Thursday, June 24, 2010
These two rufians are my youngest two grandsons, Layn and Carter. This picture reminds me of my younger days down on my grandads farm. We have so much innocense as children. Living in make believe worlds. Playing cowboys and indians or war. Little did I know at that age how serious war could be or what the real consequences were when I 'really" shot at someone. Or someone shot at me.
I long for and envy the innocense of youth. X.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
My roots run deep in this country. My ancestors came here as early as the 1600's. I am mostly Scotch/Irish with some English and French sprinkled in along the way. I have some of my family lines traced back as far the 12th century in Scotland. I find geneology interesting. It helps to define what I am and how I came to be the person I am today.
This old house was built in the mid 1700's near Strasburg Virginia by some of my ancestors. Although most of the wood has deteriorated, the stone work is still intact and as straight as can be. Hard to imagine after so much time has passed. I previously posted a picture of the old barn which had slots in the rock wall to fire at attacking indians.
Oh to be a time traveler and go back and visit my ancient ancestors. And see what they were like. What kind of people they were. Much like me I imagine. X.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
This is Tucker. Mother and I gave him to my stepdad, Bruce, after his last dog past on. Tucker is a Golden Retreiver. When I picked him out of the litter he was the runt of the bunch. But he has grown into the largest Golden I have ever seen.
Bruce would load up Tucker and drive around the local farming area everyday when he was healthy. Tucker loved to ride in the truck. Bruce passed away a few months ago. So now, every time me or my brother visit the farm, Tucker will run out to the shed and jump in the back of Bruce's old pickup and wait for a ride. X.
Friday, June 11, 2010
I started building selfbows in the mid 90's. I've always loved working with wood. On top of that I've been an avid bowhunter most of my life. So it was these two things which led me to the art of being a bowyer. And also how I came by the nickname Bogaman (an old celtic word meaning bowman).
Ok, I know "Snash" looks like it coud be something obscene, but I asure it is not. This is my 5th selfbow. It is made from ash which I sawed down on my stepdads farm. I backed it with two rattlesnake hides I got from a friend in Texas. Thus the name Snash.
I built this bow in 1996. I used this bow as my main hunting bow until I retired it in 1998 in favor of another bow that I had built from Osage. I took a deer the first year that I hunted with it, using primitive arrows and stone points that a friend of mine had made. I made him an osage bow in exchange for the arrow points and a stone knife.
I've made close to two hundred bows since I started. Most have been given away or bartered for other goods. I will show you more of my bows as time passes. X.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Shelbina is a small farming community in the norteast part of Missouri. For the past twenty some odd years it has been my home. During the the last two years it has been undergoing a slow process of falling down, literally. Most of the old business building were built in the late 1800's and are made of brick.
First one then another have begun to collapse. Most of the owners are unable to pay for the demolition so the city has been in the process of trying to get some kind of grant to have the work done. In the meantime they are a danger to anyone who dares to get near them.
As you look down the main street in the first photo everything looks normal. Even as you look at the front of Hoots Tavern it doesn't appear much is wrong. But when you look at the backside you can see the damage. The old bowling alley is another one to collapse. And also a building south of Hoots which had an antique store in it had a side wall fall in/out.
P.S. I don't think the big bad wolf would have much trouble blowing one of our buildings down. X.
Friday, June 4, 2010
This is a picture of my grandad Buckman. He was a dairy farmer. Grandad called this his "died and gone to heaven picture". Because of the double exposure, it appears as though he really is going up.
I spent all of my summers on his farm. He would be up at 4:30 A. M. every morning so he could go milk the cows. Talk about being tied to a job. He also had to be there every evening to milk them again. But he found time to go fishing. That is probably one of my favorite memories of him. He loved to fish. And he passed that "love" off to me. When I was staying there, he would be sure to include me on his little fishing excursions through the day. It was our private time together. He had a dry sense of humor. Probably where I got mine. Xavier