctuary
w h e re h o rs e s r u n f re e . . .
Find us... Hot Springs, SD www.gwtc.net
ÂŠ 2010 Sandy Adams
The face of heart disease could be staring you in the mirror...
Kate Gillis Photographed by Sandy Adams
GO RED FOR WOMEN FEBRUARY 24, 2012 CLEAR LAKE, TEXAS
THE LITTLE BIGHORN
A Turning point in American History STORY AND PHOTOGRAPHY BY
This page: Custerâ€™s marker in the spot where he reportedly fell dead . His body was later moved to West Point where he received an official military burial. Photograph by Sandy Adams
Storm clouds on the horizon, the smell of horse sweat, tall grass whispering in the breeze and the heat of a July afternoon on the lush plains of southern Montana... this is the battlefield of the Little Bighorn or Custer’s Last Stand as it was called for so many years. It is a place of legends and one of the most talked about battles between native Americans and the “white man”. It is also a place that I had dreamed of visiting for most of my life. As a high school student, I participated annually in National History Day - yes I was a nerd but history fascinated me completely. One year the theme was Triumphs and Tragedies so I chose Custer’s Last Stand but I did it with a twist. I showed how the battle was both a triumph and tragedy for both sides. How so you ask? The battle was won by the Indians but it marked their decline as the “white man” continued to overtake Indian land and push them farther and farther off their lands. On the opposite side the “white man” lost the battle but won the war in that they continued to push westward until the indians were forced into small reservations, sometimes hundreds of miles from their native lands. This past summer I took a road trip of a lifetime and one of my stops was the legendary battlefield of the Little Bighorn. The visit was one of the most “spiritual” ones of my trip and did not disappoint. But for those tourists expecting fake buildings and re-enactments, etc this is not a place for you. The park is entirely just land with a small welcome center/museum and a walking trail with markers. But the essence of the park is extraordinary to say the least. The battle of the Little Bighorn is located in Southern Montana and is on what is now Crow Indian Reservation or amply referred to as Crow Country. I was there in mid July and while it was extremely hot I was taken aback at just how incredibly beautiful the landscape was for such a tragic event to have occurred there. The centerpiece of the park is Cemetery Hill or “Last Stand” Hill... the “last stand” of Custer and his men. Based on evidence from survivors of the battle
and those who found the bodies after the battle, markers have been placed to show where each man fell dead. Custer’s marker is in the middle of all his fallen comrades. Some markers are actually burial markers of the fallen but Custer’s body was removed along with several other officers about a year after the battle. Custer (a graduate of West Point Military Academy) was given a full military burial at West Point in Oct 10. 1877. The burials at Little Bighorn were declared a national cemetery in 1876. As I stood on the plains that afternoon with the wind blowing and the dark clouds on the horizon, I breathed in the warm air and tried to image the scene that had transpired there so many years ago as the hostile gun battle ensued. Both sides did i n d e e d h av e guns and archaeological evidence suggests that Custer and his men did very little shooting as they stood atop “Last Stand” hill in the final minutes of the battle. History has lent the impression that the battle lasted for days but in actuality it barely lasted a few hours. As I walked around and read the map markers, followed by a few friendly indian horses (that roam freely in the park), I marveled at the beauty of this land. Everywhere you look there are rolling hills, a few lush trees along the river edge and the amazing Montana sky. The Little Bighorn was a place of legends and still is. ☐ For more information you can visit the following websites: www.nps.gov/libi (the Little Bighorn National park official site) www.pbs.org/weta/thewest/people/s_z/sittingbull (Sitting Bull bio) www.pbs.org/weta/thewest/people/a_c/custer (Custer bio)
This page & facing page - Looking out at the Little Bighorn river where the Lakota, Northern Cheyenne and Arapaho began their assault - Little Bighorn National Park. Photograph by Sandy Adams
â€œSuch beauty to behold, yet this land witnessed the end of the American Indian way of life as they knew it.â€?
This page & facing page - â€œLast Standâ€? Hill at Little Bighorn National Park; small stones represent where each soldier fell dead in the final shootout. Photograph by Sandy Adams
This page & facing page - Indian Memorial at Little Bighorn National Park. Photograph by Sandy Adams
ILL WIND is the first novel of the "Isla de Malhado" Trilogy about Galveston Island, Texas. "Isla de Malhado" was the term for this small barrier island used by Cabeza de Vaca's men when they shipwrecked on the beach in 1528. It translates to mean: "Island of Misfortune."
I LL WIND Mark Allen’s historical fiction novel of Galveston at the turn of the century in 1900, shows a city in crisis in more ways than one. It is a story of greed, corruption and the force
It’s 1900. The newly-formed U.S. Secret Service has sent its best man on a vacation, of sorts. A foiled assassination attempt on the president has caused the death of a fellow agent and embarrassed the Service. A hum-drum assignment chasing counterfeiters on a tropical island seems to be the best prescription, allowing Agent Andrew Price to relax and think about his future. "Ill Wind" is the story of Galveston Island at the start of the twentieth century. A city by the sea. A place where money can be made legally and illegally. Fat profits for fat profiteers. An assumed name and job title allow Price to work freely as he tries to unravel a big mystery: who is printing millions of counterfeit dollars? Why is coastal land being bought on behalf of some dead orphans? Why is the land so important?
I sat down with Mark recently to discuss his current book, his long career and what draws him back to the isle of Galveston.
Price uses his training and the latest technical marvels to unravel the mystery as he fights his own apathy for the Secret Service and his desire to remain in paradise to pursue the woman with whom he's in love. Each day that he fails to discover the mastermind behind the machine that has taken over the island, the stronger the system becomes.
I see that you have an extensive background in TV - did you always know that you wanted to write a novel?
The only thing that could possibly stop it…is an act of God and nature.
behind Galveston Island, which was paradise mixed with several historical tragedies: a fire that destroyed so many homes in the late 1800’s, the 1900 hurricane, and subsequent storms through history. Originally, “Ill Wind” was going to be a screenplay. I’d been covering hurricanes when I was working as a TV Photojournalist, wanting to try a hand at making films. It would’ve been far too expensive to produce at the time I outlined the plot, so I decided to make it into a historical novel instead. I’m glad I did, since I had a chance to read all kinds of historical documents and newspapers of the day during my research.
As a kid I loved reading books and always wanted to write one. I actually tried writing a novel a long time ago before I got into TV, but it was terrible and I thought I’d do something else until I could find my “voice.” It took living life a while to understand how to put together a novel that people could enjoy. TV prepared me to write visually, which I think is my style.
A VIEW: What is the inspiration for Ill Wind? Mark: Living in the Houston area as a boy, I saw the devastation that hurricanes could cause in person, so I guess that always stuck with me. I loved the history
Did you develop your main character after anyone in real life?
Mark: Some. The Deep Water Committee was a real entity, created by the business giants of the island, in the late 1800’s. The Moody family and several other recognizable names from Galveston’s history played a part in creating the fictitious business leaders in “Ill Wind.” There are also several real historical characters in the novel: Isaac and Joseph Kline were real weathermen of the island in 1900, as was the longshoreman character “Little Arthur” who later became the real heavyweight boxer Jack Johnson.
A VIEW: What are the 3 things that you most enjoyed about living in Houston/Galveston?
I loved being so close to the bay, loved getting fresh seafood, and it was exciting to grow up around NASA. I was there during the space race and went to school with a few of the astronaut’s kids.
A VIEW: How did your job prepare you for writing a novel?
Mark: As a photojournalist, I learned to observe and describe what I was seeing, both through the lens and through scripts I was writing for broadcast. It taught me the importance of details and doing research.
A VIEW: What is the story behind your second novel? Mark:
It’s called “Campeachy” and is a b o u t G a l ve s t o n Island between 1817 and 1820 when Jean Lafitte was running his privateering operation from there. And another hurricane plays a role.
Photo courtesy of US Coast Guard
A VIEW: Why did you choose to publish Ill Wind in only digital format? Any plans for actual book format?
I chose digital for several reasons, mostly because I could get the book out there in a timely fashion. A book publisher takes up to a year to produce a paper version of a novel and I felt the story should be out there as soon as possible once I finished it. I’m exploring print options now, as I’ve had many requests
for a print version. Kindle and other digital formats have shown the popularity of eBooks is growing, so I figured it would be the preferred format for a first release.
What is the best advice you can give anyone looking for a career in TV or Media?
I started as an intern at a local TV station and it lead to a career that’s lasted over 20 years. I never stopped learning, even as technology changed, as it inevitably will. If you want a job in media, I’d start at the ground level and learn as much as you can about e v e r y t h i n g. Many colleges offer media programs, and that will get you in the door at a real TV station as an intern or volunteer staff. Realize that you’ll lose a lot of sleep working in media, especially news, and you might even miss a few holidays. But the rewards are amazing if you stick with it. ☐
Ill Wind can be purchased digitally on Amazon.com; ibooks; Kindle; Smashwords.com; Barnesandnoble.com Author Mark W. Allen has been a Emmy-award winning writer and producer for over 20 years. The majority of his experience has been in the world of television and film. In his 10-year career as a photojour nalist, he had the opportunity to relay numerous events in a variety of markets around the country, including coverage of Hurricane Andrew in 1992. It was during this time that the story of the 1900 Hur ricane began to formulate, as Mark traveled in and around the Houston area covering preparations for the coming storm and its aftermath along the Louisiana coast. Mark currently lives in Arizona with his wife Lorri. "
Check out Mark’s websites... www.illwindnovel.com as well as www.mwallen.com
Read an excerpt from ILL WIND on next page. 20
Ill Wind Excerpt An attempt on the President's Life! Washington D.C. Tuesday Evening, May 22nd, 1900 When a crazed lawyer from Chicago shot a man standing on the platform of the Baltimore and Potomac Station, Andrew Price’s fate had been sealed. Because of the unprecedented violent act, steps had been taken to ensure that no one in the future would have the same opportunity. It was what brought a twelveyear veteran of the New York Police to Washington City, and why he was spending his evening with a roomful of homeopathic practitioners. The music of a string quartet drifted through the large, glass-enclosed conservatory. The spacious wing was attached to a grand, white building that stood in the middle of the property chosen by His Excellency, G. Washington and city planner Pierre L’Enfant. The design was selected out of nine proposals submitted to the newly formed governing body of the United States of America. An Irishman named James Hoban received a gold medal for his elegant architectural skills while the nation received a residence that had endured for nearly a hundred-andtwenty years, survived burning by the British in 1812 and four long years of Civil War that had ended only three decades before. The conservatory wing glowed in recently installed electric lights as Beethoven’s String Quartet No. 6 in B flat drifted out of several opened glass panes, across the unfenced lawn toward Pennsylvania Avenue. Guests mingled among potted ferns and palms, a thousand varieties from all over the world. Nearby, a white linen tablecloth was draped with red-white-and-blue bunting. Atop the linen were elegant serving trays filled with small New England crab salad sandwiches and slivers of dry toast surrounding a large bowl of Russian caviar. Beer, wine and spirits had their own display on another table nearby. Desserts and other indulgences were positioned throughout the room. A receiving line occupied the opposite end of the wing as a number of visitors made their way into the confines of the conservatory. At the end stood the president, William McKinley, his wife Ida by his side. Handshakes and pleasantries were exchanged as each invited member of the American Society of Homeopaths met their president, then
moved into the room to mingle with other guests enjoying the hospitality of the U.S. Government. Near the receiving line, Andrew Price stood beside a fellow agent, Ian Kessler, both men in their dinner clothes. They kept a careful watch over the crowd in front of them. Price sighed as his gray eyes focused on a new wave of hand shaking. “And you said life in Service would be filled with excitement,” he murmured to his partner, “Chasing counterfeiters all over the world. Travel in luxury, all on an expense account...” “I don't know why you're complaining. This is luxurious,” Kessler nodded at the lavish hors d’oeuvres table, “Have you tried one of those chocolate-covered strawberries?” “To think I left the streets of New York to be spoiled like this.” Kessler smiled, both men turning their attention back to the receiving line. Price nodded to an elderly couple that made eye contact, recognizing the gentleman as an industrialist from Baltimore. The man managed to get invited to most of the presidential events offered by the White House. He’d seen the couple the first year he’d been assigned to presidential duty, when Grover Cleveland was enjoying his last year as president. Though the man had stirred intense patriotism around the country with his handling of the railway workers strike in Chicago and Great Britain during a border dispute in Venezuela, Cleveland’s economic policies had been unpopular. He was never able to lift the country out of the depression he’d inherited when he took office. After his last term, the Democrats chose William Jennings Bryant as their candidate. Bryant promptly lost the election to the Idol of Ohio, William McKinley. “How many of these homeopathic folks are there?” Kessler complained under his breath. The receiving line seemed to go on forever. Neither Price nor Kessler had arrived in time to have a meal prior to taking their post. “He seems to be shaking hands a bit faster,” Price replied, “Perhaps he’s just as hungry as we are.” McKinley was different in many ways. He was well educated and more personable, which was why he took shaking hands at an event as something that came with the job. It made for long evenings on the part of the Treasury agents watching every face for a sign of sinister behavior. [continued on page 23]
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Andrew Price had lived and worked in Washington City for more than five years. He’d been a copper walking a beat in New York where the main excitement during his shift included calling for a sanitation wagon to pick up a horse carcass lying in the middle of street or running off sex-starved men huddled around the 23rd Street side of the newly-built Flatiron building. They would obsessively wait for the swirling afternoon winds to raise the skirts of passing female pedestrians. When he had been approached with the idea of taking a government job in the fall of ‘94, he had jumped at the chance. He hadn’t known the U.S. Treasury had formed its own police force, nor that Treasury agents not only protected America’s money but also would occasionally be assigned to protect the President of the United States. The world had become a dangerous place for a head of state. Price caught the eye of a redheaded beauty in a handsome blue-striped dress, her corset accentuating her tiny waist. She gave him a flirtatious smile when she noticed him standing nearby. Price had a square jaw and dark auburn hair he got from his mother. His father had given him a six-foot frame and broad shoulders that made any suit look good. Thank goodness he’d remembered to shave that evening, he thought. Price nodded back, sharing a slight smile of his own. “Careful, old chum,” Kessler chided, seeing the exchange, “Remember why you're here.” “Just enjoying some of my own delicious sweets, old chum,” Price said. Since the assassination of Lincoln, the Secret Service of the Treasury had occasionally provided protection to the office of the President during major events, always informally, to supplement the local authorities. After a man named Charles Guiteau had gunned down President Garfield at the Baltimore and Potomac Station in 1881, an agent had been provided nearly full-time to protect the man holding the office. At major events when the President was more susceptible to becoming a target, multiple agents were assigned to supplement the municipal police. It happened with more frequency, now that many heads-of-state had become targets of anarchists throughout Europe. Price, along with six fellow agents, had been selected and briefed on anarchist grottos, organized cells that traveled throughout Europe from Italy to Prussia, France to Great Britain. They had received information from law enforcement entities throughout Europe, prompting the treasury department to step up its involvement in planning public events the President would attend.
Price had been assigned presidential duty nearly the moment he’d been recruited and had traveled with the presidential entourage for five years. His expertise in information gathering had allowed a brief assignment in Cuba during the Spanish War. McKinley had requested his immediate return when the war came to a quick close. Price enjoyed the confidence of a U.S. President while experiencing many of the same luxuries afforded a highprofile world leader, putting his own life at risk to protect him. Not bad for a first generation American-Irish kid from a neighborhood filled with dreamless poverty. Price kept his eye on the redheaded beauty as she moved down the receiving line, secretly hoping to make eye contact with her once more. When she stepped forward, her shapely figure revealed a young man standing directly behind her, in his youthful twenties with dark, European features. He wore a black suit with dark red velvet trim. Price immediately lost interest in the girl. The man looked Italian. Price grew up in a neighborhood that was mainly made up of Irish and Italian immigrants. The cut of his clothing looked European. His shirt was heavy cotton weave, more like a workman’s shirt rather than evening wear. His shoes were imported and not polished like those of other men around him. Price focused on the man’s face as he watched McKinley. His expression was not a friendly one. Price cleared his throat, turned to Ian’s ear, “And here we have a charming foreign gentleman,” he said in a low voice. Kessler glanced past Price, his eyes quickly touching the young man who stood by himself, assessing, “Looks a bit angry, doesn't he?” “I've heard some of those homeopathic remedies tend to make one behave a little crazy.” Kessler took a step forward, “I’ll take the left.” Price nodded and let Kessler get into position before setting off on his own. Kessler appeared at the elbow of McKinley. The President glanced back at him momentarily and nodded a hello. Kessler flashed a polite everything-is-fine smile to reassure him, then glanced at Price and gave a quick nod. Price stepped across the room, stood silently behind the young Italian. He paused, taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling, controlling his breathing, something he’d learned from an experienced copper he’d once worked with. “Give it a pause before diving in,” the older man had told him, “Rushing headlong into something you might not get out of alive doesn’t do anyone any good. Take a deep breath. Assess. Then attack.”
Price reached for him again, this time grabbing his arm and holding it with a forceful grip just above the elbow. He dug his thumb into the bone, giving it a twist to let the young Italian know he understood that he was up to no good. The man’s face registered pain. “Don't know me!?” Price responded, “We were like brothers in the service!” he lowered his voice, “You won't be harmed if you walk with me toward the exit,” Price nodded to a nearby doorway leading to the south lawn. The Italian relaxed, nodding, “Allow me the dignity of walking ahead of you,” he murmured, “I will comply with your request.” Price gave him a last, dangerous look and released his arm. Together, they began to walk towards the exit. Price gave a sideways glance to Kessler, winking, letting him know everything was under control. Ian nodded, turned his attention back to McKinley and the guests in the receiving line. Price followed the young Italian, a half-pace behind him. Their path wove between standing patrons, past large round tables that had been set up for the event. A server crossed their path, carrying a heavy tray above his head to clear the tight path between bodies standing in the isle. The Italian suddenly lunged, accelerated to a run, knocking the tray from the server’s grasp. It fell with a crash in front of Price. Price reached out, grabbed a handful of the man’s velvet coat. The Italian shrugged wildly, let the coat slip from his shoulders. He wheeled around, pulled his arms out of coat, threw it over Price's head and gave him a knee to the midriff. Price fell backwards, a couple of patrons falling with him. The Italian spun towards McKinley, pulled an object from his vest pocket. A small revolver. The redheaded beauty, now in front of McKinley, screamed as she saw the weapon. The Italian moved quickly, his target in sight. Someone yelled, “A pistol! He's got a pistol!” Price stood, jerked the coat from his head and plowed through the patrons frozen where they stood. He drew his own pistol, looking for a clear shot. “Move aside!” he shouted, “Move!” Price’s mind slowed the flurry of motion in front of him. He saw Kessler step in front of McKinley. McKinley had grabbed his wife's arm and pulled her behind him, shielding her. Kessler drew his Colt from its underarm holster as he stepped in front of the President. The Italian shoved his small pistol forward. “Die, war monger!”
behind the assassin, which exploded into fragments that rained down on the terrified crowd. Screams echoed throughout the room as people ran in all directions to get out of the line of fire. The Italian had been distracted only momentarily by the noise. He fired in the direction of McKinley. By now, Kessler had completely blocked the path between the assassin and his intended target. He had just begun to raise his Colt when his chest exploded in a violent display of crimson mist. More screams followed. The redheaded beauty fainted, falling to the floor. Her body blocked the progress of the Italian, his weapon jamming before he could take another shot. He growled in anger as he tried to clear the pistol, saw Price rapidly approaching him. “Don’t move!” Price shouted. The Italian ignored him, shoving his way through the crowd to a nearby exit. Price aimed again and fired, this time striking his target just below the shoulder. The Italian plunged forward, bursting through the double doorway into the Washington night. Price ran across the room, paused long enough to look down at his friend, now lying in McKinley's arms. Price glanced at McKinley for an answer to his unasked question. The President nodded, his eyes filled with anger. “Get him,” he ordered. Price nodded, quickly exited the room through the same shattered doorway. ☐
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SCHOOL’S OUT, ROCK ON...
BROOKE ON HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATION, THE FIVE BEST EVENTS OF HER SENIOR YEAR AND HER OUTLOOK ON NEXT YEAR.
BY SANDY ADAMS PHOTOGRAPHS BY SANDY ADAMS STYLED BY SANDY ADAMS
High school. Senor Year. Independence. Every May and June, so many teenagers participate in the rite of passage known as high school graduation. The beginning of independence from the parents. I recently photographed a high school senior here in Houston and decided to feature her on my first issue since July represents independence here in the states.
A View: Since school will be out soon, what are your plans for the summer?
The photo shoot took place in a series of locations nature preserve in Seabrook, TX; San Leon, TX and private marina in Kemah, TX. The water, the prom dress, and the motorcycle look all tell different sides of this young independent 17 year old high school senior. When I met Brooke, I immediately noticed the huge smile, megawatt like Julia Roberts, but also the self confidence and attitude like Angelina Jolie, but in the middle of that a little Reece Witherspoon thrown in. To see a behind the scenes look at the photo shoot, “like” my facebook page (www.facebook.com/ sandyadamsphotography) to get all access to the video diary of Brooke and additional photos from the shoot.
Brooke: I am going to HCC’s Coleman College in the Medical Center downtown. I want to be a Respiratory therapist, maybe try to become a cardiovascular tech. A View: That is very impressive and very inspirational, so where do you see yourself in a year?
I sat down with Brooke shortly after her photo shoot to talk about graduation and her future.
A View: Let’s start with the most common and obvious question... How does it feel to be a high school graduate? Brooke: I am so very excited…I feel like I am really starting my life now! I can’t wait to go see what’s out there, and what experiences I will face. A View: Since this is your last year, what were the 5 best parts of your senior year and why? Brooke: One of the best things was that I met so many new people but I also attained a lot of the goals I set for myself academically. A huge accomplishment was I had the opportunity to be in the first Diamond Darlings of my school (support group for the baseball team). Senior year also allowed me to attain more freedom in and out of school. I worked really hard and my parents rewarded me with more freedom. But the most important aspect of my last year of high school was how I came into my own, and found out who and what I want to become and how I want to impact the world. To me that should be the culmination of high school where one stage ends in order to prepare for the next stage.
Brooke: Work, Work, Work…haha its hard growing up, but it’s what you have to do. A View: What are your college plans?
Brooke: In school and working most likely. I want to be as successful as I can be, so it’s going to take a lot of studying and working to get there. A View: What is the one thing that changed you the most in the past year? Brooke: My friends dying from drinking and driving. Most people my age don’t think it will happen to them. I attended more funerals for young teens than adults while I was in high school A View: 2012 will be a big year with the presidential election. Are you paying attention to the stirrings of the campaigns? Brooke: Not really....one of things I do know is that Obama used You Tube to reach young adults….hope the Republicans catch on. A View: Yes social media is such a huge force in our society. Now that you are 18 do you feel a greater responsibility as a American citizen? Brooke: I am excited to get to vote for my convictions... I never really thought about it until you asked me this question. A View: what is the one piece of advice that you would give to your younger brother to prepare him for his senior year? Brooke: Be who you know you are. Don’t follow others or do what looks like the thing to do. You will have to make some hard choices and find out who are your friends or who are not. My brother is very important to me, I want him to have the best senior year possible. ☐
To p t h i s p a g e : Brooke photographed on location at Waterford Harbour, Kemah, TX
Middle this page: Brooke photographed on location at nature preserve, Seabrook, TX
Bottom this page: Brooke photographed on location at deserted road San Leon, TX
paradise fit for a pirate and for you.
A Day at a Texas Strawberry Farm STORY AND PHOTOGRAPHY BY
summer sun, birds singing, dragonflies
get enough food. Farmers are taking advantage and the
floating about and the smell of sweet strawberries on
fun "come out and pick your own" is fast becoming a
the afternoon breeze...
Ah summer and
strawberries! The big red and juicy fruit that brings a smile to your face.
Strawberries are about as
American as apple pie and baseball.
Houston you can replicate that summertime luxury as if you lived on a farm. Froberg’s located in Alvin T e x a s m a k e s t h a t l u x u r y a r e a l i t y.
Strawberries are currently in season and also
one of my favorite fruits so a few weeks back I took a little drive from Houston to Alvin, TX to pick some strawberries out at Froberg's Farms. The weather was great and lots of folks had the same idea but thankfully
With Spring in the air and the weather
warming up quickly, my mind immediately turns to thoughts of good food and summer time fun. Being a country girl at heart, I still remember the wonderful
not too crowded. picked
basket, then perused the
feeling of waking up on a Saturday morning in late
produce in the little market and
spring/early summer and stepping outside to feel the warm sunshine on my face, hear the birds chirping
and breathe in the smells of summer. Those smells
pies - yes to
still to this day take me back in time to those wonderful summer mornings out in
We spent about 30 minutes and
strawberry fried many folks the word "fried" conjures up lots of grease, etc. but I must say that those were the best fried pies I have ever eaten. If you have not tried this type of little adventure, I highly advise that you do and soon! In the late 1930s, Fred and Katie Froberg purchased 21 acres (present day store and personal homes) thus the beginnings of Froberg’s Farm.
only crop they could grow at the time was strawberries and the children helped out when not in school.
store started with a few tables underneath two giant the country. Farmers Markets are starting to crop back up with the economy in a downward cycle. Folks are looking for ways to cut grocery bills and still
trees. In 2006, the Froberg’s decided to allow the public to come in and pick their own strawberries and the rest is history. My how times have changed! ☐
Lucy (a rhodesian ridgeback) and her “mom” went on a 15 state 8,000 mile road trip in summer 2010. These are her stories - from the “puppy’s” point of view.
To read more about Lucy, visit her
blog at www.lucystales.wordpress.com
Last year me and my “mom” took a little road trip - just the two of us - that covered 15 states and 8,000+ miles.
admissions booth and swarming around me just staring down at me.
Apparently I look a little different than
the normal dog. Taos, New Mexico is a cute little town about an hour north of Santa Fe.
Taos is the home of the
Mom decided then that maybe my
visit should be postponed, so back to the motel we went. I was so sad...
Taos Pueblos who have lived on their land for over a
Mom dropped me off
thousand years continuously. The Taos Pueblos have
at the motel but returned
never been relocated as so many native americans
a couple hours later with a surprise... I was going
were in the 1800s.
The pueblo is also a World
Heritage Site by UNESCO and a National Historic Landmark.
to tour the pueblo after
We had arrived in Taos late in the night but I
men who lived on the
awoke early as I was so excited to visit the pueblo.
Pueblo told her that she
The drive to the
should bring me back.
entrance of the
Yippee! So off we went
She said one of the
back to the Taos Pueblo.
literally about 3
By the time we arrived back at the entrance, the dark
miles with the
storm clouds were swirling and I was still a little scared what with the drums beating in the distance, but I stuck
countryside. Horses were
frolicking in the
an actual native Taos Pueblo man asked to meet me.
Some of the tourists stopped to take my photo - wow I
am a star! Mom took me by the original dwellings that
across the old
are still inhabited today. Those structures are over 1,000
The sky was kind of dark with
years old. So very cool! I saw several other dogs laying
I got to see the old cemetery and the new church and
about in the dust trying to keep cool, but I was so shy.
with possibility for rain, the heat was crazy hot and
We stopped in front of the new church and mom asked this nice man to take our picture. We walked slowly back
potential rain predicted for the afternoon.
humid. Mom read the rules carefully at the entrance as I waited by her side. I have to admit I was just a little bit scared. The wind had started to pick up and dust was flying everywhere. adobe buildings in the distance.
There were so many I got a little skittish
suddenly as all the tourists started arriving at the
to our truck to head out. I was so thrilled that I had just walked on ancient sacred land. So very cool! ☐ See more of Lucy in the Taos region on pages 37-40. To learn more about the Taos Pueblos please visit their website: www.taospueblos.com
MEMPHIS come feel the beat... www.memphistravel.com
MEMPHIS come feel the beat...
This page & facing page - Lucy on the rim of the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge outside Taos, NM. Photograph by Sandy Adams
This page & facing page - Lucy at Taos Pueblo, NM in front of one of the thousand year old adobe buildings. Photograph by Sandy Adams
a different perspective...
SANDY ADAMS PHOTOGRAPHY Houston ~ Galveston w w w. s a n d y a d a m s p h o t o g r a p h y. c o m
A travel magazine featuring travel stories and photography by Sandy Adams