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mjnorman@bbcwb.net

We have been blessed with an abundant opportunity to view this unique scenery we live in. We are provided with daily inspiration to create pieces of artworks and furniture dedicated to recording this gorgeous sceney and to those livestyles derived from being here. We use fence posts in some of our designs to remind us of those gone before us. It is our way of finding yet another way to live naturally here and recycle a very viable resource. Further enriching your stay we offer to you the opportunity to take a piece of it home with you in our creations and maybe those creations of your own. In our packages you will view an option which entails art lessons and/or the building of a one of a kind untique piece of furniture for you to take home. Guided lessons will be part of your package. (Please see some of our creations on the lefthand corner of this page.)The following is a true life threatening story lived on this ranch which has led this family to create the buisness known as Prairie "Post" Furniture.

"The Wooden Sentinal "as written by Kathryn Wickersham

This is the story of the Nebraska prairie, an unspoiled world where the wind blows through the tall grass; where winter can suddenly bring both beauty and treachery. It's the story of raw courage and a pure miracle that starts and ends with a piece of prairie architecture, a simple wooden post.
During winter on this Nebraska prairie nearly a quarter of a century ago, 12 year-old towheaded tomboy, Jeanie and her rancher father, Bernard were on a search and reScue
mission. A recent devastating blizzard had blown so hard that drifted snow would have buried most of their cattle. Father and daughter raced over the snow's surface in a snowmobile 'pony' searching for yellowed breathing holes indicating cattle were beneath the deceiving calm surface of the glimmering snow. Side-by-side they worked feverishly amid blackening skies as the windchill dropped 45 degrees below zero. "We've got to get home before this thing gets the best of us," Bernard shouted to Jeanie aver the wind's roar as they raced to the snowmobile. Their mechanical pony would not respond as it sat stubbornly lifeless.
Bernard wasted no time for he had cut his teeth deep on these lands and knew what they could do to living things. "We'll have to hang onto the fence to find our way home. Don't let go of it!" Jeanie knew they couldn't stop to rest during the two miles home or they would freeze like the cattle that didn't make it in similar storms. The wind whistled and moaned, sometimes screaming like a mad woman. The pair crawled on all fours through drifts, clutching the old fence as a lifeline. A fall through the deceiving surface into a hidden snow-covered cavern would be a wintry grave.
They crept along, one agonizing length after another. Mindless movement that seemed to pass in slow motion, as if they were watching their indistinguishable progress from a few feet above. Lungs burned as nostrils froze, hands lost feeling in clumsy gloves and time slowly realigned itself, playing tricks with Bernard's mind. It made such a thing as moving forward, clinging desperately to an old fence seem crazy, seemingly impossible task for Bernard. Jeanie barely heard him yell, "Got to rest!" before the wind took the words from her ears.
She fell against her father who was slumped against a fencepost and tried to shield him from the cruel driving wind. She struggled to rouse her father but she could see the bluish hue of his face. His chest barely moved beneath her small hand on his coat. Jeanie tried to rouse him, this big bear of a man who was her father.
She fell, beaten, against the same post her father unknowingly clutched. She was immediately astounded. She recognized this post! She knew its distinctive polished feel from the past when she would lean on this ancient landmark. She used to circle it with her arms as she waited to pitch the hay her father would bring to the cattle. So often she had run her hands along its polished length, this post made smooth through years of cows rubbing their backs in the annual shedding of hair each spring.
This oak tie taken from the railline that snakes across these lands, dating back some eighty-five years when her great-grandparents homesteaded the ranch. Her grandparents planted the tie in the fenceline a mere four hundred fifty yards from the door to her home.
Hope soared in Jeanie and she knelt beside her father, roughly shaking him to share her excitement. Bernard made no response as his stony figure clung to the wooden sentinel, his face frozen with ears deafened by wind and his mind uncomprehending. "I have not come this far to freeze in the storm only a few hundred feet from the warmth of my home. Dad had never let me quit and now he depends on me," Jeanie screamed inside! She slapped her frigid father clumsily, but very hard across his frozen face. The action brought him back to the world of the living and back to her. She took his hands and made him feel the post and he finally understood his touch as he peered into her shining eyes.
A team once again, they traveled the last remaining lengths of fence, the safety of a warm home and the welcoming arms of her mother. Old Man Winter, the great trickster, would claim no one this day. He was no match for the love shared between a young daughter and her father. The two were aided by a now-treasured landmark of the plains. The same wooden sentinel that is now honored in new life as one of the four corners of a four-poster bed.
Today artist and former towheaded tombay, Jean Norman creates distinctive furniture from these "Prairie Posts" in memory of her father, Bernard, thanksgiving for their own snow-clad Nebraska miracle.