Barn and Borscht

Illustration by Steve Moen

And Our High School Rock Star

An afternoon of Barn and Borscht began with a question.  What to do with half a cabbage, some carrots, a baked potato, sour cream, and some home made chicken broth from a free range chicken.  And, almost forgot, three beets?

A google search led me to Borscht Recipes and on the table in front of me was Neil Young’s new Barn CD unopened. Yeah I still buy CDs.  So, Barn and Borscht it was, easy decision.

Neil Young’s Barn sessions at his folksy studio in Telluride Colorado have been a nice distraction through covid this past year.  I could even imagine the chicken I used for the broth running around a barn like his.  Also couldn’t wait to hear the lead guitarist on that album, Nils Lofgren.  Its been five decades since Nils played with Crazy Horse on the Harvest album.  Most fans know him for his work with Bruce Springsteen. Nils happens to be a local hero.  He attended Walter Johnson High School just a mile or so from where I live and is the school’s most famous drop out.  I’ve heard a few good stories about him from guys a little older than me who went to school with him.  For example, Nils was soccer player with long hair and a big heart.  While on the team he was benched for the long hair and he stayed on the bench because he wouldn’t cut it.  But then in 1972, 21 years old, with a successful band called Grin, he generously proposed a benefit concert at the high school auditorium to help fund a trip to Europe for the soccer team. 

So, with Neil Young’s soft, sweet voice and Nils’s skillful guitar work busting loosed with all kinds of sounds I went to work chopping vegetables and frying a little more chicken, handiwork moving to the rhythm and raw emotion of the music.  Things came together real well in no time.  The sound of a harmonica resonated as I added some apple cider vinegar and a squeeze of lemon and that seemed just right.

Sampled it one more time when another harmonica solo kicked in. Not quite, needed another squeeze of lemon…

Snow Chicken

Illustration by Steve Moen

“I’ve been running in these woods for 30 years and have never been bitten by a dog.” 

I said these words to a tennis buddy of mine after walking with him to the entrance of the public tennis courts.  We crossed paths in the parking lot.  He had just arrived when I was leaving.  It was there that he asked me to accompany him to the courts.

“Walk you to the tennis courts?  Why?” I asked.   “There’s a big dog off leash over there” he explained, “And they scare me.”

My friend is from Cameroon, 220 lbs, and very athletic.  He has a wonderful sense of humor and I thought the request was a gag that would develop into some great humor, so I played along.  His sense of humor can make me laugh so hard that tears come to my eyes.   But, as we walked to the courts his tone was serious.  He told me that in Cameroon the dogs were mostly wild.  People never let them in the house. And, you have to always be careful around them.  So, in that brief walk I learned something new about my friend.  When we got to the courts I tried to ease his concern.  Dogs around here are tame and gentle.  Owners have them under control so you don’t have to worry.   Then I concluded with the line that began this story and pointed to the forest that surrounded the courts, a place where I often go to run.  

Now it’s been just one a week, and those words literally came back to bite me.

Yesterday with a light dry snow falling hard I drove to the forest for a winter run through the few inches that had already accumulated.  When parking at the path entrance there was only one car.   Great!, I thought, I won’t see anyone the whole way.  Since it was super cold, I kept my lightweight down jacket on as I set off.

Then just 600 yards into my run there was a woman with two dogs that looked to be a German Shepard/ Husky mix (later I learned they were Belgian Malinoises).  The one off leash was relatively calm, but she was having a heck of a time holding onto the leash of the larger one.    As I went by I could see that her husband was way up the trail.  On I went, her husband greeting me with a friendly smile as I approached that suddenly turned into a look of concern.  Through the corner of my eye I caught glimpse of the crazed dog running past me, leash in tow.  Then it quickly pivoted between me and the owner facing me in attack mode.  “Don’t worry, he’s only an 11 month old pup.” , the owner assured me and then addressing his dog added, “Stop he’s a friend.”  But those words were useless  as the dog lunged piercing my parka sending feathers flying.  In that brief instant I must have looked like a wounded snow chicken.

Fortunately, the owner quickly got things under control. Yes the parka was pierced but no blood.  The owner showed sincere remorse and insisted on paying the replacement costs for the parka - a value less than $100. 

Through this minor tangle, I instantly appreciated the powerful memory imprint of a dog attack.  And wondered if aspects of these memories are remembered even before they happen? Experience etched in the evolutionary memory DNA of our being?

I pondered this as I continued my run.  Through the soft light snow, through the solitude of the winter forest, loosing feathers along the way here and there.    

Image from Story

Illustration by Steve Moen - Inside the Subway Cave

Most of my paintings are rooted in observation, observing light and how the eye responds to it, and trying to find an interesting emotional interpretation of what I am viewing.   In front of me is usually a landscape, but a figure or still life offers just as much fun.  Heck, a sweet spot can be found with a bank canvas and paints in search of an interesting abstraction.  Whenever I paint the mind is always going somewhere, thinking about stories or about stuff I have read.  This blog is a personal experiment. Playing with a story first and then creating the image.  We will see how the act of story telling works its way into the painting process going forward.

The painting above is based on a climb into the Subway Cave in Sedona, Arizona, found along the way up the Boynton Trail. Yes, inside that cave looking out, it’s hard not to be looking within. Sure some great story telling occurred there ages ago.