MUTTON BUSTIN'

Our town hosts an amateur rodeo on the weekend of July 4^th at the County Fairgrounds just a couple of blocks from our house.

The beginning event is the Mutton Bustin’ which is kids riding sheep.  There aren’t many rules.  The main goal is to stay on the sheep as long as possible.

If you’re lucky a rodeo clown will catch you before you bite the dust.

 If you’re not so lucky…

 …the clown misses.

 Even a cowgirl with a pink helmet gives it a shot and comes out with a very high score.

 My favorite was this guy.  He had a look of grim determination and he hung on with just one hand for most of his long ride.

The sheep bucked and ran so fast the poor clown was seriously challenged to keep up.

 But he was there for the catch when the ride ended almost at the fence.

 The young man walked back past the rodeo princess with his prize money and got a big high five from the judge.

MARBLES AND A COWBOY

Thought I'd take a moment to show off a couple of my latest watercolors.  The cold and snow is an incentive to stay inside and work on projects in a warm place.

This is "Shiny Things Three."  It's my third effort at reproducing glass and silver in watercolor.  It surprised even me on how the surfaces appear reflective even though it is just pigment on paper.

Here is a tighter shot of the 11 inch wide and 14 inch high one-of-a-kind painting.  "Shiny Things One" is still available for purchase but "Shiny Things Two" has been sold.

The process began with a sketch on Arches 140 cold press paper.  The big challenge was keeping the marble shapes round.  I masked out the places I wanted to remain white and ran a loose wash of primary colors over the rest.

Then it was a matter of slowly reproducing something similar to my reference photos using layers of transparent washes.

This is called, "Cowboy Poet."   It is a portrait of Bill Hirschi, our friend and neighbor, who manages herds of angus cattle by profession but also can entertain with his original poetry of life in the American West.

For a sample of his work, follow this link:

Both paintings and many more can be found on my Etsy Site--

Watercolors by Leenie

THIRTY DAY CHALLENGE--Day Twenty Seven

I took this photo in the back yard of a neighbor.  I’m not positive, but I think it's an old freight wagon.  Those who drove these wagons and handled the horses were called, “teamsters.”

 This is a freight wagon hitched to a team ready to haul goods from Silver City, Idaho during the mining boom of the 1880’s.

 This is a photo of my grandfather, Jack Cooper, (on the left) and his future brother-in-law, Loal Hendricks.  They drove teams of six big horses which pulled the heavy wagons over the dirt roads for miles.  One job had them bringing freight to Twin Falls, Idaho from Shoshone where trains on the Union Pacific Railroad made a stop. 

Jack, Loal, and Loal’s brother Ace, drove wagons which were loaded at the train station in Shoshone, Idaho.  They traveled the twenty-seven miles south to Twin Falls which is built on the edge of the vertical canyon of the Snake River.

 

 The only way to cross the river at that time was by a single-lane track that switch-backed down the side of the canyon wall.  The road then crossed the canyon floor to a ferry waiting on the river.  When the teamsters and their wagons reached the bottom of the canyon they would race to see who could get to the ferry for the first ride across.  Once across the river they drove their wagons up a narrow dug-way that was built into the lava rock walls of the canyon’s south side.  At one point the road passed under the waterfall of the Perrine Coolie that dropped over the rim. 

It took them all day to go from Shoshone to the south side of the Snake River Canyon.  They usually camped that night and drove the last few miles into Twin Falls the next day.

Story related by Jack Cooper’s son, Lindell Cooper

THIRTY DAY CHALLENGE--Day Nineteen

A photo a day for thirty days

Everything in the universe has rhythm.

.

Everything dances.

Maya Angelou

NORTON'S RACE FOR LAND

While sorting out some family history I found this pioneer story of adventure and bravery.  I'm only related to John Franklin Norton by marriage.  His sister, Rebecca Rosetta, married Isaac David Cooper who is the brother to my great grandfather, John Heber Cooper.  Still, I claim John as an ancestor and spent quite a bit of time learning more about his family and my own predecessors who settled the area not far from where we've raised our family in the Upper Snake River Valley of Southeast Idaho.

NORTON’S RACE FOR LAND

Revised from a story by Fannie G. Brunt

“Why don’t you take up a piece of this land, John?” said Rufus Norton to his brother one morning in the spring of 1884.  “This is going to be a great country one day.”

“Not for me,” said John.  “You fellows can stay here and grub sage all you want, but I’m goin’ to Montana to get in the cattle business.  That back-breakin’ toil is not for me.”

John rode off to round up a bunch of horses he was taking to Montana.  He’d stopped to visit his brothers, Rufus and Leander, who had taken up homesteads the year before on Sand Creek.  It was just north and east of Lincoln near what would become Idaho Falls in the Snake River Valley.  As John rode along his eyes roamed over the vast untilled area and he began to catch the vision of what his brother had said.

He found his horses grazing on a beautiful piece of level land where the tall grass had dried and burned the year before, thus clearing away the sage brush.  John made up his mind if this land had not already been filed on, he would get it and this would be his home.  He was soon searching with his brothers for survey stakes when two other fellows came and began to search too.

“Has this land been filed on?” asked one of the strangers.  ”Yes, it has, I filed on it yesterday.” Said John.  The strangers looked surprised and one of them said, “How did you file yesterday?  The land office was closed.”

“No, it wasn’t yesterday, John,” said Rufus with a wink.  “It was the day before.”  John opened his mouth to agree with his brother, when one of the strangers broke in.  “The land office was closed the day before yesterday and the day before that.  It won’t be open for three more days.  That land agent had to go to Malad for a week.”

John knew it was useless to carry the conversation further, so he and his brothers rode off.  As they passed the strangers’ horses John sized them up for speed.  He knew if he were to file on the land he’d have to do some fast riding.

There was just one possibility.  If he could get to the land office in Rexburg and file, he might be able to send his papers to the land agent before the agent left Malad.  However, the Snake River, wild and powerful with spring runoff, was between John Norton and Rexburg.  No bridges had yet been built, and to ford the turbulent water could fill the bravest heart with dread. 

The best way to reach Rexburg at that time was to cross the main stream by ferry near Menan, travel several miles around the Buttes and then cross the North Fork of the Snake on another ferry.  Even in normal times the ride would be long and hazardous.

 Norton made up his mind he was going to have that land in spite of, “hell and high water.”  He saddled his fastest horse and took off, half expecting to see the other fellows racing for the same point, but he seemed to be the only man on the road.

At last he reached the first ferry, his horse lathering with sweat.  When he asked to be carried across, all he got was a laugh.  The boatman said, “Have you looked at that river?  We don’t run a ferry across the water when it’s like that.”

Norton said, “I’ve got to get across that river.  This is one of the most important things in my life.  I’ll pay you plenty if you’ll take me across.”

 The boatman pointed to a cluster of willows in the middle of the torrent.  “See over there?  Well, that’s the other bank of the Snake River when I run this ferry.”

“Take me out to the willows,” said Norton, “and I’ll go the rest of the way.”

After much reasoning and dickering the ferryman decided to take the risk.  The old boat swung out into muddy, boiling water and eased along bearing the two men and the horse. 

At last they came to the willows.  “When I get back from Rexburg will you come out here and get me?” asked Norton.  “Yes,” said the boatman, “if you ever come back.  Because if you try swimming out to here you’ll be committing suicide.”

Norton mounted his horse.  She was afraid and refused to jump off the boat.  So he gave her the spurs and she leaped into the river.  Both horse and rider went completely out of sight but they soon came up together.  The horse struggled against the undercurrents but Norton kept his head and urged her on.  About fifty yards down the stream, she touched bottom and out they came.  Norton waved to the boatman and rode for the land office, confident the other men could never beat him now.

He crossed the second ferry with less danger, found the land agent in his office in Rexburg, took care of business, got his papers and started back.  He was hungry and he knew his horse should have food and water but the day was almost over.  He had a long ride to get the papers to Market Lake where he could sent them off on the midnight train which ran daily between Salt Lake City, Utah and Butte, Montana.  After that he could take his time getting back to his brothers’ homestead.

Everything went as planned.  He rode to Market Lake where he mailed his papers.  It was dusk by the time he returned to the ferry.  The boatman had been watching for him and, true to promise, started out to meet him.  Norton fixed his saddle cinch so he could release it quickly when he reached the boat.  That way he could save his saddle.  He was pretty sure he would lose his horse.

Norton pressed his pony forward. She plunged into the river and swam bravely out meet the ferry at the willows.  Norton dismounted and scrambled aboard with his saddle.  The horse tried desperately to climb to safety as well, but as the boat started moving back she stopped struggling.  Norton turned his head away so he wouldn’t have to watch his faithful friend disappear into the merciless torrent.  When he was sure she was gone he turned to see her with her head up, swimming behind with all her might.   She was able to follow until the boat reached the shore.  There she made one last effort and lunged to the bank.

John Norton was a rough man and not easily given to emotion, but he was not ashamed of the tears he shed as he embraced his faithful mare on the banks of the Snake River that that night.  He tried to make her understand how proud he was of her and her strength and courage.

They won a place in the ferryman’s heart.  He made sure they both had food.  After they’d eaten, Norton rolled up in a blanket and laid down close to his horse to rest for the night.  He was still awake at midnight when he heard the narrow gauge train whistle out of Market Lake.  He then closed his eyes and went to sleep, confident he had won.

The other men later confessed they had met the train the day the land agent returned and found, to their disappointment, that they were too late.  John Norton lived in the valley to tell the story for seventy years after.

John Franklin Norton 1860-1946

John with his wife, Margaret Williams and 

their children John Wiley, Nancy Jane, Catherine Margaret 

and Franklin Thomas

PLAYING FAIR

If you ever start feeling like you have the goofiest, craziest, most dysfunctional family in the world, all you have to do is go to a state fair.  Because five minutes at the fair, you’ll be going, ‘you know, we’re alright. We are dang near royalty’.—Jeff Foxworthy

 I don’t know what it is about a state fair that brings out all the unreal weirdos, but it sure makes for some first-class people watching.  We wondered if it was Look Like a Loony Day and we missed the memo.  I’d show you some samples but there were too many and, frankly, I was afraid to be caught taking their pictures.

 Our group love to see the farm animals so we proceeded directly to the barns.  Grandson, JD, was kind enough to oblige when I asked him to pose with the poultry.

 Having grown up on a dairy farm I always have to check out the big Holsteins.

 JD kinda liked the little white pony.

 But he wasn’t so sure about the BIG ponies.

After cruising through some of the displays, we progressed on to the Fair Food.

 Deep fried is okay, but this might be taking it to extremes.

 JD wanted something cold and green.

 This was the perfect solution.

 Cold and green sounded good to me, too.  I went for my favorite, Fresh Lime Freeze.

 Now that’s what I’m talking about!

 One of the top sellers at our fair is the Tiger Ears sold to raise money for the Boy Scouts.

 JD’s mom needed help with this one.  I was glad to assist.

 DH returned with a Smoked Turkey Leg.

 It was still sizzling so it was consume with caution.

 The weather was muggy hot, and mom and dad and grandma and grandpa were tired, so we didn’t tell JD about what else could be done at a state fair.   He’ll get plenty of chances to pay money to spin until he barfs in the coming years.

THIRTY DAY CHALLENGE--A PHOTO A DAY--day fourteen

One of the best parts of spring--

New babies out in the pastures.

IN THE MISTY MORNING FOG

A bicycle morning is coming your way.

 So forget all your duties. Oh yeah.

Fat bottomed girls they'll be riding today

So look out for those beauties. Oh yeah.

Put on your helmet, watch out for the dog.

 Ride down road in the sweet morning fog.

Ride, ride, ride it’s a bicycle morning!

(Can you name any of the three songs used for the inspiration for this mash-up?)

OUT OF LINE

I recently finished another watercolor to be sold in my internet Etsy shop.

"Free Rein" 11x14 inches transparent watercolor by Eileen Black

I call it, "Free Rein."  References for it were gathered from several places but mostly from a summer evening when I was out photographing farms.  In the next field two riders were taking advantage of the late sunlight and the cool air.

I’m happy with the way it turned out; still I never feel a painting meets all my expectations. Sometimes I find myself working too hard on details which are probably not necessary to tell the story.

My April 2013 issue of Watercolor Artist Magazine features a creativity workshop by Bev Jozwiak.  She says in general she likes to stray out of the lines when creating a piece without a background.

This is her painting, “Still Waters” from the article.  She points out how she allows her paint to drip and run and, even though she hasn’t put in every detail, the unfinished portions help make for a more interesting piece.

Another artist whose book I was studying pointed out how important it is to simplify shapes and build flow through a composition. He called those who put up a lot of hard edges “terminal literalists.”  A lot of us learned art through coloring books where we were encouraged and even chastised by some to “stay inside the lines.”

 Here is a study I did from his book, Painting Light and Shade.  The simplification of detail and the flow of color are engaging and fun.

 Here’s another sketch I did while going through his book. There is no line to define the top of the roof of the house on the left, or on the right side of the steeple yet we understand it is there.

When I find my work getting too tight I sometimes return to this book for inspiration.  You may note I’ve not mentioned the author. This is because I’m still more than annoyed with him.  I drove across two large states to take a workshop from him only to discover he’d radically changed styles and had gone from transparent watercolor landscapes to opaque impressionism.  I’m just glad I still have his book and video to inspire me in the direction I wish to go.

Sometimes when you find the footsteps you are following are heading down a crappy path you have to be your own pioneer.