The Beatys- (Jon and Emily), a husband and wife photography team from Fort Smith, AR, is now offering SPLASH sessions! I took advantage of the session as soon as I heard about them. My 7 year old LOVES the water and while I can take so-so photos, I knew I had nothing on this dynamic duo. 

Ty splished, he splashed, he jumped- you name it, he did it and they captured it. You get 20-30 images on a disk so you can print as many as you want, at whatever size you want. Reasonably priced and oh so nice to capture these memories- don't miss it!

Visit them online and book YOUR session today! 

@story Marla Cantrell

I don't know how I've done it, but I've lived this long without understanding the basics of planting the perfect container of flowers. This year, I finally got it. And now I'm passing it on to you.

1.     Think like Mother Nature.  Until this year, I always planted red geraniums, purple petunias, and a little greenery. BORING!  This year I went to the nursery and grabbed a few of anything I liked that could take full sun.  Yellow Marigolds, Hawaii Blue Ageratum, red Gerbera Daisies, and the ubiquitous Sweet Potato Vine.  My biggest score was on the clearance rack, where 6 packs of pansies were going for 25 cents. I figured it they didn't make it through summer, I was only out $2. Buy a lot more than you think you'll need, because you're going to plant tight.

2.    Think like a mountain.  Mound the dirt up above the rim of your container.  This will allow you to really pack the plants in.  Start planting at the top, and work your way down.  It will get messy, but it's worth it.

3.    Think like you're packing for a trip to Europe with only a carry-on.  Don't leave any space unplanted. And don't get too caught up in symmetry.  This one was hard for me, because I love symmetry, but it looks better if it's not too matchy-matchy.

4.    Think like you're in Death Valley.  All you'd want is water (and maybe a way out).  Your plants will need lots of water to get established, especially when planting in the mound.  You want those roots to take.  This was just after I planted them.  You can see that the pansies were sad little creatures.

And this is today.  Since it's getting warmer, I'll check the water level every morning and evening. My porch gets a lot of sun, so I have to be diligent.  You may have a more forgiving micro-climate.  Just keep a close eye.  If our temps rise above 110, like last summer, there won't be any cool spots!

That's it!  The down and dirty on container gardening by a new convert.  Enjoy! 

Saturday was dreary, the sky as gray as my little Schnauzer, Rudy.  And it was cold, not really February cold, but since we’ve been seeing highs in the 60s, it felt bitter.

But none of that matters if you’re a photographer.  I’d just heard from our outdoor guru, Todd Whetstine, who was on assignment in another part of our great state, and he was giddy over the weather.  “Perfect,” he said.  “The photos today should be a photographer’s dream.”

So I took my new camera, which is a huge jump from my iPhone, and my husband, who actually studied photography and film at Oregon State, and we hit the back roads near our house.

I thought we were heading to Lake Fort Smith or Devil’s Den, but I wasn’t driving.  We pulled over on a stretch of road that’s so ordinary I couldn’t easily identify the spot again, stepped outside and slogged through muddy ruts in the spongy ground.

Just beyond was a place where farm equipment, dead for years, rested in various stages of decay.  Beside them stood twp old Corvairs, a VW Bug, the door from a delivery truck and a somewhat respectable Buick with a sheath of papers in the back seat describing the best farm practices for fertilizing crops.

The mist came down, the sky hung low, and the old machines glistened.  I wandered through the maze taking photos of blue wooden steps leading to a lime green Covair, its glass shattered like crystals across the front seat.  I shot rusted tractors, old combines, a tangle of metal that looked like sculpture.

Some of what I did is not too bad.  Then my husband took the camera.  His shots show depth, texture, perspective.  He’s been shooting photos so long it didn’t seem extraordinary to him, but it was.  What started out looking like a salvage yard turned out looking like a field of sculpture.

When we got home, my Uggs were muddy, my hands burned red from the cold, and my jeans were soaked through from the shots I took kneeling on the grass.  But I felt great.  Somewhere, on the other side of the state, Todd was creating art with his camera.  Here at home, I was just learning to shoot a photo that didn’t totally suck.

And in a field where the workhorses of the past gathered, the wind whistled through their shattered bodies.  I like to think they understood that someone thought they were beautiful, at least for one day, with the mist hanging above them and the mystery of how they ended up in a fallow field still hidden in the twisted metal of their pasts.