The first time my wife Linda and I met William Gilbert Craig (1892-1971) and his wide Ellen, he threw a brick at me. I caught it. He laughed. The pseudo brick was constructed from thin sheets of balsa and painted to look real. It only weighed ounces. That was in 1967 and not far from Chapel Hill, North Carolina where I was teaching. Gilbert lived a fantasy life in his make-believe environment. The home’s monumental façade mimicked a combination of a wealthy white southern plantation owner’s mansion and a Hollywood movie set. It was grandiose but totally fake.

Fog was heavy on the water at Black Bayou Lake; yet, birds could be faintly heard feeding somewhere in the distance. On that cool November morning, first light was slowly revealing the Louisiana refuge. Nearby a fisherman was preparing to launch his boat. Once his noisy motor fired up, everything would change. Mack set his digital Nikon on burst mode. As feared, the loud motor shattered the tranquil morning, frightening a flock of Great Egrets to escape flight. Mack was prepared. He was in the right place at the perfect time. Click, click, click, click, click, click. The egrets were gone.