Impression Evergreen

"Christmas Day" Colored Pencil It’s a melancholy Christmas Day morning and the sullen mood is intensified by the murky atmosphere. The winter weather is chilly and bleak with a sharp breeze blowing cold air, stinging my face. Moving at a sluggish pace, I trudge along the water’s purple edge as the shallow, green creek snakes its way through the desolate pasture. There’s no snow on the ground which is unusual for this time of the year. The desolate, golden grassland is dusted with a layer of dirty brown and smudged over a rugged texture typical of this hard land. Like a pink mirage, a reclusive range of sand hills sulks silently in the distance. The barren plain supports the skeletal frames of a few gnarled trees whose red coloring is shaded with orange and blue. The eerie woodland is dark and soulless invoking a heightened sense of loneliness. Reflecting on the pain of loss, I stare upwards where a bulky, gray cloud obscures the brooding, blue sky. In that moment I be...

Kathleen I. Miller (July 18, 1944 ~ April 26, 2025) My mom was a warrior born and raised in Red Willow County, Nebraska. They tell me she was a free-spirit who rode on the back of a motorcycle, broke wild horses and shot blue rock for sport. After high school, she was drawn to the bright lights of the big city and got her degree in Nursing from Creighton University in Omaha. She had found her true calling, taking care of the sick. She married Bern Miller and along came her three sons: Dan, Doug and Dustin. We couldn’t have asked for a more loving, generous, inspiring person to have as the perfect role model for our journey to adulthood. When she wasn’t helping to cure the ill she was guiding us through life by sharing her knowledge and experience. She taught us how to endure difficult times and overcome any obstacles that stood in our way. She was an accomplished horsewoman who had the astonishing ability to communicate with all species of animals and birds. Her cherished yard was a lu...

Sandhills sunset Christmas time on the prairie and the weather conditions are brutal due to heavy snow, high winds and horrific cold. The annual winter trek to western Nebraska has been transformed into an arctic expedition. After a week of natural destruction, the storm subsides and a breathtaking sunset seals the covenant. A cautious trudge along the frigid creek reveals the stark aftermath of such a powerful system. The tortured landscape is a curious blend of harshness and beauty created by the unique forces from above. The low light creeping through the forest enhances the surreal atmosphere of peace and quiet. The charcoal-colored trees form haunting silhouettes that frame the deep perspective generated by the rolling Sandhills. Spanned by delicately arched snow-bridges, the crooked waterway recedes into the distance. The sharp stream-bank is steepened by deep drifts that slide dangerously into the frigid water. Bergs of strange shaped ice are strewn all over accenting a ...

"Days of Glory" Colored Pencil Drawing It’s the early 1900s and Bridgeport, Nebraska is a fledgling community basking in the sunshine of its glory days. The town is known as “Trail City, USA” because it sits on or near many trails of the Old West including the Oregon, California, Mormon, Pony Express and Sidney-Black Hills trails. Back in 1876, Henry T. Clarke built a bridge across the North Platte River just three miles upstream from the current site of Bridgeport. This overpass improved the link between Sidney and the booming, gold-mining settlements in the Black Hills. The exchange of goods and precious metals between the two regions flourished for about a decade. During that time a loose-knit medley of early settlers established Camp Clarke, a small village located near the river. The actual town of Bridgeport was officially founded as a railway station by the Burlington Railroad in 1900. After the coming of the trains, the population increased dramatically and in 1...

Agate Fossil Beds Unearthed in the panhandle that is western Nebraska, the Agate Fossil Beds are a fascinating monument documenting ancient history. From the associated museum, a steep, 3-mile trail leads up to Fossil Hills where the old dig site can still be seen. At the end of the dinosaurs, 65 million years ago, this area was a tropical lowland and mammals began to emerge. Volcanic activity was intense and a range of mountains started to form in the west while the climate became cooler and drier, transforming the region into a great savanna where immense herds of animals grazed on lush grasses. Common species on the prairie were Palaeocastor - a dry land beaver, Moropus - a distant relative of the horse, Menoceras - a three-foot-tall rhino and Stenomylus - a tiny gazelle-camel. Carnivores evolved to prey on these plains-dwellers the most notorious of which were Daphoenodon - a fearsome beardog and Dinohyus - a terrible hog endowed with bone-crushing teeth enabling it to scavenge...

The green creek It’s winter on the Green Creek but there’s not even a dusting of snow to distinguish the dark season. An icy breath circulates through the solemn labyrinth of barren trees that arch across the deep ravine. The stream’s designation is derived from the mossy undergrowth that ordains the water’s vibrant coloring. The little oasis winds through a desolate prairie whose harsh environment leaves unfortunate victims in its wake. The rugged pastureland is littered with historical remnants of more difficult times. The multitude of unearthed artifacts symbolize the strength of the pioneers who still endure this region’s volatile climate. It's winter No snow A green creek The dark season Icy breath An oasis A harsh environment A deep ravine Rugged pastureland Difficult times Mossy undergrowth A labyrinth A volatile climate Arching trees An unfortunate victim Vibrant coloring Desolate prairie Unearthed artifacts Pioneer strength

Horses Out in the panhandle of western Nebraska, where the desolate Sandhills assimilate into the North Platte River Valley, horses seem to outnumber the sparse human population. Circles of corn are scattered throughout the fertile basin but the rugged highlands are reserved as pastureland for cattle and horses. Sometimes I see them as a solitary creature lost in a vast sea of prairie grasses but usually these social animals are observed in small herds. Horses are curious by nature so sometimes they approach the fence line in order to investigate strange visitors. Horses spend most of their time grazing contentedly in their idyllic environment but sometimes they become quite playful as they run, buck and roll with enthusiastic delight. Horses are an indisputable symbol of the Great Plains and a beautiful reminder of their importance in how the West was won. Small herds Horses outnumber people North Platte River Valley Lost in a sea of grass Symbol of the Great Plains Grazing contente...