Elaborate Fantasy

"Creativity is more than just being different. Anybody can plan weird; that's easy. What's hard is to be as simple as Bach. Making the simple, awesomely simple, that's creativity." -- Charles Mingus

Analogy
Let's imagine that there are 200 people shipwrecked on a remote island. They are living normal lives, with few hardships to distract them from their daily whims. There is only one catch: 199 of these people are fanatical Dungeons and Dragons players who live, eat, breath and sleep the game. And one isn't. In fact, the one that isn't has freely admitted that he hates the game -- or any game -- in which complex rules are created almost entirely in the imaginations of the players.

Since they are stranded on an island, and since they are fanatics, the 199 gamers have made D&D a sort of unit of trade to get food and luxury items. What is the one non-gamer to do when it comes to surviving, much less getting along with everyone else? None of the D&D players care about the things that interest him. In fact, they look at him as if he is the one with a problem for refusing to play along with the majority. If he wants to get along with them and have a "richer" life, then he has to play their silly game, no matter how much he hates expending brain power to perpetuate someone else's fantasy world. A couple of times in the past, he very reluctantly accepted their invitation to play, but he hated every minute of those experiences (although the social interaction -- such as it was -- had its merits). As he played, he watched these gamers closely. He could see how willingly, how unquestioningly, they followed the unnecessarily complex and completely arbitrary rules. Not a one of them made a single peep of protest.

They have to be crazy, he thought, for not getting up and walking away from it all. Real life -- beautifully simple life -- awaits them if only they would open their eyes. It's nice to play games occasionally, but don't confuse it with living ones life.

General Reality
Since I was a kid, I have felt the same way about humanity's needlessly complex economic infrastructure as that one non-gamer feels about living a D&D life. I am especially repelled by our society's bureaucracy-laden business, legal, and financial elements. Of course, that's where most of the attainable job opportunities lie. The rest seem mostly to involve backbreaking labor or mindless assembly-line work (both skilled and unskilled), and the purpose of those jobs is merely to perpetuate that very same economic infrastructure. This has always been a completely depressing, demoralizing turnoff for me. We are all expected to play our parts in this arbitrarily complex "game" if we are to be thought of as functioning members of society, or if we want the luxury of putting a few crackers in our tomato soup every now and then.

My Present Reality
For the past month, thanks to a friend who talked me into it, I have been working in a private, locally owned, financial-investment-and-tax agency, and I must say that I am utterly repelled by the unnecessarily complex and utterly ridiculous bureaucratic/legal/financial reality that humanity has created for itself. I work every day (albeit at a very low level) with a completely hodgepodge, disorganized mess of financial documents, tax papers, purchase receipts, donation receipts, income statements, depreciation statements, loss statements, investment numbers, handwritten records, random dollar amounts written on the backs of envelopes, and so on and so on. These come in all shapes, sizes, designs, folds, purposes, conditions and rules (and half of them must be unstapled from one another). These papers are designed either to allow the government to rip off as much of the people's money as possible or to allow the people to pay as little taxes as possible, even though, in order to do so, they either have to lose their money by being failures or else they have to give bunches of it away (far too often to churches). Either way, they don't get to keep it for themselves.

Some of the headache-inducing conversations I have heard have included the following phrases and statements (and these constitute just the TIP of the iceberg): "basis of investment," "unrealized gains," "estimated taxable income," "monthly/quarterly/yearly statements," "depreciation," "accumulated adjustments," "income distribution," "retained earnings end-of-the-year," "retained earnings unappropriated," "Schedule MQ (or M2)," "non-dividend distribution" and "beginning-year retainder." Our three preparers (all great people) recently discussed the motives of the vultures in the county government regarding an aging piece of farm machinery: Should it still be considered a useful part of the farming operation or should it be "allowed" to sit idle and thus be taxed as a "luxury" item (or something like that). They also once discussed the fact that the county likes to swoop in and double a landowner's taxes if he or she owns income-producing property but is not using it for income-producing purposes (same as that piece of machinery). One of our preparers actually spent part of a day searching through computer and paper records for the proof of sale of a taxable cow (yes, a single taxable cow out of a herd of about 18!!!) that a farmer sold but then listed as the "wrong" sort of income. They feared he had sold it "illegally," or, in other words, in a way that would incur the wrath of the all-powerful mafiosi at the IRS.

Aaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhhh!!!!!!

What busybody idiots invented all these ridiculously complex ways of keeping track of -- and stealing as much as possible of -- what is supposed to be a very simple "unit of trade" to put food on our tables and a few luxuries in our homes? I can hardly believe that we Americans willingly tolerate (or even condone and defend) this travesty of a reality that we not only allowed to be created but which many of us have actually helped to create.

Am I a Misfitfor not playing this ridiculous game most of the time? That is unless the "perfect" job comes along? Most people would say "yes," I am a misfit, so I seldom tell anyone my feelings on the matter. They seem to think that if someone refuses to play this needlessly complex game then he or she isn't being mature or responsible. Certain people have actually said that to me, even though I have more money than they do and not a single debt to my name. However, I have always (or at least since junior high) secretly believed that I am actually one of the few normal people because I have refused to participate in this complex and utterly boring game known as "modern civilization," unless it is in the most peripheral way, and only when I absolutely have no other choice.

However, if I think I see a "perfect" job opportunity coming along, I'll take it, and then let you know.

Now I shall repeat the opening quote:

"Creativity is more than just being different. Anybody can plan weird; that's easy. What's hard is to be as simple as Bach. Making the simple, awesomely simple, that's creativity." -- Charles Mingus

What on Earth Did I Eat for Breakfast?

LL of Idaho wrote a very interesting story on a natural event that took place in his neck of the juniper forest last week. It brought back some fairly vivid memories of my own first encounter with an identical natural event.

October 18, 1984, 9:30 AM, Chadron, Nebraska - We are having our first snow of the season. For once, it is falling straight down instead of sideways. I am sitting on a sofa on the second (top) floor of the Chadron State College library. The sofa is located in the very center of the floor in a large open area, surrounded by many tables (most of which are empty). [I believe] I am reading a required classic novel for "Continental Novel" (yuck!).

At about 9:30 AM, I feel my stomach start to rumble very, very subtly from indigestion. I pay no attention to it until I realize a few seconds later that is not stopping and that it is more "uniform" than my indigestion usually is.

That's odd.

I look down at my stomach in confusion.

While I am looking at it, the rumbling actually seems to spread to the sofa.

Huh?!

I look at the arm of the sofa to see if I can see it moving, even though I am convinced that my indigestion has simply gone to my head and is making me imagine it. [I don't remember if I could see the arm moving or not, but the subtle -- almost non-existent -- vibrations continue to affect me personally.]

I look up at several students (all strangers) who are studying at a table near me. I am about ready to ask them if they feel the vibrations too, even though they appear to be oblivious. Before I can utter a word, the entire building starts shaking somewhat violently (like a trailer house in a sudden 50-mph gust of wind). It all ends a second or three later with a loud, almost violent boom or thud.

We all look at one another in surprise. I theorize out loud that the library's furnace may have exploded. I also cannot resist telling them with a smile that I had been feeling the vibrations for some time prior to the final jolt and that I thought it was just my stomach rumbling from indigestion. They ignore me.

I cannot remember how long it was before I learned that it was an earthquake and not a furnace explosion, but it was probably not very long. I definitely knew it by the time I departed for my American Frontier History class at 10:45 AM.

The USGS web site gives the following specific details on the earthquake I experienced:

WYOMING, 5.5 [Richter Scale] (GS). Slight damage (VI) at Douglas, Medicine Bow, Casper, Shirley Basin, McFadden, Rock River and Guernsey. Some damage was reported at a condominium complex in Golden, Colorado. Felt throughout much of Wyoming and northern Colorado. Also felt in western Nebraska, parts of South Dakota and Montana, and by some people in high-rise buildings in Omaha, Nebraska and Salt Lake City, Utah.

I wonder if this is the same earthquake that LL experienced in the early 1980s.

Songs that Get You "High"

My long-held wish to post this sort of entry has finally come true.

There used to be all sorts of happy songs on the pop-music charts (before "angry" and "hateful" and "monotone" took over). Of course, most of these happy songs were seemingly cranked out with the same frequency (speed) and quality as Harlequin Romance novels, so they are often more annoying than inspiring. Most of them certainly don't automatically make a person feel happy when listening to them. This may be because they are only happy in theme and not in feel. By feel I mean down-to-the-very-core-of-your-being FEEL, in which a person's body and soul react positively to the music almost involuntarily. In a way, these songs are more like medicine (aka a "drug") than psychological therapy because they tend to induce happiness in the "patient" without any conscious effort on his or her part.

I have an iTunes playlist that contains a very small number of my all-time greatest FEEL-good songs. I now present to you two of my very favorites in this category. In fact, they are possibly my two favorite songs in this category (although that's not fair to the other songs). I first remember hearing them -- and loving them -- in the late 1980s (although I may have heard them earlier in life without realizing it). The first one grew on me over time (it was included in a used Reader's Digest nine-record compilation album I bought in March 1986, in Montana). The second one immediately flew to the top of my list of favorites when I heard it late one night on a very lonely highway between Crawford and Hemingford, Nebraska (also around 1986, give or take a year). Actually, I may have heard the second one previously as an adult, but my mood had been such at that time that it did not register with me the way it should have.

I hope you will listen to them all the way through because they continually build in intensity. In fact, the increasing intensity and the accompanying pauses are a huge part of what makes them FEEL-good songs. In other words, a quick sampling of the beginning of each song is not sufficient. It may also be necessary to listen to them more than once in order to "get the feel" of them (some of the very best foods and drinks require you to acquire a taste for them).

Song Title: Midnight in Moscow (click to play entire song)
Artist: Kenny Ball & His Jazzmen
Date that it entered the Top 100: January 20, 1962
Peaked at No. 2 on: March 17, 1962 (for one week).
Last date it was in the Top 100: May 12, 1962

"Midnight in Moscow" was adapted from an old Russian ballad by a British group, and they performed it in an American Dixieland/Jazz style. Talk about eclectic.


Song Title: Washington Square
Artist: Village Stompers
Date that it entered the Top 100: September 28, 1963
Peaked at No. 2 on: November 16, 1963 (for one week).
Last date it was in the Top 100: January 4, 1964

"Washington Square" is much like "Midnight in Moscow," but it is not a Russian ballad, and the group is American. It is also a lot more minimalist in nature.

Impressionist Photography and a Musical Memory

Song Title: Back Home Again
Artist: John Denver
Date that it entered the Top 100: September 21, 1974
Peaked at No. 5 on: November 16, 1974, and remained there for two weeks.
Left the Top 100 on: December 28, 1974
Picture below taken in: August 1974 (around the time that I would have first heard Back Home Again)

Yes, at first glance, this is just a blurry, imperfectly colored, low-quality picture. At least that was my first, second, third, fourth, fifth and sixth impressions. I cannot tell you how disappointed I was last August when I scanned the negative and finally got to see this picture for the first time since taking it 33 years earlier (almost to the week). I had been given a once-in-a-childhood opportunity to go to the top of the tallest structure in several counties (the grain elevator) and take some pictures of the little town in which I lived.

And what did I do? Not only did I very foolishly take only one picture, but I took it with a cheap, defective camera, and I blurred it! Or maybe the shutter was defective. I don't know.

Of course, I can never go back and recapture this scene, because the past is gone, and too much of that scene is also gone, including my old home (that being the nearest building in the center foreground with my dad's blue 1971 Ford FWD pickup parked beside it; we lived in its downstairs living quarters from April 1972, to March 1975; it was torn down in the 1980s). The latter fact only made my regrets more pronounced.

Nonetheless, I wasn't about to throw this image away. No matter how flawed it might be, it still contains a lot of good memories, and disposing of good memories is a crime in my book. On the other hand, I have almost never shown off my flawed images in public either. So why am I doing it now? I'll try to explain.

Initially, for my own sake, I tried to repair as many of the hundreds of scratches and blemishes in this image as I could. Of course, in so doing, it was necessary to concentrate on every fuzzy detail. Naturally, concentrating so closely on the blurriness only increased my frustration. I was constantly punishing myself for what might have been, if only I had used used my 13-year-old head way back then and taken more than one picture. What had I been thinking wasting such a rare opportunity? Then for some strange reason, as I continued to do my repairs, my perfectionist standards began to weaken. I was beginning not to dislike the flaws as much as I once had. How could that be? Was I possibly starting to get used to it the way it is? Or was I rationalizing? Or was the surrealist in me being influenced by the spirit of some 19th-century impressionist painter? Whatever it was, the more I studied this image (and reminisced), the more I came to a particular conclusion: This is not really a snapshot of my little town in South Dakota in August 1974. Instead, it is a snapshot of my 33-year-old memory of my little town South Dakota, in August 1974. It's as simple as that, and it feels right.

Just study the specific details of this image for a while (the alley, the yard behind the hotel, the rolling hills in the background, etc.) at the largest size. If you have an open mind, you may see what I mean.

Musical Memory
On September 21, 1974, John Denver's Back Home Again entered the top 100. I was just learning to love music that year. One night when there was no school the next day, I fell asleep on the living-room floor (about 15 or 20 feet directly on the other side of my dad's pickup in the picture above). Occasionally, my parents would let me sleep there the whole night. In those days I used to listen to the radio every night in order to fall asleep (usually 1520 KOMA, Oklahoma City). I always kept the volume at about one decibel above inaudible. If it was any louder than that, it would eventually wake me up in the middle of the night in a most unpleasant way.

There were, however several songs in those days that frequently woke me up in a most pleasant way (but only if the volume was extremely low). One night when I was sleeping peacefully in a sleeping bag on the living-room floor, Back Home Again started playing. It must have been about 3 AM. It woke me up in that perfectly peaceful middle-of-the-night way that is impossible to describe. I lay there, three-fourths-asleep, and listened to the lyrics. Somehow, certain parts struck me as a perfect description of the life I was living at that time. Since I lived near Interstate 90, the particular lyrics that affected me most were, "There's a truck out on the four-lane a mile or more away..." and later, "There's a fire softly burnin', supper's on the stove..."

I lay there at age 13 and listened to that song and felt perfectly protected in my little world. It was a magically simple night that I have never forgotten.

Law of Averages Versus Reality

The republican primaries/caucuses have gone as follows in all the states that have voted so far, not counting California (and not counting February 9, or later):

McCain:

First: 11 of 28 states (39.3%)

Second: 11 of 28 states (39.3%)

Third: 4 of 28 states (14.3%)

Fourth: 1 of 28 states (3.6%)

Zero: 1 of 28 states (3.6%)*

Romney:

First: 12 of 28 states (42.9%)

Second: 10 of 28 states (35.7%)

Third: 6 of 28 states (21.4%)

Fourth: 0 of 28 states (0%)

Huckabee:

First place: 6 of 28 states (21.4%)

Second place: 4 of 28 states (14.3%)

Third place: 13 of 28 states (46.2%)

Fourth place: 5 of 28 states (17.6%)

Zero place: 1 of 28 states (3.6%)*

California is essentially a microcosm of the United States. Republicans of all types and ages from all over the nation have settled there. Others have lived there for decades. They could not possibly be in perfect lockstep with one another from the Mexican border on the south to the Oregon border on the north, a distance of 800 miles. As such, and taking the law of averages into account, one could not too unreasonably assume that the results of the California republican primary should have very roughly mirrored those of the other 28 states as a whole (give or take a few counties).

The following list shows the number of California's 53 counties that each candidate should have won (SHW) based on the law of averages (when compared to the other 28 states combined) versus the actual tally:

McCain:

"Should have won" VERSUS the "actual tally"

SHW: First: 21 of 53 (39.6%) vs. 50 of 53 (94.3%)

SHW: Second: 21 of 53 (39.6%) vs. 3 of 53 (5.6%)

SHW: Third: 8 of 53 (15.1%) vs. 0 of 53 (0%)

SHW: Fourth: 2 of 53 (3.8%) vs. 0 of 53 (0%)

Romney:

"Should have won" VERSUS the "actual tally"

SHW: First: 23 of 53 (43.4%) vs. 3 of 53 (5.6%)

SHW: Second: 19 of 53 (35.8%) vs. 50 of 53 (94.3%)

SHW: Third: 11 of 53 (20.7%) vs. 0 of 53 (0%)

SHW: Fourth: 0 of 53 (0%) vs. 0 of 53 (0%)

Huckabee:

"Should have won" VERSUS the "actual tally"

SHW: First: 11 of 53 (20.7%) vs. 0 of 53 (0%)

SHW: Second: 8 of 53 (15.1%) vs. 0 of 53 (0%)

SHW: Third: 25 of 53 (47.2%) vs. 52 of 53 (98.1%)

SHW: Fourth: 9 of 53 (17%) vs. 1 of 53 (1.9%)

Trivia Note 1: For the heck of it, if you combine all of Huckabee's first and second place finishes in the 28 states aside from California, they total 10; therefore, theoretically, he could have had a combined total of 19 of 53 firsts and seconds in California, yet he got still 0 of 53 combined.]

Trivia Note 2: Nevada, where Romney won 51 percent of the vote, shares several hundred miles of border with California (Ron Paul, the next closest competitor in Nevada, had 14 percent, even though Nevada borders McCain's home state of Arizona), yet Romney won only one California county that borders Nevada. Romney also easily won in the western states of North Dakota, Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, and Nevada. He would probably have won (may still win?) without difficulty in Idaho and Oregon, too. Oregon borders California and Nevada on the north, and Idaho, which borders Nevada on the north, is also not too far from California's northern border. Therefore, it is somewhat difficult to believe that Romney didn't win handily in more northern and northeastern California border counties.

Missing the Forest for the Trees The percentages themselves in the California counties may vary at times (that is to be expected if someone is manipulating the voting machines), but they aren't wildly out of sync with one another. The manipulators would be sure to make the percentages of each county look slightly different from one another. The problem seems to be that they were so involved with carefully manipulating the percentages -- the trees -- that they forgot to look at their overall handiwork -- the forest -- from afar. As a result, it looks more like a manmade apple orchard than a natural forest. Maybe the rows -- the percentages -- aren't perfectly straight, but they are still clearly definable if one stands back and takes a serious look (while also keeping demographics, geography and religion in mind, not just mathematical statistics).

-----

*All of Wyoming's delegates went to Romney.

A Statistical "Anomaly"

This is pretty curious.

Metaphor

What do you think the odds are of lightening striking an almost identical number of times -- AND in an almost identical fashion -- in 50 of 53 predesignated locations in California on the same night?

Non-Metaphor

California probably has the most diverse population in the United States, and the diversity varies wildly from one region of the state to the next. Soooooo....

Regardless of your personal preferences -- because this blog entry is all about "anomalies," not personal preferences (neither yours nor mine) --, I would like you to witness this statistical "anomaly" with your very own eyes. It should only take about 30 seconds for you to get the idea, IF you follow these three very simple steps after you click the link below:

1.) Click on District 1 and look at the bar chart.

2.) Click on the "Next District" link in the upper-right corner of the page and look at the bar chart in District 2.

3.) Keep clicking on the "Next District" link and keep looking at the bar charts.

I suspect that such an "anomaly" would be statistically impossible without the magical "efficiency" of computers.

Click here.

In Conclusion Even if you could care less about this statistical "anomaly," would you please leave a comment to let me know that you at least took a look? You don't have to write anything other than, "OK, I looked. I see the 'anomaly.' Have a nice day." In fact, you are welcome to copy and paste that quote into the comment box.

Pop-Culture Nostalia

Fermicat unintentionally gave me the idea for this post, after I unintentionally gave her the idea for this post. For some reason, we seem to be jogging each other's memories of 1970s trivia lately. I originally compared a photo of her cat, Moxy, to the famous "Keep On Truckin'" poster of the early 1970s, which, in turn, somehow made her remember Topp's Wacky Packages trading cards (and I now see that Kathleen has an interesting story to tell in Fermi's comments section).

When Fermi wrote about Wacky Packages, I couldn't remember that name at all (and I still cannot), but I immediately remembered the look because I own a bunch of similar "packages." The only difference is that mine are in sticker form instead of trading-card form.

I have zero recollection of buying these stickers because I would normally never have wasted my money (which I earned as a three-hour-a-week school janitor) on pictures that took only five or ten seconds to enjoy before you were finished with them, and I certainly didn't like gum either (which is how these stickers were packaged). I had much more useful items to purchase with my money in those days, like comic books, camera film and an occasional 10¢ candy bar or a 25¢ bag of Dorito's chips.

Yet it seems apparent that I acquired them somehow. I have a very strong feeling that my stickers probably came free inside boxes of breakfast cereal; however, I cannot find any proof of this on the internet.

The picture below (which I just scanned today after reading Fermi's post last night) shows a few of those stickers on the front cover of my tablet from my freshman year of high school (1975-76) in South Dakota. Yes, I still have that tablet for some reason, probably because I was a nostalgic pack rat for far too many years (although I'm glad I was one/am one). Even though my tablet was used mostly during the 1975-76 school year, all of my stickers (I have just learned) are from the 14th Series, which was mostly sold between April and June of 1975.

Also, at the bottom of the tablet, you will notice my initials (with the rest of my name erased in Photoshop). The item in front of the "W" (actually, it's at the end of my first name) is a star. Also, the lone sticker at the bottom right is really on the back cover of the tablet.

I also have a relatively large sheet of construction paper somewhere in the house with a bunch of these stickers on them. They are the "originals" of each sticker. The ones on my tablet cover are duplicates (that's the only reason I would have stuck them to something where they could easily be damaged). Today I searched through about fifteen boxes of "heirlooms" for that sheet, which has constantly been IN MY WAY for many years when I didn't want it; but, naturally, now that I want it, it is nowhere to be found (if I could only tell you how often that happens, and how frustrating it is...).

Concluding editorial note: I must admit that I was ambivalent about Wacky Packages even as a teenager. I loved their concept and their look, and I had long been making up my own silly names for people and products in those days, too (still do); however, I didn't think the Wacky Packages humor was even remotely funny most of the time -- some of the time, yes, but not most of the time.

-----

P.S. As for the famous Keep On Truckin' poster, I have always remembered it for two reasons: 1.) It was advertised in every comic book in the early 1970s, and, 2.) when I was in the 8th grade, a very pretty classmate of mine named Kristi (a cheerleader) drew her own unique version of that poster for our 8th-grade basketball team. It said something like, "The Raiders Just Keep On Truckin'." For a while, it hung on the wall at the top of the bleachers in the southwest corner of the gym, and I remember staring at it a lot and being completely amazed that someone so young could have done such a professional job. It is my belief that she did not trace it because her other posters were clearly her own unique creations, and they were just as good. I could be wrong, though.

Taming a Wild Rabbit

The above photo was taken on about August 3, 1983, in front of my dad's new home, fifty miles west of Newcastle, WY (a long, long, loooonnnnggggg way from town), and five very rough, gravely miles north of the Little Thunder Cafe and Gas Station (a veritable oasis in the "desert"). This photo is probably only mildly interesting in its own right, but I have posted it here because it provides you with a view of the environment in which the story takes place. [As for that cone-shaped hill, it certainly looks man made, and it may well be -- possibly abandoned after some long-forgotten construction project; however, I saw several naturally odd-shaped buttes and hills in that desolate landscape, so one cannot jump to conclusions. I even climbed to the top of this hill, and it "felt" natural. So who knows?]

Important Note Regrettably, all of the pictures in the following series (not counting the next picture) were double exposed**. Luckily, the rabbit pictures were taken in the bright outdoors, so they "won out" over the darker, indoor pictures that I had previously taken on this roll. Coincidentally and ironically (and regrettably), some of the original "lost" pictures had been taken four months earlier during my only other visit to this same location. Also lost were the only photographs I ever took at the local auto-supply dealership in which I had worked as a delivery driver (etc.) from March 1980 to April 1983. In fact, some of the store's products (and my old best friend/coworker) are actually partially visible in a couple of the pictures.

The Story Begins
August 10, 1983, "Little Thunder," WY
By this time, I had been visiting my dad for about a week. During the days, I was sometimes left alone in the desolation for several hours while he went to Newcastle. I could have gone with him (he always asked), but I was enjoying the solitude of nature too much to be around people again (I was there to take a break from people). Only my dad's border collie, Belle, remained behind to keep me company. I'm not a big fan of dogs (and was even less so in 1983), but Belle was the nicest, most well behaved and well trained dog I had ever known at that time, and I really liked her.

Today, my dad went to town again. I was once again left alone in the middle of nowhere and was loving every minute of it. The temperature was about 100 degrees, as it had been almost every day since I had arrived. Luckily, there were two man-made dams about 50 feet behind the house. I had already gone swimming once or twice in the nearest dam with Belle, and I decided it was time to go again. In those days, I was a fish in water. I absolutely loved swimming.

As I rounded the corner of the ramshackle company trailer house I grabbed a decent "fetch stick" for Belle. She loved retrieving sticks from the middle of the dam. At that moment, it suddenly occurred to me that I might have even more fun if I had some sort of makeshift raft. I figured a wooden pallet might do the trick, if I could find one. Of course, a pallet wouldn't float above the water with me on it, but it would still have enough buoyancy to keep me somewhat afloat while also keeping me half submerged in the cool water. In other words, it would be a perfect raft on a roasting-hot day.

About fifty or sixty feet northeast of the house was a collection of old oil-field junk. Most of it was located on the north side of two or three huge, empty oil-storage tanks (about 20 or 30 feet tall). If there was a pallet to be found, that's where it would be. I walked around the first oil tank to start looking. Belle was not far behind. In the shade of the tanks and scattered around between the piles of junk were about thirty or forty wild rabbits. They scattered like lightening in every direction when they saw me.

All, except one...

It ran only a few feet and then stopped. I froze in my tracks to avoid scaring it away. I also turned around and quietly ordered Belle back to the house. Without hesitation, she obeyed (how many dogs would do that when there are rabbits to be chased?).

It was obviously a young rabbit. It didn't seem to have much of a problem with my presence. I just stood there watching it, surprised that it had not disappeared like the rest. Within seconds, I began talking to it very softly to let it know I wasn't a threat. Every once in a while, it would quickly hop a short distance further away, but, luckily, it never went further than two or three feet. After letting it get settled in each new spot, I would ever so slowly move closer to it again. At first I remained about eight or ten feet away from it, continuing to talk softly to it. I kept expecting it to disappear for good at any moment, and my fantasy of taming it would come to an end. Then I would continue with my original plan to find a pallet and go swimming.

But soon an hour passed, and we were both still there. Sometime during that hour, I had gotten tired of standing, so I sat on the ground and continued to talk to it. Every time it moved, I would wait a few seconds and then very slowly scoot along the ground with it. At times, it almost seemed to be enjoying my company, or, at the very least, it wasn't bothered. In fact, as you can see in the next picture, I was starting to get really close to it. [And, no, I did not use a telephoto lens in this series.]

I don't remember the timing of the events very well anymore (I used to have them memorized), but, within about ninety minutes, I was actually sitting within two or three feet of the rabbit (as you can see). Every so often, for no apparent reason, its instincts would kick in again, and it would hurriedly hop two or three feet further away from me (obviously, it was a very mild panic), and I would slowly catch up to it again. Luckily, it always remained out in the open, even though there were a lot of great hiding places under all the surrounding junk.

After about three hours of sitting there and talking to the rabbit, I knew I needed to capture this event on film. I had been wanting to get my camera for a while, but I kept putting it off, afraid that my getting up would scare the rabbit away. I also worried that it might disappear while I was gone, even though I knew it would take me no more than a minute or three to get my camera and come back. Or maybe it would finally panic as nature intended when I came around the oil storage tank a second time.

Finally, I decided I had to take the risk because I knew no one would believe me if I told them about this rabbit. I ever so carefully got up and walked at a snail's pace until I was finally out of the rabbit's line of sight. Then I ran like an Olympic sprinter to the trailer to get my camera. This may be when I very hurriedly put in the roll of film that already had about eight or ten pictures on it.

As you can see, the rabbit was still there when I returned with the camera.

I slowly sat down again and resumed my one-sided conversation with it.

I took this series of pictures while continually working my way closer to it, until...

...I was actually able to pet it.

The rabbit only allowed me to pet it for a few seconds at a time before it would hop two or three feet away again. But at least it didn't run completely away; and I was always able to approach it again (while remaining seated) and pet it again for a few seconds.

Day Two
August 11, 1983, "Little Thunder," WY
This morning, I returned to the same spot, and, to my amazement, my rabbit was still there (waiting for me?). No other rabbits were in sight.

It still only let me pet it for a few seconds at a time, but it was obvious that it was enjoying itself, no matter what its instincts may have been telling it. For example, look at its back leg in this next picture. Whenever I scratched it between its ears, its back leg would reflexively kick out to the side in obvious enjoyment.

On this second day, I also decided that I wanted to be in a picture with the rabbit, so I had a friend of my dad take this next one of both of us. I don't remembr why my dad didn't take it himself (maybe he was working or taking a nap when the idea occurred to me, and I didn't want to wait). You'll also notice the carrot I had given to it. I don't remember for sure if it ever tasted it, but it definitely wasn't interested in it (maybe it smelled too "store bought").

You can see that the rabbit is very small compared to me. Its youthfulness and inexperience probably helped to keep it from being too afraid of me; however, when there was such a large herd of rabbits, at least one or three others were probably just as young as this one, yet they all ran.

[Note: I had been feeling very poorly for about two weeks, until a few days before this picture was taken, and I still wasn't entirely over it. To the trained eye (mine), I can see by my haggard face that I still wasn't back to 100 percent. But I had decided that I was going to have a good time, no matter what, and so I did.]

Conclusion
Little Thunder, WY, August 11, 1983
Sunset on a very desolate, yet beautiful landscape. Behind me and to my right (just out of the picture) are the tanks where my rabbit was waiting for me for three days in a row. The day after I took this picture, I returned to my home in Nebraska and never saw the rabbit again.

Footnote
**Maybe you are wondering how a person can double expose a roll of 35mm film. I shall always regret this practice now (chronology fanatic that I am), but, in those days, I occasionally removed a half-used roll of film from my camera (in a very dark closet, of course) and replaced it temporarily with a new roll. At first, there was a practical reason for doing this: I was in photography class at college and occasionally needed to shoot an assignment roll of film. In this case, I did it (I now suddenly think I remember) because an old classmate in college had asked me to take pictures of her boyfriend on the basketball team (there are three pictures of that game on this roll). So I took out this roll of film and put her roll in (however, the sequence of rolls and negatives makes this theory seem wrong, though). I then forgot about this roll of film and used one or two new rolls instead over the next few months. When I finally remembered this roll of film, I had completely forgotten that it already contained the aforementioned pictures (about eight or ten in all). Instead, I decided that it contained only two or three pictures, so I forwarded the film to where I thought the unused portion began (making sure to give myself a little leeway to avoid overlap), and then I took the "Wild Rabbit" pictures.