Posey Co. 4H Fair, August 2011

Wanted to take more pictures at the Fair, but was pretty lazy. Plenty of subject matter. Kids in mud chasing pigs. Little girls everywhere with tiaras and sashes. But sturdy farm animals were fainting left and right from the heat, and I took a bye. Maybe next year. I think I shot maybe five frames and here are three.

Mommmmm! We’re going out to ride bikes!

Me and Roger Clayton went out riding bikes the other day. Felt exactly like when we were kids, except there were stops for beer.

I remember so well what “riding bikes” meant when I was a kid in the still-relatively-innocent small-town Alabama 1960s. It was as close as a kid ever got to absolute freedom. No agenda. Just riding, stopping, investigating, riding, stopping, investigating, riding, etc. Until somebody’s parent was hollering and it seemed time to get home.

Creeks, woods, neighborhoods. Crawdads, rocks, tadpoles, giant storm-drain pipes, the wind in your face, doing tricks on your bike with its banana seat.

Also reminded me of a pretty horrible crime that was committed in my small Alabama town when I was in the second grade. Nobody ever told us too much. Something bad happened. There’s a lunatic on the loose. No bike riding for a while. They caught him in Florida after a week, and he’s still in jail somewhere, in his seventies now, I guess.

The whole story HERE. (Somebody’s web discussion group, I didn’t dig too deep—third topic down)

Eddie Seibold was his name. It invoked a unreasoning Manson kind of fear in kids of the time. Total Bogeyman. There was a path behind our house that cut through to our favorite playing creek, and to my buddy David’s neighborhood. On the other side of the path was a small wood, with a house just the other side of it. Just across from my elementary school. Turns out that Seibold f***ing LIVED in the house at some point! Aaaaaaaaaahhh! The whole story is fuzzy. I need to ask my mom.

Mommmmmm! We’re going out to ride bikes!

Jim Stinson and his Dad’s old dog.

Lora Arneberg, May 2011

Newburgh, IN.

Carmi, IL

Love this old place. Just sent this to John Baeder, trying to talk him into painting it. Always wonder what Carmi was like when it was bustling, back in oil-boom days. Drive past it on the way crossing the broder (the Indiana-Illinois border) to get “real” Mexican food at Tequilas (sounds like strip mall crap, but isn’t). Real Mexicans! Didn’t understand that ’til I went into La Hacienda in Evansville and found out what no-Mexicans-harmed-in-the-making food was like.

Li’l Cardinal

This little fellow was barely fledged. Just beginning to turn red, mostly on his tail, which he kept trying out like it was something that didn’t belong to him—guess it didn’t yet. Found him on the back deck this morning at my dad’s house when I was watering some plants. Thought he was hurt or sick. Patted him on the back a little, and he didn’t move much. We had a little chat and after ten minutes or so, he finally made a little tentative flight over to a nearby windowsill, then to a rail, then off into the wild blue yonder (or probably a bush nearby).

Roger.

My old buddy Roger Clayton. Obviously, from a colder time, back before the shit hit the fan with my Dad. Lots of pictures have been languishing since then, getting round to ’em. Maybe some more stuff from the Claytons soon, this was actually a “school picture” shoot for Sai last year, but Roger, and Rié, and Sai’s friend Lena got in on the act.

Isle of Printing

My buddy Bryce in his new shop digs. Also one of his new shop assistants, currently on furlough from the Royal Canadian Merchant Navy. Bryce and I had a good time co-teaching the Graphic Design and Social Cause class at Watkins this Summer.