Who I am, and who cares...
I taught for about 33 years in the Horticulture Department, at Brigham Young University Idaho. I was hired to develop the Floral Design Management Program, and was given the opportunity to chair the Landscape Horticulture, Horticulture, and Applied Plant Science Departments as Ricks College became Brigham Young University Idaho, and our efforts grew into national ranking in the top tier of post secondary higher education horticulture programs. I had excellent, creative colleagues, some of the best design build and plant identification people on the planet earth. Because of the wonderful teaching environment, and the freedom to develop my interests, I had many opportunities to travel. My wife, Kaye, taught in the English Department for ten years as well, and was asked to be a director for some travel study adventures which led us to the Emerald Isles, continental Europe, and into MesoAmerica and Central America The campus is located in Rexburg, Idaho, about an hour west of the Tetons, and Yellowstone National Park. We have raised six children in this Upper Snake River Valley. They all have attained university degrees, married, and created 30 grandchildren. Since I retired, Kaye and I explored Spain, France, and Andorra, crossed the Atlantic on a cruise ship, bought a car in Miami, and drove on a diagonal line to the Canadian border of the upper peninsula of Michigan, sold the car, flew home, then spent a month developing a botanic garden in Costa Rica, then home just in time to avoid international travel during the COVID-19 Pandemic. We could not really go anywhere, yet wanted to serve a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints somewhere far away. The opportunity to help run the Idaho Falls Mission Office and stay safe close to home presented itself, so that is our current adventure.
Shortly after we began our work at Ricks College, Kaye and I were led to a lovely piece of ground with an old farm house, surrounded by hundreds of acres of farm land. We eventually have developed eight acres (3.2 hectares) into a testing ground for restorative agriculture, as the land was so scarred from the infamous Teton Dam flood in 1976. We have worked with what was left, mostly sand and gravel, to try to regain some soil structure, and develop areas for production and entertainment. Romney Place is now a center for artistic and creative study, an art gallery, a grass maize and labyrinth, ponds and pathways, and places for contemplation, and group gatherings. The vistas at Romney Place are inspirational. One of my favorite views is seen at sunrise looking east to the laser-cut edges of the Teton mountains cast against the blazing colours of light and clouds. The evenings bring a similar view to the west as I watch the glowing orange light contrast with the deep blue above, the profile of the Beaverhead, Lemhi, Lost River and Pioneer Mountain Ranges combine to cut a dark edge against the sky. It is surrealistic to the extent that it seems more like an image of torn paper pasted at the bottom of the sky. It is magnificent and captivating.
I have always loved plants, and working outside. I also love to visit the earth. I have been blessed with ample opportunity. In my early years I grew up in a fairly large city in Utah, in a conservative and loving home. Art filled our lives. My Mom, known in art as "Mary Lou" by many of her admirers and patrons is a fine artist. She is known for her botanical illustrations, her landscapes, her portraits, paper cuttings, even a few abstract paintings. She mastered the blending of Eastern and Western art influences. She could create the most beautiful sketches of wildflowers with a bic fine point accountant pen, or sketch bamboo and orchids with a happy dot brush with ink she ground herself for sumi-e. She was well known for oil and watercolor landscapes and situation portraits of both people and plants. I could elaborate more, but realize that my life was filled with the love of this fine woman, and the creative flow of her energy. I stayed close by her side as she hunted for plants to paint, in later years bringing them to her as her ability to wander diminished. We shared a love for plants. I learned to grow them and arrange them in beautiful combinations. She painted them, documenting her interpretation of botanical adventures, as if she were on her own fantastic voyage through the inner workings of the blossoms.
My Dad built homes, loved music and basic math, loved to teach young people both subjects, and spent most of his life supporting the development of a family full of artistic people while engrossed in the fulfillment of his desire to explore the notes in his head. He could figure out how to structure a building, and he could inspire a young mind to grasp multiplication when no one else could. I loved going with Dad in the old '49 Chev purple pickup. We would go to the Salt Lake Dump, way out west in the Salt Lake Valley, passing the Airport, coming very close to the lake it seemed. There was the smell of smoke (in those days they burned much of the trash--either on purpose, or by accident) and the sound of gulls. The beloved gulls that had once saved the pioneers from the crickets were now mostly fed by the leftovers of their descendants' much more abundant living. We would drive into the mountains sometimes in the summer to deliver goods to the scouts in the Uintahs, or to the Bennion boys ranch in Vicor, Idaho. It was always fun to spend those youthful days bouncing along in the old truck singing and eating "goober peas." (goodness how delicious, eating goober peas (aka: peanuts))
By watching Dad put things together to build something, and Mom put things together in two dimensions that looked like something, I seem to have absorbed a bit of both of them. I love to build things, fix things, make things look good together, and also picked up somewhere a curiosity about living things, to the extent that I find the scientific process to be essential in building and creating, which at times can be very time consuming and costly, or perhaps doesn't turn out the way I expected it to. But as I get a little more practice over the years, I can picture in my head what something should turn out like, and make it happen. That comes in handy when you put together a large floral display for a wedding. Often I pray when perplexed with a design issue, or when I am trying to sort something about a building or remodel project. The Lord gives me a picture in my mind; sometimes my memory is so short I have to stop praying and draw a diagram, then go back and thank him, or ask for more clarification. That seems to work in the creative process.
Shortly after we began our work at Ricks College, Kaye and I were led to a lovely piece of ground with an old farm house, surrounded by hundreds of acres of farm land. We eventually have developed eight acres (3.2 hectares) into a testing ground for restorative agriculture, as the land was so scarred from the infamous Teton Dam flood in 1976. We have worked with what was left, mostly sand and gravel, to try to regain some soil structure, and develop areas for production and entertainment. Romney Place is now a center for artistic and creative study, an art gallery, a grass maize and labyrinth, ponds and pathways, and places for contemplation, and group gatherings. The vistas at Romney Place are inspirational. One of my favorite views is seen at sunrise looking east to the laser-cut edges of the Teton mountains cast against the blazing colours of light and clouds. The evenings bring a similar view to the west as I watch the glowing orange light contrast with the deep blue above, the profile of the Beaverhead, Lemhi, Lost River and Pioneer Mountain Ranges combine to cut a dark edge against the sky. It is surrealistic to the extent that it seems more like an image of torn paper pasted at the bottom of the sky. It is magnificent and captivating.
I have always loved plants, and working outside. I also love to visit the earth. I have been blessed with ample opportunity. In my early years I grew up in a fairly large city in Utah, in a conservative and loving home. Art filled our lives. My Mom, known in art as "Mary Lou" by many of her admirers and patrons is a fine artist. She is known for her botanical illustrations, her landscapes, her portraits, paper cuttings, even a few abstract paintings. She mastered the blending of Eastern and Western art influences. She could create the most beautiful sketches of wildflowers with a bic fine point accountant pen, or sketch bamboo and orchids with a happy dot brush with ink she ground herself for sumi-e. She was well known for oil and watercolor landscapes and situation portraits of both people and plants. I could elaborate more, but realize that my life was filled with the love of this fine woman, and the creative flow of her energy. I stayed close by her side as she hunted for plants to paint, in later years bringing them to her as her ability to wander diminished. We shared a love for plants. I learned to grow them and arrange them in beautiful combinations. She painted them, documenting her interpretation of botanical adventures, as if she were on her own fantastic voyage through the inner workings of the blossoms.
My Dad built homes, loved music and basic math, loved to teach young people both subjects, and spent most of his life supporting the development of a family full of artistic people while engrossed in the fulfillment of his desire to explore the notes in his head. He could figure out how to structure a building, and he could inspire a young mind to grasp multiplication when no one else could. I loved going with Dad in the old '49 Chev purple pickup. We would go to the Salt Lake Dump, way out west in the Salt Lake Valley, passing the Airport, coming very close to the lake it seemed. There was the smell of smoke (in those days they burned much of the trash--either on purpose, or by accident) and the sound of gulls. The beloved gulls that had once saved the pioneers from the crickets were now mostly fed by the leftovers of their descendants' much more abundant living. We would drive into the mountains sometimes in the summer to deliver goods to the scouts in the Uintahs, or to the Bennion boys ranch in Vicor, Idaho. It was always fun to spend those youthful days bouncing along in the old truck singing and eating "goober peas." (goodness how delicious, eating goober peas (aka: peanuts))
By watching Dad put things together to build something, and Mom put things together in two dimensions that looked like something, I seem to have absorbed a bit of both of them. I love to build things, fix things, make things look good together, and also picked up somewhere a curiosity about living things, to the extent that I find the scientific process to be essential in building and creating, which at times can be very time consuming and costly, or perhaps doesn't turn out the way I expected it to. But as I get a little more practice over the years, I can picture in my head what something should turn out like, and make it happen. That comes in handy when you put together a large floral display for a wedding. Often I pray when perplexed with a design issue, or when I am trying to sort something about a building or remodel project. The Lord gives me a picture in my mind; sometimes my memory is so short I have to stop praying and draw a diagram, then go back and thank him, or ask for more clarification. That seems to work in the creative process.
