Friendly Ranch
In 2016 our family was invited to stay on our daughter’s extended family’s 120-acre ranch in Colorado belonging to the Friedlys. Mr. Friedly is a veterinarian and avid hunter, and looks like the real life Santa Claus; he is cousin of Otto Friedli, founder of the Hells Angels. Mrs. Friedly is in the church choir and bakes ungodly Angel cakes that will make you cry for joy.
Peyton, 1.3 miles high
Friendly Ranch is owned by Friedlys. Friendly is a misspelling that supposedly annoys Mr. Friedly, though I saw no evidence of it. The Friedlys enjoyed these pictures, studying them as if they were seeing themselves under a microscope.
2016 was polarizing for America. My daughter’s extended family were keen to see the brown Los Angeles Englishman that had a child with their kin, but not necessarily to welcome me. It was a potentially hostile environment, in many ways.
We’d shoot pool and we’d shoot guns. Shotguns, rifles, archery, axe-throwing. There were dedicated areas of the ranch for all of these activities; the neighbors had their own gun ranges too. Jimi Friedly even had his own ammunition-making workshop.
My daughter Elena had grown up in Los Angeles. I thought that this was the perfect opportunity for her to commune with nature, to roll in the grass, play with dandelions and hug some trees. It was the perfect time for her to experience these things.
Mrs. Friedly makes an equally good Mrs. Claus. Friendly as a misspelling was meant ironically as they weren’t the ones under a microscope. But, if you can shoot pool, work hard, play hard, and cook well, you’re more likely to get a Friendly welcome.
I witnessed the extreme Colorado seasons. The landscape could look like the surface of Mars, other times, lush and green. There were accounts of people freezing to death in their backyards in a blizzard, not finding their way back due to zero visibility.
The soil is not particularly good for growing food, even if the weather would allow it. Only certain plants will grow in the dry earth and high altitude. Even though the land is vast, there are few farms. Sunflowers were able to on the ranch, but that's all.
When we first arrived, there was no grass, and very little green color of any kind. Sure enough, after a few months, it was lush and green everywhere, with the most perfect weather. Colorado supposedly gets more blue skies than California.
At sunrise we'd collect eggs, feed the chickens and horses. I looked forward to playing pool every night after a day’s work, with both Jimi and myself somehow winning more games than the other ;-) Mrs. Friedly plays a mean game of pool too.
It was a culture-shock coming from politically liberal Los Angeles to the quite right-leaning rural area of Colorado; some of the attitudes astonished me. Thankfully my unshakeable English accent seemed to disarm people, or at least confuse them.
It was alarming to see some folks judging people using a color-chart, and engaged in an unspoken (but sometimes verbalized) culture war with entire groups. Paradoxically though, I had felt more welcomed by the Friedlys than I had by anyone.
The Friedlys had a rusty 1976 Argosy RV that had been passed down in the family. I bought it from them and used it as an office, it was delightful. Later on, I developed it, took it to California and sold it, turning a profit. I’ve done it again with other Airstreams.
Even with the harsh and ever-changing weather, dry land, deep snowy winter, and the occasional arctic winds that would blow from the north, the environment could be breathtakingly beautiful (quite literally so of course because of the altitude).
The neighbors kept Alpacas, which are already high-altitude animals. We were at several thousand feet altitude which meant that for those that are not acclimatized, it could be difficult to breathe. Walking across the room could leave you out of breath.
We ate a lot of Elk, bow-hunted by Jimi. I cooked a lot, and cleaned the ranch every day. I built a greenhouse, fixed roofs, I even cleaned the chimneys :-) The Friedlys liked my photography of their world, and my bread and butter pudding with custard.
I was taken aback by the beauty of the house, I would want to photograph every corner. It was the first time I ever wanted to take ‘portraits’ of a living room, or a kitchen. It felt like that’s what they were - snapshots of someone’s soul.
When Elena and I returned to California, Mrs. Friedly cried. Jimi even initiated a hug goodbye (as an older Englishman, I’m not a natural hugger either). It was an invaluable experience for my daughter, and for me too. In every sense, it was inspirational.
iPod photography and essay