KC Ice

A small remnant of winter's latest blast.

Evening On The Prairie

I can't think of a better way to spend a wintery Sunday afternoon than with old friends.

My old college roommate Mike, his lovely bride Sara and their three very cool kids- invited me out to the "Ponderosa," for the annual family Christmas tree hunt, threw in a tasty dinner and a lovely evening fireside chat to boot. There's nothing like the good company of great friends to usher in another wonderful holiday season.

A New Look

I've discovered I'm a terrible client.
My good friend and designer, Mike Fairchild of dezinathon.com, has waited patiently the past five months for me to supply the finished images so he could wrap up the new look.
As the saying goes - All's well that ends well.
Come on then, take a drive - www.eliphoto.com.

The Legends of Domino Park and a shoot gone awry.

The story begins simply enough...

I flew to Miami recently to produce a few images for an annual report I’m working on. As previously arranged I contacted my subject Tuesday evening to lay out the plans for the following day’s shoot. Something was amiss- her voice was strained, distant - distracted... Of course she remembered me, but she’d ‘forgotten’ about the shoot - she couldn’t meet that night after all. And now a week after volunteering to take time off of work, she’s saying that she didn’t realize the photography would take so much time. Uh Oh! I spend the next fifteen minutes reassuring her that the photography would be a fun and unique experience. She understands and agrees to call me the following morning. I hang up, but an inner voice says- you’re in trouble on this one bubba. I e-mail the client explaining the circumstances and suggest they might want to search for a replacement just in case. Wednesday morning’s appointed time comes and goes without a peep from my phone. I leave four messages throughout the day - she’s bailed. It’s the first time in my 20+ year’s of freelancing this has ever happened, I suppose it was inevitable.

It’s late Wednesday afternoon, the client is working hard to line up another subject. I do some editing on the laptop, while waiting to hear if I stay or go. Silence can be deafening when everything comes to a standstill. I head to the beach for a hard walk in wet sand to work the legs and clear the mind.

Thursday midmorning, faint signs emerge a new subject is on board. By 3pm I have the green light and phone number for contact. I call - thankfully he answers... Victor, a Cuban immigrant in his mid 30’s, his English is just good enough that we can communicate. I think - why didn’t I take more than one year of Spanish? We arrange to meet that evening at a restaurant in the LIttle Havana section of Miami. I arrive 15 minutes early - Victor rushes in 30 minutes late, but at least he’s here - I breathe a sigh of relief. We chat as I pull out the laptop showing samples of pictures I’ve done so far and the layout for the annual report. He understands, but something has come up... do we have to shoot tomorrow, what about Saturday or Sunday? Victor explains that he’s just gotten a last minute moving job and really needs the work. I think maybe the moving scenario will yield some nice images - I close my eyes and envision a few possibilities. Adaptation is the mark of versatility, right? We eat dinner and arrange to meet at 6am Friday morning.

I’m there at a quarter til 6 - the crew rolls in at 6:10. I’m introduced to the two associates, both of whom speak excellent English - this is good. I follow them to the outskirts of Miami. The driver, Juan Carlos doesn’t want me to shoot any identifiable pictures of the truck or him for that matter - no problem, I assure him I’m only there to photograph Victor... still I sense a storm brewing. About five minutes into the shoot - Juan, a.k.a. “the boss man” pulls me aside telling me that I’ll have to stop shooting pictures - “it’s just not very professional for you to be here.” I look at Juan, I look at the truck - I look back at Juan and think to myself - dude, I’m the only professional part of this group! No worries- I’ll back off for awhile. As they finish up I shoot a little more and return to my car, waiting to follow them to Naples for the unload. Victor gets out of the truck and walks in my direction - head down. I know what’s coming. Sure enough, Juan has given him the ultimatum - either I go or he goes. I acquiesce, not wanting Victor to lose the opportunity of making a few extra dollars. He assures me that he’ll be back by 1 or 2 that afternoon and will call right away, so we can shoot later in the afternoon. It’s 4pm and not a word (I’ve already done the beach walk 2x today) - so I call his cell, it goes to voice mail - I leave a polite message. Fifteen minutes pass - he calls. The truck overheated and broke down on the way to Naples... Juan's karma for the day. Victor’s not home and I can’t get a good handle on just where he is. I explain we need to shoot today - he says 9 tonight?.... no, we must start no later than 6pm - he’ll call me back in 5 minutes. I choose not to wait, grab my gear and ask the valet for the car... 30 minutes and still no car. I go ask the valet what’s up... they can’t find the keys. You’re kidding, right? No, they really can’t find my car keys - great. I head to the GM office in the hotel, explain the situation - immediately a locksmith is called and actually shows up fairly promptly. The car finally arrives (it’s now been an hour and no call from Victor) - I jump in and see the original rental key in the ignition and realize the valet had locked the keys in the car - I shake my head and laugh.

I’m on my way to Victor’s apartment in Little Havana, when he calls. He’s home - I ask him to wait and I’ll be there within 20 minutes. When I arrive he’s freshly showered and still willing to shoot. We head off in search of a suitable location - my brain is frazzled... any idea’s I had are gone or simply not doable - I’m grasping at air. We arrive at a nearby park and begin walking, less than a hundred yards away is a group of gang bangers looking for trouble - this is not the situation I was looking for. We continue walking to the other side of the park where a group of kids are in the middle of baseball practice. We settle into the dugout and watch - I shoot a few frames and soon enough Victor begins chatting with one player and his coach - it seems quite natural for all of them. Amazingly- the pictures get better and I know I have a few frames that work well. Still - I’m not satisfied, but we’ve run out of time tonight as Victor needs to pick up a relative at the airport. There’s a chance that we’ll be able to shoot more in the morning if the moving truck isn’t repaired. I ask Victor to call me at any hour and let me know.

Saturday morning 6:30am the phone rings - it’s Victor, but I have a hard time figuring out where he is... he’s definitely not at his house. I finally understand his location, I ask him to wait and I'll come to him... I’ll be there in an hour. I grab all my gear, check out of the hotel, car keys safe n sound in the valet’s hand and head off in search of Victor. Sure enough he’s there waiting for me. He looks tired and a bit drawn, he says he couldn’t sleep last night. We go in search of coffee - both of us need it. A couple of Cuban espresso’s later, all is good. I have an idea, there is a domino park in Little Havana - does Victor play? Yes. Awesome. We head that way. As we near the park, we see men are lined up waiting for the gates to open... it’s 8am. This group of Cuban ex-patriots gather almost every day to play some pretty wicked domino’s. They agree to let Victor sit in for a few games while I shoot pictures... normally no one under the age of 55 is allowed to play! We are honored guests. The pictures of Victor come easily - one can see that he enjoys the camaraderie of his countrymen and he seems to have a flare for the game. I finish up by shooting a few frames of the “legends” of Domino Park... these are great men playing a great game.

Victor and I exchange our goodbye's and I head to the airport. One delayed flight and three airlines later - I am home in bed at midnight.
What a week, eh? It was brilliant.

Kid stuff

When I began writing this blog I didn’t think that I’d ever talk about my kids, but recent events have caused me to take pause and more fully appreciate the time I’ve been able to share with both of them.

Rachel’s Art

Like most parents with teenagers I wonder where have all the years gone? Of course, that question is easily answered with one quick look in the mirror. Still, as I see friends and family with young children, I recall the innocence of Rachel and a flood of memories overtake me. Oh, I don’t miss changing diapers or the sleepless nights, but occasionally I yearn for the days when she’d hike herself up on my lap- demanding yet another book be read... or those times she’d open the kitchen drawer - tossing out all the pots and pans, just so she could crawl in and take up residence in that spot.

Reality swiftly reasserts its natural position. In a year from now Rachel will be preparing for high school graduation - the mere thought of a kid in college will readjust one’s life perspective in a heartbeat. Like a heavy morning fog lifting, I see Rachel emerging into her next phase... a young woman with a bright mind, a healthy, spirited soul and blessed with promising artistic talent... I sit back and am amazed at the person she’s becoming.

Sam’s Cause

I want this boys life... Saturday, March 24th - catching sweet backside grabs at Monarch Mountain in 8” fresh + the following Saturday, April 1st throwing his first loop at the OMP kayak clinic on the St. Francis River in southeastern Missouri. This is Sam’s ‘fun’ side... I guess it pays to be his chauffeur.

There is a depth to Sam that craves the balance delivered by participation in sports and time spent outdoors. An intensely driven kid, Sam has been gifted academically. Next year, he’ll enter the Center for International Studies program at SMS High School where he’s chosen to study Arabic two hours a day, five days a week for the next four years... yes, I did say High School. Shish- where did this kid come from? Sam is without question, his own person.

Sam has also been imbued with a unique sense of social justice. Two years ago, he began a petition calling on the United Nations to halt the ongoing genocide in Darfur. After collecting more than 250 signatures Sam’s letter was sent to Kofi Anan’s office with a copy going to President George Bush. Neither the UN or the White House ever responded to the petition. Undaunted, Sam pursued this cause by recruiting a number of classmates at Indian Hills Middle School and together the group began circulating a new Darfur petition that will be sent to the leaders of the U.S. Congress. Thus far their group has collected nearly 1,000 signatures.

Most everyone reading this either has children, nieces or nephews, grandchildren or friends with children. I’d encourage everyone to co-opt the IHMS petition in your area schools and communities - demanding that our legislative leadership apply economic pressure on the Sudanese government to stop this state sponsored genocide. E-mail me (eli@eliphoto.com) and I’ll forward you a pdf copy of the Darfur petition.

Cheers- Eli

Winter Fun

A few quick pics from last week's efforts at Monarch Mountain...

Since the weather was a bit sketchy last week (it dumped an average of 7-8" fresh every day) I've thrown in a couple of pics done late last year of the Donavan's, a.k.a. "Wild Bill" and his wife, "Lovely Laura" pulling off a couple of 'sweet' moves just for the camera. Check out their blog (www.dangerousdonavan.blogspot.com), these two and their boys, Riley and Shea are GREAT people... I'm fortunate to count them as friends!

This place is one of the best kept ski and snowboard secrets in the U.S.Check it out,
(www.skimonarch.com) Monarch rocks! It is a great place to get away from the crowds, enjoy amazing powder with really good people. Greg Ralph, Eric Ramsey and the entire marketing team at Monarch are top notch.

A special thanks to Chris, Matt and James for hitting that backcountry kicker - you guys were amazing (and crazy!)... more to come of that. So, what the heck is Chris doing "upside down?" No worries- he landed this one CLEAN.

Cheers- Eli

Peru

For ten days in August 2003 with backpacks, cameras and my eleven year old son in tow I traveled throughout southern Peru.

Beginning in Lima, we first traveled to Cusco “the real Peru”, according to our guide and good friend, Isaias Cardenas. From Cusco, we ventured south through Ollantaytambo, Pisac, Quora, Sicuani and onto the remote highlands village of Phinaya, which at 5000 meters was the highest elevation these Kansas flatlanders had ever ventured.

Returning to Cusco for a “breather”, we set off to Machu Picchu and lastly to Puno and Isla Taquile on Lake Titicaca, the worlds highest navigable lake. After climbing half of the 530 steps from the lake to the village of Taquile, Sam exclaimed, “I’d been happy to go home after Machu Picchu”! At 4,200 meters it was quite the hike up, but our efforts were rewarded by partaking in the islands biggest festival - the pachamama feast day.

We found the Peruvians to be warm and gracious people who opened up their homes and hearts to us.

A Simple Promise

Lester Yoder is anxious. It’s been more than a week since he spoke to Millie and she told him the best letter ever would soon be coming his way.

Quietly working away, Lester sheepishly glances out his shop window, hoping for a sign from his friend Perry, signaling today’s mail will deliver the long awaited promise. Still far down the lane with the mail in hand, Perry doesn’t reveal a clue as he strides - head down, his expression well covered up by a large black cowboy hat.

I was first introduced to Lester and Perry at JB’s restaurant in Miles City, Montana where I was meeting rancher, Dave Bliss. A Long Island, NY transplant, Dave headed his compass west 40 some years ago with the belief that ranch life was the only life for him. Rounding the bend into his 60’s now, Dave still carries his lanky frame with a purpose - albeit a bit bowed by time, he wears his age well.

As I joined up with this unlikely threesome, I learned I’d be giving Lester and Perry a ride back to their Amish community in nearby Ashland, Montana as I made my way to the Bliss Ranch. And so it was that I first befriended these two amiable young lads and in doing so, was graced with a touch of serendipity during my westward travels.

The Yoder family came to Montana from their Wisconsin home when Lester was just a boy. After 13 years, the family opted to return to the warmth of an Up North winter in lieu of the routine arctic blast commonly experienced in this high plains country. But, the love of horses and the open range would not relinquish their hold on Lester and so he stayed on. As the first Amish custom saddle maker, Lester is carving out a unique niche for himself, crafting beautiful pieces of art that are quietly being collected by cowboys from across the United States.

“It’s the creative part that pushes me. I can sit down, draw patterns and work with the leather for hours,” Lester says while sniping away at the lambs wool backing for a new saddle. He’s focused now, there seems to be an urgency - a rhythm to his work and thoughts of Millie, are for this very moment at least, visibly removed.

Outside, a brisk wind blows, relieving the late fall leaves from a nearby Aspen tree . . . Lester stops and looks as Perry approaches, but says nothing as he opens the door.

Perry Hochstetler is Lester’s roommate and best friend. He’s the joker, always fronting a big smile that matches his face well. He grins at Lester upon entering and begins talking about what the two should do for dinner. Lester will have none of it.

This moment is about Millie’s letter and it has, at long last arrived.

A soft spoken man with large hands and piercing blue eyes, Lester can barely contain his excitement. His countenance is now duly transformed into that of an 8 year old on Christmas morning. Lester and Millie began dating two years ago while he was visiting his family in Wisconsin. He’s trying to find the right words to describe what makes her so special, but they fall short. Picking up the letter “ooh, that’s heavy,” he smiles. Taking a knife from the work bench, Lester gently slides the blade taking extra care not to tear anything but the seam of the envelope.

Perry, his job now complete, turns himself to the remainder of the mail - while I sit watching Lester, first breathe in each page of Millie’s letter before partaking of her words.

As Lester immersed himself in Millie’s letter, a faint smile came to his face and then he stopped . . . everything. He stopped reading, stopped moving - hell, I swear he almost stopped breathing. And his smile turned into a glow, that grew and warmed the entire room.

Three months have since passed as I sat there watching Lester and I can still feel the fullness of his love for Millie.

A simple promise was delivered that day.

The love of his life awaits him. Come this spring, Lester Yoder will wait no more.

The Gathering

A soft, but steady snow falls as I sit listening to Lucinda crying about ‘A World Without Tears,’ on the radio. Outside, a stiff north wind keeps the whirling snow from amounting to anything more than a temporary nuisance. Still, I choose to remain in the warmth of the car while I wait to meet Ned Hermanson at the junction on Hay Draw road.

Within a few minutes Ned rolls up - we exchange greetings, load my gear into his horse trailer and I jump in the truck. Today, friends will haul their rigs from all over McKenzie County to help the Crighton ranch bring in this years payday. Hermanson himself has driven some 30 plus miles with horses in tow to help out his old friends. Out west one discovers . . . neighbors are measured in square miles instead of city blocks.

Ned and I chat about the day’s work and in short order we arrive at the Crighton’s corral. Horses are quietly unloaded from trailers already saddled up and I realize these cowboys are all about the work at hand, no wasted time here.

The snow and wind have subsided as we make our way up the draws of the Badlands. Diane, my riding partner laughs as she watches the cattle and cowpokes play out their version of hide and seek in this rugged terrain. With each step the aroma of silver sage fills up the crisp morning air. Off in the distance I hear the yelps of cowboys rounding up the wayward cattle. Soon a long procession of momma cows with calves in tow, begin navigating the steep pitches of the snow crested buttes. It’s a routine so polished I sense that horse and rider could almost complete their mission blindfolded.

In a few hours the first part of the day’s work will be completed, but plenty of it remains as separating and shipping the weanling calves off to market will continue on throughout the day. Like a long lived Broadway play every part is perfectly choreographed through time and repetition of work. Each phase of the day is marked with well timed breaks for home cooked meals, washed down with a beer or two and perhaps a schnapps chaser for good measure.

The efforts of today will make the ultimate mark in the yearly finances of the Crighton ranch. Of equal importance is the underlying sense of community apparent in every facet of the day. There is an unspoken thirst for contact with friends not often seen, that is fittingly fulfilled during the Fall gatherings. And so yet another season of passage is complete for this generation of ranchers, who withstand the solitude of seemingly endless days and unrepentant weather to call this land home.

Crighton Ranch - McKenzie County, North Dakota

Robert Kills Enemy

Every where I go, my name always comes up . . . where’d you get that name - how many people did you have to kill to get that name .... is that a real Indian name or did you just make it up? Everybody has something to say about it.

My grandfather earned that name in the 1860’s. His family was at their winter camp in Montana, when they were attacked by the U.S. Calvary. He was 12 years old and the only thing he had going for him was a war club and the guts to go out there and use it, I guess. He hit one soldier on the head and while he was trying to get his horse another soldier rode up and stabbed at him with a saber. My grandfather threw his arms up and the saber went completely through his arm getting caught. My grandfather turned upon the soldier and with the saber still lodged in his arm, beat the soldier with his war club until he was gone.

That’s where he earned his named Kills Enemy and after that he was a man . . . you know he earned that right. He was 98 years old when he died in 1953. There’s a lot that goes with my name. I’m proud of it.

Robert Kills Enemy
Oglala Sioux
Nearby Bullhead, SD.

Flat Rock Ranch

The drama of this landscape isn't in the obvious, it's in the nuances - the light hits a certain way and it's full of color, teaming with life; the light fades and it's flat, nondiscriminating. This terrain has been shaped over time by the elements . . . it is harsh and subtle, unique.

It takes a different eye to see it, you really have to be paying attention, get quiet. It's a brittle, fragile environment, once it's been altered, the character of place is forever changed.

The Little Missouri National Grasslands are like a young girl that’s too pretty for her own good . . . everybody wants a piece of her.

Oil development is rampant right now - knocking down hillsides, clearing away the prairie and leaving in its place mazes of roads for huge tankers to race across, and equipment that squeals and pounds day in and day out, breaking the clearness of the silence of the open spaces. The oil breaks down not only the character of the landscape, but also the community that for generations has lived within it.

There is tremendous value in living with nature, of being part of the natural cycle of life. It’s a hard life and not necessarily pretty or fun or romantic, but it builds character. The thing I object to is changing the land - the essence of a place. We should have more respect, let it teach us - it has a lot to tell if we care to listen.

I ‘own’ this ranch but that’s just people language on paper . . . you can’t own place. It's my privilege to be here, and it's my job to take care of it as best I can while I'm here.

Deb Stonecipher

Flat Rock Ranch

Halfway between Beach and Watford, North Dakota
as the crow flies . . . sort of.

Gary Tescher

“A lot of ranchers would most likely tell you that nothing beats the smell of fresh cut hay and that’s pretty high on my list too.

But, my favorite is the smell of a good horse . . .

That fresh cut hay . . . around here you can only smell that towards the end of June. But, I can smell my horses every day of the year. First thing I do when my horses come up to me is throw my arm around them and smell their neck . . . it’s my way of letting them know I’m their friend.

It’s just one of them small things . . . one of the reasons we do what we do. Small things that don’t mean much to some people - mean more to others.”

Gary Tescher
Squaw Gap, ND