Alderwood and applewood.

Last weekend we celebrated my Grandma Lula's 95th birthday. We gathered at the ranch, where Grandma and Grandpa lived when I was a child. The house is gone, Grandpa is gone, and Grandma now lives a few miles down the highway from the old ranch. The view hasn't changed much, and the air smells the same, but still, I didn't think there was much left to really remind me of those childhood days. We had a great afternoon watching Grandma open her birthday cards and blow out the candles on her cake. We ate chili and roasted hotdogs and marshmallows over the fire. Throughout the day some of the men were making elk jerky on a large metal grate over a fire made from alder and apple wood. I ate a few pieces of it at the ranch that day. It was delicious, but it wasn't until I got home and tried it again that I appreciated it the most. It tastes like the ranch. I never knew you could put a place into the food you eat, but now I know you can. As I bring it to my mouth, I can both smell and taste all the things I had forgotten. It is those Sunday mornings, arriving early at the ranch, a fire in the fireplace. It is playing outside under the trees. It is getting rides on the horses and playing on the saddles in the tack shed. I remember eating jerky out of a cardboard box at Grandma's when I was little. I had forgotten that, and I don't know if it was beef, elk or deer. All I know is that I am grateful for being able to have the day with Grandma and the rest of my family. I am grateful for that little taste of jerky that brought back so many memories.

Artist essay

Leonardo da Vinci

I know this is not the Mona Lisa ~ I like this one more.

Are you warm, are you real, Monalisa? Or just a cold and lonely, lovely work of art? Do you smile to tempt a lover, Monalisa? Or is this your way to hide a broken heart? The popular song made famous by the crooning of Nat King Cole is only one of the many things inspired by Leonardo da Vinci’s painting, the Mona Lisa. It is one of the most famous paintings of all time. It has inspired poetry, books, and a hit movie. People can buy everything from coffee cups to action figures that bear the likeness of the Mona Lisa. I have known about Leonardo da Vinci since I was a child, primarily because of the popularity of his most famous painting, the Mona Lisa.

Leonardo da Vinci was born in 1452, the illegitimate son of a landowner and a peasant girl. He started studying art with Verrocchio when he was only 16 years old and became a master artist.  The Mona Lisa is what most people remember him for, but Leonardo did much more than paint one mysterious woman. He was a true Renaissance man, accomplished in all of the following areas: painting, sculpting, architecture, music, science, math, engineering, inventing, and writing. In addition to the Mona Lisa, da Vinci’s painting ‘The Last Supper’ is one of the most reproduced works of art and the most recognizable depiction of Jesus and the disciples.

I became more interested in Leonardo when I was shown a video in my Accounting class last year. The video was about Luca Pacioli, the father of accounting. Leonardo’s contributions to Pacioli’s book, ‘The Divine Proportion’ are representative of his use of art in science and math. This is how da Vinci’s work differed from that of most scientists of his time, he saw no divide between science and art. Being able to think of accounting as art actually helped me appreciate the class that I otherwise did not enjoy.  

The more I have read about Leonardo, the more I admire him and his work. Although he detested war, he was in an inventor ahead of his time. While his paintings are what he is most remembered for, he was actually a much better draftsman than painter. He drew many inventions, among them; a flying machine, armored car, machine gun, parachute, helicopter, and a robotic knight. It is said that Leonardo epitomizes the term ‘polymath,’ which is a person of superhuman intellect, intelligence and talent.  All that Leonardo da Vinci accomplished in one lifetime is amazing and makes me reflect on how much more I can do with the time that I have. I found in Leonardo, an inspiration. While the lyrics to the popular song, Monalisa, are catchy, they are not meaningful compared to the quotes of the master himself. His insight gives me something to ponder.

“Obstacles cannot crush me. Every obstacle yields to stern resolve. He who is fixed to a star does not change his mind.”

Art Appreciation extra credit assignment

EDGAR DEGAS

HE LOVED GREATLY TO DRAW

My sister wanted to be a ballerina. For her 10^th birthday, my mother painstakingly copied one of the ballerina paintings by Edgar Degas to use as the card in which she told my sister she was going to get the coveted dance lessons. She used colored pencil on light gray paper, of which I like to think Degas would have approved. My sister might have loved the dance lessons, but the way I see it, the best gift was the drawing.  I still have the book of masterpieces mom copied it from. The small town I grew up in didn’t have any galleries, so that book was as close as I got to fine arts.

Edgar Degas was born July 19, 1834 in Paris, France. His father, Augustin, was a wealthy banker, and his mother was a Creole from New Orleans. Degas wanted to be a painter from a very young age, but his father wanted him to be a lawyer. He went to law school for a short time, but his father eventually gave in and sent him to art school. Degas also had a baccalaureate in literature, but painting was his passion.

In 1856 Degas traveled to Italy where he drew and painted copies of works by Raphael, Michaelangelo, Titian and the other Renaissance artists of that time. Copying paintings was the accepted method of learning to paint, and Degas was very good at it. While in Italy he studied and became proficient in the techniques of high, academic and classical art.

Degas returned to Paris and in 1865 he showed for the first time at the Salon. He had done a series of horse paintings. It was the painting called “Scene of War in the Middle Ages” that was shown, and didn’t get much attention. After that, Degas changed his style and never painted about history again. During that time, while copying paintings in the Louvre, Degas met Edourd Manet, who was a great influence on him.

Degas had problems with his sight. One account suggests that he ‘caught cold’ in his eyes. The problem was first diagnosed when he was in rifle training for the National Guard. In 1870 Degas fought in the Franco-Prussian war. When the war was over he traveled to New Orleans and stayed with relatives. While there, he painted ‘The Cotton Exchange at New Orleans’ which was the only painting sold to a museum during his lifetime.

Degas took care to protect his eyesight and did most of his paintings from memory or preliminary drawings. He didn’t subject himself to the sunlight or inclement weather, so most of his work was done in a studio. He is usually called an Impressionist, but it is said that Degas thought of himself as a ‘Realist.’ He preferred to paint contemporary subject matter, or, people doing every day tasks. He said of himself, "I am a colorist of lines.” Degas’ works covered a broad scope of subject matter, including portraits. His preferred method for painting was pastels, although he also worked with oil. Known as the master of movement, nearly every work by Degas depicts action and movement.  He showed the effect of light, rather than the source of light.  This skill is apparent, especially in his theater paintings that show the effect of “artificial light”, which at that time was gaslight. Degas possessed a desire to show motion from every angle, which was one motivation for his sculpting.

During his life, Degas only exhibited one wax sculpture – “Little Dancer, Aged 14.”  Historians aren’t sure why he never exhibited sculptures again, but speculate that he was averse to the attention it brought him. He never meant for his sculptures to last, having done them in wax, he intended for them to be destroyed by time. After his death, his family made the decision to cast the best-preserved works in bronze.

Although Degas had a close friendship with artist Mary Cassatt, he remained a bachelor all of his life. Degas did devote a lot of his time to painting women, as one third of his works are related to ballet. He also painted laundresses, and over fifty monotypes of ladies of the night. He said that “among common people you find grace.”

As his eyesight got worse, he took up the art of black and white photography. He was a man of many gifts who wrote sonnets about his work. His artist function was to ‘refresh vision and help people see the world in new ways’, as illustrated by his own words; "After seeing my work, a person will never look at the world the same.” With all of his talents, it is clear that Degas loved drawing the most. When he died in 1917 at the age of 83 the only thing he wanted said at his gravesite was this: “He greatly loved drawing.”

I never saw my sister in a tutu, but I remember that drawing mom made for her. Each artist we study is special for different reasons, but learning about Degas has brought back a cherished memory of my mom, and how she copied a masterpiece to present a gift. As I learn about each artist I realize that while the paintings had themes and functions, the most important ‘gift’ is that they remain for us to enjoy.

I only write for school now.....

Nancy Aubertin-Pipkins

Multicultural Communications

Family History

My mom was born and raised in Wilbur, Washington.  She grew up on a wheat farm, but they also had goats, chickens, cows and horses. My dad was born in the nearby reservation town of Keller. He learned to drive a truck when he was 9 years old. Dad’s family also had cattle and horses. With mom growing up on a farm and dad on a ranch, they were not strangers to hard work. Both towns were very small. Keller was so small that they didn’t have a school for students past 5^th grade, so the kids were bused to Wilbur for junior high and high school. The team mascots were the Savages and the Redskins. I’m not sure how my dad felt about boxing for the Redskins; he never mentioned it. My parents were high school sweethearts and married right after they graduated.

I was born on July 5, 1960 at Sacred Heart Hospital in Spokane, Washington, the fourth of five children. I weighed just a little over 4 pounds and had to stay in the hospital for 2 weeks before I could go home to Wilbur.  I like telling people I spent the first 2 weeks of my life with the nuns. Mom said she had been on the reservation the day before I was born, because it was the 4^th of July and the Aubertin’s had a family get together. They like to blow things up! She was glad I wasn’t born that day or I might not have made it. My umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck. There were no phones, doctors, or even ambulances in Keller; you could only get there by crossing Lake Roosevelt on a ferryboat.

My mother’s grandparents came from Norway and we went to the Danish Lutheran church with all of the other Scandinavian families in town. I remember participating in the Christmas programs - always hoping to play Mary, but instead, having to be a shepherd or a king.  That is what always happens to the shy ones. Every year we were given a little plastic Nativity scene and a paper bag full of chocolates, nuts and orange slices. For Christmas, my mom made spritz cookies, rosettes and Norwegian lefse, which is a flatbread made out of potatoes. We put butter and sugar on them and rolled them up. I grew up hearing “Sven, Lena and Ole” jokes and learned to say “Uff da” when things don’t go quite right. On my mom’s side of the family I have an extensive family history, with plenty of photos and stories.

I feel lucky to have grown up in a small town during simpler times. There are bluffs surrounding Wilbur, and when I was little they were thick with wildflowers every spring.  We spent hours playing on the bluffs, at the school playground, and in the park.  During the summer we could walk to the city pool to cool off and play with our friends. In the fall we played in the leaves in the park and went for walks in the rain.  When winter came we went sledding on the dead-end hill and built forts and snowmen. Those were the days! As long as we were home in time for dinner our parents never worried about us. I don’t think my children ever felt the kind of freedom that I had growing up in that little town in the 60s and 70s.

I realize now that I’m older; that being shy had a big impact on my life and the person I am now. In Kindergarten we were put into groups at different tables. Each group was named after a bird – and I was a robin red breast. I remember feeling even then that it would have been better if I were a blue bird. I found out years later that the teachers split us up according to how smart they thought we were.  I know I was a bluebird, but I was awkward and shy, and mistaken for a robin. Thinking of it now I realize I am being rather unfair to robins. Being so shy was difficult and kept me from doing things I wanted to do, even as an adult. There were times when I would go somewhere by myself, but once there, I was afraid to go in. Many times I turned the car around and drove home, tears running down my face.

When I was 30 years old I got a job at the Tri-City Herald. I have to say that my life was changed dramatically by going to work. I finally grew out of my shyness and learned what it was like to have self-esteem. I was given many opportunities and worked my way into a management position. I was also trained to facilitate diversity awareness programs, a task which I greatly enjoyed.

            I don’t have as much information on my dad’s side of the family. He grew up on the Indian Reservation and was a member of the Colville Confederated Tribes. The home he grew up in is now under water because of the Grand Coulee Dam being built. His great-great-grandfather, Louis Provost, was a canoe man who came from Canada to the Oregon Territories in 1838 with the Hudson Bay Company. There he met and married a full-blooded Indian woman named Julia Kin-A-Wait-Sa. Their daughter Victoria married Joachim Marchand from Quebec. They had a daughter, Sophie who married my great-grandfather, Charles Aubertin.  My dad’s parents divorced when he was only 5 years old. I wish they didn’t fit the stereotype, but both of my dad’s parents were alcoholics. My grandmother actually died by drowning in the bathtub, apparently drunk. My dad had one brother and one sister, and later, 2 half brothers.  He had a very successful logging company and was a good husband and father. My mom told me that my dad was sometimes ashamed of his ethnicity. I have a letter he wrote to the tribal council in 1973, shortly after a drunk driver on the reservation killed my brother and nephew.  I only saw this letter recently, and the opening paragraph says a lot about how dad felt about the reservation.

     “ A week has now passed since seven more persons (four tribal members) have been sacrificed to your brand and interpretation of "law and order". My son and Grandson were among this latest group classified D.O.A.  Just how much longer must this senseless destruction of mind and body continue before the Council will join with existing society in cooperation toward effective law and order so that instances such as last week's head-on auto collision will not be summarily dismissed as  “another drunken Indian bit the dust"?

Dad died of a massive coronary when I was only 25 years old. Now that my own children are older than I was then, I realize I didn’t really get to know my dad.  I would love to talk to him now to see how his ideas and views would have changed with the times.  I hope he knew how much respect I always had for him. Even though my parents came from such totally different upbringings I have always been proud of both, my Norwegian and American Indian backgrounds.  I recently visited the Tribal Museum and bought a book and cd so I can listen to the language of the Lakes Indians.  My step-grandma is 94 years old and still lives on the reservation.  For some reason she thinks of me as her Indian granddaughter – I guess because I have such an interest in that part of my history. I am passionate about the disenfranchisement of an entire nation of people. It is sad that my dad felt so much shame that he couldn’t share the rich heritage of his people with his children. It is not too late for me to pick up the torch laid down so long ago – when the salmon stopped running at Kettle Falls and the easy, respectful ways of the Indians gave way to the squalor that is now so apparent on the reservation. Grandma recently gave me her moccasins and some beaded jewelry.  I will cherish these things and pass them on to my children, along with stories of their grandpa and his family. I have been using Ancestry.com to do research and am collecting more information every day. I’ve always hoped to find the redeeming qualities of my grandparents. Even though they left a legacy of alcoholism and sadness, they worked hard and did what they could to survive in a time when their own country didn’t look out for their rights. I know my mom is proud of me and I think my dad would be. I try hard to leave a positive mark in life. I do a lot of writing about things that have happened and about my own feelings. I do this for my children, so they won’t have the same questions I had.  My family was a happy one, but we were not demonstrative. Being of Norwegian decent, and a Lutheran, the joke was always that we were “the frozen chosen.” Dad was quiet and unassuming, so with the stoic quality coming from both sides of my family I really had to work hard to become outgoing and communicative. I can finally say that I like the person I have become, and I am still not finished!

Journal #49 Crop Circles again

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There are crop circles in my hometown again. They have been there several times now. The first time they were in Llewellyn’s fields. Then, 3 years ago they were in Haden’s field. This year they are in Cindy and Greg Geib’s field. This made news big over the past week. Cindy has done multiple radio shows all over the country. There have been over 30 stories done and over 100 people have shown up to see it, or stand in it. When I first heard about it I told Cindy I was getting my tin foil hat and heading her way. I think the reason it is bigger news this time is because Cindy is so cool. Who wouldn’t want to talk to her about her crop circles? Or, maybe it is just a boring summer and this is the kind of news people like. Are they real? I think they are real, in the sense that they exist. I don’t know who made them, but I know the farmers who keep finding them in their fields didn’t do it. They are too busy to spend time doing that. Also, they lost almost and acre of wheat so I know they wouldn’t do that to themselves. One of the radio guys asked if an acre was going to hurt them much, he asked if they had thousands of acres and Cindy said they had millions of acres. She’s so funny.

I just tell people there have been aliens visiting Wilbur for years. When I was little they visited the Walters’ farm.  They took pictures of it, but the air force confiscated their film. When my brother was young, he came running home one evening scared because he had seen something. My sister and her friend Marcia also saw something – above buttercup hill. Now that I think about it, maybe the aliens stole my wildflowers. I don’t know if there are aliens, but I can’t say for sure that there aren’t. Thank goodness I’m not writing a research paper about it.

The first reason I think Aliens are good, the second reason, the third reason…..

I could never pull that one off.

I have never seen them. But I bet they’ve seen me. I have my crazy language, after all, maybe they taught it to me. Also, people always tell me they can’t understand my telephone messages. I try speaking very clearly, but for some reason they can never understand me. I just say it is the aliens garbling my speech – they are always interfering. I don’t know why they are so interested in Wilbur, or me, for that matter. I guess Wilbur is a good place. I like it. In fact, I love it a little. It was the best place to grow up. I don’t know if I would want to live there now, but I would like to spend more time there. I know hubby would like to retire there so he could fish Lake Roosevelt every weekend. He loves it. He is there now – without me. I am jealous.

Journal #8 Sophie

 Just sharing another of my 10 minute journal entries from English Composition:

Sitting here this morning I am thinking about Sophie. Sophie is my 16-year-old miniature dachshund. My son brought her home from the neighbors when he was 12 years old. He begged me to let him have her. At the time we had a dog and at least 1 cat. His argument was that the dog liked his sister best and the cat was mine. He needed a pet of his own.  She was cute, only a few months old and her coat was the shiniest black. He said they had been calling her “Poopy” but he wanted to call her Sophie. I gave in and let him have the dog. Now he is gone and she is mine. I should have known there was a reason for her original name – she has lived up to being “poopy.” I love her, but she has never become the perfect lap dog.

Sophie is now what I would call matte black and has a lot of white hair on the top of her head. She’s had most of her teeth pulled and has fatty tumors on her belly. The vet says her heart and lungs are still strong. One thing this dog has is a good heart. She is loyal and sweet, to the people she knows. She doesn’t like strangers unless they sit down immediately and let her smell them and lick their faces. Once that is out of the way she will stop barking, but as soon as they stand up again she forgets who they are and starts barking again.

I try to get her out for walks a few times a week. It is getting harder for her to navigate the speed bumps, as her tiny little legs are not as strong as they once were. She often has to be carried down the stairs, but that might just be laziness.

One of Sophie’s really bad habits is sneaking in to eat the cat food. I once heard that a dachshund would eat itself to death if you let it, and I think that might be true. She never seems to have her fill of food. We did block off the area where the cat has his food so now she stands there looking at the door, as if it will magically move to allow her in. She is a funny girl. She also licks the carpet. I am not sure why she licks the carpet, but I read online that it could be due to some deficiency. She had her teeth cleaned again and was treated for an infection, which I thought might cure the carpet licking, but it didn’t. When we got new carpet I thought she might stop, but she didn’t. It isn’t a terrible habit but it is a little weird.

Sophie is getting old and I am afraid for the day I will have to say goodbye. Losing pets is the worst part about having them. I know it is the part that keeps some people from ever getting them in the first place. I love my pets so much, but my heart is strong enough to endure the loss if I know I have given them my best.