If this is your first visit, welcome to Musings. If you have been here before, welcome back. Over time we are going to talk about many things: the past, the present, perhaps the future, travel, art, society and more. Wherever my musing takes me. I hope you will come along with me.

Click to check out my artwork

The Lure of Gold

In the mid 90′s I had moved back to Phoenix, Arizona.  Being a westerner I enjoyed the desert and the open spaces and was glad to get back to it.  I didn’t enjoy Phoenix that much though.  It had become too big for my liking.  Whenever I could I would get out-of-town, if only for a day trip.

One Saturday my wife and I were bored and decided to do just that . . . get out-of-town.  I said,  ”You have never been to Yarnell.  Lets do that.  I’ll show you the Shrine of St. Joseph.  That’s kind of neat.”

Now Yarnell, a town of about 700 people,  is about 80 miles north-west of Phoenix in the high desert mountains.  The vegetation is scruffy and the terrain is strewn with large granite boulders.  Tucked away in the hills is the Shrine of St Joseph a religious site that was built by lay people in the 1930′s.  Whether or not one is religious it is worth seeing.

The town itself is tranquil, supporting mostly mining and ranching interests and retirees

.  It dates back to 1865 when gold was discovered there and is named for Harrison Yarnell a prospector who discovered in 1873 what is known now as the Yarnell mine.

Yarnell

You may not have known it, but mining was very important to the development of Arizona.  The area abounds with ghost towns, places like Weaver, Big Bug, Bumble Bee, Cordes, Congress Junction and Octave.  Yarnell was one of the survivors.

To get to Yarnell from Phoenix one heads out toward Wickenburg, another old territorial town,  on through Congress Junction, now called Congress, and up Yarnell Hill.

Yarnell med_ScenicOverlook

The view is extraordinary.  The road hugs the edge of the mountain and rises 2500 feet in five miles.

Yarnell Hill

When I was a kid the road was two lanes, winding and very steep.  Down the side of the mountain were  remains of old cars that had gone over the edge.  There was a story in Readers Digest in the 50′s about a Greyhound bus that lost its brakes going down the hill.  To keep it on the road, at each curve, all the passengers would throw themselves to the side of the bus next to the mountain.

Yarnell frog

So my wife and I headed out.  As a kid I used to take this  trip, by Greyhound,  going to visit my grandparents in Prescott.  I was  intrigued by Congress Junction.  Why?  Because there was nothing there except one building, one store with a wood porch and shed roof.  It was in the middle of nowhere at the side of the road.  I never saw anyone there.  I wondered about it.  I wanted to stop, but of course you can’t do that on a bus.

congress junction

But this time was different.  As we approached Congress Junction I saw up ahead the building.  And I decided to stop.

As I got out of the car I realized there were three guys sitting on the porch.  Couldn’t tell exactly what they were doing, but they were busy at something.

Three Fellows

As I got to them I saw one was siting on a barrel whittling with a knife.  The second was laid back on a coach.  He had two bandoliers of cartridges crisscrossing his chest and two cross draw pistols in holsters.  The third fellow, heavy-set with a big white beard, was hunched over cleaning a Thompson Submachine gun.  An interesting group.

We struck up a conversation.  I told them how I had wanted to check out this store for years.  We asked if there was anything of interest left in Congress Junction.  They told us about some pioneer graves.  That sort of stuff.  We went into the store which contained a collection of antiques from the mining communities and then we left, heading on toYarnell.

pioneer graves

WickenburgCountryside

The guns were worrisome.  In Arizona you can carry a gun.  At that time no permit was required.  I do not know if that is still the same today.  The only requirement was that the gun must be visible.  No concealed weapons without a permit.  But still it was not common to see people with handguns and certainly not sub-machine guns!  I sort of gnawed on that as we went our way.

At the end of the day we reversed our tracks and as we came through Congress Junction I saw a fellow who could have been the twin of the guy with the sub-machine gun.  Heavy set guy, big white beard.  He was sitting on the tail gate of a chuck wagon, eating.  The chuck wagon looked exactly like something out of a 1950′s western with Gabby Hayes, exactly like it except it had pneumatic tires.

chuckwagon

And, suddenly it came to me.  The lure of gold. Those guys were prospectors!   All around the area were failed mines and abandoned towns.  The guns were real and present because these guys went out in the mountains and hills alone and were vulnerable.

And that is within 60 or 70 miles of a metropolitan area of more than 4 million people.

****************************************

Books by Thomas L. Tribby Available
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Works on Paper

On The Waterfront

Impressions of Florida

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New Limited Edition Croquet Prints

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If this is your first visit, welcome to Musings. If you have been here before, welcome back. Over time we are going to talk about many things: the past, the present, perhaps the future, travel, art, society and more. Wherever my musing takes me. I hope you will come along with me.

Click to check out my artwork

My friend,Christy 

I used to live in Long Beach, California in a wonderful old salt-box style house.  It looked like it belonged in New England, not California.  And, making it even more special, it had a large backyard with a detached garage and workshop and a tool shed.  Most people do not have much space in Long Beach, but this house was built in 1905 in what would have been considered to be out in the country at the time.  We loved the space.

House in Long Beach

Here you can see the back of the house.  I was having work done on it.  This gives you a sense of the backyard.  Behind you would be the garage, workshop and tool shed.

One evening in November I was cleaning up after Bar-B-Q ing ribs on my Weber grill.  To light the coals I had run an extension cord out of the workshop and across the yard to the grill and used an electric starter.  Now it was dark.  I coiled up the extension cord and headed over to the workshop.  The door was slightly ajar and, it being dark, I could not see.  I stepped inside and flipped the light switch.

“Nothing.  Damn!  The bulb must have blown.”

Now as I stood there I began to make out what appeared to be two wide-set red eyes looking at me, something in the corner.  The street light cast some light through the workshop window and it was being reflected.  The eyes were wide apart.  I didn’t move.  What ever it was, it was big.

I called to my wife, “Bring me a flashlight, please.  Quick!”

Christy

The beam of light fell on  what I considered to be the ugliest dog I had ever seen, a pit bull, cowering in the corner, obviously sick.

Now that was just what I needed, an ugly, sick, large dog.  The year before, my sister-in-law moved to the east and in the process gave us her fifteen year old Australian Shepard, Lady.  She was a wonderful dog, but I didn’t need another.

I wasn’t certain what to do.  If I called the SPCA, it would be a death sentence for the animal.  After some hesitation, I took the dog over to the tool shed and threw some blankets down for it to sleep on and gave it food and water.  I figured to get it well and let it wander off.  The next day when I left for work, I left the gate open so it could leave.

The dog stayed several days in the tool shed as it got better.  I began to think about it.   On the third day I told my wife, “If that old dog is here when I get home from work I think I’ll keep it.”

When I got home, the dog was gone.

“Well, good!  We really don’t need another dog”, I thought to myself.  But then I got to thinking,“What if the dog was picked up by the SPCA?”  If so, it was not likely anyone would take an adult pit bull, especially one that looked like this one.  I decided to go out to the pound and check it out.  Sure enough!.  There she was, in a cage.  I later learned that the dog had wandered out into my front yard and my neighbor, alarmed, had called the dog catcher.

I told the attendant that I wanted the dog.

“Well”, he said, “You gotta wait 10 days.  The rightful owner might claim it.”

So that is what happened.  I went over to the pound several times during the waiting period and talked to the dog.  When the ten days was up I claimed the dog and took her home.  When we got home I sat in a chair in the yard and she crawled up into my lap, all sixty pounds of her. Just like in this picture.

Christy in lap

Since it was close to Christmas, I named her Christy.  And, that is how my friend, Christy, came into our lives.

And, you know she got better looking.  In fact after a period I came to think she was down right good-looking, with that brindle coloring.

Christy was strong and smart.  She was not aggressive with people or other dogs.  And she was protective.  Her one fault was that she didn’t like cats.  She did away with several over the years.

The first one I knew about cost me a bundle.  When we went to work we used to leave Christy in the backyard tethered to a ring in the center of the yard.  That allowed her the freedom to move around but kept her in the yard.  However, my neighbor had a cat and this cat would saunter slowly along the top rail if my fence and tease Christy.  It would always be just out of reach.  Used to drive Christy mad.

Christy chained

I don’t remember why, but one day I repositioned the ring to which Christy was tethered.  I moved it over ten feet or so.  The next day the cat came along the fence.  Christy, enraged, lunged at the cat which was now reachable because of the ring having been moved.  At the end of her leap, Christy snapped the chain, hit the fence, knocking a hole through it and dispatched the cat.  It wasn’t funny, but it was.  It reminded me of a cartoon in which a person runs through a wall making a hole in the shape of their silhouette.

I, of course, had to go to the neighbor and make amends.  But my other neighbor was concerned that the fence was not strong enough. They had children and were not too happy to have Christy living next door. It turned out the fence was rotten in several places.  It was likely thirty years old. Replacing it cost me over $4000.  Damn expensive cat!

When we left Long Beach for San Francisco I boarded Christy with a local kennel for what I expected to be a short stay, maybe two months.  But things did not come together as well as we hoped and two months stretched into five.  Then I took a new position in Florida and five months stretched into nine. Christy was fast becoming the most expensive animal I had ever owned.

When we settled into West Palm Beach we retrieved Christy.  She was very useful as a watch dog.  When someone approached the house she would come tearing to the front door barking.  She never did anything but she looked so intimidating!

Early on there were some men who were reported to be casing houses in our neighborhood, potential robbers.  They would come to the door and ask if you wanted your car washed or some such thing, while trying to get a sense of your property.  When they came to my door I  held Christy by the collar, jerking it back and forth to make it appear I was restraining her.  Never had any problems .

When we were ready to move into our home I was getting home owners insurance.  The agent and I were finishing up when he asked,  ”Oh, do you have a dog?”

“Yes, we do.”
“What kind is it?”
“Uh, It’s an  American Staffiture Terrier“
“Oh, OK.  That’s good.  Some people have , you know, something like a pit-bull.”

My West Palm Beach neighbor had cats.  Oh no!  I decided to have a dog run built in the back yard to insure Christy did not “go through the fence” again.  Had it installed by Sears, a sturdy run made of cyclone fencing.  When the workman was finishing up I asked, “Where is the roof?”

“What do you mean, a roof?  You don’t need a roof.  That would cost a lot more.”
“Well she might jump out.”
“Jump out!  That cage is 8 feet high.  She isn’t going to jump out of that”.

He left.  Thirty minutes later there was a terrific clap of thunder.  It sounded like it was directly overhead.  From standing still, Christy jumped out.

I put a roof on it.

Later, my vagabond life took me back to Arizona and Christy spent another couple of months in boarding.  By this time she was afflicted with arthritis and she responded to the dry heat of the desert.  She loved it.

Her final trip was to come back to West Palm Beach, Florida.  I don’t know how old she was when she died.  She was grown when she came into my life and we had her for fourteen years.  That is a lot for a large dog.  Just let it be said that I miss her.

****************************************

Books by Thomas L. Tribby Available
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Works on Paper

On The Waterfront

Impressions of Florida

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Waiting for Turn

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The Watched Shot

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Hello

If this is your first visit, welcome to Musings. If you have been here before, welcome back. Over time we are going to talk about many things: the past, the present, perhaps the future, travel, art, society and more. Wherever my musing takes me. I hope you will come along with me.

Click to check out my artwork

The Smoki

One of the great joys I experienced as a boy was an annual visit to my grandparents who lived in Prescott, Arizona.  Most of these visits were in the summer when school was out and that meant I was often in Prescott for the 4th of July and Frontier Days and the rodeo.

Bronc rider

smoki design

I was also there in August to view the Smoki Dances, which were spectacular, well-intentioned and politically incorrect.  I thought we could talk about them today.

frontier days

The Smoki, pronounced “smoke eye”, date back to 1921.  That year, Prescott Frontier Days Rodeo was broke and in dire need of money. A group of prominent businessmen and politicians decided to put on an “Indian” show in the hopes of bringing in more customers. Their show, billed “Way out West Show,” was a roaring success.

smoki snake dancers

They dressed in native attire, danced, beat drums, chanted and performed what appeared to be Native American rituals. The Smoki People were born. (In 1922, historian Sharlot Hall wrote a booklet, The Story of the Smoki People, a history of the fictitious tribe.)

The fake tribe’s popularity grew. The Smoki formed a women’s auxiliary, which took charge of costume design and fabrication. After two years as part of the Smoki, a woman could shed her “maiden” status and become a Smoki Squaw. Children also became involved and received costumes and wigs made of black yarn. The social aspect of the organization appealed to many, and, after a few years, most Prescott residents were affiliated in some way with the Smoki. Smoki was part history, Hollywood, social club and a who’s-who of Prescott society in the early years: Gail Gardner, Barry Goldwater and Grace Sparkes were members; and Sharlot Hall wrote a scathing editorial when a California newspaper criticized Smoki.

Even President Coolidge had contact with the Smoki.  He became an honorary member.   Here Coolidge is shown  on October 22, 1924, holding a ceremonial hat of the fictitious[127] Smoki Indians. On June 2, 1924, Coolidge signed the Indian Citizenship Act, which granted full U.S. citizenship to all American Indians, while permitting them to retain tribal land and cultural rights. However, the act was unclear on whether the federal government or the tribal leaders retained tribal sovereignty.

The Smoki people participated in parades as far away as Philadelphia spreading knowledge of the organization and its ceremonials.  A particularly famous member of the Smoki was Barry Goldwater who often served as an announcer at the shows.

smoki in Phoenix 1928

The exclusive club dominated Prescott’s social scene for the next 70 years.   The Smoki members were, for the most part, business people and could be recognized by distinctive, and discreet, tattoos on their left hands, three dots in the hollow between the index finger and the thumb.

Smoki Dancers and pueblo

Smoki historians say that even though the dances and performances may have started out as a money-making operation, their philosophy turned more lofty after they legally formed the Smoki group in 1923.

snake dancers

The shows were physically challenging due to the wide range of dances performed.  The annual snake dance was the signature performance but it was only one of many dances.  By the 1980’s, the Smoki had trouble recruiting younger members and, as a result, had increasing difficulty with staging a vigorous show.  Although audiences, predominantly white Anglo Saxons, loved the annual snake dance performed in “the dark moon of August,” some Native Americans, particularly the Hopi, were not amused.

The controversy and animosity between some tribes and the people of Prescott started in 1921. It’s simple,” said Donald Nelson of the Native American Advisory Council for the Smoki Museum. “The snake dance is very sacred to the snake clan. It’s a religion issue.” In 1990, a delegation from the Hopi reservation observed the show and decided to protest recognizing that the Smoki dance emphasized entertainment while their ceremony was very religious.  In 1991, in light of waning numbers to put on such elaborate performances and on the heels of a peaceful Hopi protest against the dances, the Smoki People disbanded.

With it passed a small piece of western history.

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Books by Thomas L. Tribby Available
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Works on Paper

On The Waterfront

Impressions of Florida

Limited Editions

**********************************************

Original Paintings available

Nocturnal Wait

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If this is your first visit, welcome to Musings. If you have been here before, welcome back. Over time we are going to talk about many things: the past, the present, perhaps the future, travel, art, society and more. Wherever my musing takes me. I hope you will come along with me.

Click to check out my artwork

In and Around Sedona

Times used to be. that like most artists, I needed to have a “day job” to get by.  For a time I was a trust officer for the Northern Trust Company of Arizona  responsible for business development in Arizona.  My territory was Phoenix and north.  I loved it.

vista

Being a westerner I like to drive and I like grand vistas and open land.  That pretty much describes northern Arizona.

At the beginning of my employment, I would spend a day a week in Prescott, Arizona.  Prescott was the first capital of the Arizona territory and is a significant community.  The first rodeo in what is now the United States  was held in Prescott, 1888,  and rodeo continues to be popular in the town.  Unfortunately, in years past, whoever was empowered to make the decision decided not to be part of the rodeo circuit because it offered prize money and promoted gambling.  So today, Prescott is not an important rodeo circuit town.  But, rodeo is still popular and the town holds a big rodeo over the Fourth of July, during Frontier Days.

rodeo

Back then, some time ago, the week before the rodeo  my lady friend and I decided we wanted to go but we discovered all the motels and hotels required at least a three-day stay.  I didn’t want to commit to that.  Fortuitously, at just this time I was talking by phone with a friend of mine, Jim, and grousing about not being able to get accommodations.  Jim said,

“Well, why don’t you come out to Paulden?  I bought the town and I got a  motel.”
“Wadda you mean you bought the town?”
“Well, I did.  I own the whole town now.”
“Well, where in the hell is Paulden?  Never heard of it.”
“Its about 25 miles north of Prescott, north of Chino Valley.”
“You have a motel?”
“Yes.”
“You have a room available?”
“Well, Lemme go see”, and he had me on hold about ten minutes.  When he came back on the line he confirmed that he did indeed have a room available and I booked it.

I figured 25 miles was close enough and we weren’t committed to three days.  So everything was copacetic.

Paulden AZ

The day we drove into Paulden I figured I might have misjudged.  Here is a view of downtown. The town consisted of two buildings, a general store-cafe-gas station combination and a motel.  The motel had four rooms, one of which had a door.  Hah “Lemmee go see” indeed!  What he was likely checking was if any room had a door.  That was my buddy Jim.  Had a good time just the same.

To the north east of Prescott is the town of Sedona and the red rock country.  When I was working the area it was less populated than today, but we had several affluent client’s there and would meet with them periodically.

One week I was taking with me our investment officer, Dick.  He had just moved to Arizona from Chicago.  We only had one appointment for the day so we had extra time.  I asked him if he would like me to take the back roads and let he see some of the countryside.  He said that would be fine.

So, first I took him to Prescott and gave him a mini-tour.  Then we headed out Prescott Valley toward Jerome, an old mining town, which is considered to be a ghost town.  About 100 people lived there at the time, but in its heyday the population topped 28,000.  The road from Prescott to there winds along the edge of Mingus Mountain and offers terrific views of valleys and wide vistas.

As we went along Dick looked green and very uncomfortable.  Finally, he said he was not used to mountains.  Chicago is flat.  He wasn’t much enjoying the ride.  Ho hum, when you are half way down the mountain you have to go the rest of the way.

jerome hotel

We saw a bit of Jerome.  Most of the abandoned buildings have been torn down because they were unsafe, but there remain a significant number of places to hold one’s interest.

The old high school remained.  My grandmother taught there in 1906.  When I was last in Jerome the school had been turned into artist’s studios, really nice space.  You can just see it in the upper right section of the photograph.  Notice, too, the panoramic view of the Verde Valley below.

Jerome high school on far point of land

After Jerome we headed for Sedona and our client via the Black Canyon Highway.  This avoided the more winding mountain roads.  It also allowed us to take two short side trips.

About half a mile off the highway is Montezuma Castle. Built by the Sinagua, northern cousins of the Hohokam, Montezuma Castle is a significant ruin between Phoenix and Flagstaff. It is  well preserved and has an interesting museum.  When I was a child, people were allowed to go through the ruin.  They cannot do that today because the complex is too fragile.  Still it is worth seeing.

At the base of Montezuma Castle

At the base of the cliff there is a river winding its way south.  It supplied the people life giving water.

Montezuma well

Then eleven miles up the road there is another ancient site, Montezuma Well.   Formed long ago by the collapse of a limestone cavern, over one million gallons of water a day flows continuously into the Well.

one-of-the-dwellings-at-montezuma-well

The ancient people built dwellings under the rim and they also built a large complex, now collapsed, on the level ground surrounding the well.

Both of these sites, Montezuma Castle and Montezuma Well are easily accessible, being just a short distance off the Black Canyon Highway.

moctezuma

Incidentally, these sites have nothing to do with the Aztec ruler.  His name actually was Moctezuma.   Some early settler just named them as such, assuming they were part of the Aztec Empire.

schnebly hill road

Eventually we met with our client in Sedona.  This area is one of the more spectacular in the State.  If you go there you should take a tour up Schnebly Hill Road.  This was a private road built by a farmer, Schnebly.  He wanted a shorter route to Flagstaff where he sold his produce.  The views are stunning.  When I was living in Arizona it was possible to take your car up it, dangerous but possible.  I believe that passage is restricted now and only licensed tours can use it.

sedona2

On our way home we passed a young woman walking along the road carrying two sacks of groceries.  She was miles from a town out in the middle of nowhere.  As we flew past,  we decided to turn around and offer her a ride.  We were not pressed for time.  So we made a u-turn.

She said she was going to Cornville.  Man, that was five or six miles up the road and she was walking, carrying groceries!  When we got to Cornville I could see it consisted of a gas station and a convenience store.  No homes close by.  I said

“You don’t live here.  Where do you live?  We can take you there”

“Well its up this way.”, she said pointing ahead to a dirt road.  Her house was back there about two miles!  As we went we were talking about the Indian ruins and how interesting it was.  When we reached her house she said, “If you are interested in indian ruins I heard there is one on top of that hill”.

She pointed across the road to a small hill, maybe seven stories high.    We decided to check it out before heading home to Phoenix.  So there we were, Dick and I, in three-piece suits and wingtips scrambling up this gravel covered dusty path to the top of the hill.

hilltop ruin

On top there was a ruin, mostly collapsed.  It looked something like this.  This was on someones property.  It was not part of a park system.  It was just there.  As we worked our way down the hill I reached down and picked up a handful of the gravel.  There was something strange about it.  Then I saw.  It was all pottery shards.  The whole path was strewn with broken pottery.

****************************************

Books by Thomas L. Tribby Available
Click on title below to preview

Works on Paper

On The Waterfront

Impressions of Florida

Limited Editions

**********************************************

Original Paintings available

Click to see

Click to see

click to see

If this is your first visit, welcome to Musings. If you have been here before, welcome back. Over time we are going to talk about many things: the past, the present, perhaps the future, travel, art, society and more. Wherever my musing takes me. I hope you will come along with me.

Click to check out my artwork

Croquet: You might like it

This week I am taking part in The Beach Club Invitational Croquet Tournament 2012.  This is a five-day event with games held at both the Beach Club in Palm Beach and at the National Croquet Center in West Palm Beach, Florida.  Contestants enter from around the country.

Beach Club courts

Naturally with this competition underway my focus is on croquet. It occurred to me that the game might be an interesting topic for my Musing.  So here we go.

Have you played croquet?  Most of us have played backyard croquet.  But to equate that to   the modern game is like comparing miniature golf to golf.  They are not the same animal.

Early popularity

vintage-croquet

Croquet was very popular in America in the late 1800′s.  My understanding is that it was the most popular amateur sport, much more popular than golf or tennis at the time. Unfortunately for Croquet, the sport was deemed licentious (you could occasionally see a lady’s ankles) by the Catholic Diocese in Boston and it was banned.  This rejection of the game spread to other areas in the country and in a relatively short period it nearly disappeared, except for back yard games.

In the 1920′s and 30′s it became popular with the Hollywood set and certain groups in the north-eastern part of the United States and Croquet Clubs began to be established again.  Today they are found countrywide and internationally, with the greatest number in the North East and Florida. In 1977  six Eastern clubs (including the Westhampton Mallet Club, Croquet Club of Bermuda, Green Gables Croquet Club, New York Croquet Club and Palm Beach Croquet Club) organized into the United States Croquet Association (USCA) , and adopted a new rule book for an American version of the six-wicket sport called American Rules croquet.  Prior to that time there were many local variations.

The rules have been standardized but there can still be variations in the physical nature of the game.  Court size can be an issue.   Many clubs must make due with the space they have available.  Our courts at the Beach Club are about 80% of the regulation size.  I have played on courts which are smaller than ours.

Golf vs. Croquet

Sometimes people compare croquet to golf, but they are very different games.

In golf a player is essentially playing against himself or herself trying to better his/her score.  And, they are playing against topography with water hazards, sand pits, rough areas, trees and uneven and often hidden terrain.  They use up to fourteen clubs, each angled to send the ball in a specific manner, whether distance or loft.

Croquet is very different.  The courts are expected to be perfectly level.  There are no hazards.  I have never heard of someone losing a ball .  The wickets are laid out in a uniform symmetrical pattern and the sequence of play is standard.

6-wicket court

Croquet mallet

The player has one club, called a mallet.  He must know how to hold it and where to strike the ball to accomplish the various shots used in the game: drive shot, stop shot, half roll, 2/3 roll, 3/4 roll, full roll, pass roll and jump shot.  The player must also  understand how to place the ball and where to strike the ball in order to send two balls at the same time to different court locations.

So the game is very different from golf.  But the paramount difference is the fact that in croquet one does not play against himself; one plays against an opponent.  It is very competitive.  The objective is to defeat the opponent.

That may sound strident, but it is done in a most genteel way.

Strength is not a telling advantage in croquet.  Skill is the defining issue.  Many of the people I play against are in their 80′s, a couple in their 90′s, and they play much better than I.   I’m a relatively new player and my skill level is not nearly as advanced as theirs. Men do not have an advantage over women because of size or strength.  Skill and strategy are what counts.  As a result many couples enjoy the game on an equal footing.

croquet lesson

The Game

So how is the game played?

It is played as a game of Singles in which two players compete and each plays two balls in a turn.  Or, it is played as a game of Doubles in which two teams of two players compete, each player using one ball.

croquet balls

The balls are colored:   Blue, Red, Black and Yellow;  and,  are played in that order, Blue going first, Red second and so on.  In Singles, one player will play Blue and Black and the other player Red and Yellow.  In Doubles, each player plays a specific color and players playing Blue and Black make up one team and those playing Red and Yellow the other.

The objective is to send one’s ball(s) through more wickets, thus scoring the wickets,  than your opponent is able to do.  The wicket is rectangular and normally has an opening 1/16 of an inch wider than the ball.  Here is a picture of the equipment used in play, including a wicket.

Modern_croquet_equipment

In the course of play, when a player sends his ball through a wicket he earns a second shot, a continuation shot.  If the player causes his ball to strike another ball, he earns two more shots.  By skillful play, it is possible to send your ball through a wicket, earning a second shot.  Using the extra shot you may cause your ball to strike another ball, earning two more shots.  You may use these extra shots to put your ball through your next wicket.  In that case you get an extra shot.  Your turn continues until you no longer have extra shots, because you either did not strike another ball or you did not make your next wicket.

Good players are able to use the combination of earned extra shots to move around the court, scoring a series of wickets.  It is similar to billiards in this way, though played on a lawn.  The game ends when one person or team has gone through all the wickets or when a pre-set time limit is reached.  In the latter case, whoever has scored the most wickets is the winner.

Complicating the play is the issue of deadness.  It is possible to earn extra shots by sending your ball into another ball, for example Blue into Red.  But, Blue may not strike Red again before Blue goes through its next wicket.  It is said to be ”Dead on Red”.  If you are at a game you will see a board revealing different colors.  This is called a Deadness Board and it is used to keep track of which balls are not allowed to come into contact until their next wicket is scored.

spectator area at croquet

Notice to the left of the chairs the Deadness Board.  Since no game is in play it is blank.  Now examine this board.

deadness board

This board would indicate that the Red ball has hit the Yellow ball and the Black ball has hit the Red ball.  Red is dead on yellow and black is dead on red.  They may not hit the ball they are dead on again before they pass through their next wicket.  Occasionally a player will be “Three Ball Dead”.   This means that his ball has hit each of the other balls in play and still not gone through his wicket.  That player is distinctly handicapped.  The opponent can roll his/her ball right out in the open and know the Three Ball Dead cannot do a thing.

So that is a short overview of Croquet.  I started playing two years ago.  I play about twice a week and I am now better than a beginner, but not much.  But I find it a lot of fun and I have met a whole new society of people.  They are welcoming and social.

National Croquet Center

I encourage you to look into the game.  In my neck of the woods we are lucky to have the National Croquet Center, 700 Florida Mango Road  West Palm Beach, FL 33406-4461            (561) 478-2300       www.croquetnational.com .  They offer free introductory lessons on the weekends.  Give them a call.  If you are not in this area, I would recommend you contact a local Croquet Club and inquire if they provide instructions.  Its a game you can play for years.

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