I am so looking forward to tomorrow! I love going to the fair in Oklahoma City. It is one of the few times I get to be a kid again. Of course, this time I am on official business for my website. I'll try to remain professional as I ride the rides and eat all the great food.
Oh, the food...I can eat fair food all the time. Funnel cakes. Cotton candy. Those giant turkey legs. Corn on the cob. Hot dogs. Snow cones. I'll probably gain 50 pounds in one day, but I don't care. It isn't like I can go to the fair all the time; it only happens once a year.
Don't tell anyone, but my favorite part of the fair is the petting zoo. I leave smelling like a barn. I hope my husband doesn't make me ride on top of the car on the way home. One year, I was able to feed baby animals (goats, calves, foals and the like) with a bottle. That was a thrill. My daughter is going to love it. I'm not sure who is going to be harder to pull away from there. Probably me. My daughter is much better at following directions than I am.
I also love to look at all the exhibits. The quilts have always fascinated me. I will never understand how all those intricate designs are made. My granny was a quilter. She had the big wooden whatever-you-call-them hanging from her bedroom ceiling year round. She tried to teach me, but I was more interested in looking through her button box and all the fabric. She told a story for each one. I have all those memories, but no quilt to call my own. I'll take the memories any day.
Of course, I get to meet great folks. I will strike up a conversation with just about anyone. Everyone is so friendly. How can they not be? It is one of the happiest places on the planet. Maybe I will even run into some old friends there. It has happened before. I can think of so many friends from school I've lost track of over the years.
I can't wait to take all the photos I can possibly take. My memory card only holds 715 photos and I hope that will be enough. I may stop and get another memory card. I'm going to be a photo-taking fool. There is so much to see and I want to have memories for a lifetime. I also want to have some nice ones to add to my website. Yes, the Oklahoma State Fair is another reason to visit Oklahoma!
The bag is packed and all of our clothes are laid out. The only problem I'm having is falling asleep. I'm too excited to sleep. I can't wait.
Perhaps my next post will be that of an adult. Well, no. I'll have to tell everyone about my day at the fair. Maybe the post after my fair post.
Let me be a kid for a while. We all need that. The Oklahoma State Fair is the perfect place to do that. If you see a grown woman, skipping through the crowd and pointing at everything that catches her eye, it is probably me. Stop and say "Hey!" I'd love to meet you.
Happy Oklahoma traveling,
Emma Riley Sutton
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Saturday Road Trips To Healdton as a Child
My Granddaddy would call early Saturday morning, asking one question, "You ready to go, Sugarfoot?"
We were on our way to the lake. Leaving Oklahoma City, we head south on I-35. Drive through Moore and past the exit to Draper Lake, pass the exit to Lake Thunderbird in Norman and take the Maysville exit. We were headed to Healdton Lake.
It wasn't just a day at the lake. It was an entire day in Healdton. To me it was the greatest place world in world spend the day. The drive was more than worth getting up early on a Saturday morning.
My Granddaddy would pull his old blue pick up into the little store in Antioch. My Granny would hand me a five dollar bill and inside I'd run. We needed two Cokes and one Dr. Pepper as well as six bags of peanuts and two beef jerkies. Once back in the truck, we'd pass out the snacks. My grandparents drank the Cokes and I had the Dr. Pepper. My Granddaddy would tear three of the bags of peanuts. We'd quickly drink some of our soda and then pour the peanuts in the glass bottles. Then back on the road. We still had to get to Healdton.
My Granddaddy and Granny would tell me stories about when they were my age. I loved sitting between them, drinking my Dr. Pepper with peanuts and eating my beef jerky. I heard all about picking cotton, gathering eggs and surviving this thing they called The Great Depression.
Time flew by and soon we were at the intersection in Ratliff City. We'd wave at folks we didn't know and my anticipation would increase by the second. Only about 10 more miles to Healdton.
We'd stop in the Wooldridge grocery store. Granny and I would get out to do our shopping as my Grandaddy talked to whoever pulled up next to his truck. Granny and I would head straight to the back of the storey store. We were going to get some bologna. Not just any bologna, in a package. Mr. Wooldridge would cut it from a huge block behind his meat counter. He would cut it really thick and wrap it in white paper.
As he cut the bologna, we'd shop. Over to the north side of the store,cut it fro out the watermelon, usually straight from Rush Springs, or some cantaloupe. We'd buy all sorts of vegetables, too - tomatoes, carrots, celery and radishes. Back to the meat counter and we'd grab a loaf of bread, several more sodas, a bag of ice and some mustard. Checking out, we had all we needed for a great lunch.
By the time we reached the Comanche Y, I could barely sit still. We'd take that long curve a few miles further south and we were in Healdton. Past the Otasco and Ben Franklin, we head for Healdton Lake.
We'd spend the rest of the morning looking for interesting rocks and pretty flowers. By noon all three of us were starving. Granddaddy would get the plastic forks and knives from the glove compartment and we'd eat lunch.
Not once did we ever go swimming. I didn't know how and it seemed a little a strange to get in the water when there were so many interesting things to do along the shore. We'd look robins, scissor-tail flycatchers and mockingbirds. Occasionally, we'd get a glimpse of a cardinal or bluebird. My favorite bird, sparrows, were always around.
We'd leave Healdton and head to the Healdton Oil Museum. Granddaddy would show me all the pictures of the old equipment he used working in the oil fields. Granny would cry and tell me about a childhood friend or distant relative that lost a finger or his life working in an oil field somewhere in Oklahoma. My grandparents would talk to the folks coming and going into the museum; they swap stories of "back then" and how things had changed so much.
Much too early, it was time to head back home. We'd take pass the Comanche Y, Wooldridge's store and the intersection at Ratliff City. Soon we'd be waving good-bye to Antioch. Back on I-35, this time heading north, we'd be home in no time.
Many of you may wonder what is so significant about those little road trips. That is easy to explain. My family and I make that some trip as often as we can now, but it is so much different. The store in Antioch was closed years ago. We now pull into the convenient store at the intersection in Ratliff to buy our sodas and peanuts. They certainly taste different in plastic bottles. The Wooldridge store is also closed so we buy our lunch at the grocery store in Healdton, packaged sandwich meat. Thankfully, the watermelon is still from Rush Springs.
I tell my grandparents stories to my daughter and husband. My husband never worked in the oil field so he finds their stories almost as captivating as I did. My daughter points at the Comanche Y the way I did. She knows we are almost there. We stop at the Healdton Oil Museum first. We all know how to swim so we spend the afternoon at the lake instead of the morning.
I have yet to tell my husband it would be faster to take the Springer exit off of I-35. If I did that, I'd miss out on all the memories. He probably knows it anyway. He understands the importance of me going the same way. It wouldn't be a trip to Healdton if we did it another way.
Ya'll need to wander down that way, the same way, we do. It is a little off the beaten the path, but the road is good and the scenery is beautiful. Keep in mind I am biased, though. Share your family's stories as you go. Make some new memories to share on your next trip. Double check to make sure your watermelon is from Rush Springs. They grow them better there.
Happy Oklahoma traveling,
Emma Riley Sutton
We were on our way to the lake. Leaving Oklahoma City, we head south on I-35. Drive through Moore and past the exit to Draper Lake, pass the exit to Lake Thunderbird in Norman and take the Maysville exit. We were headed to Healdton Lake.
It wasn't just a day at the lake. It was an entire day in Healdton. To me it was the greatest place world in world spend the day. The drive was more than worth getting up early on a Saturday morning.
My Granddaddy would pull his old blue pick up into the little store in Antioch. My Granny would hand me a five dollar bill and inside I'd run. We needed two Cokes and one Dr. Pepper as well as six bags of peanuts and two beef jerkies. Once back in the truck, we'd pass out the snacks. My grandparents drank the Cokes and I had the Dr. Pepper. My Granddaddy would tear three of the bags of peanuts. We'd quickly drink some of our soda and then pour the peanuts in the glass bottles. Then back on the road. We still had to get to Healdton.
My Granddaddy and Granny would tell me stories about when they were my age. I loved sitting between them, drinking my Dr. Pepper with peanuts and eating my beef jerky. I heard all about picking cotton, gathering eggs and surviving this thing they called The Great Depression.
Time flew by and soon we were at the intersection in Ratliff City. We'd wave at folks we didn't know and my anticipation would increase by the second. Only about 10 more miles to Healdton.
We'd stop in the Wooldridge grocery store. Granny and I would get out to do our shopping as my Grandaddy talked to whoever pulled up next to his truck. Granny and I would head straight to the back of the storey store. We were going to get some bologna. Not just any bologna, in a package. Mr. Wooldridge would cut it from a huge block behind his meat counter. He would cut it really thick and wrap it in white paper.
As he cut the bologna, we'd shop. Over to the north side of the store,cut it fro out the watermelon, usually straight from Rush Springs, or some cantaloupe. We'd buy all sorts of vegetables, too - tomatoes, carrots, celery and radishes. Back to the meat counter and we'd grab a loaf of bread, several more sodas, a bag of ice and some mustard. Checking out, we had all we needed for a great lunch.
By the time we reached the Comanche Y, I could barely sit still. We'd take that long curve a few miles further south and we were in Healdton. Past the Otasco and Ben Franklin, we head for Healdton Lake.
We'd spend the rest of the morning looking for interesting rocks and pretty flowers. By noon all three of us were starving. Granddaddy would get the plastic forks and knives from the glove compartment and we'd eat lunch.
Not once did we ever go swimming. I didn't know how and it seemed a little a strange to get in the water when there were so many interesting things to do along the shore. We'd look robins, scissor-tail flycatchers and mockingbirds. Occasionally, we'd get a glimpse of a cardinal or bluebird. My favorite bird, sparrows, were always around.
We'd leave Healdton and head to the Healdton Oil Museum. Granddaddy would show me all the pictures of the old equipment he used working in the oil fields. Granny would cry and tell me about a childhood friend or distant relative that lost a finger or his life working in an oil field somewhere in Oklahoma. My grandparents would talk to the folks coming and going into the museum; they swap stories of "back then" and how things had changed so much.
Much too early, it was time to head back home. We'd take pass the Comanche Y, Wooldridge's store and the intersection at Ratliff City. Soon we'd be waving good-bye to Antioch. Back on I-35, this time heading north, we'd be home in no time.
Many of you may wonder what is so significant about those little road trips. That is easy to explain. My family and I make that some trip as often as we can now, but it is so much different. The store in Antioch was closed years ago. We now pull into the convenient store at the intersection in Ratliff to buy our sodas and peanuts. They certainly taste different in plastic bottles. The Wooldridge store is also closed so we buy our lunch at the grocery store in Healdton, packaged sandwich meat. Thankfully, the watermelon is still from Rush Springs.
I tell my grandparents stories to my daughter and husband. My husband never worked in the oil field so he finds their stories almost as captivating as I did. My daughter points at the Comanche Y the way I did. She knows we are almost there. We stop at the Healdton Oil Museum first. We all know how to swim so we spend the afternoon at the lake instead of the morning.
I have yet to tell my husband it would be faster to take the Springer exit off of I-35. If I did that, I'd miss out on all the memories. He probably knows it anyway. He understands the importance of me going the same way. It wouldn't be a trip to Healdton if we did it another way.
Ya'll need to wander down that way, the same way, we do. It is a little off the beaten the path, but the road is good and the scenery is beautiful. Keep in mind I am biased, though. Share your family's stories as you go. Make some new memories to share on your next trip. Double check to make sure your watermelon is from Rush Springs. They grow them better there.
Happy Oklahoma traveling,
Emma Riley Sutton
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Peace of Mind is Worth the Price
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
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
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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