The clouds of fugitive dust from the dirt roads were blowing back across his windshield, obscuring his vision. He almost gave up his search, but then sighted the object of his quest, an old clay tile silo. A wide smile crossed his face. Although alone, Peter Rydell yelled out, “Yes, that’s it. After all these years, I’ve found it again.”
He recalled the silo being off US Route 1, south of Solon, Iowa, but only accessible by backcountry roads. While the years had dimmed his memory of its whereabouts, he now knew the precise location. His surprise, matched only by his glee, was that the silo still stood after all these years.
Killing the engine, his pickup came to rest by the side of the meadow. On the seat next to him was the drawing of that derelict storage tower he did as a young student. His intention, then, was to return and finish a watercolor painting of the silo. He never did. His life’s circumstances prevented completion of that project but things would be different now.
As he sat there, he remembered his long journey back to this spot. A stint in the Army, including a tour overseas and moving from job to job took him far from the prairie. During that time, he experienced a lot of lean years and a failed marriage. His return to Iowa City would allow him to finish this long delayed project. He could also pursue new ones and settle back into his hometown.
Peter’s life had delivered many curveballs but it had not been all bad. Along the way, he developed a unique watercolor painting style. His works, at first, did not sell well. Then, a gallery in Los Angeles took a chance on his paintings. The originals and prints began to move as fast as he could produce them. As his fame grew, so did his wealth.
Not long after returning to Iowa City, he donated a million dollars to the university’s Fine Arts program. Crediting the training he received for his artistic success, he hoped the gift would benefit present and future students. There was another aspect to his gift. It gave him visibility and, he hoped, would open doors to influence in the community.
His wealth gave him something else, the freedom to paint landscapes of farms, animals and the rolling beauty of Iowa’s prairie. He opened a gallery in Iowa City where his originals and reproductions were available. Although most of the sales of originals came from out of town patrons, he made sure prints were available at a reasonable price for everyone else. Business was good.
From his pickup, Peter took some time to survey the sloping meadow. It had not changed much. At the far bottom was a small pond fed by a stream. Next to that, was a stand of trees that provided shade and protection for the animals. The land then climbed to a plateau upon which the dark brown masonry silo stood. Eager to get nearer the aged structure, but not wanting to trespass, Peter needed to find the owner. He noticed a man, up the road, was watching him. He drove back up the hill.
Getting out of his pickup, he said, “Good morning, sir. I’m Peter Rydell from Iowa City. Is that your silo down there?” The man nodded.
Smiling, Peter continued, “I’d like to do some watercolor paintings of that silo and the meadow. Would that be all right with you if I come out from time to time? I won’t disturb anything and I’d be happy to give you your choice of anything I create.”
Ole Laskow, a man in his late sixties, studied this fellow before he answered. “I know you from somewhere.” Pausing, he said, “You’re that famous artist who donated all that money to the college, aren’t you? I’ve seen some of your paintings when the local paper ran a story about you. They’re not bad.”
Squinting, as he thought it over, Ole said, “Well, I don’t see any harm in it. That meadow is the home of some Polled Herefords. You’ll have to share it with them. They’re all heifers and pretty gentle. They don’t pay much mind to anyone. Careful around that old silo, though, it’s rickety. If you don’t climb on it you should be okay.” They shook hands and Peter headed to the meadow to set up and begin his work. He didn’t know it then but that was the beginning of the Hereford Watercolor Appreciation Society.
Peter still could not believe his luck. Finding a standing, clay tiled, masonry silo was a rarity. Most farms had long since installed combination metal storage bins with propane-powered driers. This relic had fallen into disuse long ago. The fact the silo had not ended up as a pile of broken tiles, used for backfill, was a miracle.
As he approached the gate to the meadow, he noticed a small group of cattle at the far end, away from the silo. He counted seven. Other than noting their presence, he got busy setting up and ignored them. The day produced three studies of the silo. From these, Peter would work up finish paintings in his studio. Unnoticed, throughout the day, the herd moved closer to their visitor. As he left, they watched him, then went back to whatever it is cattle do.
Peter returned the next day. Eager to try a painting from the opposite side of the silo with the pond in the far background, he set up and began his work. Over the course of the next few days, he produced more studies. He thought a series of silo paintings in the meadow might sell well.
As his visits became more frequent, the herd move closer but still kept their distance. Peter was happy they did. They were large animals and, although without horns, they made him a bit nervous. To him, it seemed odd that the cattle were paying close attention to him as he painted. Giving it more thought, he concluded it must be natural for cattle to be wary of a stranger in their space.
What happened next astonished him. One member of the herd moved forward, walked past him and stood between him and the silo. It was as if the heifer wanted her portrait painted with the silo in the background. Peter turned around. The herd was watching him. He did the only thing he could; he began a drawing of her with the silo as a backdrop.
To his amazement, she did not move. Peter caught each detail of the Hereford’s face. When he finished, he walked toward the large animal and held up his drawing for inspection. The heifer looked at the drawing and then returned to the herd. They then ambled to the far end of the meadow. Finished for the day, Peter left for Holly’s Diner. It was a favorite restaurant in the area.
Judy Flickenger owned Holly’s, named after her mother. Peter and she were the same age. They went to grade school together and both had seen hard times in their lives. Home again in the area around Iowa City, they found a place where they could thrive and be themselves. Besides working at the diner, Judy trained service dogs for the local rehabilitation center. Peter figured Judy would know something about animals. He could not wait talk to her.
Peter was her favorite customer. Happy to see him, as he sat at the counter, Judy said, “The usual?” He said, “Yep, a burger and fries.” He followed that with, “Judy, you won’t believe what happened. One of the heifers let me draw her standing in front of the old silo. I got enough for a good painting.”
She smiled, then said, “Animals sense kind people and want to be near them. I know you’re a kind man. They must sense that, too”
“Judy, this was different. This heifer wanted me to do a painting of her. She stood still, in one place, holding the pose until I finished. She was as good a model as I have ever had. This is a first for me.” They both laughed. After he left, he wondered if Judy thought he was making too much of what happened.
Peter’s next trip to the meadow produced more surprises. As he set up to do another study of the silo, four of the Herefords parked themselves between him and the structure. Two stood on the outside, bookending the two who lay in the grass. Each stared at the artist as if to say, “Let’s get started.”
Looking at the scene, Peter said, “Okay, girls, here goes.” He hurried to capture the moment since he thought they would not stay long. After about fifteen minutes, the cattle moved back to the group standing behind Peter. As they walked by, he held up his sketch of their pose. One heifer stopped to look. The others seemed uninterested.
On his way home, Peter dropped into Holly’s. He ordered his usual burger and fries. Judy, busy with customers, made a moment to talk.
“Judy, I had four of them pose for a portrait today.” She shook her head in disbelief.
“Peter, you don’t expect me to believe cattle want their portraits painted.”
“It’s true,” he pulled the sheet of paper from his portfolio. Judy studied it and smiled.
“Like I said, Peter, you’re kind, they sense that. Ever think they’re trying to connect with you?”
Peter finished eating and returned to Iowa City. That night, in his studio, thinking about what Judy said, he realized that he and the herd must be forming some kind of bond. He did not know what kind or how but something was there. They were willing to share their home and wanted to be part of what he was doing, too. He felt compelled to paint more likenesses of his new friends.
As the days passed, Peter painted close up portraits of each Hereford using the clay-tiled silo as a backdrop. He gave each of them a name. It served as the title for the individual portraits. Then to Peter’s surprise, one morning, the whole herd assembled for a group watercolor. From that day forward, he named them the Hereford Watercolor Appreciation Society. For short, he called them The Society.
About a week later, Peter arrived to see a ‘For Sale’ sign on the meadow. He stopped to talk to Ole to find out what was going on.
“Are you’re selling the meadow or the entire farm?”
“Just the meadow,” Ole said. “My wife’s sick, I need some money. She is at the hospital in Iowa City. We are on Medicare but I don’t have insurance to cover the part they don’t pay. Her treatment will be expensive. I can’t let her down. I need to come up with some more money.” Ole turned away saying no more.
As Peter went to the meadow he had a thought, “I should buy this piece of land and help Ole out.” All day he could not get out of his head what losing this meadow might mean for him and The Society. Ole never mentioned what would happen to the cattle. Peter figured, if it sold, the cattle would move to another part of the farm. The thought of losing the old silo also played on his mind. That day, he did some more sketches then left for home. He noticed the herd kept its distance all day.
A couple of rainy days delayed Peter’s return to the meadow. When he was able to come back, he passed a tractor-trailer truck from the Prairie Grass Cattle Company as he headed to the meadow. The trailer was the type used to transport cattle to a meat processing plant. As he got out of his truck, looking up and down the meadow, he noticed the Herefords was gone. He knew what that meant and got back in his truck and raced up the hill.
Coming to an abrupt stop in front of the tractor-trailer, Peter saw Ole talking to Lou Barnes, the owner of Prairie Grass. Jumping out of the pickup, he said, “What’s going on? Where’s the herd?”
Ole said, “I’m selling them. Mr. Barnes came all the way from Tama to pick up these seven head.”
Shocked, Peter said to Ole, “Stop, I’ll buy them and the meadow, name your price.”
“Thanks, but he’s given me a check.”
Turning to the Barnes, Peter said, “So you’re the owner, good. What will it take to buy these cattle back?”
Barnes said, “Yes, I am their owner now and why do you care? They’re just cattle.” Peter, sensing Barnes was a hard man, to whom he took an instant disliking, figured if he had a chance of getting back the cattle; it would be by bidding up the price.
“Look, I’ll double what you paid Ole and cover your costs for this trip?”
Barnes laughed and studied Peter. “Where’s a guy like you gonna get money? Anyway, it’s too much bother, pal, they’re in the trailer now and that’s where they are staying.” Ole interrupted, saying, “Mr. Barnes, this is the artist that donated all that money to the college. He’s got money.”
Peter, his anger growing that this hick was so stubborn, looked at Barnes and said, “Do you have something against making easy money? Let me buy them back, please. I’ll help get them off the trailer.”
“Look, I bought them and they’re mine now. We’re done talking”.
Peter turned to Ole, hoping he could get Barnes to back off. “Peter, sorry, I need the money, I have no choice. Unless he wants to sell, I’ve made this deal.”
“Looking at Barnes, Peter said, “What, all sales are final? I’ll buy them back and sweeten the price you paid.”
“I can’t do that, I need cattle for processing. I have meat contract obligations.”
Peter thought Barnes would need more than seven head of cattle to make any money on a meat contract. He then said, “Wait. Let me make a call. I can help you out.” He stepped out of earshot so that he was free to talk.
He called Rolf Benish, a man he once worked for. Rolf owned Benish Cattle Farms. Peter explained his problem. He finished with, “Rolf, I’m gonna follow Barnes to his slaughterhouse and try again. Load fifteen head of prime beef and meet me at the Prairie Grass Cattle Company. Ole mentioned it’s in Tama. If Jack Taylor is there, bring him along.”
Barnes said, “Look fellow, I don’t care who’s on the phone, I’m not selling. You better move your truck.” He started his tractor and got ready to haul the cattle away. The baleful wailing from the cattle inside the trailer broke Peter’s heart. It was something he never heard from them before. He knew he had one chance to save them.
Peter, determined not to give up, was about to tail Barnes’ truck back to his processing facility. Before he left, he said to Ole, “Give me the check he wrote to you. If I can’t buy the cattle back, I’ll return it to you.” Trusting Peter, Ole handed the check over and wished him good luck.
The drive to Tama took about an hour. Once at the Prairie Grass facility, Peter tried again to buy the cattle. As he and Barnes were arguing, a tractor-trailer arrived from Benish Farms. Rolf and Jack jumped out of the cab.
“Rolf said, “Hey, Barnes. I’ve got a sweet deal for ya, all paid for.” When Barnes saw Rolf, he rolled his eyes and said, “I don’t care about any sweet deals, Rolf, get moving.”
Peter said, “Please, Mr. Barnes, look in Rolf’s trailer. Those are prime beef, free and clear, if you let me have those seven head back.” Refusing again, Barnes said, “I’m gonna to call the Sheriff if you guys don’t leave right now.” Instead of going away, Peter waived to Jack, who came over and directed his comments to Barnes.
“I’m Jack Taylor. I just finished an inspection of the Benish facility and tagged along to observe. I checked on your company, it’s on the “no notice” list of facilities that need inspection. I’m glad Peter called. I can have a team here real quick.”
“Barnes looked Taylor over and said, “I don’t believe you’re an inspector of anything. I don’t know you and I know the inspectors from around here. Let me see your credentials.”
Taylor said, “I was just transferred in from Nebraska.” He showed him his United States Department of Agriculture badge and identification. Barnes seemed unconvinced. “That doesn’t look real to me.” Taylor, turning to Rolf and Peter, shrugged and stepped back.
Rolf, looking at Barnes and said, “He was at my place today, better pay attention. One call from this man and an inspection team will be here before you know it. They can shut you down for even a minor infraction. But, I guess you have nothing to worry about, right?” Rolf knew Barnes had a reputation for cutting corners when it came to following meatpacking regulations.
Peter jumped in, “You see, Mr. Barnes, it’s simple. You get fifteen head of cattle, free and clear from Rolf. They come with an official bill of sale, which costs you nothing. That’s more than twice what you bought from Ole. I get my seven head back.” Holding up the check Barnes had written to Ole, Peter said, “And, you get this back. The best part, Mr. Taylor, here, won’t need to inspect your processing facility. Now isn’t that a good resolution? You come out ahead. Of course, if you insist, you can have Mr. Taylor make a call and start his work. It’s your choice.”
Barnes looked over to Taylor who had pulled out his phone and started dialing. Barnes could see this matter heading to another level. Faced with a snap inspection he knew could not pass, he agreed.
“Okay, stop, we have a deal.” Barnes said, “Come on, help me move these cattle.”
Barnes’ fifteen head moved into a holding pen. He also got his bill of sale and the check back he wrote Ole. The seven members of The Society climbed into the Rolf’s trailer and headed back to their meadow. Peter followed.
Once back, The Society reoccupied the meadow. Closing the gate behind the last heifer, Peter said to Ole, “Like I was saying, I would like to buy the meadow and keep these cows there. Name your price. Also, I will pay you for the cattle and for their upkeep as long as they live.”
He continued, “Ole, after you told me about your wife, I talked to a few people at the hospital. I didn’t think you could raise enough from the sale of the meadow to cover the excess medical costs. So I got the hospital to agree to be happy with what Medicare pays.”
Ole asked, “How in the world did you do that?”
Peter smiled, “I promised five original paintings to the hospital’s annual charity fundraiser for each of the next three years. Also, I told them I would contact all my out of town patrons about the paintings availability and talk up the fundraiser. That for sure will bring in thousands of dollars and give the fundraiser a higher profile. They aren’t losing a thing.”
“You got that kinda pull?” Ole asked.
“Yep, and I can buy the meadow and the cattle and still afford a burger and fries at Holly’s.”
Lou Barnes never figured out that the meat inspector with Rolf was Peter’s uncle and Rolf’s close friend. Uncle Jack used to be a Department of Agriculture meat inspector in Nebraska but had since retired. He hung out most days at Benish Farms. Uncle Jack still had his credentials. He and Rolf found they came in handy on rare occasions, like this one. The three of them were counting on Barnes’ facility having violations, which he did not want revealed. Their luck held and the bluff worked.
Peter visits his meadow and paints as often as he can. The Society members sometimes gather around the artist. Most often, they roam the meadow paying no attention to Peter. Sometimes he paints the group, showing his work to them when he finishes.
The paintings donated to the hospital sold well. The hospital’s annual fundraiser brought in more money than it ever had. Ole’s wife got the treatment she needed, at the Medicare rate, and has since recovered.
These days, after every visit to the meadow, Peter still stops at Holly’s to see Judy and get his favorite meal. She greets him with, “The usual, Peter?”
His response is always the same, “Yeah, Judy, the usual.” There is a change now, though. Out of respect for the Hereford Watercolor Appreciation Society, Peter orders a soy burger and fries.
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(Photo: USDA NRCS Texas/flickr.com/CC-BY SA 2.0)
