Bacon rinds and creeks...

Thanks to a blogger Richard, for commenting on my imaginative ideas about Bacon Rind Creek. Turns out I was just an ignorant white man.

Baconrind was a chief of the Osage during early 20th century when the tribe members got rich off oil, according to "Oklahoma, The Land and Its People," 1997 OU Press. His friend "Col." Ellsworth E. Walters was the auctioneer of the lands and did his best to get the Osage the best deals.

He built a life-size statue-monument to the Chief in Walters' home at Skedee, expecting it to be a big tourist draw. The town is no more, just across the Arkansas from the Osage, in Pawnee County, six miles north of Pawnee. Skedee is a misspelling of Skidi, or Pawnee for Wolf, a tribe of the Pawnee Confederacy.

Isn't the Internet wonderful?

By the way, there is another Bacon Rind Creek, which feeds into the Gallatin River in Montana, in Yellowstone National park. Maybe my imaginative source of name fits there.

Bacon Rind Creek

Heading north  on the back roads with scarce traffic and no semi-trucks, through decaying towns with First Baptist churches, past dead trees and vacant farm houses, we headed for the wide open tall grass spaces of Osage County.

It's Oklahoma's largest county, home of the Osage Indian Nation and Reservation, expansive ranches and sections upon sections without fences, and innumerable oil wells and oil history.

Idling, with car windows down, through the cool sunshine of Ripley, Glencoe, Pawnee, Ralston, Fairfax. Homes of Marie Tallchief, Pawnee Bill, The First Osage Baptist Church with glistening white two-story Corinthian columns, the Rawhide Bar, the Settle Inn.

Having crossed the Cimarron River twice and the Arkansas River into the Osage County, somewhere in there we crossed Bacon Rind Creek.

In the Osage it is easy to imagine the land before the white farmer and ranches and fences changed the world of nomadic peoples and nomadic wildlife. Except for the wind brushing through the tall grasses, it's quiet and still sparsely populated.

How did that creek get its name? Did an early settler throw his morning bacon rind in it after breakfast over a crackling fire on a cold morning, sipping steaming coffee made with clear water from its limestone  bed? So many stories to wonder about, to tell, to write.

Woodyard Farms in The Osage

Susan on the front porch of the Inn at Woodyard Farms Bed and Breakfast, just north of Pawhuska.

a friendly yellow tabby prowled at will.

The Osage hills formed a backdrop, and every morning, we could hear roosters crow.

My favorite spot, the front porch, where the autumn breeze is always pleasant.

And the view is peaceful. I worked on a watercolor using the table as an easel.

Our neighbors just across the fence made me feel right at home, naturally. They didn't seem concerned about Iowa State.

This is where we ate in the mornings, and I had the best waffle--a pumpkin waffle-- I've ever had, complete with blueberries, bananas, pecans, syrup, sausage and more.

There just wasn't enough to read, however. Innkeeper and owner Carol  Maupin has been running the place for 21 years. We learned about it in Oklahoma Today magazine.

There were lot of Catalpa trees, with big heart shaped leaves that rattled in the autumn breeze and magnified the sounds of raindrops. It's a misspelling of the Catawba Indians tribe name, which had the tree as a totem.

All 'aboard for Bartlesville

Santa Fe steam locomotive 940

In Bartlesville, a 4-8-2 powerhouse of days gone by.

Where you can look out the engineer's window and down the tracks into memory

Driving power

It's the Santa Fe, Not the BNSF!

Bartlesville Depot, done right, and the home of the chamber of commerce. A great place for a little boy to come play and remember when trains were trains, and a testament to an Oklahoma city's pride and commitment to quality living.

Osage hills, the photo

Here's where I was painting the previoous watercolor

East of Pawhuska on Okesa roaad, before the rain hits