Wisconsin Works

This painting has its roots in the farmstead owned by my great-grandfather, Martin Friedrich Bruss, and his wife, Ida. The farm was located in the vicinity of Fremont, Wisconsin. Over the years, some of the outbuildings were replaced with more modern facilities, and in the 1940s, the farmhouse burned. Finally, late in the twentieth century, the land was sold and then split by the construction of the new state highway.

     Based on photographs from the early 1900s, the painting's background re-creates the old farm buildings and house, complete with Great Grandpa and his good dog, Shep, seated on the front porch of the house. According to the same photos, Great Grandma's vegetable and flower garden was in the front yard, extending all the way to the road and surrounded by a pole fence.

     At this point I let my imagination create the image and tell a story of the importance of the farm-wife's garden for her table and larder: An elderly granny is supervising her children and grandchildren as they plant, weed, water, and collect the harvest from her garden . . . maybe just as Ida Bruss did a century ago!

A man I know told me about his midnight trip to the village post office. Traveling along a rural county highway near my home, he was forced to stop as he approached a farm. The farmer's Holstein herd had sprung free from the barn and ventured onto the roadway where they were milling aimlessly about until my friend woke the sleeping farmer and his trusty shepherd dog. The pair quickly wrangled the cows off the road and back to the safety of the barn.

     Evidently this is not an uncommon occurrence here in the Dairy State. The seemingly dull bovines are often looking over the fence where the grass is always greener, or in the case of the Holsteins in my painting, the pumpkins are orangier and possibly tasty!

With thanks to Martha Coaty Photography for sharing the image of this iconic, Belgian–built, Brown County, Wisconsin, barn, which she charmingly dubbed "The Milkmaid." Thanks, Martha!

My faith informs me that the Lord God created the rolling hills, lush valleys, and gentle streams that form the landscape of Wisconsin. He created the deep, rich soil and He alone controls the climate, which urges the earth to bring forth bounty.

     But the farmer is the primary caretaker of these blessings. Planting, cultivating, irrigating and harvesting are his daily lot, all the while battling adverse weather conditions, blights, and disease affecting his crops, herds, and finances.

     Agriculture in Wisconsin has certainly evolved over the years as farmers experimented with growing wheat, tobacco, and other cash crops but found this use of the land less than optimal. They began to notice the small numbers of dairy cattle kept largely for use by the farm family were well suited to the land and climate, though demanding on the farmer's daily schedule. Gradually—and with the encouragement of the University of Wisconsin School of Agriculture—the herds were expanded. Holsteins became the dairy cow of choice for many farmers because of the quantity and quality of milk they produced. Crops to feed these ever-expanding herds followed. Today those black-and-white cows are symbolic of the Dairy State.

A scene in St. Croix County similar to this captured my attention and imagination. The beauty and peace it conveyed led me to attempt a re-creation. It is the first of what will be a small series of paintings (and tributes) titled "Brought to You by the Dairy Farmers of Wisconsin."

I came across this Iowa County farmstead outside of Hollandale, Wisconsin, on a spectacular fall day notable for its unusual cloud formations, the result of winds aloft (not jet contrails). The iconic red barn set on the very edge of a pond captured my attention. The juxtaposition of the farm buildings and house nestled among gently rolling hills was a delight for the eye. My imagination took the scene back to the late 1940s, inserting livestock, barn cats, and herding dogs, along with the farm family and hired hands. A 1941 Case tractor pulls the wagon equipped with a "bang board" to assist in the harvesting of feed corn. A neighbor in his 1945 Ford pickup has pulled into the drive to purchase fresh eggs from the farmer's wife.

The frozen lakes and ponds of the upper Midwest come alive on the coldest winter days with ice fishermen, eager to spend a few hours with their buddies and (possibly) pull the Big One out of the frigid depths.

    The men and boys in my painting are of an earlier era. Dressed in cotton long johns, kapok-lined pants, heavy woolens, and Stormy Kromers, these hearty fellows brought with them handsaws and augers, brooms and shovels, in addition to spears, poles, colorful decoys, and lures. The bonfire on the snow-covered shore provided a brief respite from the cold. It was fun, it was sport, but it was also an opportunity to catch a meal—without benefit of high-tech gear and apparel.

    So, with a nod to the riotous musical Guys on Ice, created by the late Fred Alley, I give you my image of guys on ice. 

Driving through the coulees, I rounded another bend in the road and this Wisconsin farmstead came into view. In the distance stood another barn, grayed and weathered by the sun. In the far background rose the bluffs that mark the Driftless Area of Wisconsin. A painting, complete with name ("The Farm on the Bend of the Road"), immediately popped to mind. But later, as I translated the painting from my head to a gessoed board, a 1940s Allis–Chalmers tractor appeared, with its proud new owner leaning on one of its jumbo tires. Soon his family was looking on with interest, while neighboring farmers arrived by mule or pickup to admire and scrutinize the newest addition to "modern" farming. Even the cows in the pasture were distracted from their browsing by the scene across the road. And so, "The Farm on the Bend of the Road" became "Pa's New Tractor."

The Coulee Region is within the Driftless Area of southwestern Wisconsin, where the land was left untouched by the fingers of the last glacier to rake the area. The coulees, found just to the south and east of La Crosse, display some of the state's most dramatic topography, characterized by wooded dolomite ridges falling away to gently rolling hills and farther into valleys, which the French explorers named "coulees." 

The Coulee Region of Wisconsin is a virtual jewel box, and the farms nestled in its hills and valleys are its gems. 

    As I wended my way along a road through the coulees on a fall day, my attention was drawn to this farmstead set a good distance off the road and backed by a field of stacked hay. The huddled buildings with their varied rooflines were dwarfed by the surrounding expanse of fields and dominated by the rocky ridge rising above. I walked a bit farther, to find a better vantage point, and was surprised (and delighted) to see a flock of sheep scattered on the hillside leading up to the farmstead. Standing regally amid the flock was the sole ram, definitely "king of the hill" . . . at least in his own mind.

    My mind conjured up the busy farm family (with the notable exception of one shirker). The setting, sometime in the 1950s, is established by the 1949 Oliver tractor pulling the hay wagon.

The Coulee Region is within the Driftless Area of southwestern Wisconsin, where the land was left untouched by the fingers of the last glacier to rake the area. The coulees, found just to the south and east of La Crosse, display some of the state's most dramatic topography, characterized by wooded dolomite ridges falling away to gently rolling hills and farther into valleys, which the French explorers named "coulees." 

Driving along a country road on a late summer day, I sped past this scene. Since I travel this route regularly, I realized the junked red pickup was a recent addition to the pasture. The cows were packed closely together, heads under the gaping hood, looking, for all the world, like a group of mechanics analyzing what could be the problem with the vehicle. Not believing my eyes, I skidded to a stop, threw my car into reverse, and backed up to assess the sight. I jumped from my car, camera in hand, to capture the hilarious scene. Alas! I'd not accounted for the easily distractible nature of cows. By the time I'd aimed and focused my camera, the entire group had disbanded and were milling around, most heading toward me to investigate my arrival in the neighborhood.

     When I passed this same field a few weeks later, I noticed the junked pickup, which had attracted so much attention on that summer morning, now stood ignored in the center of the pasture while the cow-mechanics pursued other bovine interests.

I happened upon this little stone house on a road just north of Port Washington in Ozaukee County, Wisconsin. From the road it was just a single-story, windowless structure with a center door—but it captured my interest. As I walked toward the building, I became aware of scattered stones that had been obscured from the road by field flowers. Those stones were the crumbling remains of the foundation of a much larger building, perhaps the farmhouse, built in front of the object of my interest. Walking around the diminutive stone structure, I was amazed that it was built into a hillside and the back elevation was actually two stories with windows, a door, and a little ell off one side. Perhaps this had been the modest, original farmhouse.

     With that thought before me, I replaced the nearby modern barn with one of the same vintage as the little stone house—a quintessential, late nineteenth-century Wisconsin barn with a stone foundation and silo. I chose to place the farm family and hired hands in a late-1930s setting. The 1930 Model A Ford pickup truck and the 1934 Allis Chalmers steel-wheeled tractor attest to the date of this post–Depression scene.