Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary
Day 12 - Sheridan, Wyoming
I crossed into Wyoming today - or yesterday, I should say because it’s 1:53 a.m. on the 13th as I write this. I also couldn't get a signal so this will be late. Sigh.
On the way to Sheridan I couldn’t help but stop at the Custer Museum where they had all kinds of artifacts on display from the Battle of Little Bighorn and in general from that era. Fascinating! There was an Indian war shirt and an Indian spirit shirt, the first being of tanned leather and embroidered heavily with beads, quills, and human hair. The spirit shirt was hand-sewn of some kind of textile that sure did last well! It looked like either cotton or linen and there were no tears or shredded areas. Pretty amazing. There were beads on this shirt also but on the front in faded dyes were faint outlines of spirit animals seen as guides to this particular warrior.
There were beaded moccasins for both men, women and children, all heavily and beautifully beaded on the top and bottom of the shoes. And beaded bags for everything from sewing quills to tee-pee skin holders. Gorgeous pipe bags and a lovely Sioux woman’s dress for ceremonial wear. This latter was also tanned leather and heavily and intricately beaded with fringe. Fantastic! There was also an arrow holder with a skunk skin on the front. I would not have wanted to be the woman who had to skin that baby!
Did you know that bull elk each have two ivory teeth in the back of their mouths? I didn’t either. These teeth were highly prized for wear by the Sioux and since it could be years before enough could be gathered to make a decent necklace, they came up with a way to dye regular elk teeth to look like the ivory teeth. These were also carved and shaped to the same form of the ivory teeth and voila! A fine looking ivory tooth necklace for both the Sioux warrior and his wife.
There were several large paintings by artists of that time depicting the battle in which Custer lost his life (as well as the lives of all of his men). One was pretty accurate and based on the account of Curly, an Indian scout who worked for Custer and his guys (I‘m not sure which tribe Curly was from). He witnessed Custer’s death and described it as thusly: Chief ...(heck, I just whited out the name of this Chief) was wrestling with Custer for his gun since Custer was earnestly trying to shoot him with it and finally got it away from him. He then bashed Custer on the head three times with the gun and shot him with it in the head and the heart. I can well imagine that Custer would have died from those wounds. Anyway, Curly, the scout, managed to slip out of the crowd, “borrow” a Sioux horse and get the heck out of Dodge. He was the only one of Custer’s group to survive.
One of the paintings was by artist who had taken great poetic license with the facts of the battle and had come up with a pretty hilarious version of what happened. The painting shows the vain Custer with golden locks tousled by the gentle breeze and standing nonchalantly in his officer’s dress uniform with a natty red cravat (which was not what he wore into battle) at the top of the hill, one hand on his hip, one leg bent with the shiny booted foot on a rock. He appears to be shooting every so often as the opportunity arises just for sport before he walks back to the Officer’s Mess to have a spot of lunch. Around him are his soldiers shooting poorly armed Indians who wield only hatchets and knives (not so, the Indians were shooting repeating Winchester rifles or the outcome would have been different). All of the Indians are bare-chested in the painting when in truth they were wearing their warrior shirts because of their belief that these provided a spiritual protection from the soldiers’ bullets. This wasn’t true either since a large number of Indians perished or were injured that day but it made the painting very, um, typical of the white man’s general lack of understanding then (and sometimes now) of the Indians’ culture and customs.
To polish off this rather silly painting, there is a chicken wandering around in the bottom right corner and looking rather confused, as it should, since no self-respecting chicken would have wandered that far from its coop which was waaaaaayyyyy far away from the battle scene. I doubt that the chicken survived that day either, especially since it was looking pretty healthy and appetizing. It was most likely dinner that night for one of the celebrating and victorious Indians. Not that there were any chickens of any kind any where near the battle scene, which makes it all the more silly for one to be there and adds nothing aesthetic to the painting except as a compositional balance, I suppose. Who knows what the artist was thinking but since very little else was accurate in the painting, why not throw in a chicken? Why gum up the work with accuracy, for cryin’ out loud!
Anyway, I tore myself out of the museum after an hour or so of examining all kinds of fun stuff and moved on toward Sheridan, leaving Montana behind me and a strong desire to return and visit the state in its entirety. Wyoming is just as beautiful and, of course, has the Yosemite National Park which I will return to later. The land is just plain gorgeous in this area and words are a poor substitute for the scenic wonders around me. And this is just around I-90. Just think of how much more beautiful it is off the beaten track!
Tomorrow I’ll be in Gillette, Wyoming, and then on to South Dakota. Too brief of a stop but indeed, if I stayed longer I might never leave. Onward I push, however, still planning the day when I can return and explore to my little heart’s content.
Lessons Learned:
That when you lean over the bed in the night to pour more water into the kitties’ bowl, make sure that it’s the water bowl you’re pouring into.
That the kitties won’t drink kitty food soup.
That I don’t blame them.
Yuck.
Observations:
Wyoming has roads that are a deep reddish-purple that matches the red in the hills on both sides of the highway. Coincidence? I think not. I hope not, anyhow.
While passing a field with many beautiful horses grazing, I see one lone mule standing in the middle of the herd and smiling at the sun.
A prairie dog up on the shoulder of the road sniffing around and just begging to be turned into road kill. Just like the scattering of smished bodies of his brethren seen periodically along the route.
What I thought were odd looking deer grazing were actually some kind of antelope from around these parts. I didn’t think deer came in that shape and color…
An older couple whom I have seen off and on throughout my voyage smile and wave to me as we pass each other in the campground. They are heading to Minnesota so we take the same path for a ways.
Showing posts with label Farming. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Farming. Show all posts
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Day 4 - Coeur d'Alene, Idaho
Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary
Day 4 - Coeur d’Alene, Idaho
(It’s actually September 5th but I couldn’t get a signal where I was yesterday. For that matter, I can’t get one now as I eat breakfast at a cute little restaurant further on down the road. You might not see this for a bit…)
(It's now 1730 (5:00 p.m.) and I'm set up at my next stop in St. Regis, Montana. This is the first time I've been able to get a signal. Oh, well.)
Anyway, yesterday I was up with the sunrise in my little spot by the lake and sat for a moment sipping coffee and marveling at the sky. I wasn’t the first up - the huge camper across from me already showed signs of life and a fire was already crackling in the stone ring. The Bendy Men, kitties and I just relaxed and watched the day unfold, or I should say, I did. The Bendy Men were still sleeping and the cats were eating their breakfast. I watched, anyway, and just relaxed and meditated before I began making preparations for departure.
The desert texture of the scenery I had passed the day before now gently smoothed into rural farmland and the beauty of the surroundings so affected me that I had to get out and take some pictures. Because it was near the end of the season many fields were already cleared while others still lay waiting for the harvester. It was stark and very bleak, even harsh, but it had its own textures and colors and patterns that were simply lovely. It appeared to me that the gods had sewn a large patchwork quilt of muted hues and hand stitched rows that crisscrossed the pieces in incredible patterns resembling a large Japanese garden. Indeed, the hand-raked patterns of the gods that were touched by the early morning light sprang into sharp detail and if there had been a place to turn off so I could take a picture I would have done so. Sadly, I was on a small, two-way connecting road taking me back to 90 and there was too little space for my van to safely park. I did take some other pictures from the side of 90 but they cannot do justice to the colors I saw. Some day I’ll get the hang of manipulating my photos. Sigh.
I noticed yesterday before I reached Cle Elum that the crops on both sides of the road were in many stages of growth, from corn no more than two feet high to fields still not quite ready for harvest. Soybeans and hay were likewise at different heights and I envied an area that could coax three plantings from the fertile grounds. In Maine the only two-harvested crop I saw was hay but the growing season was so short that everything else was lucky to reach full growth in one season. The potatoes and cranberries were naturally of one season and the family gardens reached full growth near the end of August, individual vegetables and fruit notwithstanding. And in Kentucky and Illinois I only saw one growing season for the corn and soybeans, so eastern Washington was fortunate, indeed, to have three! Amazing! It was either that or the drought delayed the growth of these immature crops. I like my story better, though. Happier endings always work well for me.
I noticed also that the land, which maintained its rural leanings as I drove along, changed sharply when I drove over the Spokane county line. A sprinkling of fir trees sprang up which quickly became very thick in growth as I headed east. I wondered if the firs had been told that it was illegal to grow beyond the boundary. The ground hadn’t risen sharply or even at all and yet here we were, the line of demarcation suddenly catapulting me into fir city. Interesting. Lovely, but interesting.
I took a nap just outside Spokane and awakened refreshed and made the last few miles easily to Coeur d’Alene. I’m glad I had the rest, however, because I went out and beyond the city down 90 and deep into gorgeous mountain scenery trying to find the Wolf Lodge Campground. Charmagne was doing her best to get me there but once again, she dumped me in the middle of a road and pronounced me at my destination. Hmmm… I saw no sign for the Lodge and decided to check out a nice gravel road far up into the hills while looking for something to give an indication of the location. Even though I was tired I wasn’t sorry I made the extra drive because I passed the most incredible surroundings, long, green valleys with horses grazing, wild flowers swaying everywhere in the breeze, and the patterned light gently touching the firs and trees surrounding the fields. I stopped at a modest house to ask for directions and was greeted by a very nice goat, five chickens and a ferocious watch dog who came shuffling up to me with tail wagging and a big grin on his face.
“If you’re the watch dog, someone’s not getting their money’s worth,” I laughed, as I gave him a rub and assured him that he was a very good dog even if he wasn’t much in the way of security. I walked around looking for someone but even though the garage door was open and the back of the SUV parked in the driveway was flipped up, no one answered as I called out. I shrugged and gave the ferocious dog one more rub, stroked the nose of the goat who liked the taste of my fingers, and left with the sound of the pitter-pat cluckings of the chickens in my ears.
Eventually I saw an Idaho DOT truck heading towards me and I waved it down. The young man driving it gave me the proper directions and I thanked him and drove on. On my way out I saw a female turkey and her almost grown chicks sauntering around in the grasses on my right. Yep, I could live here, alright. Never mind that every house in the area had their own bulldozer for winter snows and some of the driveways were sloped up to the road making it all but impossible to get out in an ice storm. Maybe they didn’t want to get out. I wouldn’t. What a gorgeous place to live!
I visited northern Idaho briefly while I was stationed in Salt Lake City as a medical officer recruiter. The powers that be had arranged for a conference up in a small lodge and I don’t even remember which one it was. I do remember how beautiful it was and now I could confirm that memory of loveliness around me and in me, so healing to see and feel!
(Pause to go outside and take some morning photos of the surroundings.)
Ok, I’m back. I have far more photos than I can upload to my blog. I’m only aloud three per blog and yesterday I was given the option of thumbnails only. You can’t click on those and get a large view of the photos that way so I’m going to start an album on Facebook with the others. I wish I was a better photographer so I could do justice to the scenery around me but I have no doubt there are professionals out there who have taken some of the area and made a far better job of it. It is what it is, I suppose.
Today I’m heading to St. Regis, Montana, about halfway between Coeur’ d’Alene and Missoula, Montana. I’m only going to go about 100 miles a day because 200 is wearing me out. Plus, I want to get out and explore as I go along and I can’t do that if I’m constantly preparing to get to the next stop. That’s not what I planned, that’s for sure!
The kitties are fed and in their traveling positions, the Bendy Men are back after a night on the town and sleeping it off, and I’m going through my morning ablutions, including writing a blog. May your day be as blessed as mine!
Until tomorrow!
Lessons Learned:
That just because you want to dump your tank at the next stop because you feel too lazy to do it this morning doesn’t mean that there will be a dumping station at the next stop.
That you should always dump when the opportunity presents itself.
Always.
Forget being lazy.
That Charmagne is good with the broad scope but not so hot with the particulars.
That if the address doesn’t have a cross street, you’re going to end up in the middle of the road.
That forgetting to turn the shower nozzle off completely will lead to copious amounts of dripping in the lavoratory.
My cup runneth over.
I needed to mop the floor anyway.
That it’s not a good idea to let the kitties out when your spot lies directly in the path of dog walkers.
That just because the dogs are required to be on a leash doesn’t mean that they won’t give the kitties a heart attack.
That the normally docile, friendly doggies, even the miniature dachshund (think Jaqq) wandering by, believe themselves to be ravening beasts at the sight of a little white cat cowering on the top of the picnic table.
That I should check the location of the dog path before I do this again.
That if you want the furnace to blow hot air you must first turn the propane valve to ‘on.’
And don’t forget to turn it back off.
Observations:
While passing some of the tilled, dusty fields I noticed what appeared to be wisps of smoke going straight up into the clouds. There were numerous little smoke stacks dotting the fields on both sides and it looked like tiny puffs of steam bursting from the ground. While driving close to one I saw that it was actually a tiny tornado drawing the dry ground up into its little vortex. And off to the right was yet another. And another. Must be the spirits of the gods dancing in the fields!
On the far side of the divided highway, a statue of David painted in the bronze hues of a Native American man with a loin cloth draped modestly around his hips.
Two streets noted in Spokane named Freya and Thor. Must be the the Norse Gods behind the patterned fields. Perhaps it's Loki who's out dancing with the wind.
A young pregnant woman and her husband(?) with a sleeping hound dog sitting in the sun at the top of an exit ramp just outside of Spokane holding a sign that said, “broke and stranded, please help.” Probably a scam but I gave them $5.00 anyway because the dog had such a great smile.
Before Spokane a road sign saying Cheney Medical Hospital. I had visions of small groups of patients in swimsuits and bloomers lining up by the lake for a healthy dip in the healing waters while Cheney stood by nodding benevolently.
I have been plagued by nightmares about this ever since.
Just kidding.
I have no idea what day of the week it is. I know what time it is and the date, but that’s it. I don’t suppose it matters, actually. I rather like it.
Day 4 - Coeur d’Alene, Idaho
(It’s actually September 5th but I couldn’t get a signal where I was yesterday. For that matter, I can’t get one now as I eat breakfast at a cute little restaurant further on down the road. You might not see this for a bit…)
(It's now 1730 (5:00 p.m.) and I'm set up at my next stop in St. Regis, Montana. This is the first time I've been able to get a signal. Oh, well.)
Anyway, yesterday I was up with the sunrise in my little spot by the lake and sat for a moment sipping coffee and marveling at the sky. I wasn’t the first up - the huge camper across from me already showed signs of life and a fire was already crackling in the stone ring. The Bendy Men, kitties and I just relaxed and watched the day unfold, or I should say, I did. The Bendy Men were still sleeping and the cats were eating their breakfast. I watched, anyway, and just relaxed and meditated before I began making preparations for departure.
The desert texture of the scenery I had passed the day before now gently smoothed into rural farmland and the beauty of the surroundings so affected me that I had to get out and take some pictures. Because it was near the end of the season many fields were already cleared while others still lay waiting for the harvester. It was stark and very bleak, even harsh, but it had its own textures and colors and patterns that were simply lovely. It appeared to me that the gods had sewn a large patchwork quilt of muted hues and hand stitched rows that crisscrossed the pieces in incredible patterns resembling a large Japanese garden. Indeed, the hand-raked patterns of the gods that were touched by the early morning light sprang into sharp detail and if there had been a place to turn off so I could take a picture I would have done so. Sadly, I was on a small, two-way connecting road taking me back to 90 and there was too little space for my van to safely park. I did take some other pictures from the side of 90 but they cannot do justice to the colors I saw. Some day I’ll get the hang of manipulating my photos. Sigh.
I noticed yesterday before I reached Cle Elum that the crops on both sides of the road were in many stages of growth, from corn no more than two feet high to fields still not quite ready for harvest. Soybeans and hay were likewise at different heights and I envied an area that could coax three plantings from the fertile grounds. In Maine the only two-harvested crop I saw was hay but the growing season was so short that everything else was lucky to reach full growth in one season. The potatoes and cranberries were naturally of one season and the family gardens reached full growth near the end of August, individual vegetables and fruit notwithstanding. And in Kentucky and Illinois I only saw one growing season for the corn and soybeans, so eastern Washington was fortunate, indeed, to have three! Amazing! It was either that or the drought delayed the growth of these immature crops. I like my story better, though. Happier endings always work well for me.
I noticed also that the land, which maintained its rural leanings as I drove along, changed sharply when I drove over the Spokane county line. A sprinkling of fir trees sprang up which quickly became very thick in growth as I headed east. I wondered if the firs had been told that it was illegal to grow beyond the boundary. The ground hadn’t risen sharply or even at all and yet here we were, the line of demarcation suddenly catapulting me into fir city. Interesting. Lovely, but interesting.
I took a nap just outside Spokane and awakened refreshed and made the last few miles easily to Coeur d’Alene. I’m glad I had the rest, however, because I went out and beyond the city down 90 and deep into gorgeous mountain scenery trying to find the Wolf Lodge Campground. Charmagne was doing her best to get me there but once again, she dumped me in the middle of a road and pronounced me at my destination. Hmmm… I saw no sign for the Lodge and decided to check out a nice gravel road far up into the hills while looking for something to give an indication of the location. Even though I was tired I wasn’t sorry I made the extra drive because I passed the most incredible surroundings, long, green valleys with horses grazing, wild flowers swaying everywhere in the breeze, and the patterned light gently touching the firs and trees surrounding the fields. I stopped at a modest house to ask for directions and was greeted by a very nice goat, five chickens and a ferocious watch dog who came shuffling up to me with tail wagging and a big grin on his face.
“If you’re the watch dog, someone’s not getting their money’s worth,” I laughed, as I gave him a rub and assured him that he was a very good dog even if he wasn’t much in the way of security. I walked around looking for someone but even though the garage door was open and the back of the SUV parked in the driveway was flipped up, no one answered as I called out. I shrugged and gave the ferocious dog one more rub, stroked the nose of the goat who liked the taste of my fingers, and left with the sound of the pitter-pat cluckings of the chickens in my ears.
Eventually I saw an Idaho DOT truck heading towards me and I waved it down. The young man driving it gave me the proper directions and I thanked him and drove on. On my way out I saw a female turkey and her almost grown chicks sauntering around in the grasses on my right. Yep, I could live here, alright. Never mind that every house in the area had their own bulldozer for winter snows and some of the driveways were sloped up to the road making it all but impossible to get out in an ice storm. Maybe they didn’t want to get out. I wouldn’t. What a gorgeous place to live!
I visited northern Idaho briefly while I was stationed in Salt Lake City as a medical officer recruiter. The powers that be had arranged for a conference up in a small lodge and I don’t even remember which one it was. I do remember how beautiful it was and now I could confirm that memory of loveliness around me and in me, so healing to see and feel!
(Pause to go outside and take some morning photos of the surroundings.)
Ok, I’m back. I have far more photos than I can upload to my blog. I’m only aloud three per blog and yesterday I was given the option of thumbnails only. You can’t click on those and get a large view of the photos that way so I’m going to start an album on Facebook with the others. I wish I was a better photographer so I could do justice to the scenery around me but I have no doubt there are professionals out there who have taken some of the area and made a far better job of it. It is what it is, I suppose.
Today I’m heading to St. Regis, Montana, about halfway between Coeur’ d’Alene and Missoula, Montana. I’m only going to go about 100 miles a day because 200 is wearing me out. Plus, I want to get out and explore as I go along and I can’t do that if I’m constantly preparing to get to the next stop. That’s not what I planned, that’s for sure!
The kitties are fed and in their traveling positions, the Bendy Men are back after a night on the town and sleeping it off, and I’m going through my morning ablutions, including writing a blog. May your day be as blessed as mine!
Until tomorrow!
Lessons Learned:
That just because you want to dump your tank at the next stop because you feel too lazy to do it this morning doesn’t mean that there will be a dumping station at the next stop.
That you should always dump when the opportunity presents itself.
Always.
Forget being lazy.
That Charmagne is good with the broad scope but not so hot with the particulars.
That if the address doesn’t have a cross street, you’re going to end up in the middle of the road.
That forgetting to turn the shower nozzle off completely will lead to copious amounts of dripping in the lavoratory.
My cup runneth over.
I needed to mop the floor anyway.
That it’s not a good idea to let the kitties out when your spot lies directly in the path of dog walkers.
That just because the dogs are required to be on a leash doesn’t mean that they won’t give the kitties a heart attack.
That the normally docile, friendly doggies, even the miniature dachshund (think Jaqq) wandering by, believe themselves to be ravening beasts at the sight of a little white cat cowering on the top of the picnic table.
That I should check the location of the dog path before I do this again.
That if you want the furnace to blow hot air you must first turn the propane valve to ‘on.’
And don’t forget to turn it back off.
Observations:
While passing some of the tilled, dusty fields I noticed what appeared to be wisps of smoke going straight up into the clouds. There were numerous little smoke stacks dotting the fields on both sides and it looked like tiny puffs of steam bursting from the ground. While driving close to one I saw that it was actually a tiny tornado drawing the dry ground up into its little vortex. And off to the right was yet another. And another. Must be the spirits of the gods dancing in the fields!
On the far side of the divided highway, a statue of David painted in the bronze hues of a Native American man with a loin cloth draped modestly around his hips.
Two streets noted in Spokane named Freya and Thor. Must be the the Norse Gods behind the patterned fields. Perhaps it's Loki who's out dancing with the wind.
A young pregnant woman and her husband(?) with a sleeping hound dog sitting in the sun at the top of an exit ramp just outside of Spokane holding a sign that said, “broke and stranded, please help.” Probably a scam but I gave them $5.00 anyway because the dog had such a great smile.
Before Spokane a road sign saying Cheney Medical Hospital. I had visions of small groups of patients in swimsuits and bloomers lining up by the lake for a healthy dip in the healing waters while Cheney stood by nodding benevolently.
I have been plagued by nightmares about this ever since.
Just kidding.
I have no idea what day of the week it is. I know what time it is and the date, but that’s it. I don’t suppose it matters, actually. I rather like it.
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