DunrovinSuzAnne, Author at Dunrovin Ranch

Apr 09 2016

Light on an April Morn

It has become my habit to carry my little Lumix “point and shoot” camera with me whenever I go for a walk-about or for a horseback ride. The camera sits in my vest front pocket until needed, yet it also secured around my neck with a soft lanyard to prevent me from dropping it as I struggle to keep my horse still or continue to throw Jewel’s ball while taking photos. Animals! They often entail multitasking.

My camera carrying habit has richly paid off. It has made me a much better observer and drawn me into taking notice of light and angles and distance and framing. I do not fancy myself a good photographer, nor do I really aspire to being one. I lack the patience to learn the technology and, frankly, my old body simply doesn’t want to put itself into the contortions required to position the camera just right to get the right shot at the right angle. Mostly I just enjoy the process on my own terms, satisfied with reasonable quality photos that reflect my view on the world.

On a recent morning walk along our bench overlooking the riparian area next to the river, the mid morning light bathed the horses and beckoned me with my camera. Everything was so peaceful, quiet, and soft. Spring’s tender new shoots and just opening leaves on the trees cast an barely visible green filter over the view, rendering it a romantic scene from a British novel. It whispered, “take a moment, breath the clear air, pause for nothing but being still.”

As I walked down the incline, I noticed Tyler’s art in the background, a exotic object without a hint of utilitarian purpose standing in the pasture, inviting comment and wonder. The horses expressed no opinion. They ignored it. It is not edible. It presents no danger. It can’t be used for scratching or shelter. It just is. But for me it adds another dimension, another frame to capture with my camera. It held me for several minutes, watching its inert stillness while the horse lazily grazed about it.

Drawing my eye back from the art work, it landed on my Lovely Lady Lonza, aglow with the back light sun, strong, and totally in her element, without care or worry. The champagne color of her early spring coat which has yet to discard all of its thick winter fur, played with the light. While separated by a fence, I kissed towards her and she came, allowing me to caress her with my camera to capture the richness of her mane. She stood for a few minutes, letting we adore her with my hands and my words; then she turned and went back in search sweet new grass.

Hearing my kisses, our newest horse, Mystery, with his gangly teen aged body came also. It surprised me. Arriving as a four year old directly off the large ranch of his birth, Mystery has been here only several months. He was unaccustomed to daily interactions with people which manifested itself in some shyness and an initial reluctance to come forward to meet people. I smiled at his progress. I spent several minutes scratching him and turning my lens in his direction to capture his face, his beautiful soft eye, and the light brown tips of his otherwise black mane. He was a mystery when he came – hence the name. He is now revealing himself to be a kindly, curious, and willing young fellow. What more will he bring to us?

AUTHORS NOTE: You will see Mystery standing in front of a barbed wire fence. We at Dunrovin Ranch do not use barbed wire for fences except where there are cattle on either side of the fence. Horses and barbed wire are not a good combination; yet cattle don’t respect anything except barbed wire or electric fences. Life! So full of compromises.

Mar 21 2016

The Eyes of March on the Ides of March

Each year as the calendar arrives at the ides of March, all eyes at Dunrovin begin to turn upward for the first appearance of our most famous seasonal residents – the ospreys. Since Dunrovin came into existence, the ospreys of spring and summer have been a dominant feature. They command the skies and they fill the air with their boisterous chirps as they set up housekeeping in their enormous nest. Each year they return in heed of nature’s call to breed, care for their chicks, and fledge the next generation of ospreys.

It was not until 2011 when Dunrovin installed the web camera above the ospreys’ nest that we were able to distinguish individual birds. From the ground, most ospreys look very similar. There is little variation in their color patterns and unless an osprey has a wonky feather or other distinguishing feature, it is nearly impossible to tell them apart as they fly by. The web camera, however, allows us to look them right in the eyes – and it is the eyes that are their telling characteristic. Each bird has a unique set of spots or flecks in the iris of each of their eyes. By comparing the fleck patterns from year to year, we can distinguish the birds and verify that the same ospreys return each year.

Indeed, since 2011, the same ospreys, whom we lovingly named Ozzie and Harriet, did return. Then, in 2014, tragedy struck. Ozzie was killed by an eagle, and Harriet was left along to raise her surviving chicks. She valiantly stayed long after her normal departure date and successfully fledged her two chicks. In 2015, Harriet returned alone and spent a chaotic and dramatic summer finding and training a new mate, whom we have appreciatively named Hal – short for Hallelujah, Harriet has found a mate!

While Harriet did manage to lay two eggs in 2015, she was unable to adequately incubate them for lack of a proper mate who would supply her with food. Hal arrived on the scene a little too late to be of much help. However, the infertile eggs did serve as great “practice eggs” for him to learn how to properly sit them. It was by all measures an unsuccessful breeding year – unless Hal returns with Harriet and last summer’s learning translates into an successful breeding this year. In spite of the lack of chicks, it was, for all of us viewers, a very interesting year. Little did we all understand just how much learning goes into successful breeding. Nature provided Hal with the tools; but is was Harriet who showed him how to use them.

So now our eyes will be focused on the eyes of any osprey that lands on the Dunrovin nest. It is a popular nest among ospreys, as there is no another one for miles around and the fishing grounds are good. It is sure to be occupied. But by whom? Will Harriet have survived the winter? Will she return to the nest? Will Hal return as her mate? Will they successfully breed and raise their first chicks together. The eyes of the ospreys that take up residence will answer our first questions, while only the passing of summer will reveal the answer to our latter.

Here are some close up photos of Harriet’s eyes. Notice the thick field of flecks in the lower, outside quadrant of each eye. In her left eye, she also has a rather large fleck at about 2 o’clock.

Now contrast Harriet’s eyes with Hal’s. His eyes have far fewer flecks. In fact, they are a only three significant flecks in his left eye and only two prominent flecks in his right eye.

As soon as an osprey lands this year, which should be any day now, we will swing the web camera around to try to get a clear close up photo of its eyes. And, of course, our hopes are that we will ultimately see the same four eyes displayed in the photos above.

Naturally, there are other, less definitive, signs of each bird which can be used to tell Harriet and Hal apart. Harriet’s dark forehead feathers come down almost to her beak, while Hal has more white feathers immediately above his beak. Harriet is larger than Hal, as most females are larger than males.

Harriet has a more distinct “necklace” of darker feather around her chest. Hal has longer and slimmer legs. Harriet, on the right in all of the photos below, has slightly more color variation in the feather on her back.

Here’s hoping that we soon greet these two magnificent birds back to Dunrovin for a successful year that produces chicks and keeps us in awe the entire summer.

Mar 16 2016

Points of View

Dunrovin had no idea what to expect when it arranged for its first ever artist in residence during the winter of 2016. Our intentions were simple. We wanted to break up the winter with some frivolity, to distract ourselves with something surprising and, hopefully. a little eccentric. We wanted to engage our www.DaysAtDunrovin.com cyber community members in the creative process, to watch it unfold, to connect with the artist as his or her vision took shape. And we wanted the artist to help us see our world through different eyes, and start a new conversation.

Luckily we picked the perfect artist to introduce us to working and living with art. Tyler Nansen seamlessly melded into our world. He was a quiet, unpretentious presence, wondering the property to let his artistic spirit “find Dunrovin.” He happily shared his thoughts and curiosity with us and our cyber friends as he began to “know” the place, feel its rhythms, and absorb its sense of self. While our local newspaper captured the specifics of the project, I am only now beginning to understand the prolonged impact the art will have on me and other Dunrovin residents and visitors.

I find myself circling each of Tyler’s pieces as part of my daily routine. They draw me in. They ask me to notice the light, the vegetation, the sky. They seem to demand that I take note of the differences, the details, the changes in them and their surroundings.

They invite me to play, to bring my friends and animals down to contemplate them. They have drawn visitors who called and came just so they could see for themselves, to share their own impressions, their own reactions and experiences, to leave of little of themselves behind.

Jewel’s and Kola’s initial suspicions to these strange things in their well known stomping grounds turned first to acceptance with casual inspections for any new features or creatures who might be about. Their feelings are now turning to near boredom mixed with exasperation at my interrupting their games each time we pass so that I can appreciate them anew.

What I did not anticipate was my complex and nuanced emotional reaction to these foreign objects in my space. Dunrovin is my home, my grounding, my safe harbor. It is part of me, and in many ways, it is a reflection of who I am and what I value. Unlike Tyler’s efforts to “find Dunrovin”, I had found it long ago. I have reshaped it and it has reshaped me. I and my family have never before been asked to live with someone else’s notion of “our” Dunrovin. Our possessiveness is natural and unavoidable.

While beautiful in many ways, Tyler’s pieces prompt all manor of thoughts, reactions, and reflections. This is what art is supposed to do. Some of my thoughts are joyful and appreciative. Some are disturbing and perplexing. Does Tyler’s vision conflict with my own? Does it invite criticism? Does it inspire? Does it please me? Does it unsettle me? The answer is yes, it does. It does all of these things – and more. It pulls me out of myself, which is both freeing and fraught. It tilts my mirror, blurs my vision, and leaves me with a new point of view on my world and my place in it.

These tantalizing and unexpected objects will no doubt catch the attention of our summer visitors and generate many conversations about their juxtaposition with nature. It will be great fun to hear our guests question and enjoy their presence. Our visitors’ impressions and exclamations will become part of the story of Tyler’s art.

But these art pieces will hold no greater power over anyone than me. The eyes of this beholder sees them in an entirely personal way, in my personal place, occupying my personal moments as my days of living around them and with them accumulate. These ephemeral, light and insubstantial objects are helping me comprehend the meaning of place. What are they doing in my place? I did not, and could not have, created these objects. I played no role in their becoming – but they now play a role in mine.

I am eager for the impact of the coming seasons on Tyler’s art – the potential flooding of the river, the eruption of spring vegetation, the horses milling about and inspecting them, birds selecting a corner for nest construction. I am equally eager for my mental and emotional meanderings that will surely accompany them as they are buffeted by the weather and nature to pass from standing proudly new, to slumping into disorderliness, to disappearing all together. Their impact on me will long outlast their physical presence.

Jan 12 2016

Jack Frost Runs Amuck

Big rivers are the home to many real and mythical creatures. Water is after all, the source of all life. River riparian areas are veritable highways for wildlife of all kinds. And rivers spark the mind’s imagination to conjure all manner of mythical beings.

Two winter rascals, Jack Frost and his side kick the Frost Fairy, are more than mythical. While they may be invisible, their presence and their work are both seen and felt. Every winter these two spirited phantoms venture forth under the cover of night to turn an ordinary, but beautiful, world into an extraordinary, other worldly and ephemeral vision of crystal. Just recently Jack seemed to be on a delusional high as he and his sidekick outdid themselves with magic.

Jack stayed at the river to play and do the heavy lifting, supplying the Frost Fairy with her pallet of crystals for her trips to the forest to adorn the trees. He magically levitated the warmer water molecules to hang effortlessly in the cold air, forming a thick mantle of fog to conceal his efforts and diffuse the warmth of the sun, thus preventing it from spoiling their fun. His organic brew infused the area with a musty, earthy and heavy odor. Like a child in summer gleefully and casually skipping stones across the river’s surface, Jack delighted in forming delicate and airy frost lily pads that he then randomly cast in the thick, yet flowing water.

The Frost Fairy did all of the delicate work. First she flitted among the cotton wood trees along the river’s shore, painting their naked limbs and spindly twigs a sparkly white to starkly contrast with their dark bark. The dull grey sky seemed only to accentuate her talents. It was a scene of contradictions, with the feathery frosted trees reaching and reaching into a fog laden and burdensome sky that was totally lacking in texture.

She then moved up to the bench and pastures to dress the ornamental trees, the buildings, and the fences by painstakingly applying individual ice crystals to each and every needle of the pine trees, to the tinniest of the lilac twigs, coating every strand of wire along the fences, and turning ordinary ranch objects like gates and bird houses into true works of art. She was meticulous and thorough in her duties, making sure that each crystal was unique, and delicately balancing crystal upon crystal to create cotton candy like swirls on every tree branch. What an artist is she!

She clearly favored one lovely ponderosa pine situated on a bench overlooking the river corridor, near our wooden arbor with porch swing, picnic tables, and fire pits. She recognized it as a gathering place where she could parade her skills and show off her aesthetic sensibilities to all who might pass by. Every needle, every branch, every nook and corner of the tree was coated with layer after layer after layer of luminous sheets of tiny crystals.

It was her masterpiece. And, indeed all who passed took notice, stopping for a detailed inspection of her fine work, looking up and down to appreciate it from all angles. She entrapped me in her spell binding artistry, as I stood for long moments breathing in the cold and viscous air that she and Jack had used to work their wonders. As with all things of great beauty, especially things that embrace all of the senses, mere photos do not do justice.

Dec 23 2015

Christmas in Montana’s Tinseltown

Hollywood does not own the moniker of Tinseltown. Butte can most certainly claim it as the Montana version. At the turn of the twentieth century, Butte boasted a vibrant vaudeville scene with opulent theaters seating 2,500 that hosted the likes of Mark Twain and Charlie Chaplin, who made his first American appearance there. Butte has been every bit the dream maker and heart breaker that Hollywood has come to represent. As Mary MacLane so aptly put it in 1917, “This Butte is capriciously decorated with sweet brilliant metallic orgies of color at any time, all times, as if by whims of pagan gods lightly drunk and lightly mad.”

Butte can wear the name Tinseltown for another, more literal, reason. Beyond Butte’s nineteenth century siren call to people from across the world looking for a better life, and beyond Butte’s eccentric and splashy multicultural theatrics, Butte has long embraced tinsel as the perfect trappings to turn an ordinary tree into a shimmering Christmas tree reflecting the lights, the colors, and the very dreams of the Christmas season. While I lack the facts to support the supposition, I will bet you that Butte sells more Christmas tinsel per person than any other community in the world.

Growing up in the multicultural milieu that was Butte, Montana in the 1950’s endowed me with a belief in Christmas magic. Butte was more than a flashy and eccentric place. More than a rough and tumble place. Butte had, and still has, a vigorous embracing heart that crosses cultural, economic, and social boundaries to form a vibrant community. To live in Butte is to be “in it” together, to not only honor and enjoy each other’s unique cultural differences, but to celebrate them through food, art, and theater. At no time are Butte’s richly hued split personalities more apparent than at Christmas.

Historically, Butte’s working-class immigrants from across much of Europe brought their Christmas traditions with them, which they proudly exhibited in their distinct neighborhoods. Skilled machinists, carpenters, electricians, and welders applied their crafts to creating elaborate Christmas displays with moving parts, music, and endless lights at volunteer fire stations, churches, and in front yards across the city. The Anaconda Company lit up the majority of Butte mining head frames that dotted the entire city, which could be seen from the Harding Way highway as people drove over the Continental Divide into Butte. White lights on the “M” for the Montana School of Mines (now Montana Tech) overlooking the city were replaced with red and green lights for the season. Uptown business streets were decked out to the nines with music playing, snow falling, and storefronts competing with each other for the most elaborate Christmas decorations. Cold temperatures, warm, welcoming houses, and numerous seasonal parties, musicals, and shows of all kinds were seasonal givens.

Through all of Butte’s seasonal excesses, tinsel was a unifying and essential decorative element for home Christmas trees – lots and lots of tinsel, tinsel that took hours to hang like icicles and properly reflect the twinkling lights carefully. Family bonds were forged, and family fights were ensured over the stringing of tinsel during the holidays. People tried to save tinsel, generally unsuccessfully, from year to year by placing it in the Sears and Pennys Christmas catalogs like a thousand bookmarks – which meant that taking the tree down was as big a job as putting it together.

While the family of my birth was totally engaged with Christmas tinsel, my own family outlawed it from our family tree years ago. My husband and two sons lacked the proper upbringing to put up with its laborious application – and it became increasingly difficult to find and purchase in such places as Alaska. Tinsel just wasn’t de rigueur outside of the Butte area.

Luckily, Fairmont Hot Springs (known to me and all others of a certain age as Gregson Hot Springs) carries on the Butte tinsel tradition in a grand way. Their enormous tree completely covered in tinsel and surrounded by wildlife mounts on the walls, enchants my inner child and takes me flying off to the Butte, Montana Christmas I long to celebrate. They do Christmas right. They go to excesses. All of their outdoor trees sport bright lights of every hue and are laden with fresh fallen snow. Red stocking with names of staff members are hanging from every mantel on every fireplace. It is simply delightful!

My family is more than willing to accompany me to get my Butte Christmas fix with an annual weekend stay at Fairmont. We dine at my favorite old style Butte restaurants, such as Lydia’s Supper Club, converse for hours to solve the world’s problems while soaking in the outside hot pools surrounded by snow, play on the slopes at Discovery Ski Area, and stop in Philipsburg on the way home to revel in the old fashioned Christmas atmosphere and pick up some delicious peanut butter taffy at the Sweet Palace. This weekend trip is a Christmas present to me from my family each year – and I LOVE it.

The 2015 holiday season’s trip was particularly wonderful. It snowed and snowed all day on Saturday, creating tons of powder for my sons’ snowboarding adventures at Discovery. Sunday dawned clear and cold – cold enough for booted feet to squeak as I walked along the shores of a frozen Georgetown Lake. It was nearly winter solstice and the bright rays cast by the low lying sun presented one Kodak moment after the other. It was winter as exactly winter should be. It was the winter of my dreams, the Christmas of my dreams.

Modern Philipsburg could be Butte of the 1950’s with their uptown wreaths, city center crèche, old, ornate buildings – old Butte on a miniature scale. The really enthralling thing is that none of this – Fairmont, Butte, Philispburg – is artificial. It has not been concocted by some marketing guru to satisfy someone’s idea of what an authentic (such an overused marketing term!) Christmas should be. No, all of this is organic and community-created. The staff at Farimont hang the tinsel, the citizens of Philispburg collectively decorate their beautiful mountain town, the same family that started Lydia’s Super Club still serves up the best Italian food in America, hot springs are geological features throughout Montana, and who but Nature or God could sculpt the mountains, light the sun, and forge such a dramatic landscape. My family’s Christmas gift to me surpasses all others in its meaning. I savor it all year long.

As a parting gesture, my Christmas trip ended with a bald eagle in a tree on one side of Montana Highway 1 and a rough-legged hawk on a utility pole on the other side. I will be smiling for a long, long time.

Merry Christmas from Tinseltown, Montana!