Foxes and The Tree

Foxes and the Tree

30" x 40"

Acrylics on Vellum

The moon was still up in the west while the sun was rising in the east as I drove to work on highway 6. On this particular morning, as I passed by "the tree", there seemed to be a family of foxes romping through the grass. Their brown backs and tails arched almost like waves as they ran across the field. The stump from the tree's "friend" was still visable. The red wooden gate that opened to the pasture was colorful and welcoming against the golden color of the fall grass.

Years ago, there were two trees left on this hill. We used to drive past on our way between Bryan and Hearne, after the new highway was completed. Prior to the new highway, the road passed a little to the east in front of an old fashioned filling station, then curved back to go across a creek bottom and under the railroad bridge. After some bad wrecks, the highway department decided to straighten out some curves in highway 6, which then took us closer to the tree on the hill.

We were surprised when we saw that one tree had been struck by lightning. The stump remained and the burned tree lay across it for years. Eventually, the burned tree disappeared and the stump shrunk into the grass. But that one tree remained.

"The Tree" became a landmark to watch as I drove back and forth to work, home, shopping. "Where are you?" My daughter would ask on the cell phone. "I'm just coming to the tree," I would answer.

The tree looked like it was stretching, or about to run or dance. Sometimes it seemed sad, there, all alone, without a friend. (If you ever watch Bob Ross or William Alexander paint, you will see that they add a tree, then give it a "friend".) Sometimes, it seemed weak and about to die in times of drought. There were times when it appeared to be fearful, when grass and forest fires threatened, especially from the railroad just across the highway, or from passing cars that threw out cigarettes.

I imagine that, once, this land was covered with trees, like the land below the hill before someone wanted more pasture land, or the railroad and highway came through. I wonder who decided which tree to leave and why. I'm sure that they never would have guessed that their decision to leave that tree would bring attention and pleasure to people in our time.

I passed by this tree so much that I made a little rhyme to pass the time and to help me to relax a bit.

"Good Morning, Tree!

Watch after me.

And be my friend.

I surely need a friend today!"

And going home,

"Goodnight, Tree!

I'm going home now.

Keep your roots deep

And your branches strong."

That's all there was time for as I whizzed past. But, it made me laugh, sometimes. I guess it was therapeutic.

We debated about what kind of tree it is. I always thought it was an oak tree. But a bus driver when we were on a field trip, told me that she thought it is a pecan tree. I never was close enough to it to look at the leaves.

Now, the red gate is gone, replaced by a metal one. A huge metal barn of a building by the railroad tracks has been built, spoiling the view across the highway from the tree. I just try to look toward the tree and not at that ugly building when we drive past. Some kind of company built it and bulldozed the land there. The old fillling station could still be seen, from the back, as it was at the fork of the old and new highway. An old house was behind the station, further up the hill. For years, trees and vines pushed the old house over, and sometimes covered it. I couldn't see them the last trip there and hope that they haven't been bulldozed, too. At least, I do have photos, and memories of them.

In the spring, the hill is covered with Bluebonnets, followed by Indian Paintbrushes, then Black Eyed Susans and tiny white and blue flowers that are common, but I don't know the names. Soon after the yellow flowers, the Highway Department and landowners mow before everything is too dry, in case of wildfires. This time of year, the grass is still green, cattle graze on the hill, while the 18 wheelers and other traffic race past on the curve. Sometimes loads in the trucks shift as trucks navigate the hill and the curve, and over the trucks go.

This size painting is a small one, to me. I really prefer to work large. To others, it would appear to be huge at 30" x 40".

I've done this tree several sizes, in different media from memory and from photos.

When you are rushing between Bryan and Hearne, take a little time to notice "The Tree". Smile and say "Hello" or "Goodnight". I'll bet that you will soon pay attention to more trees and landscape, and it will put you in a little better mood.

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Entries for the Brazos Valley Art League Fall Juried Show

are due at the P. David Romei Art Center tomorrow from 10-2.

Judging is Oct. 4 followed by the opening reception

See their website at

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First Friday in Downtown Bryan

Friday Oct. 3

Art, Music, Entertainment, A movie, Fun, Food

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Sign Up For

Plein Aire Painting Workshop in Calvert

with Virginia Vaughan

http://www.v-vaughan.com

http://www.vvaughan.blogspot.com

Saturday Oct. 18

Deposit due Oct. 11

Contact

Cecelia at grannyc_54@yahoo.com

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Plan to Participate in the

20th World Wide Sketch Crawl

Saturday October 25

http://www.sketchcrawl.com

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Enjoy

the Victorian Tea, Gala, and Street Fair

in Calvert

Saturday October 4.

Click on the link in my sidebar for pictures and information.

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Walking Home From The Picture Show

My Calvert Photos

These were taken from where we set up to sketch and paint

For some reason, I couldn't get these vertical pictures to post on the slide show below. I turned the camera to take them, then rotated them after I saved them in My Pictures. However, each time I tried to add them on the slide show, they turned back sideways, and I couldn't find out how to straighten them out. So, I'm adding these separately.

We set up on the sidewalk beside the Masonic Lodge, out of the crisp wind that was whipping around that Saturday. The top photo shows across the side street, to the south. The bottom photo shows what was behind me.

I can remember a lot about what the street, curb, and even the railroad tracks looked like, as I walked from the school, to my house, and town, and back, it seemed like, almost every day while I was growing up. Every place the street dipped, every place there was gravel or where there was sand, where there were red ant beds to avoid, where you had to walk quickly to get out of the hot sun on a summer day and on to the next shady spot where oak trees hung over the street. I remember where puddles were made when it rained, where there were cracks in the curbing, and where there were sticker burrs to avoid. There were good spots for roller skating or bike riding, and other spots where the sand or gravel would throw you over. Where there might be wildflowers or where the lawns were neatly edged at the curb.

I remember which houses belonged to friendly folks and which ones were to be avoided. I remember houses that used to be, but are now gone, replaced with a modern house, or an empty lot.

As I looked across the street where we painted that Saturday, I thought of the way that it used to be. How some things have always been pretty much the same, like the streets, the railroad and its ditches, and some buildings. You can still see the old brick that is beneath the asphalt on Main Street, which is Highway 6. I remember when they put the asphalt over the brick, which was just heart breaking to many. I've felt sure that I can remember when the streets were still dirt, but that can't be. I wasn't born then!

The outcropping that holds the street light, where Uncle Tom always parked his car is still there, with the scrapes in the concrete where he always hit the base as he parked. But the lights are new. Uncle Tom bought the old one when the city replaced them, and put the light in his yard.

The steps that lead up to the sidewalks are still there, some with the "new" railings that were put up "for the older folks". Some of the original overhangs that covered the sidewalks are still there. Most buildings used to have them, with canvas curtains, that rolled down on the sides. That made like a tunnel to walk through along the sidewalks. Stores on the west side pulled them down when the sun was in the east, while stores on the east side pulled the curtains down when the sun was in the west. In hot weather, when the crowds were in town on Saturday, especially, it was like a steam bath along the sidewalks.

I guess I looked down, when I was walking more than looking down the street to where I was going. And I had plenty of scraped knees to make me remember certain spots in the street, after I fell down on my bike or roller skates and had to have Mama pick gravel out of the wounds with the tweezers. Hot pavement was a reminder about where not to linger in hot weather. And I walked with wet, muddy socks and shoes, after trying to get across a wide puddle in winter, enough to remember that soggy, cold feeling, and the squishing sound as I walked until I could get home and change clothes.

I remember when people could just pull their cars in and park along Main Street, and when they made people change to parallel parking. Uncle Tom had hit that concrete with his car even when he could just pull in. It was worse after parallel parking. No one wanted to have to go through that, but the Highway Department wanted to make the street wider with more lanes, so the rules were changed. I never did master parallel parking. Instead, I tried to park on the side street, if I could. Well, I could park, but I sweated bullets trying to do it!

In the top photo, with the white building on the corner, this building was not there when I was growing up. There was a vacant lot there, which we used to cut across if we were coming or going to the picture show down this street. This street ended at the park entrance, but I lived the next street over. The Methodist church was on this street, so, sometimes, while Mama practiced the organ or they had choir practice, I would walk to town or the store. It was also good to have the park as a stopping place to rest or get a drink of water from the fountain during our long journey.

My cousins, Diana and Joan, lived at the Calvert Hotel with their grandmother and their mother during WWII, while their father was in service. And they visited there often in other years. So, the hotel was another place that I grew up playing around, and was a place to stop by on my way to or from the picture show. Like other kids, my cousins were quite creative and were always doing something interesting. So that was one of my favorite places to go.

I think that there had been a building on the corner where the white building is now, but it burned before I can remember. When I was older, Mr. Allen built the building that is there now and had a nice Western Auto Store .

The building next to it, where the sign is hanging down over the sidewalk, was a different Allen's hardware store. And, the next white building is the Eloia, the picture show. There used to be a long, rounded neon sign outside that said Eloia. I don't see that in this photo.

Next door to the Eloia is a two story antique shop, the Boll Weevil, which I remember as a bank. I don't think you can see the rest of the buildings in the block from this picture.

In the picture below, you can see where the steps to the Masonic Lodge are, at the end of this building. The Masons made a really nice spot on a covered concrete slab where they have barbeque for special events, like the homes tour.

Just across the railroad tracks, you can see the Calvert Hotel. The street that goes on beyond that is the one that ends at Virginia Field Park entrance.

I was just thinking about the paths we took and wondered why we went some of those ways.

Across the empty space where the Western Auto store was built, was a path that was a bit of a shortcut to the railroad tracks. I seem to remember some twisted, rusty tin and old wood there, too. But, I wondered why we didn't walk on the sidewalk beside the Masonic Lodge, especially when our store was just across the highway. When we crossed Main Street, we always walked on the side of the street beside the empty lot. Maybe there was something mysterious about the Masonic Lodge, with its dark green shuttered windows. And how we always heard that what they did there was secret. It was kind of spooky, I guess. Grownups went there, and told us that things were secret. And while my family members were Masons and Eastern Star, I didn't question. I just knew that was someplace I wasn't supposed to go. But, since there was a well worn path on the empty lot, maybe others thought the same thing.

There were various stores below the Masonic Lodge, at different times, so that should have made it less scarey. Maybe they were not kid friendly places, or maybe it just seemed dark in the shadows.

At one time, there was a Delaware Punch bottling company in the building below, and we would go in there to see how they bottled the drink. The manager and his family went to our church and his daughter was my age. That was one time when the lower part of the building seemed open, light, and happy. I didn't have much experience in going into the building when they had a grocery store or furniture store there. The grownups bought the furniture, and had grocery stores, so there was no need for me, as a child to go there.

Now that Delaware Punch bottling company was a different story. They even brought some of the bottle drinks to church functions like family night suppers.

Wouldn't it be nice if memories remained clear. And if we had taken pictures, and labeled them, about all the little things that were a part of our lives.

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I'm enjoying the blogs of Myrna Wacknov and Nancy Standlee. Nancy is attending Myrna's workshop this week in Cedar Hill. I know they are creating up a storm! I'm just about jealous and wish I was there with them.

Also, check out Virginia Vaughan's blog and website. Her "Last Year On The Farm" exhibit is opening in Rockport and she is doing some demonstrating and a mini workshop there Saturday. You can see more information on her blog.

Get Ready to have a great weekend!

Christmas Angel

Mock Stained Glass Window

Angel

Construction Paper and Tissue Paper

8.75" x 11.50"

(See the slide show below for steps and the post below that for instructions )

The Light Is Upon Us At Christmas

Elaine Winter (Steszewski)

Crystal blue sparkling evening stars

A full moon shining brightly in the heavens lighting our path

Bright candles in the churches all over the land

This must be Christmas!

Church choirs, children's Christmas plays, Christmas Parades

Welcoming the Savior's Birth

Welcome Jesus to the earth!

A gift from God for us forever.

I asked Elaine for permission to use her poem on my blog and she kindly agreed. As I worked to finish the Christmas angel "stained glass window", I thought that Elaine's words would go very well with my art work. Thank you, Elaine!

I thought of so many things when I first saw Elaine's poem on the Polish_Genius genealogy list.

The big Christmas tree that used to be placed in the middle of highway 6 in Calvert, for the community Christmas program, and for the enjoyment of people driving through town. The big cedar tree had to be moved back off the highway, thanks to the highway department rules and increased traffic, further into the intersection on Mitchell street. After that, people didn't come out as much as they did for the event, which included the singing of Christmas carols and a visit from Santa. The wind sometimes blew the tree over.

Nearby Hearne had a similar program, but they had an intersection downtown, off the highway. After their tree was blown over, too, they drilled a hole in the street where the tree could be secured better each year. They haven't had the tree in Calvert for years, and, more recently the buildings were outlined with white lights. That looked really nice. Like a story book town. Unfortunately, they have lost some old buildings. The park is now decorated, unlike in the past. That is another place that is like a storybook.

I thought of the Christmas programs at the Sneed Memorial Methodist Church. The Christmas tree there in the basement. Mama would play the piano, and we had a little program and refreshments. Santa would come, and, when we got older, we tried to guess who he was. It had to be someone in town, but who? The black rubber rainboots were always a giveaway that this was not Santa from the North Pole. His boots would have been fur lined for the snow up north. Mr. Ford would always bring apples or oranges from his grocery store, or, in good years, both, and everyone got one. I think I remember one Christmas that we were given the delicacies of a tangerine. I don't remember that we got presents, but I remember the fruit, and, sometimes, a candy cane, and some nuts. I remember that, one year, especially, Charles' father came to play his guitar and sing for us.

There would be a Christmas program upstairs, too, and Mama played the organ for that. "Miss Immie" (Miss Imogene), would sing and direct the choir and a program, while she was still living. And we would have to sing or recite something, perhaps read from the Bible. One year, when my sister was very small, she was coaxed into wearing a dress and singing "Away In A Manger". She was very tiny, and very shy, but she made it through that song like a little angel.

There were Christmas plays at school and at the City Hall auditorium upstairs, when we dressed in costumes. White gowns, with fabric wings lined with golden ropes of Christmas tinsel and halos fashioned of the same golden material. And, some years, our little group of Calvert girls who were taking ballet and tap dancing lessons at the country club in Hearne, were called on to put on costumes and dance. I loved the glittery sparkle, but I was so bashful that I would cry and have to be coaxed out by my friends.

I remember one Christmas, not so many years ago, when Reba and I talked about going to Midnight Mass at the Catholic Church in Bremond. We couldn't get anyone else to go with us, so we went alone. I went to pick her up and was amazed that she left a large candle burning on her piano. It looked very pretty through the big window. But, I was concerned about the safety of leaving it. She explained that she had taken precautions and it would be safe. The candle was for solidarity and the people in Poland who were going through so much and were fighting for their freedom at that time. Lech Walesa was spoken of a lot in the news. She felt that we should go to the largely Polish community and church to show our support. And, her candle in the window was in response to the request for people to light candles all over the world in support of solidarity. We weren't Catholic, and she wasn't Polish, and I didn't know at that time that my great-grandfather had come from Poland (Prussia at the time that he came over). But, we joined many others that Christmas Eve with the little that we could do for freedom and to worship as we chose. I didn't know how memorable that night would be. I had left my children at my parents' home, where we were all living, after we had our Christmas tree and presents, and everyone had gone to bed, to drive to another town and join in their Christmas Eve service. We did often stay up and watch Midnight Mass on tv, but this was different. The Mass was in Latin and Polish, so we didn't understand a lot of it, but we did enjoy the music, and just being in this different atmosphere. It was special and moving.

Then there was the Christmas , about that same time, when the old hotel, where I had grown up playing around and visiting my cousins and their grandmother there, had been converted to a hotel and dinner theatre. I was still shy, but I went to the produtions to write them up for the newspapers. They convinced me to take part in the Christmas play, "A Christmas Carol". Now, I really dreaded it because I was really bashful, but, the worst part was that I never could remember things I had to memorize. The first few lines would stay with me, but, after that, it all disappeared. But, I did like to dress up and play around with makeup. I went over and over my lines, but only the first part seemed to stick. We had a good time rehearsing, and I thought a lot about the days when we played around the hotel. I thought that I knew every nook and cranny of the place.

There was an opening play before "A Christmas Carol" started, about a Sunday School class Christmas party, and I got to play the part of the teacher. My daughter was one of the Sunday School students. She was scared stiff! But we just tried to ignore the audience and pay attention to what we were supposed to be doing on stage. I had a pretty white satin blouse and a long white satin skirt with quilted velvet squares for that part.

Then, the fun began when the director played Scrooge. He powdered his hair until it was gray and drew wrinkles on his face with an eyebrow pencil. And, when we went out on the stage, I was a little shocked at him wearing long handles! Larry was a hoot!

Everyone dressed up and got into the mood. We got together at rehearsal and made tape recordings of moaning and chains rattling. The hotel owner was Marley, dressed in Victorian finery. I can't remember who the young man was who played the ghost of Christmas to come, but he was frightening to see. Looked like death. He had a hooded robe, and you couldn't see his face. He was tall and just seemed to float.

I was the ghost of Christmas past, and couldn't really afford a costume, so I used a long white dress that I had. Then I used some remnants of blue sheer material, that were long enough to wrap around me and trail. I layered those and made a train and a veil. On top of my head, I wore a piece of blue lace. Then Larry powdered my face to make me look pale.

Larry was so good at his lines, but, then he started improvising on stage. He told me that he was going to , but to just follow him. He led me around that stage and I was so relieved that my lines fit!

It was almost over and I was about to exit off the back of the stage into the lobby. I tried to float gracefully off the stage, and, as I got into the lobby, so relieved to be off stage, someone told me to wait. One of my trains of material had caught on a nail, and I had left it behind, draped across the stage! Someone had to go get it for me, and I about collapsed into a puddle on the floor with embarassment. But, I survived, and so did everyone else. Unfortunately, the dinner theatre didn't, and the hotel was sold.

The Calvert High School band had concerts in the auditorium at Christmas, Easter, spring, and anytime we could. The choir sang for programs and, in music appreciation class, we sang.

I remember cold, clear star filled nights, looking for the Christmas star in the dark blue sky.

There were Christmas parades from the school to downtown, and I watched from Conitz Dry Goods Store, until I was old enough to march in the band with my flute. Merchants hoped that visitors to the parade would come in the stores and shop. Eventually, we would go to the Christmas parade in Hearne, too, and those merchants were also hoping for more trade. The towns were in competiton to see who could have the biggest and best parade. Floats became more numerous and complex and awards were given.

We always hoped for some snow, and nights of going caroling, followed by refreshments and hot chocolate. A picture perfect Christmas. That never happened. Snow and ice seem to only come in January or February in our area, if at all. (I do remember a little snow for Thanksgiving a couple of times.) I think that I remember going caroling one time, and then going in for refreshments at the big Foster home, where "Miss Immie", and her sisters lived.

We didn't have lighted plastic or blow up yard displays. But there were tastefully done lights, and maybe candles or bows, around town in the homes and businesses. Deep, red light glowed from the ruby glass windows at the Presbyterian Church, and from the stained glass windows in the other churches in town. Riding around to look at the Christmas lights was something that had to be done often during the Christmas season. It wasn't a matter of who had the biggest or best display, but to just take it all in and enjoy each decorated home and public place.

We heard the story of Christmas everywhere. One year, my mother bought me a beautiful book with pictures from the story of Jesus' birth. The paintings were all in delicate pastel colors, but the halos and everything that should have been gold, appeared to be painted in gold. I took my book to Sunday School to show my teacher and my class. I remember that Miss Rita told us that Mary was a young girl, about our ages, when Jesus was born. One girl asked if that was true. And everyone was shocked. The bell rang and we went upstairs to church, shaking our heads in wonder. There was more discussion from my book the next Sunday morning. I still have my book, but it is now tattered and worn.

I hope that you are enjoying a wonderful Christmas with family and friends, and that the weather is not too bad where you are. As they say, remember the reason for the season.

Scroll down and check out the Guest Book that I have added at the bottom of my page. You have to go all the way down to the bottom of the page to see it. Add your name, where you live, and a picture, if you would like. It's interesting to hear from everyone. And, if you are an artist, you might like to show a piece of your work in the picture area.

Merry Christmas!

Return of the Shuttle

Shuttle Overhead (Sketch)

8.5" x 11"

pencil

Shuttle Overhead

8.5" x 11"

watercolor and pencil

Clear blue skies on a bright autumn afternoon. Warmth from the sun washed over us as we drove north on Highway 6.

"The tree is coming up," the driver advised.

My tree. That one lonesome tree on a hill that broke up my drive to and from work for so many years.

I could remember when the highway was changed, but still passed by the tree. And I remembered the "friend" to this tree. When I was younger, there were two trees on the hill. Following a storm, we found, on one of our drives, that the second tree was struck by lightning. The burned tree trunk remained for a long time until, finally, it was cut away, leaving only the trunk. The trunk is no longer visible from the highway.

I could make the drive more interesting by observing the tree. I made up a little poem to say as I passed (and also to entertain grandchildren with). I tried to imagine what it would feel like to be that tree, anchored to that one spot, observing the changing scene and traffic passing on the highway. What if the tree had thoughts, like we do, and was rooted to that spot as storms came along, when fires threatened, during drought and floods. The way that the branches were formed, the tree sometimes seemed to be stretching or reaching, appearing in the pose of a dancer, a basketball player, or just wishing it could move from that spot. Below the hill, there were other trees.

And, I painted that tree many times. I would probably be upset if anything happened to this tree. One early morning, while the moon was setting in the west, a family of foxes frolicked on the hill near the tree. Often, there were cattle grazing around the tree. I did paint the foxes around the tree. All I could really see were their fluffy tails and a hint of their bodies as I passed by.

I thought of the artist, Bob Ross, when he painted trees. He would paint a tree, then give it a friend. Surely my tree was like this. A tree, and a friend.

The tree, still on top of the hill, appeared on the left. The highway curved as it went downhill. Railroad tracks appeared from behind a small hill and road on the right. Trees covered the hill on the right side, making me believe that the whole area, including the hill with the one tree, had once all been woods. The road was the old highway. Facing that road was an old fashioned filling station, with a house behind it, that now backed up to the new highway. Both buildings were leaning, with trees and vines almost concealing them.

"Those should be restored," I thought. "I'll have to paint them one of these days. I hope that no one decides to tear them down. Cozy places. Not fancy, but cozy. I wish I had been in them, and knew some stories about them. "

"How do you work this thing, anyway!" I turned a knob on the dashboard. A small screen above the knobs lit up with lines of print.

"You have to learn how to work this if you're going to ride in the car! And, if you are ever going to drive again, you are going to have to know how to work this. It's as easy as the old radios! Just try it!" The driver insisted. The hand pushed more buttons, touched the screen, and different things appeared.

"Listen, here. I've been driving this road for my whole life. I'm not going to get lost on it. Why do you think I need that thing! Just something else to distract you when you need to be watching the road," I fumed. "You just stay on this highway and it goes all the way from Galveston to Dallas and points north. When you get to the town you want, you just turn off. All this fancy stuff! I would rather have a good radio, or a tv set!"

"But, look at all this does! Look at this. You can even see the weather report, with radar!" The driver tried to convince me that this was a necessity.

On the small screen, a woman pointed to a map. Several clouds of green were on the map, with yellow L's outlined in red in the center of each.

"And here are the low pressure centers for your area,"the broadcaster said as she pointed to each green shape. "Looks like some rain is coming in, but, for now, the skies are clear where you are."

Bad weather. Rain. I didn't want to get caught out in that, especially if all those areas of rain were moving our way. I remembered the last year that I made this trip daily, and the big flood that I got caught in. I don't want to go through anything like that again. I was a bit uneasy. This road had been underwater, the town was cut off, and there was flood water in buildings and streets in town. I was driving a little sports car that day. Since then, I had always wanted to hurry and get past the low areas and creeks on this highway.

At least, today, we were in a big, old, pink, Chrysler Imperial. This one wouldn't be swept away so easily, and was much higher off the ground.

"Wow! Look at that one big area. That one looks like it is heading right for us!" The driver pointed to the screen.

"That doesn't look like an area of rain, to me," I said.

"Sure, it must be. Look at all that green!" The driver was watching the screen more than the road.

A white blob appeared in the center of the green cloudy area. The blob appeared larger and larger as we drove. Soon, there was little green and only the white blob.

"Look! Look out your window!" The driver shouted and ducked down to see through the windshield, while still driving.

There was an eerie whooshing noise in front of me, and I, too, ducked a little as I twisted and looked out the passenger side window. With something that large coming at us, it was only natural to crouch down as if to avoid being hit by the craft.

A huge, white rocket approached us, and passed beside us,over the hill on the right, and quickly disappeared behind us. I could see a United States flag painted on a fin that hung down below the craft. The fin appeared to be a bit rusted, or maybe it was burned. Silent jets on the back appeared to have the same coloring.

"What was that!"

"That had to be the shuttle!" I answered. "I didn't think it was due back yet. And, why would it be flying this low over here?" I hoped that it wasn't off course, or in trouble. I remembered the shuttle that had exploded not so far from here.

The pink Chrysler continued on its journey on Highway 6. The passengers were in a state of high anxiety after what they had just witnessed. The driver pushed more buttons on the dashboard. Maybe they would find more news on the screen about what had just happened.

They knew that it was not something that happens every day, or even something that was likely to ever happen to them again.

And, then I woke up! It was all a dream.

It was a few days later when the shuttle actually landed, safely, as I watched it on television. And that was a relief, to have the astronauts back on the ground. I guess, with the news reports on tv, and actually seeing it pass over us, then drawing and painting it, the shuttle was in my subconscious.

I thought that you might enjoy my art work and the story that went with it. I think that I actually like the pencil sketch better, but I wanted to show the colors of the weather map and screen in the car. And I had to put a little pink in the car.

I added watercolors to my pencil drawing, then used watercolor pencils to add more definition to the version in color.

I hope that you enjoy my story and the pictures, and that you will pass my work on to others.

If you haven't joined my group, please look at the sidebar and consider subscribing.

If you see something that appeals to you, please let me know. I do welcome your comments.

Abandoned

Cozy Home 9" x 12" watercolor
My sister and I made a short trip to the old hometown today. It's sad to see so many of the old buildings and homes gone, others crumbling, and still others "restored" in ways that seem to take away the dignity that they always had. My sister has commented that, one of these days, we may drive through that town and find nothing but a pile of dust on each side of the street, where bricks have crumbled and structures collapsed.
Still, some places maintain the character that they always had.
Sometimes I wonder what they are teaching in design and architecture classes these days. I don't know why some people consider a "box" interesting, or even an accomplishment. Seems like they just put any old thing together, the easiest and cheapest way possible. It just looks like they didn't really try, to me.
Lightning and rain hit as we were on the highway. There are a lot of memories from years of driving that old highway 6 and spending time in the towns along the way. One little house and old filling station that I used to watch as I drove past, and had, for years, been almost hidden in trees, is no longer in view. I think they may have been torn down as the land was cleared for a commercial property next to them. After seeing so much restoration work done, I feel like the old interesting places could be saved. Instead, people seem to be quick to tear down anything that is old or needs work.
This little watercolor is of a small abandoned house, west of Calvert toward the Brazos River. I painted this before the house became covered with vines. I always thought it was a cozy-looking little house. Typical of many homes for workers on the farms in the area, in times gone by. A few of those little houses are still in use, but many are used for hay storage, or, like the one in my painting, are just left for nature to reclaim. Many are gone, however, as seems to happen to so many things, and people, as they grow older.
Cozy Home was done on 140 pound Arches watercolor paper, using Winsor Newton watercolors.