Full Steam at Somerset

 Finally, the date for the long awaited Pasture Party in Somerset, VA rolled around. Elliott and I drove down on a perfect, cloudy, warm day, with a dappled drab sky above us, ideal for capturing plumes of smoke and steam scrolling across the fields. Also we'd be meeting up with Rob, who I haven't seen since COVID, so I was looking forward to seeing my old friend enormously.

We were there by 10:30 and already the fields were throbbing with steam engines and vintage tractors rolling around, crowds of people meandering in and out of their way, pop pop engines snapping their reports across the grass, and the wondrous aroma of coal smoke drifting across in clouds.

Naturally, the first items on my agenda were the steam engines, iron giants lined up in a row, and seemingly aware of their dominance at this event, big, black and beautiful, chugging out puffs of coal smoke and emitting shrill whistles, ensuring people would be drawn to them to pay homage to their majestic countenances. Which we did.

 

Elliott and I were wandering among the steam engines when I looked over and spotted Robin Roberts in a golf cart. We saw each other at the same time and I rushed over, grinning hugely, so pleased to see her again after such a long time. I asked Elliott to take a photo of us both and jumped in the cart next to her. Elliott lifted his camera, but then his face clouded over, not knowing who was standing behind us with arms outstretched and beaming at the camera. I looked over my shoulder, and it was Rob photo bombing us!  It made a great picture, and we had a lot of laughs. Robin had to drive off to meet a reporter and disappeared into the crowd, leaving the 3 of us to continue giggling at how we'd all met up. And then it was time to continue roaming the field; there was so much to see.

I've always loved this show. The setting is perfect for this antique machinery, rustic and rural, with many folks dressed in their coveralls and blue striped shirts, the ambience felt as if we had stepped back in time, with very little evidence that we were in fact in 2022.  Across the large field, various forms of steam power was being used, some gigantic engines rumbled past slowly, with huge smiles from the coal smeared faces of the operators, while others were static, crushing huge slabs of wood into sawdust, or planing logs into sheets. I loved the cedar tendrils of wispy wood in piles on the grass, and the aroma from them was wonderful.

The threshing machine always draws my attention, the metal working effortlessly with the men, smashing corn stalks into silage. And all that dust and chaff blowing out from the top was just begging to be photographed. And I'm sure I wasn't the only one who loved to walk through it, a silage snowstorm.

We had to stop at some point and eat, so we walked over to the food vendors, and discovered a pizza van, which handed us each a delicious pizza. But my eyes had been searching for the bestest ice cream in the whole world, which I'd had here every year. And they were, a small van with its little pop pop engine churning the ice cream as fast as it could. I willingly gave up a slice up my pizza to Elliott just so I could get my ice cream sooner. The line was long, and I hopped from foot to foot, praying they wouldn't run out of the peach before I got there. And glory be, they didn't. I carried my precious cargo back to our table, and shoveled and savored in silence, reveling in every mouthful, and every large chunk of peach. Elliott said it was the best ice cream he'd ever had, and I wasn't going to argue. The only down side is that the vendor comes from Willis, VA, 4 hours south of us, so I won't taste this nectar on a regular basis. Unfortunately I was so immersed in enjoying my ice cream, that it was all gone before I thought of taking a photo.

I call the gallery below, Portraits of Steam. Throughout the day, I spent some time focusing on the steam engine operators, and was quite pleased when I reviewed the shots when I got home.

And the ones below are a few of other people that I had to include.

 Elliott photographing, or more likely videoing, the cedar shingles being stamped with the day's event and year.

These 2 chaps beamed at me through the glass of the cutest little hand built Ford I've ever seen. And it only took him 11 months to build it!

These young lads had no idea that I took their photo, all 3 of them lost in their own thoughts.

The smallest Singer sewing machine I've ever come across, and it worked!

I watched this guy for a few minutes, who was totally engrossed with this very unusual truck. It had a hand built wooden bench to sit on, a winch, sun shade, and even a small cannon for self defense!

2 photos of steam engines in motion. I can stand for hours watching these operate. Some are wonderfully noisy, while others can operate in complete silence, with barely a swish.

Gil Roberts running the parade, where he spoke with every driver that took part, and knew every machine, evidently having the time of his life at this superb event that he's been putting together for years, with all profits being donated to local charitable organizations.

Throughout the day we'd been keeping an eye on a strip of ground that would be used for the tractor pull, or more importantly, in my eyes, the steam engine pull. A tractor had plowed it, and then it was flattened with a roller many times, before finally the event was ready to start after the parade.

People lined the fencing on each side of the route, so we went up to the end, where I laid on the ground for a different perspective. It was actually intensely incredible having these huge machines crawling past my head, curling clods of clay, as they pulled the weight to the end of the strip. The Minneapolis above performed splendidly, as did a couple of others, but I was waiting for the giant.

The Gaar-Scott trundled up to the start line, it's centenarian 39,000lbs settling into the mud. It churned its way to the end of the strip, and looked for a moment as though it was going to continue on into the field beyond and steam over the horizon. I really think there should be a Russian tank pull next year, just so this behemoth has something to pull that it might have to work at!

We walked around the field once more, this time checking the vendors, and purchasing a small gear stick thingy with yellow knobs, that will have a spot in the garden as one of our 'ornaments'. I have no recall of what it actually was, I just liked the look of it. And with our souvenir, we walked back to the car, the steam engines whistling behind us as though wishing us adieu, until next year.

Busting the Bulls in Culpeper

 On Saturday, Elliott and I went to Culpeper, VA, to watch a rodeo. I'd never been to one before and was very excited. It was Culpepr's first rodeo event, so nobody knew what to expect. I was expecting a round arena with bleacher seats surrounding it, as I'd seen on TV, but this wasn't the case,as we topped the hill and looked down on to the arena. But then we had to stand still as the National Anthem was being sung, so we had plenty of time to scope out the field and choose where to sit.

A long rectangle had been carved out of the field, fenced off, and spectators had to bring lawn chairs to sit on a gentle hillside that spread up to shady trees at the top of the hill. Or you could sit in the full sun on the other side, but as the photo shows, not many people wanted to do that. Our view wasn't particularly great, and mine was marred with a huge noggin sporting a baseball cap, so it was very difficult to dodge his moving orb while trying to get a shot as the bulls left the gate, even with my zoom lens.

We had got there early to try and get a decent spot, but not wanting to sit for more than 2 hours until the show began, we opted for a higher perch, where we hoped the fencing surrounding the arena would be low enough from our height to not spoil our photos. We sat with our water, no beer was allowed, and watched a few young girls barrel racing, charging, or trotting, around 3 barrels, with a few losing their stetsons, but nobody falling off. I liked the commentator's vocabulary for the event. The girls' names were called, followed by, "You're on deck!' And if a barrel was knocked over, he yelled out, "You're in the hole!" We sat, people watching, for a while. Small lads raced around in tiny cowboy boots and huge stetsons, and everyone had evidently been through their wardrobes, to pull out any clothing that took on a western theme. Once the racing was over, they 'hauled the pan' to even out the sand and set up for the next event. There was still a while until the actual rodeo began, so I set off for a wander.

I climbed up over the other side of the hill to see some of the horses that had been racing, but most had already packed up and gone. But the bulls were being trailered in and released into pens, so I scurried back down the hill, hoping to see them up close. Which we could, but for a while I was the only one getting right up to the guard rails. I wasn't daft enough to try and touch them, although I was itching to stroke a silky nose, but I soon had to back off, because the boys weren't impressed with their close confines and soon lowered their heads and then began to kick up the ground. Some of this got me pretty good, including some down my boot, so I was very pleased that I backed away quickly since the loose soil and sand was soon accompanied with their own contributions, if you get my drift. But they didn't seem to be too annoyed and were quite accommodating when I wanted a head shot. I chatted to a lady who was also admiring them, and she told me this was a traveling rodeo, so they were used to their routine, which I hadn't been aware of, thinking the bulls and the riders were all local. But the bulls weren't anguished, or acting frightened, and this made me feel better.

I went back up to our chairs so Elliott could have a walkabout, and noticed a group of trucks had parked at one end, with a great view down into the arena. I wished we'd thought of that. And then, eventually, it was time for the rodeo to begin. But first, the announcer asked for all firefighters, serving now or before, to stand, so I did, and then all police and emergency workers, and then the military. I was actually surprised to not see as many standing folk as I'd expected, but was maybe because we were in a rural area. And then the rodeo began. The bull riders walked out, and lined up along each side of the arena in a cloud of smoke from the accompanying fireworks. I don't recall any as having such wonderful names as the bulls, but they soon ran back to the stalls to get ready for lift off.

The bulls and the riders put on some amazing moves, bouncing, kicking, thrusting, leaping, and sometimes simply cavorting around the arena, although most of the action took place as soon as they left the gate. Most riders had been forcefully ejected within a few seconds, and only a couple managed to take their act further out into the ring. The bulls had most excellent names, such as 'Extra Loud', 'Choppin' Block', Cash Out', and 'Cock your Hammer'. 

I had been extremely concerned about how the bulls were treated yet couldn't see any evidence of cruelty at all from our viewpoint, I guess it's all well concealed. But this rodeo made no effort to prevent spectators from walking over and seeing the bulls, so I'm hoping they care for their animals better than some others. But we could easily see the bucking straps, tightened around the bull's abdomen to encourage bucking. I read later that cattle prods are used repeatedly to shock the bulls as they stand trapped in the bucking cages before being released into the arena. To make the bulls more aggressive and stronger, some rodeos inject them with anabolic steroids. As with this rodeo, they are on a tight traveling schedule, with little time for rest or recuperation before the next event. They can sustain injuries and still be expected to perform. Old or injured bulls often end up at the slaughterhouse.

This poor guy managed to hang on for a while but then ended up being dragged around by the bull. He did escape when the rodeo clowns averted the bull's attention, but as he crawled over to the side, he rolled over and was in obvious pain. He was later taken off by an ambulance, hopefully without too much of an injury. I have to admit we didn't see any of the bulls acting like they were hurt.

As it got darker, we weren't able to photograph from such a great distance so gave up. People were starting to pack up and leave so we followed suit. There was another barrel race and bull bucking event, but we'd had enough. I don't think I'll attend another of these and promote the 'sport'. Bulls weren't created to be a man's fun in an arena, I'd rather see them out in the fields.

True Grit Rodeo started up in 1998, and they have a website. More info here.

One of their crew, Click Thompson, has an awesome name and takes superb photos of the events, his page is here.