Packed up the car and headed to Guthrie. Known as "The Bed and Breakfast Capital of Oklahoma" and I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Among other things. As the first capital of Oklahoma, the city is rich in history. I also thought I might even find the grave of one of the Doolin or Dalton gang that is buried there.
As usual, I never thought about having car insurance. I have the proof in the glove compartment and have never had an accident. It is just there - just in case. I'm not even sure if I have a good company or not. I've never used them. They are rated high on the insurance rating scale and that is good enough for me. Plus, the insurance rates are really cheap. I love saving money, especially on something I have to have and never have used.
I headed down 1-35 towards Guthrie. My radio played softly in the background. My thoughts were on what I would find in Guthrie and traffic. It is Labor Day week-end, after all. Traffic was much lighter than I thought I would be. I guessed folks were at the "big football game" in Stillwater - OSU was playing the Georgia Bulldogs or still having fun at the lake or something else equally interesting. I know the Sooners aren't in Norman; they will be beating some team later today somewhere south of the Red River.
I'm in the right lane, the slow lane. "The Driving Miss Daisy Lane" as my husband calls it. I'm always in that lane. Despite having driven this stretch of I-35 for years, I like to be able to take an exit should I see something interesting. I never when something will catch my attention and turn into a "photo op."
I can't even tell you what kind of a car it was. It was coming up fast behind me. It was a little red one; that's all I know. Well, I also know it was in my lane, right up next to my driver's side door. Without time to remember what I learned years ago in driver's ed, I whipped the wheel to the left and slammed on the brakes. The little red car kept going, with the dotted line centered between the tires. I heard its peppy little horn blast as it almost sideswiped me.
I'm sitting on shoulder, heart racing. My feet (yes, both of them) were still planted on the brake and my hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles were white. They weren't shaking. The rest of my body was, but not my hands; there were clinging to the steering wheel for dear life.
Putting the car in park, I start to breathe again. I glance over at the glove compartment. Not sure why, I reached over and opened it. My proof of car insurance on top of the maps and other necessities. I pull it out and look at it. My car insurance expires at the end of the month.
Still shaken from my near miss, I take the next exit and head home. Guthrie will still be there. At that moment, I wanted to get home, get online and pay my car insurance premium. I know I have 25 days to pay it, but I do a lot of driving. As busy I am, I might forget. As usual, I will pay for the next six months. It is cheaper that way, in the long run, and peace of mind is well worth the price.
Happy Oklahoma traveling,
Emma Riley Sutton
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
Back to The Pawnee Bill Ranch and Museum
Wanting to get to the bottom of this little mystery, I packed up my notepad and my camera and back to Pawnee I went. I was hoping to gain a little more insight to my previous adventure...
The staff greeted me, remembering me and my experience. Once again, just as before, I felt very welcome and comfortable. Into the mansion I went, both with an open mind and an open heart. I wasn't sure what I would or would not see, but I was determined to enjoy whatever happened to me there.
I turned on my camera and clicked away. No funny, floaty, filmy lights in my camera's view finder. I did feel a bit strange, but I think that is understandable. I noticed all the pretty items on display - the paintings, the china, the Tiffany lamps. Once again, I was taking it all in. I made my way up the staircase. The eyes of the Indian in the painting followed me, but his eyes follow everyone. Most eyes in painting do that anyway.
At the top of the stairs, I turned to the toy room. There was the old train set Pawnee Bill and May's son played with behind the red rope. Sitting behind the train set and slightly off to the side was a little boy. Plain as day. I guessed him to be about six years old, give or take. He was wearing blue jeans and a light cotton shirt. I could see the dirt on his bare feet.
I know there shouldn't have been a little boy playing back there. No is allowed past the red rope. I closed my eyes tightly and opened them slowly. I looked again, more closely this time. He was still there.
Feeling foolish, I waved at him. He waved back at me, grinning ear to ear. Not just any wave, though. He waved at me as if he was thrilled to see me. Maybe he was waving at me because he was thrilled to be seen. I knelt down on one knee and waved again. He waved also, more enthusiastically than he did the first time.
I took the picture of the playroom. He sat there smiling, more interested in his toys than with me. I made my way down the stairs and then outside. I was leaving with more questions than answers.
Back in the museum, I told the staff what I had seen. They smiled and nodded. I was told I was the only adult they knew of that had seen the little boy.
I told the staff good-bye, drove through the Pasture Exhibit, and then started back home. The first time I left the museum, I didn't have any regrets. I was leaving with regrets this time.
All the way home and even now, several hours later, I regret not talking to the little boy. I don't think he would have spoken to me, but there are things I would like for him to know.
I would love for him to know how nice it was for me to see him. It was lovely to see him playing and being happy.
I also think he needs to know that the lady who walks through his home all the time is there to help care for his home and all the things in it. She is sharing his life and the lives of his parents with people who might never understand their importance if not for her.
I would also like for him to know that all the people who visits him home will not bother him or his things. They are there to learn about what life was like "way back then." I want him to feel secure in the thought that those who work at the museum will do everything they can to make sure that the mansion, all its contents and the ranch are well taken care of.
Yes, I wanted to have a conversation with a little boy that no one else saw. And, yes again, I don't believe what I saw him.
I guess I am going to have to roll with this one. I still don't believe in ghosts. I know the mansion isn't haunted and that evilness is not all around. I also know I saw a little boy playing where a little boy was not suppose to be. I know in my heart of hearts, down in my soul - deep in my bones - he waved at me.
Somethings just aren't meant to be understood. My adventures at the Pawnee Bill Ranch and Museum will have to fall into that category. Truth be told, I don't really want to understand it. I just want to live with the fact that I saw what I saw. No one has to believe me. I don't even have to believe me.
I hope to go back and visit again. Should I see the little boy again, I will stop and talk to him. Maybe tell him he should play outside a little, watch the buffalo do whatever it is that buffalo do and go in the museum to see all the things that his Momma and Daddy held so dear. Of course, make friends with the folks who work there. I am sure they will love him as much as they love the ranch and museum.
Happy Oklahoma traveling,
Emma Riley Sutton
The staff greeted me, remembering me and my experience. Once again, just as before, I felt very welcome and comfortable. Into the mansion I went, both with an open mind and an open heart. I wasn't sure what I would or would not see, but I was determined to enjoy whatever happened to me there.
I turned on my camera and clicked away. No funny, floaty, filmy lights in my camera's view finder. I did feel a bit strange, but I think that is understandable. I noticed all the pretty items on display - the paintings, the china, the Tiffany lamps. Once again, I was taking it all in. I made my way up the staircase. The eyes of the Indian in the painting followed me, but his eyes follow everyone. Most eyes in painting do that anyway.
At the top of the stairs, I turned to the toy room. There was the old train set Pawnee Bill and May's son played with behind the red rope. Sitting behind the train set and slightly off to the side was a little boy. Plain as day. I guessed him to be about six years old, give or take. He was wearing blue jeans and a light cotton shirt. I could see the dirt on his bare feet.
I know there shouldn't have been a little boy playing back there. No is allowed past the red rope. I closed my eyes tightly and opened them slowly. I looked again, more closely this time. He was still there.
Feeling foolish, I waved at him. He waved back at me, grinning ear to ear. Not just any wave, though. He waved at me as if he was thrilled to see me. Maybe he was waving at me because he was thrilled to be seen. I knelt down on one knee and waved again. He waved also, more enthusiastically than he did the first time.
I took the picture of the playroom. He sat there smiling, more interested in his toys than with me. I made my way down the stairs and then outside. I was leaving with more questions than answers.
Back in the museum, I told the staff what I had seen. They smiled and nodded. I was told I was the only adult they knew of that had seen the little boy.
I told the staff good-bye, drove through the Pasture Exhibit, and then started back home. The first time I left the museum, I didn't have any regrets. I was leaving with regrets this time.
All the way home and even now, several hours later, I regret not talking to the little boy. I don't think he would have spoken to me, but there are things I would like for him to know.
I would love for him to know how nice it was for me to see him. It was lovely to see him playing and being happy.
I also think he needs to know that the lady who walks through his home all the time is there to help care for his home and all the things in it. She is sharing his life and the lives of his parents with people who might never understand their importance if not for her.
I would also like for him to know that all the people who visits him home will not bother him or his things. They are there to learn about what life was like "way back then." I want him to feel secure in the thought that those who work at the museum will do everything they can to make sure that the mansion, all its contents and the ranch are well taken care of.
Yes, I wanted to have a conversation with a little boy that no one else saw. And, yes again, I don't believe what I saw him.
I guess I am going to have to roll with this one. I still don't believe in ghosts. I know the mansion isn't haunted and that evilness is not all around. I also know I saw a little boy playing where a little boy was not suppose to be. I know in my heart of hearts, down in my soul - deep in my bones - he waved at me.
Somethings just aren't meant to be understood. My adventures at the Pawnee Bill Ranch and Museum will have to fall into that category. Truth be told, I don't really want to understand it. I just want to live with the fact that I saw what I saw. No one has to believe me. I don't even have to believe me.
I hope to go back and visit again. Should I see the little boy again, I will stop and talk to him. Maybe tell him he should play outside a little, watch the buffalo do whatever it is that buffalo do and go in the museum to see all the things that his Momma and Daddy held so dear. Of course, make friends with the folks who work there. I am sure they will love him as much as they love the ranch and museum.
Happy Oklahoma traveling,
Emma Riley Sutton
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Visiting the Pawnee Bill Ranch and Museum
I have visited many museums, all over the country, in my life. Despite this, nothing compares to my recent trip to Pawnee in Green Country, the northeast corner of Oklahoma. In the past few weeks, since starting my TravelsOklahoma website, I have been visiting several museums each week. The Pawnee Bill Ranch and Museum appeared to be "normal" on the outside, but that certainly wasn't the case.
The museum was full of fun and interesting items about Pawnee Bill, his wife May and their wild west show. Despite being a small museum, there was a lot of information to take in. Well taken care of by a staff that loves the museum, I felt welcomed - almost as if I were visiting someone's home. Walking around, waiting for the tour to of the home to start, I learned so much about Oklahoma, Pawnee Bill and life.
Once the tour of the home started, I was surprised by how well it was maintained and the lovely artwork and furnishings. As a member of the press, I was allowed to take photographs inside the home. Sort of. That is where this trip to a museum gets a bit more than strange...
In the view finder of my camera, I was seeing strange purple filmy and floating lights. I laughed about this as I explained I was probably catching the motion detectors in place behind the ropes that kept visitors from the antiques in the room. I was perfectly content with this explanation; I could have lived my entire life believing that was what I was seeing.
"The motion detectors are on the floor," the tour guide explained, pointing to them inches above the beautiful floors. She was right. Why did she have to right? I preferred my explanation to the unusual lights I was seeing.
Not wanting to speculate as to what my camera was picking up, I continued the tour. I was enthralled by the Tiffany chandeliers and gorgeous artwork. Upstairs an antique train set that was played with by Pawnee Bill and May's son caught my eye. Putting the experience of the purple lights behind me, I pulled out my digital camera to take a picture. No funny purple lights in this room. I pushed the button to take the photo and nothing happened. I looked at the camera - no memory. My memory card holds more than 700 photos. I was not out of memory.
The tour continued. I didn't want to appear uncomfortable (spooked?) to the others on the tour with me. I tried not to think about what had happened. Stepping outside the home, I looked at my camera. The message I was out of memory had disappeared.
"Come back and try again," the tour guide suggested.
I stepped back inside the house and the memory had, once again, disappeared.
"I'm being asked very politely not to take pictures," I stammered to the tour guide, who smiled understandingly.
I made my way back to the museum where I was greeted with "Are you okay? Do you need anything?" by the woman at the desk. I was fine. All I needed was directions to the Pasture Exhibit. I wanted to see the buffalo that still lived on the ranch.
I drove around the half mile dirt road in the pasture. I saw cattle and draft horses. Towards the end of the exhibit, I saw the buffalo. There were several buffalo calves in the herd. Once again, I got out my camera, thinking I would be able to take a few photos of the baby buffalo. The batteries were dead.
Once back in my hometown, I went to the store where I had purchased the camera less than a month ago. The batteries were removed and worked fine in a camera they had behind the counter. A technician looked at my camera. The technical term she used was "fried" when she checked both the camera's internal memory and the memory card. She placed my "fried camera" in a box and gave me a new one. Thankfully, it was still under warranty.
I offer no explanation as to what happened that Saturday in Pawnee. I don't believe in ghosts. Well, I don't think I believe in ghosts. I am currently re-examining my views on that subject.
By the way, I am going back to the Pawnee Bill Ranch and Museum. Once I recover from my last visit. I am going to try to take more photos to add to the slide show at TravelsOklahoma. We will have to wait and see how that works out.
Happy Oklahoma traveling,
Emma Riley Sutton
The museum was full of fun and interesting items about Pawnee Bill, his wife May and their wild west show. Despite being a small museum, there was a lot of information to take in. Well taken care of by a staff that loves the museum, I felt welcomed - almost as if I were visiting someone's home. Walking around, waiting for the tour to of the home to start, I learned so much about Oklahoma, Pawnee Bill and life.
Once the tour of the home started, I was surprised by how well it was maintained and the lovely artwork and furnishings. As a member of the press, I was allowed to take photographs inside the home. Sort of. That is where this trip to a museum gets a bit more than strange...
In the view finder of my camera, I was seeing strange purple filmy and floating lights. I laughed about this as I explained I was probably catching the motion detectors in place behind the ropes that kept visitors from the antiques in the room. I was perfectly content with this explanation; I could have lived my entire life believing that was what I was seeing.
"The motion detectors are on the floor," the tour guide explained, pointing to them inches above the beautiful floors. She was right. Why did she have to right? I preferred my explanation to the unusual lights I was seeing.
Not wanting to speculate as to what my camera was picking up, I continued the tour. I was enthralled by the Tiffany chandeliers and gorgeous artwork. Upstairs an antique train set that was played with by Pawnee Bill and May's son caught my eye. Putting the experience of the purple lights behind me, I pulled out my digital camera to take a picture. No funny purple lights in this room. I pushed the button to take the photo and nothing happened. I looked at the camera - no memory. My memory card holds more than 700 photos. I was not out of memory.
The tour continued. I didn't want to appear uncomfortable (spooked?) to the others on the tour with me. I tried not to think about what had happened. Stepping outside the home, I looked at my camera. The message I was out of memory had disappeared.
"Come back and try again," the tour guide suggested.
I stepped back inside the house and the memory had, once again, disappeared.
"I'm being asked very politely not to take pictures," I stammered to the tour guide, who smiled understandingly.
I made my way back to the museum where I was greeted with "Are you okay? Do you need anything?" by the woman at the desk. I was fine. All I needed was directions to the Pasture Exhibit. I wanted to see the buffalo that still lived on the ranch.
I drove around the half mile dirt road in the pasture. I saw cattle and draft horses. Towards the end of the exhibit, I saw the buffalo. There were several buffalo calves in the herd. Once again, I got out my camera, thinking I would be able to take a few photos of the baby buffalo. The batteries were dead.
Once back in my hometown, I went to the store where I had purchased the camera less than a month ago. The batteries were removed and worked fine in a camera they had behind the counter. A technician looked at my camera. The technical term she used was "fried" when she checked both the camera's internal memory and the memory card. She placed my "fried camera" in a box and gave me a new one. Thankfully, it was still under warranty.
I offer no explanation as to what happened that Saturday in Pawnee. I don't believe in ghosts. Well, I don't think I believe in ghosts. I am currently re-examining my views on that subject.
By the way, I am going back to the Pawnee Bill Ranch and Museum. Once I recover from my last visit. I am going to try to take more photos to add to the slide show at TravelsOklahoma. We will have to wait and see how that works out.
Happy Oklahoma traveling,
Emma Riley Sutton
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