From the moment I entered the park and saw its tall bluffs and deep ravines covered in gnarly thick oaks standing over an open forest floor that was decorated in all the hues of autumn in its thick leaf cover, I knew.

Red-headed woodpeckers flitted about the forest edges and swooped across the winding road in front of me. I settled into my one-room cabin at dusk, listening to owls calling back and forth just outside.

The next morning, I was up with the sun. I had left winter behind in Chicago and rediscovered fall at Waubonsie.  It was mild and clear.  The sunrise was spectacular. I’ve hardly been greeted more enthusiastically before (dogs notwithstanding). I wandered off on trails, camera in hand. Two white-tailed deer immediately crossed my path. They paused to regard me and then ran off. This interaction with the park deer would become a regular recurrence.

Songbirds fluttered amid the understory; cardinals, cedar waxwings, juncos and white-throated sparrows.  Blue jays called from the treetops. The red-headed woodpecker chatter is a constant background soundtrack.

Evidence of coyotes (tracks and scat), wild turkey scrapes and deer tracks, scat and rubs was common throughout the trail system.  The coyotes themselves would prove elusive over my time here.  I explored mazes of deer/wildlife trails off the main paths.  I was rewarded with spectacular mushrooms, a shed antler (!), and a surprising number of deer bones.

After my morning wanders, I went back to the cabin for a late breakfast and a mid-day break before heading back out in the late afternoon until sunset.  That’s how I spent my two weeks here, each morning and each evening exploring a new trail or area of the park.

It feels so much bigger than 2000 acres.  The diversity of habitat is also a surprise.  I walked the high ridges of Sunset Ridge Trail, Ridge Trail, and the prairie above the old obstacle course with their views across farmland to the Missouri River in one direction and the tops of the tree canopy in the other.

The west sides of the ridges are mostly sand prairie habitat, while the east is uniformly forested.  These edge habitats (where one ecosystem meets another) are known for their diversity and abundance of wildlife.  I heard snow geese flying overhead and looked up to see hundreds migrating from the east toward the river wetlands.

I meandered along trails and double tracks down the bluffs into deep ravines. Then I snaked back up the other side on the Valley Trail, in the Wa-Shawtee area and the Slusher Wildlife Management Area.  Fallen trees, mushrooms, lichen and acorns are everywhere.

 A downy woodpecker, several northern flickers, a couple of red-bellied woodpeckers, flocks of cedar waxwings, chickadees and robins, a single spotted towhee, a tufted titmouse, a pair of ruby-crowned kinglets, a thrush, a pileated woodpecker, flocks of turkeys, red-tailed hawks and crows all showed themselves in these forests.

I traipsed through the woods of the seven-acre Lake Virginia and its finger ponds where artfully arranged oak leaves lay frozen in the duckweed.  A bobcat print in the mud among a parade of coyote, raccoon and deer prints was a thrilling discovery.

After hearing what I thought had to be a person approaching (only a human could make that much noise moving through a forest), I was pleasantly surprised to spy a flock of turkeys turning over the leaf litter in search of acorns.  Once one saw me, they all fell silent and quickly moved over the hill.

The sweet smell of firewood welcomes me back to my cabin on the hill every evening.  I watched a flicker poke around in my firewood pile on the porch. (I suspect he found some carpenter ants).  In the dark of night, the coyotes yipped and howled.  In my cozy, warm bed, restful sleep came quickly.  On my last day, light snow fell resting on the limbs of the forest, transforming the landscape.  What a treasure it is to glimpse winter here.

I captured sunrises, sunsets, new birds, familiar birds, a mole (a first for me!), ever-watchful charismatic deer, curious squirrels and mushrooms and lichens to my heart’s content.  I listened to stories of encounters with the more reclusive residents of the park; red foxes, a gray fox, bobcats and even a black bear in 2008. I learned the history of the park and plans for the future.  My two weeks went by in the blink of an eye.  I feel so grateful for this experience, for this place and for these people.  My Artist-in-Residency experience has been transformative.

If you’ve enjoyed this article, subscribe to my blog to get email updates about new posts.

The post Waubonsie Artist-in-Residence appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

How I got here  

A friend encouraged me to look into Artist in Residency (AIR) programs after her husband, a composer and percussionist, completed his first residency in Key West, Florida.  I’d looked into AIR opportunities briefly once before. The US Forest Service has its Voices of the Wilderness program and some of the National Parks have Artists in Residence programs.  Although they seem like a perfect opportunity on the surface, most of these provide a campsite or a camper’s cabin for housing.

I am not prepared to live like that for a month.  So I did a little more research.  I found a handful of residencies within driving distance that had indoor plumbing and electricity.  It was mid-summer.  The majority of AIR programs open for submissions in January.  Except for the Waubonsie State Park program in Iowa, whose application period is mid-August to mid-September.  The program is only in its second year.  I could have a chance.

I was on break at work when I clicked on the “Submit Application” button.  It brought me to a five-page Google document.  Each page must be filled out before accessing the next, and the whole thing needs to be completed before I can save it.  I’d have preferred to have read it over, mulled it over, and then decided to proceed or not.  In hindsight, this format is among the things that prompted me to submit the application.

It started simple enough – name, preferred dates, artist statement, and what I intend to do during the residency.  The public engagement part gave me pause. I can lead a photo walk/hike.  I’ve been tagging along on those for years now.  So I pitched a “teaching people to see with new eyes” photo walk.  Then it got real.  “Why is this Residency important at this point in your career?”  My career. Wow.  “Professional History: Education”  There were a lot of fields I left blank here after I wrote “Self-taught” on the top line.  At this point, I thought, “I am so not qualified for this.” But, I’ve come this far, I might as well complete the application.  “Publications/Exhibits.”  I’ve exhibited fairly widely in the Chicago suburbs, so I felt confident about this.  “Grants and Awards,” “Experience engaging the public in relation to your art practice,” and finally, “Two professional references.” 

I’d heard the statistic on a TED talk that men apply for jobs when they meet 60% of the qualifications, but women apply only if they meet 100% of the qualifications.  I thought to myself, “Today, I’m going to behave like a man.”  I contacted two fellow photographers that I admire, told them I didn’t think they’d be called, but just in case, here’s what I was up to.  And clicked, “submit.”

The day of the scheduled announcement of the 2019-2020 chosen artists came and went.  The next week, I emailed inquiring about the status of the decision. “Are you around this afternoon for a phone call?” was the response.  Well, they probably don’t call the rejected applicants.  On September 25, 2019, I accepted the Residency position for two weeks in November.  I was asked not to share the news publicly until the formal announcement was made.  It turned out that I had to sit on this exciting news until November 13 when the press release was issued, and I appeared on the Golden Hills RC&D website as one of the 2019-2020 Artists in Residence.

So here I am in this beautiful state park among bluffs and ravines, in a hardwood forest flush with oaks and acorns, chattering red-headed woodpeckers and calling owls.  I’m exploring in solitude, sharing my passion for nature with the dedicated park staff, and connecting the public to the beauty and value of this park.  I’m learning about the geology of this glacier-carved landscape and the force of the Missouri River that still shapes the land against the will of the people.  I am thriving.  I am an artist.

If you’ve enjoyed this article, subscribe to my blog to get email updates about new posts.

The post How I Began to Think of Myself as an Artist appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.