Winter Roadside Willows, 6" x 8" Oil on Panel |
This month I've been getting out to
paint more. The weather is slowly improving as Winter occasionally
shows a better mood. I'm also finally over a nasty sinus infection.
The painting shown above was done in Heber Valley earlier this month,
but I've also recently painted closer to home.
Last weekend I was painting at a local
lake. After finishing the painting and loading everything into the
car, I was about to drive off when a DWR (fish and game) truck pulled
up and stopped, blocking my way. The officer walked over to my car
and said,
“What cha been doing this evening
sir?”
“Painting.” I answered.
“Painting!” he said, sounding surprised. He
then looked around. “Well you picked a good spot for it.”
After a brief conversation, he let me
go and drove off, no doubt on the hunt (no pun intended) for
nefarious ne'r-do-well poachers.
That incident reminded me of another
time a few years ago I was stopped by the cops:
After spending a day painting in Goshen
Valley I was headed home. It was dark by the time I turned east
onto Route 6. Somewhere between the small towns of Goshen and
Santaquin, I looked in my rear view mirror and saw a large Ford truck
grill very close behind my little suv. Then red and blue lights
started flashing. A glance at my speedometer assured me I wasn't
speeding. What on earth could be the problem? I pulled over.
“How ya doing tonight sir?” The
deputy asked as he approached my open window.
Now, I don't get pulled over very
often, but that question always annoys me. I want to say, “I was
doing fine until you pulled me over!”, but of course I don't. To be
fair, I think cops ask that question because people who are drunk or
guilty can't answer it normally, tipping the officer off as to what
kind of wacko they might have just pulled over.
I lamely replied, “Um, OK.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Home.” I answered. I suspected the
next question would be about where I'd been and what I'd been
doing, so I decided to head it off. “I was painting in Goshen
Valley.”
“Wow! You get around!” he exclaimed
as he swung his flashlight beam into the back of my car and saw the
easel. “I thought I've seen this car before. I saw you down at the
state park.”
“The state park?”
“At Utah Lake.”
“Yeah, I've been there.”
The deputy seemed fascinated that he
had pulled over a painter. He asked if I knew my license plate lights
weren't working. I didn't know. He told me I should get them fixed
when I got home. After quickly looking over my driver's license the officer
let me continue on my way. The next day I fixed the malfunctioning
lights.