The Big Snow

THE BIG SNOW

I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this but I live not more than five miles from the birthplace of Laura Ingalls Wilder, the author of the Little House on the Prairie books. Her life story is taught in the local schools and I drive by her family’s historic log cabin site every time I head down to Pepin to the little grocery store or the school.

When I whiz past the tiny cabin at 60 miles an hour I rarely think about what life must have been like for Ma and Pa and little Laura, Mary, Caroline, and Grace. But yesterday as I fought through 8 foot snow drifts and the wind bit into my face and tried to freeze my eyelashes together, I thought about it.

Everyone in the region had been warned about the big snow. The weatherman predicted a snownami, a snowmaggedon, and a snowpocalypse. And, just as it does when he warns us about tornados, it went in one ear and out the other.  They are exaggerating, we Midwesterners say. 20-24 inches of snow? It can’t be that bad. They always say things like that. It will never happen. Life threatening wind chills of -25 to -35 below? We’re tough. We can take it.

And then we act like we had never even heard the weather guy. Even as the snow started coming down and it snowed for 18 hours straight people continued to try and go about their business. At least the big city and town people did.

Out here with our mile long driveways and dirt roads that amble and curve up and down the valleys, nobody is going anywhere. At least until the plows come. Our township roadman, Mr. Robert Stein, does a great job of plowing snow. But on days like this we understand that he has to keep the big roads open. And when there is 22 inches of snow and sustained 40 mile per hour winds it makes it a lot harder to get the job done. We are content to sit back and ride out the big storms.

Living on a farm and knowing that the snow was coming we prepped as best we could. Snow began falling late Friday night. By Saturday morning as we did chores we already had at least 6 new inches of snow on the ground. We were still able get the tractor out. (Thank you, John Deere), and we made sure that we fed twice as much hay as we normally feed to the horses so they could eat enough calories to keep warm. We put the older more vulnerable horses in stalls thickly bedded with shavings and extra hay so they could handle the storm without being harassed by the younger more dominant ones.

The sheep and chickens who normally bound joyfully out of the barn each morning, greeted me warily as I opened the door. The lead sheep ran out and, repelled by the blowing horizontal snow, immediately reversed himself and headed back. A few brave chickens who normally don’t mind the snow, stepped gingerly out, and quickly turned tail and fled inside. I put extra feed and hay in the sheep pen and filled the chicken feeders and told them they were on their own. With the door shut, the barn stays pretty warm from the heat generated by the 9 sheep, 3 goats, and the 40+ chickens.

Chores took longer than usual as we fought the wind and wet snow. We were happy to finish and go back inside to warm up.

The rest of the day felt like the snow days we had as kids. My younger boys were disappointed that it wasn’t a real snow day (it was a Saturday) but enjoyed having everyone home together. Even my oldest son, Wes, was home from college for a few days.

Because I own an animal actors agency and I am also a professional animal lifestyle photographer, I stay pretty focused and try to squeeze the work into every moment I have but the big snow that had been falling for hours made me want to slow down and just appreciate the beauty of it from the warmth of my cozy farmhouse.

I didn’t edit any images, and the dishes and the laundry could wait as we watched a It’s a Wonderful Life. Wes, did his best to imitate Jimmy Stewart, changing the dialogue just enough to make us laugh, and the other boys said the all of the familiar lines with the actors.

As it grew dark, Wes and Warren started preparing dinner. This was a treat for me, as I am usually the chief cook around here. I smiled as I looked back on the relaxing day.

But being a farmer and an animal lover and responsible for our animals’ welfare. I knew it was time to go out and check on the animals one more time and feed our two recently rescued Morgans their second helping of grain for the day.

My two youngest sons, William and Walker, and I bundled up in fleece-lined hoodies, our Carhartt bibs and jackets, and double thickness rag wool gloves. Walker wore snow goggles, vestiges of Wes’s army service. William wore a Russian ushanka hat that ties under the chin to keep the wind out.

We headed out into the storm. The wind and snow hit my face and eyes like a frozen hurricane as I paused for a moment to survey the scene. Over 20 inches had accumulated throughout the day and the wind had whipped up drifts higher than the shed’s rooflines.

I sloughed through the drifts, making my way to the new barn to check on the mares first.  They seemed surprised to see me; all four were tucked into the shed. Beauty the Morgan, and the two ponies raised their heads and looked at me as if to say, “What are you doing here? It’s snowing out, Dummy. Go back inside!” And Jenny my rescue Morgan mare, snorted impatiently as if to say, “It’s about time you gave me my grain.”

I fed Jenny in her stall and broke the ice out of her bucket and refilled it so she would have enough to drink during the long night. I turned off their lights, and told them I’d be back in the morning. I didn’t need to climb over the wood fence as I normally do because the snow had drifted over it and most of it was hidden. I waded through the drifts and made my way over to the granary where the geldings can get out of the wind.

 

Although they had plenty of hay inside the barn to eat, most of them chose to continue to chew on the round bale I had placed by the granary wall that serves as a wind block. They looked like the bison you sometimes see in National Geographic. They were covered in chunks of snow and frost lined their delicate eyes and nostrils. The geldings don’t seem to mind the cold. As long as they had hay to eat and could keep out of the wind they would be okay. I checked on Jack, my other rescue Morgan, and made sure he was happy in his stall with his new buddy Louis, one of my elderly horses nearby. I gave them fresh water also.

I made my way to the chicken coop, which is actually a small gabled barn that houses the chickens, sheep, and goats. It was surprisingly warm inside; their water had not even frozen.  I gathered the two eggs that the laying hens had decided to give to me today and closed them up for the night.

Knowing that everyone was safe and warm, I started walking the 200 yards back to the house. In the distance, the house appeared to be smiling at me, as all the lights were on and I could see that William and Walker had gone in before me.

It was just I and the three dogs outside in the storm now. As I forced my way through the drifts it occurred to me how lucky I am that I could see where I as going. I glanced up at the powerful yard light that illuminated the farmyard and wondered about the people who owned this farm before electric power came in the 1940s. I remembered tales of farmers dying in their own yards by becoming disoriented in the blizzard and unable to reach the safety of the house.  They weren’t kidding when it was said that farmers would have to tie rope between the barn and the house so not to lose their way.

About halfway up a particularly deep drift I got stuck. After working myself out of it by leaning forward and crawling out, I decided to rest for a moment. I began to wonder what it would be like to freeze to death.

I lay there on my stomach with my face cradled in my arm in an effort to block the wind. I wondered how quickly the cold that was just beginning to seep through my heavy clothes would chill me to the point of hypothermia. The wind howled and ranged around me and blasts of snow came off neighboring drifts and hit me square in the face whenever I looked up. I wondered if anybody missed me yet and what would happen if I were truly unable to move for some reason.

It was the dogs that discovered me. Hawkeye the Border Collie, Apple the Aussie mix, and Lisle the German Shepherd Dog all descended upon me with a flurry of kisses and much jumping back and forth over my prone body as they tried to get me to respond. When I didn’t move, Hawkeye and Apple gave up. But Lisle lay quietly down beside me as if protecting my head and face from the wind. So it is true that dogs will do their best to protect their masters, I thought to myself as I pulled myself up and told Lisle that she was very good girl.

I caught my breath and made it the rest of the way to the house. Inside, the warm air was a welcome change from the bitter winds outside. I looked around at the comforts of modern life: heat that pours off the radiators, music coming from the iPod^® in the kitchen, food in the fridge, the world at our fingertips through our computers, and I smiled. gratefully. I’m glad I’m not Laura Ingalls Wilder and her family in that little log cabin with no electricity. I am happy sitting in my warm house and just imagining what life would have been like five miles and 140 years from here. Where’s my copy of Little House in the Big Woods? 

all images © Barbara O'Brien PhotographyBarbara O'Brien Photography is located in the beautiful rolling hills of western Wisconsin. Images are available for reproduction. Please e-mail or call with intended usage, size of print run, distribution.

Barbara O'Brien Photography
www.barbaraobrienphoto.com  
barbara@barbaraobrienphoto.com
612 812 8788 cell 715 448 3456 home

2011 Wall Size Horseplay Calendars just in Time for Christmas!

My 2011 Wall Size Calendars are now available! Just in time for Christmas!

You can find them here:

http://www.etsy.com/listing/63529460/2011-wall-size-horseplay-calendar

all images © Barbara O'Brien PhotographyBarbara O'Brien Photography is located at White Robin Farm in the beautiful rolling hills of western Wisconsin. Images are available for reproduction. Please e-mail or call with intended usage, size of print run, distribution. Barbara O'Brien Photography 612 812 8788 cell 715 448 3456 home animalcn@isd.net

First of four of my 2011 Large Wall Size Calendars is now for sale. Just in time for Christmas. This one is all about Cows! 2011 Cattle Call

Finally here! Now taking orders for my 2011 large Wall Size Cattle Call Calendars. They will ship no later than December 15th and most likely sooner. I will be also posting the horse calendar (part of the horse calendar proceeds will go to Gentle Spirit Iowa Morgan Horse Rescue efforts) later today with the chicken and farm animal calendars to follow shortly after that. Whew! That was fun but a lot of work!

You can get yours here:

http://www.etsy.com/shop/barbaraobrienphoto

Finally here! Now taking orders for my 2011 large Wall Size Cattle Call Calendars. They will ship no later than December 15th and most likely sooner. I will be also posting the horse calendar (part of the horse calendar proceeds will go to Gentle Spirit Iowa Morgan Horse Rescue efforts) later today with the chicken and farm animal calendars to follow shortly after that. Whew! That was fun but a lot of work!

all images © Barbara O'Brien PhotographyBarbara O'Brien Photography is located at White Robin Farm in the beautiful rolling hills of western Wisconsin. Images are available for reproduction. Please e-mail or call with intended usage, size of print run, distribution. Barbara O'Brien Photography 612 812 8788 cell 715 448 3456 home animalcn@isd.net

THE MARE IN THE MIDDLE

“Some people can’t be trusted.” At least that is what my son, Wes, would tell you about my husband, Kevin and I.  What started out as an innocent, overnight trip to celebrate out 29^th anniversary quickly turned into a horse rescue adventure.  Now we need another horse like we need a hole in the head. We were up to fourteen a few years back and were now down to eight. This has proven to be a nice, manageable number with a good mix of young and old.

When we left that day, Wes, ever the eldest, warned us. “Now, don’t get into trouble, you two.” How much trouble could a middle aged, small town, couple that didn’t smoke, drink or gamble get into?” I thought. I must tell you, we are actually pretty boring. We usually get a room at a B & B, have a nice dinner at the Branding Iron, and then spend the next day poking around antique shops. I forgot that Kevin and I are dangerous when we are away from the responsibilities of the farm and family.

As we were driving to the Preston/Chatfield area in Southeastern Minnesota I mentioned to Kevin that I had seen a post on one of my horse internet forums about a herd of over Forty Morgan Horses that needed to find new homes quickly or they ran the risk of being sold to a slaughter broker.

It was a just a casual comment, but Kevin was intrigued. He has the biggest heart in the world and this is why he is not allowed in animal shelters. “We don’t need another horse.” I said.  “I only mentioned it because I think it’s sad to see someone lose their farm and have to sell all of their carefully bred horses.”  “Where are they he asked?” “Mason City, Iowa.” I replied. “How far is that?” he wondered. “Only about 100 miles from where we are staying tonight.” I could see him thinking about it. “Let’s go see them.” He said finally. “Why? You know we would want to bring at least one home.” “Com’n it will give us something to do tomorrow.” His eyes lit up like a little boy who has a wonderful plan in mind. “You don’t want to go back right away do you?”

I need to preface that last sentence for you; you must understand that because we have kids and animals we never go on any real vacations. This one night, annual get away to an area only about 70 miles from our home is the only non-work trip we take. We would do anything to not have to go right back. We like to drag out the experience as long as possible, usually not arriving home until well after chore time.

“Besides,” Kevin continued, “you can take some pictures for them and that may help the horses place faster.”  I looked at my ever-ready camera and had to agree. More pictures are always better than less. And the rescue group’s most recent pictures were taken during a snowstorm, so they might appreciate a few more with better light.

We mulled the idea over dinner and then I contacted the rescue group and they said they would be thrilled to have us meet the horses. That night, at the bed and breakfast, just as we were about to go to sleep, we both swore that we would only take pictures and not bring home any horses. Absolutely not!

The next morning, we drove to Mason City, Iowa, where Kathi Ring, of Gentle Spirit Horses, the rescue group, was waiting for us. She introduced us to the owner. He was an older gentleman, who because of a death in the family and facing eminent foreclosure, was being forced to sell the horses. We felt bad for him, as the herd represented over 30 years of some of the finest names in the Foundation Morgan horse world. He had been offered $250 per horse by a slaughter broker, but chose instead to ask Gentle Spirit for help.

Sine he had lost his farm, the stallions and young stock were being housed at a two adjoining feedlots and the broodmares were in a small grass pasture. With my camera in hand and Kevin ready to assist we went into the lot with the 2-7 year old mares and geldings.  We had been warned that they had not been handled much, but within moments, we found ourselves being mobbed.  Bays and blacks, buckskins and chestnuts and even a grulla came to see what we doing. They sniffed us and many allowed themselves to be scratched. My camera and the fact that I was crouching to get a better angle fascinated them.  Kevin was surrounded by curious youngsters as unfurled the disk shaped reflector we use to bounce light on a subject

I tried to shoot as many as I could but it was hard to get individual horses, as they naturally stayed together in tight little bunches. I settled for grabbing a few headshots of as many as I could. The young horses were all very sweet and well bred of course, but it was easy to walk away. With their breeding and temperaments, I told myself, Gentle Spirit would have no trouble placing them.

We then went out to the pasture that held a group of bred broodmares, three young stallions and mare with her foal.  They were also curious about us and came up to be pet. I spotted a mare with palomino foal lying in the corner of the field and managed to get few shots of them before they got up.

As I left the mare and foal and was framing my next shot, a particularly lovely bay mare walked up right up to me. She was accompanied by her offspring, a two year old bay filly and a yearling buckskin stud colt. I scratched her chest and told her she was good mother and then moved on, hoping to get all the horses done before we lost our light. This merry trio, with the bay are always in the middle, began to follow me around the pasture. Almost every time I tried to take a picture, the bay mare rudely interrupted me, by nosing my shoulder.

It was then I looked deeply into her kind eye and I knew in my heart it was all over. This mare would have to come with us.  Now, I work with animals all time. Countless puppies and kittens from animal shelters and I even occasionally help out other horse rescues so I am pretty immune to their plight. I have managed to harden myself to their advances, as I must keep my numbers manageable. It wouldn’t be fair to the animals to have more than I could love and care for. But this mare was special, and she was doing everything in her power to tell me that she was supposed to be mine. 

Maybe the universe told her that we had lost our beloved bay Morgan mare, Cinder, to cancer two years ago. Or perhaps, my first horse, who coincidently, was a small bay Morgan mare that looked just like her, whispered to her from horse heaven. It was like she knew… and I’d have to agree. I knew it, too.

I didn’t say anything to Kevin although I could see he liked her also. She wasn’t even halter broke but she let me pick up her hoof and moved softly away from pressure when I asked. We finished up with the stallions in the front lot and said our thank yous and good byes to Kathi and the owner. We didn’t say much on the way home and I was doing a rough edit of the images on my laptop, anyway. As I viewed the images, I was struck by how kind of any eye every horse I photographed had. They were intelligent, curious and so typically Morgan. I hoped my efforts would help them get new homes.

My mind kept drifting back to the mare. She was so sweet and kind. Even though she was not broke, I knew it wouldn’t take much to bring her around. Morgans are, as a rule, willing and thoughtful horses. They are the Border Collies of the horse world. Give them a job to do and they will do it. And they will enjoy doing it, too.

That night, after dinner and chores and we were settled in, I said to Kevin, “We really don’t need another horse.” He looked down and slowly shook his head. “Agreed?” I asked. “Agreed.” he said sadly.

I tried to sleep but I was still thinking about the mare. I knew that we were doing the right thing. We can’t go along rescuing every poor horse we see. As one of my other sons, Warren, would say, I was letting my “impulses pirate my thought processes”.

Suddenly, I had the image of Kevin as a pirate in my mind, “Arrgh!! Lassie, she is fine horse and we should go and get her.” He growled in his best pirate voice. “But we have enough already.” I protested weakly. “No, me fine Lass, you can never have enough horses. Let’s set sail for Mason City, Iowaay and bring her home. Arrgh!”

I tossed and turned and finally fell asleep. The next morning I woke up to a horse snorting and nickering outside my window. It was exactly the sound I hear when the horse have gotten out and are wandering around.  I ran to the window and looked out and saw the bay mare standing in the yard below with my other Morgans. She was flanked by Beauty and Finn, once again in the middle. “How did you get here?” I wondered, and then I woke up. I had been dreaming all along. Was it some kind of sign? Kevin heard me moving and was soon awake himself. I looked at the clock. It was only 5:00 am.

“Barbara?” he said quietly. “Are you awake?”

“Yes.” I replied.

“I think we should get the horse.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Me too,” I whispered. “Me too.”

“Agreed? He said. “Agreed.” I said.

Later that morning I contacted the rescue and sent them the check to bail my mare out.

She will be arriving I just in time for Christmas. When I told Wes about it, he laughed and said, “I knew it! I just can’t trust you guys. You always get in trouble when you go out of town.”

I haven’t named the mare yet, the rescue is still working on identifying who her parents are and who is the sire is of the foal she carrying. It really doesn’t matter to me. I

know her heart, and she knows mine, and she will tell me her name soon enough.




If you would like to help with the Gentle Spirit Horse's rescue/placement efforts you can find more info here:


http://www.facebook.com/pages/Gentle-Spirit-Horses/149994561712125


and here:


http://www.gentlespirithorses.com/






all images © Barbara O'Brien PhotographyBarbara O'Brien Photography is located at White Robin Farm in the beautiful rolling hills of western Wisconsin. Images are available for reproduction. Please e-mail or call with intended usage, size of print run, distribution. Barbara O'Brien Photography 612 812 8788 cell 715 448 3456 home animalcn@isd.net

TELLING THE STORY

I had the privilege of photographing some old dogs yesterday.  My friend, Deb, made the long drive from the Twin Cities to the farm with her three dogs in tow.  She wanted me to do a photo session for her before she lost one of them to old age or disease.  She was especially concerned for her almost 15 year old Australian Shepherd, Brady. His condition was progressively getting worse. Day by day, she could see his once sharp mind slipping away.

She arrived and her dogs leaped from the back of her SUV, heads high and eyes bright.  It was if they were saying, “Where are we? What are we going to do? What a cool place, Mom!”  They spotted the cats first and Dilly, her six year old Mini Aussie, pulled hard on the leash as he tried to say hello to the closet one. Brady sniffed the air and her 12 year old Sheltie, Murphy, stepped forward as if he owned the place. After a few minutes of initial excitement the dogs began to settle down, or at least Brady and Murphy did. It is not in Dilly’s nature (not unlike my own) to be still for very long. There was so much to see and do.

I had my camera in hand so we headed down to the big barn door where a long hallway frames a dog's head nicely with the landscape beyond and tried to get the three dogs into a sit-stay. Being well trained obedience dogs, Dilly and Murphy sat quietly, but Brady couldn’t bear to have Deb out of range for more than a moment and kept breaking his stays to follow her.

Another photographer may have been upset by this, as it was in effect, ruining the shot, but to me it just another part of telling the story. Brady was losing his vision and hearing and to an intelligent, active dog like him if must have been a new and perhaps frightening experience. No wonder he would get up and try to follow Deb when she left him. The good obedient dog in him wanted to comply, but his confidence had been eroded by his illness and he knew he needed to be by her side.

I told Deb not to worry and had her sit down with all three dogs. She gathered them to her chest and they all grew still, comforted by her presence. Even little Dilly stopped moving for a moment to two. I managed to get several shots of them all together before Dilly broke off to chase the chickens.

He took off after one of my hens. The hen ran as fast as she could, bee lining it towards the safety of the henhouse. Dilly was right behind her, even grabbing a mouthful of feathers as they went behind the barn. We ran after them, positively sure that we were going find a dead hen in Dilly’s mouth. To our surprise, Dilly had chased the hen to the woven wire fence of the goat pen and was making sure the terrified hen did not try to escape as he gently herded her into the corner. Thankful that his herding instinct was stronger than his predator instinct, I rescued the hen and brought a very proud Dilly back to Deb.

Our next shot was in the hay fields where the dogs ran and played, joyful in their newfound freedom as Deb unleashed them and let them run. Dilly zoomed back and forth through the alfalfa and Murphy, ever the gentlemen, stayed right at Deb's side. Brady, ginning his doggie grin, ran from new scent to new scent, just happy to be alive. I could see that Brady was slowly leaving us, and that it would only be a matter of time before Deb would lose him forever. He seemed to have moments of clarity and then seem to not be with us at all. I couldn’t help remembering that all animals live in the here and now and don’t know tomorrow. As much as it pained Deb to see him deteriorate all that mattered to Brady at that moment was that he was with his beloved owner and doggie companions. He was running free in green fields, smelling new smells and feeling the warmth of the late afternoon sun upon his head and back.

 

I still wanted to get a shot of the three dogs together so I took advantage of my son’s rusty old pickup truck that was parked at the edge of the field. We placed all three dogs on the hood and were able to get the group shot we wanted.

We did a few more shots of Deb walking with the dogs down my long winding driveway and then by the wooden fence of the arena. After that, we loaded up the three, tired but happy, dogs into her SUV and Deb headed off for home.

That evening as I was editing the images, I was overwhelmed by the depth of the loyalty, devotion and undying love that shown through each dog’s face when they looked at Deb. I felt blessed that I was able to be a part of their story, even if only for a short while. And in time, when her old dogs leave her, I hope that she will find some consolation in the images and the story her dogs told us on that glorious fall day at the farm.

  

all images © Barbara O'Brien PhotographyBarbara O'Brien Photography is located at White Robin Farm in the beautiful rolling hills of western Wisconsin. Images are available for reproduction. Please e-mail or call with intended usage, size of print run, distribution. Barbara O'Brien Photography 612 812 8788 cell 715 448 3456 home barbara@barbaraobrienphoto.com

RIGHT WHERE WE BELONG

Sometimes we get lucky in life and end up right where we belong.

It all began in early spring of 2002. Me and my husband Kevin, and our four sons, had been living in my hometown, of South St. Paul, Minnesota, for the past ten years. We both had our work and the kids were more or less happy in school. We had moved there from our small farm in Hastings, Minnesota to be closer to Kevin’s job and our extended family. I loved our little rambler in town but as the traffic grew on our suburban street and it became unsafe for my youngest to play in the front yard, I began to yearn for a place in the country to call our own.

And then there were the horses.  I had been horseless for a short time before that, and I became very depressed. I thought I would have to give them up entirely, when one free horse soon grew into five. The older boys were showing in 4H by now and we were paying a large bill to the boarding stable each month. It occurred to us, that the cost of our current house payment and the boarding of five horses really added up, and perhaps we could afford a place in the country.

Thus began my obsession with finding the right farm for us.  I became familiar with the Multiple Listing Service ads, and I pestered all the local real estate agents for their latest hot listings.  We wanted to stay within driving distance to Kevin’s job, but far enough out to really be in the country.

We soon learned that any plot of land (no matter how small) in the seven county area surrounding Minneapolis/St. Paul was completely out of our range. Even five-acre homesteads were priced way too high for us.

It was not long after that, when a friend’s father (a longtime farmer) suggested we look across the river at western Wisconsin. “Wisconsin?” we said, “that is too far away and we don’t know anyone in Wisconsin.” “There is still good land there,” he insisted. “And the prices are not too bad, either.”

And so I began my quest anew. I scoured the Internet and asked on the online horse forums I belonged to, if anyone knew of any farms for sale. We even looked at a few places. One was right on the road and not safe for children or animals. The other was a cute little house set on 10 acres that we liked. But in the neighboring yard, not more than 300 feet away, there was a large circular concrete pit of liquid manure, which belonged to the neighboring farm.

In early April, after I had just about given up all hope, a small quiet voice said to me, “Go to Prescott and pick up the Shopper.” The Shopper is a little local ad paper that covers Pierce County, Wisconsin and the surrounding area. I loaded my youngest child up in van and drove across the river to get the paper. I brought him a treat and he ate it while I glanced at the ads.

There was a new listing for a 40-acre For Sale by Owner farm with a house and outbuildings. It was over an hour away from our home, but at this point, we were willing to give anything a try.

I called the number on the ad, and talked to a nice fellow named John Larson. He told me he had inherited the house from his aunt. She had died the previous fall, and now that the estate was settled, he was putting the place up for sale.  I made arrangements to take a look at it that weekend, and I eagerly called Kevin to tell him the news.

He suggested that we there after work. “Just to take a quick look at it.”  He said. “That way, if it’s no good, we won’t be wasting anyone’s time.”

The farm had a long driveway that led house flanked by a few large, but ramshackle barns.  Faded yellow paint and a cracked window or two belied the house’s real beauty. From what we could see, the walls were still square and it had a new roof.

I couldn’t help feeling that threw was something sad about the place. The house reminded me of a shy young woman at a dance who was waiting for just the right man to come along and take her hand.

Kevin and I walked around, peeking into the barn and outbuildings.  The large granary and still held the remains of an oat crop from years ago. The barn walls were tipping dangerously to one side and full of hay that must’ve baled in the 70’s. We saw that many generations of raccoon families had lived there and there were numerous holes in the tin roof from long ago shotgun blasts.

Sunlight streamed in the cracks of the century old barn boards and I was struck by its beauty. Even now, all these years later, when I think of the farmers who came before us, their lives, their hopes, their dreams, what it was like for them to be here, it feels like a sacred place to me.

The paddock fences were overgrown with weeds and the fields were lined with old barbwire that would have to be pulled, but we knew that with a little hard work (ok, a lot of hard work) our horses would be happy here.

We surveyed the house by peeking in the windows, and our excitement began to grow.  I knew in my heart that this was it; this was meant to be our home.

“We have to find John…before it gets too dark” I said, as I dashed off to the car. A bemused Kevin followed. “We can’t bug him," he protested. “He doesn’t even know we are here.” I started the car and said. “I know where he lives, he won’t mind”

A few minutes later we pulled into John’s old home place. I knew I would find him in the barn, as it was chore time. I quickly swung the milk house door open and as John likes to tell it, “And in walked Barbara” I introduced myself to a startled John and his son, Randy, and John agreed to show us the house.

As we toured the house, John showed us the oak floors, the beautiful china hutch and untouched woodwork. The house, with the exception of the kitchen, was just as it was in 1931 when it was built. The light fixtures, the floors, the windows, everything was original. Even the walls retained their original paint and wallpaper.

I grabbed Kevin’s arm, trying to hide my eagerness from John as I whispered, “I want this house. Please, God, help us get this house.”

We went outside and John pointed out the boundaries of the 40 acres that the house rested on.  While he was doing this, the wind picked up and I covered my ears with my hands, as they were getting cold. Without a word, Kevin removed the warm winter hat from his head and placed it on mine. Little did I know that this little act of love and care would make all the difference.

We told John we wanted the farm and to given us a day or two to make an offer. John agreed and told us that although he had several different people who wanted to see it that weekend, he would hold off until he had our offer. Within a few days we came to an agreement and the farm was ours. Within 45 days, we had sold our house in town and moved out to the farm. I have never felt more a part of a community, than I do here. All of our neighbors, including the Larsons, have turned into good friends and there is no place that we would rather be.

In the weeks that followed, I found out from a neighbor that John had been offered much more for the farm than we had settled on. When I asked him why he chose our offer over theirs, he smiled and said, “When I watched Kevin give you his hat, I knew that you were the right people. Any man who takes such good care of his wife, will surely take good care of his farm.”

And I am happy to say that John was right.    

all images © Barbara O'Brien PhotographyBarbara O'Brien Photography is located at White Robin Farm in the beautiful rolling hills of western Wisconsin. Images are available for reproduction. Please e-mail or call with intended usage, size of print run, distribution. Barbara O'Brien Photography 612 812 8788 cell 715 448 3456 home animalcn@isd.net

HOW TO SHOOT (PHOTOGRAPH) DOGS-TEN TIPS TO GET YOU STARTED Part 1

PART 1

As a professional animal photographer for advertising and an animal actor trainer, I have had the opportunity to work with all kinds of dogs over the years, and I thought I'd share with you a few things I have learned.

1. MAKE CONNECTIONS

The time to find your dog model is not the day before you need him. It is important to plan ahead and know what dog you are going to use. The easiest way to do this is to use an agency that specializes in animal models.  Good animal modeling agencies will have a list of experienced, well trained dogs that will provide you with excellent results. They can be found in most major markets. If you have not worked with a particular agency before, ask them for references and make sure that their humane record is exemplary. No one wants to mistreat animals and you do not want someone with a bad reputation on your set.

If there are no animal actor agencies in your area then you are going to have to find dogs on your own. Some good places to start are with your local dog obedience schools and clubs. Most people are proud of their dogs and are more than willing to help you out. Ask the school’s owner if you can watch some classes and meet some of the students. Better yet, take your own dog to school. You’ll be amazed at what you can learn and by how many nice people you meet. The more you understand about dog behavior the better you’ll be able to photograph them. If you are working on a paid shoot, make sure you pay the dog owner for their time.  This is only fair, especially if they have taken time off from work and were kind enough to bring the dog to you. If you are working to build your portfolio, then make sure you offer low resolution downloads that they can post on Facebook, etc. and some nice prints in exchange for their help.

2. CHOOSE YOUR MODEL CAREFULLY

If you have been hired to shoot a beautiful woman walking a dog in the park you better be sure that the dog is trained and walks well on a leash or you could have a runaway dog, a startled model, an unhappy client and even unhappier owner.

Dogs, like all animals, are unpredictable. As much as we photographers would like it, they are not little men in fur suits that we can expect to take direction and know what we want them to do.  It is important to understand that even the best acting dogs can only do one behavior at a time.  If you ever watch a trainer work you will see that they are giving the dog first, one command, and then another. The dog will diligently watch the trainer. or if the dog is used to the routine, it will listen for the trainer's cues as it goes through the wanted behaviors.

Look for dogs that are well trained, friendly and comfortable in with new places and experiences. If you are working through an agency, this will have already been done for you. Even the most well trained dog will look miserable if it doesn’t like the seamless paper he is expected to sit on or the pop of the strobe lights. He may stay, but he won’t look happy. Most clients do not want images of a dog with his ears back and a sad or frightened look his eye.

3. BE PREPARED

Make sure the owner/trainer knows what is expected of their dog. Send them layouts if you have them and be very clear about how long it will take and just what the photo shoot entails. You may have to change your expectations based on what the dog can do.

Have your lights and set ready before your animal talent arrives. Dogs, like children, are typically at their best during the first 1/2-hour of their arrival.  They could become bored with hours of sitting around while you fiddle with the lights or break for lunch. “Get ‘em in. Shoot 'em. And then, get’em out.” has always worked the best for me. You will get happier, fresher, expressions on both your dog and your client if you shoot right away.

4. MEET AND GREET THE ANIMAL

Be sure to say hello to the owner/trainer and take the time to meet their dog. Move slowly and speak quietly at first, allowing the dog smell you. Dogs have extremely sensitive noses so leave the strong perfumes and aftershave behind.

I like to make a big fuss over the dog. Ask the owner for a treat to give to the dog. Let the dog take it from you and be sure to pet him. This will build trust between you and the dog. Tell the owner/trainer that you appreciate all of their hard work in preparing the dog and getting them to the set.

5. SUITABLE LOCATION

Make sure your set is as comfortable as possible for the dog. If you are shooting outlines on seamless or another slippery surface you can put narrow strips of gaff tape down to form a non-slip tread where the dog’s paws will go.

Keep the room set building and other activity to a minimum. Many dogs are easily distracted. A dog can’t focus on the trainer if there are people continually moving back and forth in his line of sight.  Loud sounds, like power tools and the hiss of pneumatics can frighten an otherwise well-behaved dog making it look tense and unhappy.

If you are shooting outside, make especially sure the environment is safe for dogs. If you are shooting near busy streets make sure that traffic is controlled, and that strange dogs cannot wander onto your set. Have a plan if the dog tries to leave the set Some dogs will only come to their owners, so it is good to know this ahead of time; you or a crew member could make things worse by trying to grab an already frightened dog.

Next time, I will talk about what to do, and what not to do, when you actually start shooting.

Barbara O’Brien © 2010

all images © Barbara O'Brien PhotographyBarbara O'Brien Photography is located at White Robin Farm in the beautiful rolling hills of western Wisconsin. Images are available for reproduction. Please e-mail or call with intended usage, size of print run, distribution. Barbara O'Brien Photography 612 812 8788 cell 715 448 3456 home animalcn@isd.net

LOSING BOSTON BUT SAVING SARAH

We lost a good one yesterday.

Part of the price of having wonderful animals in your life is the pain that comes with saying goodbye to them.  We had to put Boston, our 28 year old Quarter Horse, down.

He had a fast spreading neurological condition that affected his spine, which in turn affected his ability to walk or keep his balance.

And even though I believe it was right the thing to do, it is never an easy thing to do.

Boston came to us many years ago as a Dollar Horse. A Dollar Horse is an older horse that is ready quit being shown or bred but not ready to be retired forever. Or they can reliable, trusted mounts that the family has sadly outworn.

My Son, William, rode Boston those first few years and although they like each other all right, their connection was nothing special.

It wasn’t until, Sarah, my cousin’s daughter, came to live with us, that Boston found his true companion. Here was a girl that understood the best places to be scratched and one that he could follow around the pasture like a puppy hoping fro a treat.

Sarah was fifteen when she came to us, and on the first day, I handed Boston’s lead rope to her and said. “This is your horse. He is yours to ride and care for and just love.”

Sarah was beginning a journey of recovery when she first met Boston and I believe he knew that she needed him, and if it is possible for a horse to give himself entirely to a person, I think this is what he did.

She didn’t like riding him at first. Even though she was a confident rider, she didn’t have a lot of experience. Boston quickly learned to take advantage of this. He would trot merrily along, and then stop short and Sarah would tumble off onto the ground in front of him.  Thank goodness for helmets and soft dirt arenas and Sarah’s willingness to get right back on.

We found an excellent instructor and with time and hard work, Sarah’s riding improved enough that she was able to canter Boston bareback through the fields, and for the first time in her short life, I think she felt something akin to pure joy.

Boston loved her too. She was in charge of feeding him and all other aspects of his care. She would go to the gate and call his name and he would come running from wherever in the pasture he was. Boston knew what was coming and knew it was good.

He was a good listener and over the next three years, he heard many a story about her life and took it all in with a kind eye and warm head and neck to cry into.

Boston’s illness came on quickly. I hadn’t noticed anything wrong until I saw his rear fetlocks scraped up with abrasions from the opposite hoof. As I led him up to the barn I saw that he had to twist sideways to stay upright. I put him in a stall and called the Vet. I called Sarah, who was at her parents in town packing to move onto her dorm at college, and told her what was happening.  I knew she would want to be there if we had to put Boston down. 

The vet watched Boston walk and we all agreed that his condition was only going to get worse and the decision was made.

Sarah stroked his head and told him goodbye and after a short time he was gone. We all cried as she clipped some of his mane and tail to keep. She told him he had always been a good horse to her and that she was sorry he was gone and that she would always love him.

I told her that he would be waiting for her and now he was whole, and well, and running in green pastures with the other horses we have lost over the years.

Sarah is now 18 years old and embarking on her first year in college. She has overcome huge difficulties in her life and is a strong, beautiful, young woman ready to face whatever life throws at her.  I am hoping that in some small way, Boston helped in this journey and he knew that his work here was done, and she was going to be all right

without him. 

all images © Barbara O'Brien PhotographyBarbara O'Brien Photography is located at White Robin Farm in the beautiful rolling hills of western Wisconsin. Images are available for reproduction. Please e-mail or call with intended usage, size of print run, distribution. Barbara O'Brien Photography 612 812 8788 cell 715 448 3456 home animalcn@isd.net

THE APPLE OF MY EYE

A few years ago a director friend of mine asked me if I knew of anyone that had a farm dog type puppy available.“A Border Collie would be perfect,” he said, “or maybe something with some shepherd in it.”

He knew that I am well connected in the dog world and I was happy to help him out. It didn’t take long for me to find a family from church that had a litter of Border Collie Australian Shepherd puppies for sale. Since my friend lived in Minneapolis, and I am 75 miles away in rural Stockholm, Wisconsin, I told him that I would check the puppies for him, saving him the trip if they were not suitable.

So that Sunday, after church, Kevin and I drove out to see the puppies and take some pictures to send to my friend. The family, who home schooled their eight children, lived on an old farm place a few miles out of town.

After making our way up the long driveway, a red merle Aussie announced our arrival and greeted us with wriggles and kisses. As we climbed out of the truck, the Dad and all eight kids came out to greet us and show us the pups.

One by one, the puppies poured out of the house until there was six balls of black and white and blue merle fluff rolling around in the grass. They immediately came over to inspect us as we inspected them. We could see that the red Aussie was their mother and the children told us that the father was a black and white Border Collie who lived one farm over. I remembered seeing him, sitting on the porch of their neighbor’s house as we drove by. He was an impressive dog, with a broad old style, Border Collie head and full white ruff that set off his shiny black coat.

As I took some pictures to send to my friend, one puppy in particular began to stand out.

She was the smallest of the bunch, a nonstop whirlwind of feet and fur as she ran from sibling to siblings, nipping playfully on one’s ear then going to grab another’s tail. I reached down to pick her up and she flew into my arms, scurrying up my legs and into my face.

She gave me a million puppy kisses and her little body wriggled so much with excitement, I thought she would burst.

You must understand that I work with animals every day, and I can assure you, I am immune to the charms of cuddly puppies and frisky kittens. So no one was more surprised than me, when I fell completely, utterly in love with the little blue merle pup. She was friendly, curious and bold. After all of my years working as an animal trainer, I knew she had star quality written all over her.

I set her down, took a few more pictures, (more now of her, than the others) and made mental note of who would be a good fit for my friend. I tried to ignore her, but my eyes kept going back to her as she fearlessly explored the yard.

Kevin stood up, brushed the grass off his jeans and asked me, “Do you think you have enough pictures?” It was his signal to me that he was ready to go. I took his arm and whispered to him, “I really want that puppy.” “What puppy?” He asked. “We don’t need a puppy. We have two dogs, already,” he said, citing our elderly German Shepherd and our young one who was still somewhat of a puppy himself.

“I know we don’t need one,” I said, “But look at her. She has a great look. She’s smart. She’s bold. She could be a really good acting dog.”

“We don’t need another dog. Don’t you think we have enough animals?”

“Oh, Kevin,” I pleaded, trying to convince him. “I have an empty spot in my life.” I put out my hands and moved them up and down like a scale, “Baby…puppy. Baby…puppy. Baby…puppy.”

He laughed. “We are not having another baby!”

I laughed too, “Of course not!”

We have four sons. But I really wanted this puppy. Kevin sighed and wearily shook his head. “OK… if you think so, go ahead.” Poor Kevin. After all these years, he has grown used to the fact that when I set my mind on something, it’s pretty much going to happen.

“What do you call her?” I asked the children.

“Apple,” volunteered one of the younger girls, “I named her Apple because she is spotted like an Appaloosa and Appaloosa’s are my favorite kind of horse.”

“Apple,” I repeated, liking how it rolled nicely off my tongue. “Then Apple it is,” I replied, swooping her up into my arms.

“What do you want for the puppies,” I asked.

“We’ve been getting $30 for them”, the oldest boy told me, being sure to add a serious look to show that there would be no negotiating on price.

“Great!” I said, “I’ll take her.”

“Give them $50.” Kevin said quietly, nodding towards the kids.

“They said $30,” I protested, never one to miss a bargain.

“Oh, give them $50”, he repeated, “You know she’s worth more than that. I’ll go get the check book.”

I paid the kids and thanked them and assured them that my friend would want a puppy also. Apple snuggled into my arms during the short ride home and I told Kevin that I was very, very happy.

Sophie, our old dog, sniffed Apple and looked at me as if to say, “Oh no! Not again!” and then went and lay down on her bed. The young dog, Sarge, was thrilled to have playmate.

Apple had never seen a cat before and the house cats were quick to put her in her place.

Trilby even went so far as to sneak up on her and slap her a few times with her paw before poor Apple even knew what happened. I think that is why Apple still feels the need to harmlessly chase any cat that gets too close.

We only had Apple for a short time, when a film crew for the movie, Midnight Chronicles, descended upon our farm. Every day for a week there were a minimum of 50 people on the set for Apple to love. She was in heaven. The actors and crew were always picking her up and carrying her around like a baby. She would go crazy with delight and lick their faces and they would tell her what a good dog she was. This was ok when she weighed less than 10 pounds, but now that she is over 50, it is not so charming. She still thinks everyone wants to pet her and get a dozen kisses while tries to crawl up into their laps.

I introduced her to the chickens right away making it clear that chasing or harassing them was forbidden, and if she knew what was good for her, she would leave them alone.

As she grew, she discovered the sheep and I could see that this was her true calling. It became her reason for living. I can just imagine the thoughts racing around in her head.

“Sheep! Must watch sheep! Must watch sheep! Oh, oh! That one is getting too close to the gate. It could escape. Back! Get back, you naughty sheep! Oh no! That one has moved away from the others! GET BACK! You know your place. I am the dog and you are the sheep. I am the boss of you. Now get back you wooly beasties!”

Sometimes, when I am working her on a set, I say “sheep” to perk her up and it takes her a split second to realize that we are in a big building in the city and there is no way that there could possibly be any sheep around.

She wishes the horses would listen to her. She is ever so helpful when I am doing chores. She watches the horses like a hawk and if I say “Hup!” or “Hah!” to get a horse to move, she is right there, weaving in and out, driving them out of my way.

She is a notorious horse manure eater, a habit we are trying to break her of, especially when she chooses to give the aforementioned kisses right after a yummy manure snack.

She will chase a ball or a Frisbee all day unless I am using the ball to get her to run for the camera. She quickly figures out that I am not really playing the game like I should and takes the ball and lies down.

She is a good animal actor having worked for Target, Purina, Cargill and others and is one of my favorite photo subjects.

When I told my dog trainer friend, who has know me for over 20 years, that I got a Border Collie/Aussie cross she laughed and said finally, “Well it’s about time you got the right dog for you”

“What do you mean?” I complained, “What’s wrong with my shepherds?”

“Oh nothing she said, “It’s just that you are a Border Collie.” She paused for a moment and then said, “Totally fearless, ever cheerful and always ready to tackle whatever life throws at you.“

And as I reach down and pet Apple who is, of course, curled up under my desk I would say that I have to agree.

all images © Barbara O'Brien PhotographyBarbara O'Brien Photography is located at White Robin Farm in the beautiful rolling hills of western Wisconsin. Images are available for reproduction. Please e-mail or call with intended usage, size of print run, distribution. Barbara O'Brien Photography 612 812 8788 cell 715 448 3456 home animalcn@isd.net