I had the pleasure of getting my ass painted recently at an art workshop sponsored by the Sangres Art Guild and taught by local renowned artist Gerald Merfeld, owner of the Brookwood Gallery in Westcliffe. I was invited to model with my partner Redbo the saddle donkey. The workshop was held at Merfeld’s studio southwest Westcliffe. Ten students of varying experience attended and worked from live models in different media (watercolors, oils and acrylics) for an intense five days, with instruction and demonstrations at times from Merfeld. Redbo and I did two hourlong morning poses, one standing, and one in the saddle. The standing pose was difficult for the painters because Redbo kept trying to eat Gerald’s luscious grass and would not hold still. Meanwhile I got a great biceps workout trying to keep his head up. However, he was great once I put the saddle on for the second pose. It was much easier for me — I got to sit down. But holding the “looking off into the sunset” pose for that timeframe was not as easy as it looks. All in all it was a great time and I got to meet some interesting people, as well as reacquaint with a couple of the artists that I happened to know from other endeavors over the years.
Archive for June, 2008
How I got my ass painted in Westcliffe
June 30, 2008Just another evening of ranching
June 27, 2008
Horses can do some crazy things. I care for 10 horses over at Ross and Jan Wilkins’ Bear Bones Ranch where I am the ranch manager. One recent evening I was bringing them in off the pasture when one horse named Tony forgot about the fence. Luckily it was only smooth wire. He hit it like a runner through a finish-line tape, slammed into the hillside behind the fence with a resounding thud, then bounced back on his feet, shook it off and galloped on up to the barn. I walked over to the point of impact and found about 15 feet of fence destroyed, wires snapped and steel fence posts bent to low angles.
I followed Tony on up the hill, where I found he was bleeding from the mouth, had superficial cuts all over his body, and had literally peeled the skin from below his left knee down the front of the cannon bone in what could be described as a long triangular shape. Obviously my night was just beginning, and I went home to call Dr. Kit Ryff, our veterinarian from Salida, which is about 65 miles away.
Kit was just sitting down to dinner with his wife at the Corkscrew restaurant there when I caught him on his cell phone. I told him that I didn’t think Tony would die if he ate dinner first, but I thought the wound definitely needed stitches as soon as possible. He said he’d call when he was close and I could meet him at the ranch.
So about 10:45 I drove over in the dark and by the light of pickup headlights through the dust Kit surmised that I was right and decided to lay the horse down with drugs in order to sew up the wound. It took a while for the drugs to take effect, but Tony finally went down in the corral. Kit went to work with his curved needle and sewed up one side of the leg. Then we rolled Tony over — he weighs about 1,100 pounds. Kit had just started on the other side of the wound when the drugs started to wear off.
There’s really no describing a half-ton of half-doped, half-crazed horse flopping around in the dust inside a steel corral backlighted by headlights. Several times he came down with his ass bashing the panels, bending one fairly severely. He landed on his water bucket, crushing it and sending a shower in all directions. Then, the worst possible thing happened. Tony flopped over and came down on the corral, somehow managing to hang a hind foot between two of the panels.
So now we had the wounded horse hanging upside down in the headlights with Kit holding his head to keep him from struggling. I tried to push the foot up and out, but there was too much pressure on it. I tried unhinging the panels, but between the bent metal and the weight of the horse bearing down I couldn’t get the pin out.
Kit suggested that I take over the head, and he thought he might be able to get the foot loose. So we swapped places.
The second Kit knocked that foot loose, I felt the sting of rope burning my hand. Tony was up, sort of, stumbling this way and that, and I couldn’t see anything in the headlights. I dropped the rope and ran across the corral. Kit, meanwhile, with his back to the headlights, could see what was going on and rushed in to grab Tony by the lead.
We got the horse calmed down and Kit finished stitching the cut with Tony standing up. He bandaged the wound, gave him an IV pain medication and penicillin, and we were done.
We drove off a little before midnight. Everyone lived.
This time there’s no printing bill
June 26, 2008Years ago, I published a small magazine called Mountain Athlete that focused on mountain sports. The magazine grew and we soon had a few loyal advertisers, a far-flung staff of sorts and a distribution system that consisted of the Wetmore (Colo.) Post Office and my own truck. It was great fun, except for the printing bill. Someone was making money off the rag, and it wasn’t me. I imagine that’s why I finally quit publishing the thing.
Afterwards, I commonly heard comments from people saying they missed the magazine. The truth was I missed it too. Recently I’ve been faced with the question of what I want to be when I grow up — I’m 48 — and how to have fun doing it. Why not publish something using my own writing skills?
Since the Mountain Athlete days my interests have evolved and grown into an ecclectic mixture of ideas that basically revolve around trying to live a full and healthy life here in Colorado. I like to explore people, animals, lifestyles, food and nutrition, friendships, books, music and the backcountry. I bring up issues. I write essays and I take photos. I tell stories.
E.B. White wrote: “The essayist is a self-liberated man, sustained by the childish belief that everything he thinks about, everything that happens to him, is of general interest.”
I’m starting this blog with hopes that it’s welcomed by those who find it. Where this leads, we’ll have to wait and see.
