Mary Wilding is the daughter of Clem and Dot Wilding. Mary and her husband, Ed McPherson, live on the same farm in rural Missouri where her parents lived from 1950 until near the end of their lives. Mary and Ed’s son, Christopher Wilding, was the driving force in relocating the family to the farm during his high school years. Ed quickly adapted to rural life and doggedly persists in caring for the land, while living in this atmosphere gives Mary a constant source of treasured memories. Chris is a talented senior at MSU, majoring in art with a focus on drawing. He was less than two when his grandpa died, but, once again, the artistic seed had been sown. Mary’s older brother, John, with his wife, Mae, own the Red Barn Craft Shop and Wilding Museum in Hermann, Missouri.

Work is underway on a documentary/picture book of the life and art of Clem Wilding.

 

 

 

 

With pocketknife and brush, he captured the essence of art and nature.

Though my father only attended grade school, he subscribed to and read Audubon, Smithsonian, Missouri Historical Society, and other magazines that were atypical for Berger, Missouri.

He knew the bluebird, kingbird, or red wing blackbird, but just wanted to watch it—to study the shape, the coloring, the size, or the way it moved.

When we returned home after school, dinner was always on the table, and he had new birds to show us that he made.

I remember orders from a wealthy man in St. Paul, Minnesota, who would order five assorted birdies for $10. These $10 bills came several times a week for a while.

Painting came naturally; he had already painted many Missouri River valley landscapes.

I would sit with him for hours. It was very soothing and comforting when he worked. He would talk and I would too.

Artist Clem Wilding started a mail-order business in the 1950s, selling five assorted birds for $10. Courtesy of Mary Wilding.

My father, Clem Wilding, lived from December 23, 1909, until May 17, 1989. From 1954 until his death, he replicated the birds and animals he observed in his rural surroundings. With pocketknife and brush, he captured the essence of art and nature.

Clem Wilding was kind and gentle. He rarely raised his voice. Born outside of a small town in rural Missouri, he was the second youngest of a family of 10 children in a family that primarily spoke German. His grandfather Eimart, who was a wooden shoe carver in Germany, emigrated from Germany in the mid-1800s. Eimart died in 1904 at 82, five years before my father was born. Though the “carving seed” was certainly planted, it was in grade school that Clem had a teacher who noticed and encouraged his artistic talent.

		Clem Wilding, mid-1950s. Courtesy of Mary Wilding.

Clem’s early life is pretty well documented with a journal he wrote in his seventies. In this journal he wrote about how he met my mother. My mother was an elementary school teacher, often teaching all eight grades, when her dad moved the family to Berger from St. Thomas, Missouri, in 1937. Next is an excerpt from my father’s journal, which I have copied verbatim.

“I met Dorothy (Dot) Groner one Sunday afternoon when Clarence Speckhals and I went out to sell some insurance for the Catholic Knights of America. We were nominated to do that from the Branch 1066 at Berger where we were first members. We had decided to see the Groners who had a number of children still at home so we decided to call on them. We introduced our selves and they showed us real hospitality. They moved to the vicinity just shortly before that and had not met many people yet. We stayed all afternoon and had some nice discussions and sang songs. Theresa, the oldest girl was home. She played the piano while they all joined in and sang songs. We forgot to talk about insurance. I started to date one of the girls that summer, but she was 10 years younger than I and intended to go to college so we never got serious. Then one evening the young folks from the parish had a little party at school when Dot and I decided on a date. We dated for about 6 months when we decided to become engaged to get married. We were both very much in love.”

My mother was a full-time housewife after they married.

Though my father only attended grade school, he subscribed to and read Audubon, Smithsonian, Missouri Historical Society, and other magazines that were atypical for Berger, Missouri. He was, for the most part, an armchair traveler. For a honeymoon, though, my parents went to Colorado. Following is another excerpt about my parent’s honeymoon trip.

Bird carving by Clem Wilding. Courtesy of Mary Wilding.

“We carried army cots and a gasoline tinners heater. It worked similar to a blow torch only bigger. It had a top you could set a pan or pot on and have hot water in minutes. We did all our own cooking, bought the groceries at local stores and prepared them that way. We always tried to find a country school to rest and prepare our meals. Those were all schools small district one room schools consisting of an acre or less there was usually a play ground (plain), a cistern or well for water, outside toilets—everything we needed for a few hours of rest and prepare meals and also stay overnight. We always stayed out under the stars. The days in August were always clear and warm. We saw a lot of nice farmland and towns. We came through Dodge City, Kansas and Garden City, Kansas and finally arrived at Colorado Springs. We got our mail there and mailed some letters home. It was arranged that if the family would want to keep in touch it would be Colorado Springs General Delivery from there we did a lot of traveling in the Rocky Mts. We spent some time in Denver, Colorado, went to Mount Lookout to see Buffalo Bill’s grave and Museum, visited some Indian Colonies that made things to sell to tourists. We went to Cheyenne Wyoming which was a very colorful town.”

I think the following excerpt particularly describes the vision he often exhibited during his lifetime.

			The Missouri River at night. Clem painted this scene for his daughter, Mary, in 1986. Courtesy of Mary Wilding.

“Someone told us that a small part of Western Iowa, a little of Missouri and Eastern Nebraska was the Garden spot of the world. Every farm was like a calendar picture.”

When I later traveled through that area, I would have described it as boring and repetitious.

Most of my early memories took place on or near the farm where we lived. Frequently, on our 7/10-mile private road, Daddy would stop the car at any point (usually on the way home). Then, my mother, brother and I would all stretch to see where he was looking. My brother John and I would be hanging over the seat looking out the front window. Then we would study some songbird, a woodpecker, or maybe a hawk that was resting on a limb, the fence line, or the ground. Sometimes, my father would memorize the markings to identify it later in Roger Tory Peterson’s Field Guide to the Birds. Other times, he knew the bluebird, kingbird, finch, or red wing blackbird, but just wanted to watch it—to study the shape, the coloring, the size, or the way it moved. Studying this elusive feathered life that is free was another of my father’s characteristics that I have always treasured.

Until I was five, my father painted and carved for fun. He made his livelihood primarily by farming. Then, like many people who change careers, something happened to make it a less than ideal lifestyle. He got malaria from mosquito bites in the Missouri River bottom. He was ill and weak for a long enough time that he turned his focus elsewhere.

Three chipmunks sitting on a base. Courtesy of Mary Wilding.

After my parents were married about 15 years, my mother started teaching again and my father started carving birds. He visualized a life where he could do what he enjoyed and that would not overly tax him physically in the same way that raising crops had.

My mother only made $100 a month, but in the mid-fifties it was enough to sustain us with the cows, chickens, and garden we had, while he established his new business. When we returned home after school (my mother didn’t drive so he drove us the one and a half miles each way to and from school), dinner was always on the table, and he had new birds to show us that he made. We soon gained familiarity with golden-crowned kinglets, parula warblers, white-crowned sparrows, barn owls, peregrine falcons, pileated woodpeckers and all the others he worked to perfect.

Soon after Clem began carving (maybe even the first year), he advertised in the Audubon magazine and started selling birds all over the United States with his mail-order business. Before long, he was also written up in local papers, and orders were placed in person, by phone, or by mail. Mail time was an especially anticipated time. I remember orders from a wealthy man in St. Paul, Minnesota, who would order five assorted birdies for $10. These $10 bills came several times a week for a while. They were gifts for his friends and family. Soon, the demand forced a change to four assorted birds for $10, and within a few years all birds were sold singly and not many for $10. This Minnesota gentleman, however, with his early orders, kept my father carving and continuing to believe that he had indeed found his calling in life.

Clem’s carving process was one he painstakingly developed. He used seasoned white pine wood and sawed out the shape of a bird with a band saw, after he drew the pattern on from a cardboard template he made. The bird was laid out “with the grain” before sawing, as one direction carves easier than the other. So most of the carving was done in that direction.

				This carving of a great-horned owl, named Wisdom, accompanied Mary Wilding to college in 1966. Courtesy of Mary Wilding.

Small birds, like hummingbirds, he would carve entirely with a pocketknife until they had the correct shape. It was especially tedious to keep the beak and any topknots intact. Larger birds, such as water birds and birds of prey, he first “roughed out” using an electric sander. He had the motor mounted on a backless chair and used a disk sander. He would move the mounted sander outside because the wood particles would go everywhere. Most of the time, if it was a mild day (and not Sunday), even in winter, he would rough out birds. After the body and any other accessible parts were bird shaped, he would carve with the pocketknife the detailed parts around the head, tail, and wings.

After all the shaping was done, the birds needed to be fine-sanded with several grades of rolled-up sandpaper. By the time I completed grade school, my mother stopped teaching. Then she could free him from many of the domestic duties he shouldered while she taught. She also did much of the fine sanding. She spent hours with him, making sure the birds were smooth and all the carving or rough sanding marks were removed. When the bird was complete, he mounted it on a piece of driftwood or other suitable base to enhance the overall appearance.

Dot and Clem Wilding in 1988. Courtesy of Mary Wilding.

The mounting process included drilling and forcing wire legs into the bird. Next he drilled into the piece of wood chosen for the mounting. He would use appropriate-size brads or nails with the heads removed to make the typical three front toes and the one toe in back. Liquid solder would form the leg to foot joint once the bird was attached.

Painting came naturally; he had already painted many Missouri River valley landscapes. For the birds, he used good-quality oil colors and expensive brushes. While the white base coat was still wet, he added the colors. A bird was painted all in one setting. He would reference Peterson’s Field Guide to the Birds or John James Audubon’s bird books, especially when painting.

This was a career he never tired of, and he continued to carve and paint until his death in 1989 when he was 79 years old. It was very hard for my mother to notify people that the birds they still wanted to add to their collections would not be completed.

These are a few of my memories. The fondest memory, however, is when he would work in the basement by a large window where there was excellent natural light. He never painted after dark with a lamp. I would sit with him for hours. It was very soothing and comforting when he worked. He would talk and I would too. I would crochet, embroider, or maybe paint and carve a little. I know my brother, John, also has many fond memories, including one in which they made a more than 4-foot-tall Blue Marlin when a snowstorm closed the schools.