Rides, ramblings and rants on a motorcycle.
- We are scientists, too!
1.12.2015,7:56 PM
Fort Craig, New Mexico
Last weekend was cultural history time for me.
Visited Fort Craig for a day. A more thorough post will be uploaded later in the week. For now....
Visited Fort Craig for a day. A more thorough post will be uploaded later in the week. For now....
Labels: Adventures, history, New Mexico, photography
9.22.2013,2:01 PM
The Man of Two Canyons
The Man of Two Canyons
I grew up in a moderate sized WASP-ish community southeast of Buffalo, NY. I never really felt at 'home' there unless I was in the woods, in the creek, or out in the meadows. My parents had a hard time getting me in the house; I preferred the strawbale fort, the tree house, even the igloos I made. I would drag my sleeping bag outside and sleep on the lawn, gazing at the stars and watch the stories of the constellations. I skipped school, even as a teenager, to skate the frozen pond in the back or explore the nearby large creek. I was a nerd and wall flower in school, preferring to read and write instead of do the social clicky things with my classmates. I 'escaped' shortly after graduating from high school. And returned 42 years later; this summer.
My favorite memories of growing up were our family vacations to the Adirondacks, the Finger Lakes, Alleghany mountains, and the various parks. One of my favorites, as well as my Dad's, was Letchworth State Park. Decades later, both my Dad and sister would return to live nearby, preferring rural life to the urban sprawl. And this is where I have spent my summer.
An earlier post depicted Letchworth Park, but it does little to truly describe the landscape. And barely touches on the cultural history other than mentioning the Seneca Nation connection. Ironically, I was to learn this summer that this area was an influence on another person, one who shared my love for the natural history and life both here and in the West.
In 1834, John Wesley Powell was born in the village of Mount Morris. Anyone familiar with Utah and Arizona landscape and history will recognize the name. Powell's most famous mark on history is as leader of the expedition that explored and charted the Green and Colorado Rivers, and the Grand Canyon. Powell was also later to become the second director of the US Geological Survey, professor of geology at Illinois Wesleyan University and Illinois State University, as well as director of several several major scientific institutions (e.g. the Smithsonian, etc). Perhaps where he was born and spent the first years of his life was a lasting influence on his career interests and path.
The fourth of nine children, John was born when many town and villages were beginning to grow and prosper. It was also a time when outside influences were pushing their fingers into local communities, such as religious, social and political entities. European immigrants were flooding ports of entry and testing the 'land waters', so to speak. It was more common for immigrants to be migrants than to land on one specific location and plant their roots. The 'new' Americans usually moved from settlement to village and on, changing their locations sometimes every couple of years. The Powells were no exception to this.
The decades leading to the onset of the Civil War were long brewing with conflicting ideals and morals before they came to a head. Joseph, a poor Methodist clergyman, and his wife, Mary, had emigrated to America from England in 1830. Joseph joined the anti-slavery movement after immigrating, partly through the influence of John Wesley, a founder of Methodism. Like many Methodists, Joseph was an Abolitionist and joined the Liberty party.
Joseph Powell supervised the construction of the Methodist Church in Mount Morris, and the family lived in the parsonage next door. Although the church has since been replaced with a more modern structure, the parsonage is still standing and now serves as a residence, and sandwiched between two churches (the Methodist church is in the background).
Interestingly, there are five churches forming a tight cluster in
this neighborhood (the street is named Chapel Street for a reason). One
is characteristic of the early 1900's: wood clapboard siding and single
steeple. Another is very distinctive and reminiscent of southwest
architectural influence (see below). You can guess which structure I
prefer.....
Because of Reverend Joseph's profession as a clergyman, the family moved often. The slavery issues prompted Joseph Powell to leave the Methodist Episcopal Church and became an ordained minister for the Wesleyan Methodist Church. His vigorous stand against slavery was met with hostility by many of the townspeople. For both of these reasons, the family left Mount Morris and moved to Castile, a small community on the eastern shore of Silver Lake, and across the lake from where I sit at this moment typing this.
Joseph and Mary had another son, William Bramwell Powell, who made his own mark in history as a prominent teacher and also a member of several scientific and social science institutions. William was an ardent supporter of enabling education to all children and incorporating the fundamentals of education as a learning experience rather than dictated.
Joseph and Mary Powell had an enormous impact on their children and their pursuits throughout their lives. According to one obituary, Joseph "had a strong will, deep earnestness, and indomitable courage, while his wife, Mary Dean, with similar traits possessed also remarkable tact and practicality. Both were English born, the mother well educated, and were always leaders in the social and educational life of every community where they dwelt. Both were intensely American in their love and admiration of the civil institutions of the United States and both were strenuously opposed to slavery, which was flourishing in America when they arrived in 1830."
Because of their strong view, the Powell family experienced persecution and community ridicule. Joseph was known to "stand on the steps of the courthouse and denounce the slave owners, in the midst of a community full of southern sympathizers." On the other hand, Joseph was also an avid naturalist, teaching his sons about known science of the natural world, how to be keen observers, and passed along a restlessness that stayed with John Powell throughout his years.
Landscapes such as the immense Genesee River gorge and the lakes in their backyards may have had a lasting impression upon the Powell brothers. However, in addition to the landscapes where John grew up, was the strong influence of his parents' naturalism. Historian Curtis Hinsley explains, " I would say that the key formative influence on Powell is the inheritance of natural theology from his father and his mother, both; the belief that the study of the natural world is a way of studying God, of studying God's creation; and thereby seeing the face of God. I think in his later life this element is subdued, it is muted, but that the face of God is always an element in Powell's science, that he inherits this from his Methodist childhood and he carries it with him, although he must put it in new form, in order to distinguish himself from his father and his father's beliefs, or behaviors, and separate himself from that, but at the same time, carry that on. I believe that it is that inheritance, that legacy of natural theology that is most important in Powell."
His family moved again, to Ohio, Wisconsin and then Illinois. Throughout John Wesley Powell's childhood, he was more comfortable out in nature exploring the landscapes, collecting plants and creatures, observing and learning the natural sciences. Later, he would spend three months hiking around Wisconsin. He also retained an avid interest and love of rivers. He rowed up and down the Ohio, Illinois and Mississippi Rivers, which precipitated his ultimate adventure on the Green and Colorado Rivers.
After the Civil War, in which he lost his arm, Powell lead the first expedition to travel by boat down the Green and Colorado Rivers. In 1869, he and ten men navigate these rivers and through the Grand Canyon for three months. He repeated the expedition in 1871–1872 with resulting maps and papers, including a book which he authored about his adventures.
After several bouts of ill health, John moved to his summer home in Haven, Maine, with his wife and daughter. There he died on September 23, 1902, of a cerebral hemorrhage. He was only 68 years old, and nearly penniless.
Tomorrow is the 111th anniversary of his death.
Many are familiar with Lake Powell, and other landmarks named after him. But to many, including myself, his legacy is this:
"We've got to be responsive to places, we've got to know them and know them well. That, I think is the most important of Powell's legacies. But, also I think he had a sense that, again very relevant today, that the way in which we build on the land and settle the place has consequences for our institutions."
Like John Powell, the natural landscapes have formed and still form who I am, also influencing my my career path as a biologist. And like Powell's restless nature, I too, love to explore them as much as I can. Especially on a motorcycle.
I grew up in a moderate sized WASP-ish community southeast of Buffalo, NY. I never really felt at 'home' there unless I was in the woods, in the creek, or out in the meadows. My parents had a hard time getting me in the house; I preferred the strawbale fort, the tree house, even the igloos I made. I would drag my sleeping bag outside and sleep on the lawn, gazing at the stars and watch the stories of the constellations. I skipped school, even as a teenager, to skate the frozen pond in the back or explore the nearby large creek. I was a nerd and wall flower in school, preferring to read and write instead of do the social clicky things with my classmates. I 'escaped' shortly after graduating from high school. And returned 42 years later; this summer.
My favorite memories of growing up were our family vacations to the Adirondacks, the Finger Lakes, Alleghany mountains, and the various parks. One of my favorites, as well as my Dad's, was Letchworth State Park. Decades later, both my Dad and sister would return to live nearby, preferring rural life to the urban sprawl. And this is where I have spent my summer.
An earlier post depicted Letchworth Park, but it does little to truly describe the landscape. And barely touches on the cultural history other than mentioning the Seneca Nation connection. Ironically, I was to learn this summer that this area was an influence on another person, one who shared my love for the natural history and life both here and in the West.
In 1834, John Wesley Powell was born in the village of Mount Morris. Anyone familiar with Utah and Arizona landscape and history will recognize the name. Powell's most famous mark on history is as leader of the expedition that explored and charted the Green and Colorado Rivers, and the Grand Canyon. Powell was also later to become the second director of the US Geological Survey, professor of geology at Illinois Wesleyan University and Illinois State University, as well as director of several several major scientific institutions (e.g. the Smithsonian, etc). Perhaps where he was born and spent the first years of his life was a lasting influence on his career interests and path.
The fourth of nine children, John was born when many town and villages were beginning to grow and prosper. It was also a time when outside influences were pushing their fingers into local communities, such as religious, social and political entities. European immigrants were flooding ports of entry and testing the 'land waters', so to speak. It was more common for immigrants to be migrants than to land on one specific location and plant their roots. The 'new' Americans usually moved from settlement to village and on, changing their locations sometimes every couple of years. The Powells were no exception to this.
The decades leading to the onset of the Civil War were long brewing with conflicting ideals and morals before they came to a head. Joseph, a poor Methodist clergyman, and his wife, Mary, had emigrated to America from England in 1830. Joseph joined the anti-slavery movement after immigrating, partly through the influence of John Wesley, a founder of Methodism. Like many Methodists, Joseph was an Abolitionist and joined the Liberty party.
Joseph Powell supervised the construction of the Methodist Church in Mount Morris, and the family lived in the parsonage next door. Although the church has since been replaced with a more modern structure, the parsonage is still standing and now serves as a residence, and sandwiched between two churches (the Methodist church is in the background).
Because of Reverend Joseph's profession as a clergyman, the family moved often. The slavery issues prompted Joseph Powell to leave the Methodist Episcopal Church and became an ordained minister for the Wesleyan Methodist Church. His vigorous stand against slavery was met with hostility by many of the townspeople. For both of these reasons, the family left Mount Morris and moved to Castile, a small community on the eastern shore of Silver Lake, and across the lake from where I sit at this moment typing this.
Joseph and Mary had another son, William Bramwell Powell, who made his own mark in history as a prominent teacher and also a member of several scientific and social science institutions. William was an ardent supporter of enabling education to all children and incorporating the fundamentals of education as a learning experience rather than dictated.
Joseph and Mary Powell had an enormous impact on their children and their pursuits throughout their lives. According to one obituary, Joseph "had a strong will, deep earnestness, and indomitable courage, while his wife, Mary Dean, with similar traits possessed also remarkable tact and practicality. Both were English born, the mother well educated, and were always leaders in the social and educational life of every community where they dwelt. Both were intensely American in their love and admiration of the civil institutions of the United States and both were strenuously opposed to slavery, which was flourishing in America when they arrived in 1830."
Because of their strong view, the Powell family experienced persecution and community ridicule. Joseph was known to "stand on the steps of the courthouse and denounce the slave owners, in the midst of a community full of southern sympathizers." On the other hand, Joseph was also an avid naturalist, teaching his sons about known science of the natural world, how to be keen observers, and passed along a restlessness that stayed with John Powell throughout his years.
Landscapes such as the immense Genesee River gorge and the lakes in their backyards may have had a lasting impression upon the Powell brothers. However, in addition to the landscapes where John grew up, was the strong influence of his parents' naturalism. Historian Curtis Hinsley explains, " I would say that the key formative influence on Powell is the inheritance of natural theology from his father and his mother, both; the belief that the study of the natural world is a way of studying God, of studying God's creation; and thereby seeing the face of God. I think in his later life this element is subdued, it is muted, but that the face of God is always an element in Powell's science, that he inherits this from his Methodist childhood and he carries it with him, although he must put it in new form, in order to distinguish himself from his father and his father's beliefs, or behaviors, and separate himself from that, but at the same time, carry that on. I believe that it is that inheritance, that legacy of natural theology that is most important in Powell."
His family moved again, to Ohio, Wisconsin and then Illinois. Throughout John Wesley Powell's childhood, he was more comfortable out in nature exploring the landscapes, collecting plants and creatures, observing and learning the natural sciences. Later, he would spend three months hiking around Wisconsin. He also retained an avid interest and love of rivers. He rowed up and down the Ohio, Illinois and Mississippi Rivers, which precipitated his ultimate adventure on the Green and Colorado Rivers.
After the Civil War, in which he lost his arm, Powell lead the first expedition to travel by boat down the Green and Colorado Rivers. In 1869, he and ten men navigate these rivers and through the Grand Canyon for three months. He repeated the expedition in 1871–1872 with resulting maps and papers, including a book which he authored about his adventures.
After several bouts of ill health, John moved to his summer home in Haven, Maine, with his wife and daughter. There he died on September 23, 1902, of a cerebral hemorrhage. He was only 68 years old, and nearly penniless.
Tomorrow is the 111th anniversary of his death.
Many are familiar with Lake Powell, and other landmarks named after him. But to many, including myself, his legacy is this:
"We've got to be responsive to places, we've got to know them and know them well. That, I think is the most important of Powell's legacies. But, also I think he had a sense that, again very relevant today, that the way in which we build on the land and settle the place has consequences for our institutions."
Like John Powell, the natural landscapes have formed and still form who I am, also influencing my my career path as a biologist. And like Powell's restless nature, I too, love to explore them as much as I can. Especially on a motorcycle.
,11:08 AM
A Man of Two Countries (Mount Morris, NY)
The Man of Two Countries
I did not know until browsing a book while drinking coffee at a cafe that nearby to where I sat was the birthplace of a famous naturalist and explorer. Since I am fascinated by history, I decided to investigate this a little more. As it turned out, this town has birthed several historical figures. The first influential figure was not born there, nor lived there, but his (and his son's) history is important to not only the town, but the entire Western New York.
On the edge of the Genesee River and Letchworth State Park sits a small community: Mount Morris. Like most towns, it has had several names. Because the original settlement sits on a hill, that geographical attribute has been a running influence on all it's names: Allen's Hill, Richmond Hill, and later, Mount Morris. So where does the 'Morris' derive from?
Let's start near the beginning. I add this simply because it is in contrast to historical time in the Western US. However, the historical twists and turns are a running pattern throughout the history of this entire country. As I mentioned previously, this land was home to the Seneca Nation, and the edges of the gorge cut by the river was popular for hunting and camping for many of the Iroquois Confederacy nations. But it was the favorite and sacred land especially of the Senecas.
During the 1700's, when Europeans began pressuring the native people for acquisition of native land, the Senecas, like all the Iroquois nations, were forced west. Not without a fight. But that's another story. (I hightly recommend watching the series, 'We Shall Remain'. The first episode provides a background for history of this area.)Regardless, as the Native peoples were forced west, the Europeans and their descendents swarmed behind them building settlements.
Around the time of the American Revolution, settlers began scattering into the countryside to organize and build small tight communities: villages. And this location was prime because of access to all the resources required to make a living and provide: water, trees, good soil, etc.
During 1784 the locals gave their village a name. Which, as usual in the timeline of communities, changed several times. I've discovered a pattern in that the individual that owns the most land, or the most money, usually bestows the first name, or changes thereafter, until a stronger collective says, "Hey, we want this name instead of your name!" In this case, a local named Ebenezer "Indian" Allen (who was given hundreds of acres of the original territory holdings) chose both early names (Allen and Richmond). Of course, a later figure influenced the name that remains today.
In 1835, the village and township was incorporated and named after the then current dominant figure: English-born Robert Morris, who financed the American Revolution, signed the Declaration of Independence, the Articles of Confederation, and the United States Constitution. Wow, an active fella he was. Historical accounts claim he was the most influential man next to George Washington, although that bit of information seems to have dwindled through the centuries.
Morris made his fortune in shipping and trading. His company was active in slave trading until it was politically unfashionable, where then he denounced slavery and jumped on the anti-slave bandwagon in the northeast. He also made his money in acquiring vast tracts of land in Pennsylvania and New York. He was for a time the richest man in America. And died broke.
He had feet in both sides of the British colony, but put more weight on his American independence foot during the Tea Party, which leveled a heavy tax on tea shipped to the rapidly growing North American colonies. Since Morris had many 'tea ships', this did not sit well with him. He began smuggling weapons from France, along with information on British Navy doings, to the fledgling Continental Congress. Yet Morris also voted against the Congress' move for independence.
In 1791, the state of Massachusetts, which held vast territories in Western NY, sold 3,750,000 acres west of the Genesee River to Morris for $333,333.33 (who wonders how that figure originated? Over beers?). Morris quickly divided and sold parcels to companies, other states, and even other countries (such as Holland). However, he kept 500,000 acres (a 12 mile-wide strip along the east side of the lands, from the Pennsylvania border to Lake Ontario). This later became known as The Morris Reserve. Major trading routes were established along this strip, and contained some of the best hunting and meeting grounds for the Native peoples, who did not relinquish their rights without fights (this is where Morris' son, Thomas, made his history).
The lands around Mount Morris were sold to settlers. According to one source, "It was suggested that these lands were sold at unfairly low prices to friends of the Morris estate, in an attempt to create something akin to an oligarchical rule by landowners in the area." Meanwhile, much of the settled area west of the Genesee River was called the Town of Leicester in the late 1700's. As small satellite settlements were established, they broke off from Leicester and acquired their own names and identity. Mount Morris was one of them. Robert Morris died in 1806, in Philadelphia, after successive financial failures, prison confinement, and ill health. But his legacy continues on here.
In 1794 General William Augustus Mills settled on the land bordering the gorge of the Genesee River and built a log cabin for he and his wife. As his family and land holdings grew, he became influential with the local Seneca native people (whom called Mills 'Big Kettle'). Mills founded and named the town of Mount Morris to honor Robert Morris in 1818 (later being incorporated in 1835). Acquiring 1,000 acres in and around the town, he served as the first justice of the peace and as town supervisor for 20 years. He had a brick mansion built, which still stands on Main Street and serves as a museum and houses the local historical commission. (seen in the background in photo below)
Today the town is a brimming attraction for tourists and locals that live near and visit Letchworth State Park and the nearby Finger Lakes. Several of the original buildings remain, having been restored to host shops and cafes. I found a delightful indoor/outdoor cafe that served delicious soup and coffee. And a neat little antique shop that is also an outlet for local artists. I fell in love with this enormous carved wolf, which would have found its way to Texas had I the funds to buy it.
A few decades after the town and village were founded the man that wrote the American Pledge of Allegiance (1855) was born. Just a year before the small town was incorporated, another historical figure was born that was highly influenced by his first years growing up on the edges of the Genesee River gorge and nearby lakes: John Wesley Powell.
I did not know until browsing a book while drinking coffee at a cafe that nearby to where I sat was the birthplace of a famous naturalist and explorer. Since I am fascinated by history, I decided to investigate this a little more. As it turned out, this town has birthed several historical figures. The first influential figure was not born there, nor lived there, but his (and his son's) history is important to not only the town, but the entire Western New York.
On the edge of the Genesee River and Letchworth State Park sits a small community: Mount Morris. Like most towns, it has had several names. Because the original settlement sits on a hill, that geographical attribute has been a running influence on all it's names: Allen's Hill, Richmond Hill, and later, Mount Morris. So where does the 'Morris' derive from?
Let's start near the beginning. I add this simply because it is in contrast to historical time in the Western US. However, the historical twists and turns are a running pattern throughout the history of this entire country. As I mentioned previously, this land was home to the Seneca Nation, and the edges of the gorge cut by the river was popular for hunting and camping for many of the Iroquois Confederacy nations. But it was the favorite and sacred land especially of the Senecas.
During the 1700's, when Europeans began pressuring the native people for acquisition of native land, the Senecas, like all the Iroquois nations, were forced west. Not without a fight. But that's another story. (I hightly recommend watching the series, 'We Shall Remain'. The first episode provides a background for history of this area.)Regardless, as the Native peoples were forced west, the Europeans and their descendents swarmed behind them building settlements.
Around the time of the American Revolution, settlers began scattering into the countryside to organize and build small tight communities: villages. And this location was prime because of access to all the resources required to make a living and provide: water, trees, good soil, etc.
During 1784 the locals gave their village a name. Which, as usual in the timeline of communities, changed several times. I've discovered a pattern in that the individual that owns the most land, or the most money, usually bestows the first name, or changes thereafter, until a stronger collective says, "Hey, we want this name instead of your name!" In this case, a local named Ebenezer "Indian" Allen (who was given hundreds of acres of the original territory holdings) chose both early names (Allen and Richmond). Of course, a later figure influenced the name that remains today.
In 1835, the village and township was incorporated and named after the then current dominant figure: English-born Robert Morris, who financed the American Revolution, signed the Declaration of Independence, the Articles of Confederation, and the United States Constitution. Wow, an active fella he was. Historical accounts claim he was the most influential man next to George Washington, although that bit of information seems to have dwindled through the centuries.
Morris made his fortune in shipping and trading. His company was active in slave trading until it was politically unfashionable, where then he denounced slavery and jumped on the anti-slave bandwagon in the northeast. He also made his money in acquiring vast tracts of land in Pennsylvania and New York. He was for a time the richest man in America. And died broke.
He had feet in both sides of the British colony, but put more weight on his American independence foot during the Tea Party, which leveled a heavy tax on tea shipped to the rapidly growing North American colonies. Since Morris had many 'tea ships', this did not sit well with him. He began smuggling weapons from France, along with information on British Navy doings, to the fledgling Continental Congress. Yet Morris also voted against the Congress' move for independence.
In 1791, the state of Massachusetts, which held vast territories in Western NY, sold 3,750,000 acres west of the Genesee River to Morris for $333,333.33 (who wonders how that figure originated? Over beers?). Morris quickly divided and sold parcels to companies, other states, and even other countries (such as Holland). However, he kept 500,000 acres (a 12 mile-wide strip along the east side of the lands, from the Pennsylvania border to Lake Ontario). This later became known as The Morris Reserve. Major trading routes were established along this strip, and contained some of the best hunting and meeting grounds for the Native peoples, who did not relinquish their rights without fights (this is where Morris' son, Thomas, made his history).
The lands around Mount Morris were sold to settlers. According to one source, "It was suggested that these lands were sold at unfairly low prices to friends of the Morris estate, in an attempt to create something akin to an oligarchical rule by landowners in the area." Meanwhile, much of the settled area west of the Genesee River was called the Town of Leicester in the late 1700's. As small satellite settlements were established, they broke off from Leicester and acquired their own names and identity. Mount Morris was one of them. Robert Morris died in 1806, in Philadelphia, after successive financial failures, prison confinement, and ill health. But his legacy continues on here.
In 1794 General William Augustus Mills settled on the land bordering the gorge of the Genesee River and built a log cabin for he and his wife. As his family and land holdings grew, he became influential with the local Seneca native people (whom called Mills 'Big Kettle'). Mills founded and named the town of Mount Morris to honor Robert Morris in 1818 (later being incorporated in 1835). Acquiring 1,000 acres in and around the town, he served as the first justice of the peace and as town supervisor for 20 years. He had a brick mansion built, which still stands on Main Street and serves as a museum and houses the local historical commission. (seen in the background in photo below)
Today the town is a brimming attraction for tourists and locals that live near and visit Letchworth State Park and the nearby Finger Lakes. Several of the original buildings remain, having been restored to host shops and cafes. I found a delightful indoor/outdoor cafe that served delicious soup and coffee. And a neat little antique shop that is also an outlet for local artists. I fell in love with this enormous carved wolf, which would have found its way to Texas had I the funds to buy it.
A few decades after the town and village were founded the man that wrote the American Pledge of Allegiance (1855) was born. Just a year before the small town was incorporated, another historical figure was born that was highly influenced by his first years growing up on the edges of the Genesee River gorge and nearby lakes: John Wesley Powell.
6.27.2010,5:42 PM
Reconstructing History
Welcome. Walk inside, through the door and into a time long ago. Feel the coolness inside this rock structure, feel the solid cool rock under your feet, and smell the dampness in the air. Over a hundred years ago, men sweated year round inside here while shoveling mounds of bread dough into a giant oven. Look over at the end wall; see the large gaping hole in the wall, like a cave whose lips are blackened with smoke and heat? That was the oven; a large smoking monster fed with branches and tree trunks cut from around the area. Eight hundred loaves a day were baked in here, all summer and winter, to feed fort inhabitants.
Few windows adorn this rock building. They are small and the sills are wide. Look through the windows and there's not much to see. Naked trees, brown grass, a few other rock structures, blue sky, perhaps some other people. Remnants of a life that used to be here.
There is no longer any bread with its strong smell of yeast surrounding the inside. No fires burning inside the oven; no laughter and low chattering of men passing by. It's quit now and the only day visitors are scattered people in colorful clothes with cell phones in their hands, hurrying from point to point on their guide map. Only the local wildlife come to visit at night, no longer timid about what they may find nearby. Stillness of the night stubbornly and slowly relents to day without much intrusion by the outside world.
We think of history in many ways. How it is preserved - literally, visually, tactilely and even audibly- establishes some kind of connection with us. With our sense of the past, present and future. The limitation is that we cannot avoid looking at the past with our own perspective; ideas, expectations and judgements cultivated and learned in our own time. Thus, reconstruction of the past in any form requires careful consideration, research and evaluation.
Sometimes, as in the case of physical remains, the ultimate question is, should this be reconstructed? If so, how and to what extant? Some people of historical pursuits prefer to leave what remains of our past alone. Great American writer Henry James (1843 – 1916) commented during during a tour of historical places in France:
"I prefer in every case the ruined, however ruined, to the reconstructed, however splendid. What is left is more precious than what is added; the one is history, the other is fiction; and I like the former the better of the two - it is so much more romantic. One is positive, so far as it goes; the other fills up the void with things more dead than the void itself, inasmuch as they have never had life."
Two extreme examples of what Henry describes can be seen in two Texas forts: Forts Phantom Hill and Belknap. Only partial remains of Phantom Hill buildings can be see on the grounds. Except for one tiny reconstructed rock structure to provide an example of what they may have looked like, the fort is truly a phantom from time. Tall rock chimneys tease your imagination to fill in the remainder of the scenes in and around the area.
Belknap, on the other hand, has been almost completely reconstructed with stone buildings scattered around a common area. They are nice, but they remind me of the Lincoln logs I played with as a child, building what I imagined structures looked like in pioneer times. Belknap's stone structures could be Legos.
Fort Griffin has a nice mixture of structural remains and a few reconstructed buildings. A balance of imagination, offering a guide for pieces of the puzzle to put together. It challenges visitors to think. People these days need more of that.
6.16.2010,12:10 PM
Necessities Now and Then
We think we need many things. Yet at some stage -or several stages- of our lives we find we need less, but want too many things. Then again, every time I drive through the suburbs around here I wonder why families with 1.5 children and a dog need 3,000-square foot houses with roofs that look like giant conehead hats. Perhaps most of us don't really know the difference between 'want' and 'need'.
We do know, however, that we have three basic needs for survival: food, air and water. In our modern societies we have much more food than we need, judging from the growing incidence of obesity in this country (scientists refer to this as an 'obesogenic' enviornment). So let's rearrange the former: we need air, water, and less food than what we have access to.
Without air, we would die a quick death: humans take an average of 23,000 breaths every day, and the brain will die (or suffer irreversible damage) within 6-8 minutes without oxygen. Air is our first necessity.
Our second most important necessity is water. Roughly two-thirds of our bodies are composed of water, although not all is the sloshy water you tend to think of when you urinate or that swirls in your stomach. Water is mostly stored in muscle and body fat, but is also an important component of ligaments, tendons, blood and skin. Even your eyes.
Water is the most important nutrient for nearly all living things. As the body dehydrates, its blood becomes thicker and loses volume. This causes the heart to work harder and circulation of blood to be less efficient. Physical and mental abilities decrease and dizziness is often an early sign of dehydration. The end is not pretty.
Although several factors influence survival rates without water, temperature and humidity are the prominent environmental factors. For instance, at ambient (air) temperature of 90 degrees F, a body in shade can last about seven days with no water before death. That does not factor in movement, clothing, body weight, health status, etc. The bottom line is: we all need water.
Anyone that has visited West Texas, or any arid and semi-arid region, knows that the limiting factor for survival is water. Anyone that has stepped out of their vehicle, that is. An observant visitor can deduce water availability by noticing species of the vegetation: cacti, succulents, certain grasses and trees are indicators of water availability. These dry-climate inhabitants have evolved for efficiency of water, both use and storage. The only large mammal that excels living in dry climates is the camel. Even though camels originated on the North American continent, they were extinct here about three million years ago.
We don't see any camels in West Texas (unless you spot friend Doug Baum of the Texas Camel Corps trodding around Big Bend with his faithful dromadaries), although many were imported into southern region in the 1800's. In fact, we see fewer species of animals in these drier areas because of one major limiting factor: water availability.
Humans are no exception. Even since before colonial times, arid areas of the continent were avoided. They were considered 'No Man's Land'. The only reason most inhabited places exist in arid environments now is because modern technology facilitates extracting and pumping underground water or piping it overland from reservoirs often at great distances away. But the Law of Supply and Demand slowly begins to throw the balance towards decreasing water supplies while demand grows exponentially. At some point in the future, water may be worth more than what we can pay. As we shall see, perhaps more than any other environmental factor, water availability influenced human history in west Texas and will continue to do so.
Historically, people camped and settled near sources of water: rivers, lakes, streams and springs. They used water for drinking, navigation, bathing, washing and in processing food and other resources (lumber, etc). Thus nearly all early settlements were located near bodies of water. Although several rivers and their tributaries stretch their fingers from west and central Texas, ultimately draining into the Gulf waters, sections of these waters were unreliable for drinking water. They cycled from low levels during droughts to flash floods that widened valleys and often changing courses.Not all the rivers provided fresh water. Many sections of the Brazos River contain minerals rendering the water non-potable (undrinkable). An underground brine aquifer deposits salt onto the ground, which eventually washes into the The Salt Fork of the Brazos rendering it a murky rust color. In this area potable water is either distilled and purified or provided from another source.
The region once occupied by Fort Griffin is situated on the floodplains of The Clear Fork of the Brazos. This section of the river is characterized by muddy water, steep banks, and low overhanging willow, pecan, and elm trees. Its flow ranges from languid with visible gravel bars to murky rushing flood water. Like any river, its width and course changes and so does its water quality. Before technology introduced dams and purifiers, this river and others were unreliable for both volume and quality.
Settlers near the rivers had few options for water supplies: buckets of river and creek water or hand-dug wells. Situated on top of a plateau, the fort derived their water from both sources. Water was hauled from a nearby creek and stored in cisterns to supply the makeshift hospital. Neither remain today. At the edge of the parade grounds is a hand-dug well. The 45-foot deep well remains today with standing water that remains cool despite the hot temperatures.Water availability and quality were the primary reasons for the failure and eventual abandonment of many Texas forts and settlements. Forts Phantom Hill and Griffin were often plagued with water issues; the former was short-lived as a result of water shortage. Fort Griffin fared slightly better, but the lack of a dependable water supply was to haunt the fort throughout its active years.
Now the mesa top is quiet and dry. Spring rains push a flush of green of prairie grass and the prickly pears dot the surface with their big yellow flowers. Wildlife beat trails of dust down to watering places along the river and streams and windmills of scattered ranches pump water from underground into cisterns. Later in the summer heat, monotones of brown and beige betray the area's dry soils while dust trails hooves and wheels.
The land reclaims what is hers and those that stay are weathered but not beaten. Nor do they waste those resources from which they derive what they need.
5.23.2010,7:43 AM
Fort Griffin
Fort Griffin grew from stick and mud frame to stronger stone structures. However, as with nearly all the forts, some structures remained canvas. Of course, the only remaining features today of these forts are stone ruins. A few log or post and mud buildings you see now are reconstructions. Nevertheless, they provide a more visual base to imagine life on these posts as well as homesteads nearby.
Construction of buildings relied upon available nearby materials. Large trees for big post and timber structures were not plentiful. On the other hand, the plentiful medium-sized scrub trees in this area could be used for stick, or picket, walls. Any large timbers were saved for beams and joists. Picket walls were as uneven as the jagged growth of the trees. The often large spaces in between them had to be chinked with a mixture of clay, vegetative matter, and sometimes horse manure. When wet, it made a malleable sticky material that could be pressed and formed into the spaces between sticks and timbers, providing a sealant against wind and rain.One of the mess halls, which sat at the end of each row of soldiers' quarters, and a barracks hut have been reconstructed from rough plane wood. They are frame-built with wooden floors. Inside one of these, one can almost hear the squeaks of the flooring and doors from hundreds of hands and boots upon them.
Except for east Texas, most of the state has plentiful rock. One of my favorite aspects of these forts is difference in color and overall texture of the rock used in structures. The soil and rock in the area of the Brazos, both the Clear Fork and Salt Fork, are varying shades of rust. The reds predominate closer to the the Salt Fork and even the river water is often red-rusty colored. Here, the colors are more yellow with a hint of rust. This is obvious in the ruins of the structures that were built with the local rock.
Most of the rock structures are merely ruins: corners of buildings, chimneys, some walls with arches, or outlines of foundations. One of these made me smile, being an avid reader as well as a writer. A commander of the fort had the good sense to provide officers and soldiers with reading material by establishing a library. Selections were not plentiful, but at least they offered a distraction and source of education and communication with the outside world. Of course, as in many forts, buildings often served multiple purposes; in this case, the library was also a school and chapel.Two formidable ruins remain today: the Sutler's Store and the Administration building. We would return later to the former, but the latter pulled me during our first visit of the day because of its arches. Probably considered the heart of the fort, it housed the officer and quartermaster's offices. The general outline, a chimney, several corners and the foundation remain standing. The great tall window at one end of the structure and its view is commanding. I could not determine if the top of the window was originally built with an arch. Because several of the rock now missing at the top, the gable end outlines strongly suggest an arch in the current ruins.
I am often drawn to windows and doors to photograph because they offer a subliminal perspective duplicating that through the lens of a camera. The camera lens frames a frozen point in time and space as does looking through any frame, intended or not. Indeed, even our individual and personal perspective can be thought of as a single frame (for instance, the reference 'fram of mind'). So I often try to convey a story or meaning through the multiplicity of frames. It serves as a technique to draw the viewer in as an active participant rather than passively viewing a subject or object. It tickles the mind to think and imagine.A side window of the building offered a view of the parade grounds. Typical of most posts and forts, the grounds with its central flagpole was the hub. Soldiers were drilled in formation as exercise and disciplinary practice and orders were announced. The flagpole and waving flag was a strong symbol and reminder of allegiance, purpose, cohesion and faith. Fort Griffin's pole was interestingly patterned after a ship's mast. Appropriately, the pole was the center of view from the officers' building window.
Next: Necessities
5.22.2010,3:02 PM
Was the West Really Won?
“The popular perception of early history in this area is most typically recalled in stories of Indian raids, cavalry campaigns, wild ‘nights on the town,’ vigilante hangings, buffalo hunts and cattle drives. Such colorful chapters have overshadowed the mundane activities that also formed the regional experience.” - Ty Cashion. A Texas Frontier.
It appears that Mr. Cashion and I have a preoccupation for the same layers of history. The Silent. The Untold. The voices in the past whose stories are never heard. The narrators are many; in first, second and third person. Some times a fusion of two or all three. I, We, You, He, She, The Omniscient They. Many are ghosts. Many are real people like you and me.
People think they know west Texas; they saw it in the movies, they read it in the novels and history books. They add pieces that wear honorary badges and feathers from history class in school; the historical markers in granite and marble that are often miles away from the actual locations that they honor. But we don’t know a quarter of what really was. The way the West 'was won.' But what does that really mean?
I remember my first impressions when driving across west Texas from Oregon over a decade ago. ‘Where’s the tumble weeds? Where’s the cattle in the roads? It’s hot and dusty. Where’s the cowboys and horses?’ And finally, ‘Are we there yet?’
My drive through west Texas was on flat land covered with scraggly brush, bright, dusty and hot. I came from mountains with giant Fir trees, blue rivers, plentiful fruit and vegetables, sheep, horses, cattle, and lush grassland. I was immigrant. I was a stranger on a strange land.
But I am not the only one. Everyone here and before was an immigrant at some point and time in their past, or their forebearers' past. Everyone has a history, skeletons in the closets, cobwebs in the attics, the rickety creases of history that thread back in time and places like the web of a spider with ADHD.
“You may have been born here, son, but y’all still ain’t a Texan.”
Let's see how, and if, the West was really won. And what that means.
Fortin' Around.
People generally form communities. In one way or another, we always connect the dots. We develop relationships whereby shared resources, labor, skills, and even recreation form strong bonds ensuring survival. Despite the inevitable internal competition, a large group overcomes challenges from outside the group. Thus it was around this basic human pattern that camping spots grew into small outposts and forts, forts expanded into towns and villages, and cities joined to become states.
For mutual protection and survival on the edges of advancing colonization, clusters of explorers and settlers built camps and forts. Their combined efforts constructed shelters, cultivated fields, and defense systems. Depending on the environmental or military challenges, these forts ranged in size from fortified huts containing a few families to large military compounds. Several of these once existed in the area known as the Upper Brazos Region.
When U.S. Capt. Randolph Marcy toured north Texas in 1851 for locations to establish a line of forts, traders and military were already camping in the area of the upper Brazos River. Marcy and Major Robert Neighbors later surveyed the area to locate a site for a Comanche Reservation. Several of the Penateka Comanche were relocated to the reservation in 1855. While those relocated to the reservations were mostly peaceaful, scattered depredations continued by raiding parties from other tribes.
For many of the white newcomers, the only good Indian was a dead Indian and they blamed all depredations on those that were nearby and easy scapegoats. Thus the Texas legislature voted to establish a small post nearby in 1856 to mediate between the reservation Indians and the white settlers.
The little post, Camp Cooper, was established on the Clear Fork of the Brazos River and about seven miles northwest of the high plateau where Fort Griffin was later constructed. The camp was isolated and plagued by severe weather, dust, insect, rattlesnakes and irregular supplies. It remained active until abandoned at the beginning of the Civil War in 1861.
Between 1858 and 1861 was a testing time for the local area and the fledgling nation. The Butterfield Mail Stage passed within a few miles on its route from St. Louis to California. Because of continuing conflict with nearby townspeople and settlers, the reservation Indians were moved to Indian Territory (Oklahoma) and the reservation dissolved in 1859. Texas was testing its boundaries and loyalties with growing unrest, eventually siding with the Southern Confederacy to succeed the United States. And the southern Plains tribes were waiting for a lapse in military strength to increase raids on settlements.
As U.S. military troops were withdrawn from Texas, the frontier was again free to reclaim by several native tribes. Depredations increased during the War and for a number of years after. Many area settlers fled their frontier homesteads to form small private and secure strongholds. One of these was Fort Davis, also established on the same river, but further east. Not until several years into Reconstruction did the citizens leave the security of Fort Davis.
U.S. troops began moving into Texas during Reconstruction in 1864. During the nine years after the war ended, the state struggled with social, economic and political challenges. The edges of the frontier were not a priority and Indian and white outlaw depredations continued due to lack of any military presence. In response to the vocal concerns by struggling settlements, federal troops began establishing another line of posts west of the frontier border.
In 1867, Lt. Col. Samual Sturgis chose a site for a new outpost on top of a plateau overlooking the Clear Fork of the Brazos River. Lacking most of the unfavorable attributes of Camp Cooper, the new site was favorable to the four companies of cavalry that first settled it. Even though they were strangers in this strange land. They named it Camp Wilson at first; then Fort Griffin.
Some settlers returned to their homestead, others moved on, and many came after. They were all strangers. For awhile.
5.19.2010,7:36 PM
Exploring time and space
Leaning against the tree on the top edge of the mesa you can look over stretches of stunted and scraggly trees bunched into swathes that cut through expanses of green prairie grass. A ribbon of tall trees bedecked with bright green leaves mark edges of the river that runs like a twisting vein through the landscape. Rocky slopes of mesas mark their gentle rise above the prairies making corridors for thousands of bison hooves of as they move north towards the cooler wide plains of the Great Basin. When you look towards the northwest following the river, you can see a column of smoke wafting upwards on the breeze.
Now fully alert, you wonder if the campfire might be that of a Comanche raiding party or a company of infantry. You can only detect movement in the open prairie below. But you can't see who or what may be stealthily stalking in the thickets. Far from your cabin to the east, it might be high time to take the rifle and freshly-shot rabbit down off the mesa and away from the unknown campers to the north. Avoiding confrontations these days is one way to survive another day.
I gazed to the northwest towards the river while leaning against the big oak tree on the edge of the mesa. A gravel road intersected green pastures and fields below dotted with yellow wildflowers. Standing silent and alone were two small wooden structures along a gravel road heading towards the river's edge. Thickets of mesquite choked the slopes of the plateau here and beyond. Grazing cows appeared as black dots in a distant pasture. Except for an occasional car or truck on the ribbon of highway along the eastern slope, the only sounds were a few birds and the breeze rattling the leaves. Over a century ago Apaches, Tonkawas, and, later, Comanches and Kiowas followed bison and deer alongside the mesas and river bottoms. As people moved into central Texas in waves from the east and north, the borders of the civilization they brought with them pushed west into unknown lands. Unknown to them. Those that blazed the trails could be called 'adventurers.' But it wasn't the romanticized life that was publicized and perpetuated in dime-store novels and newspapers in the east and northern regions of the country. Yet, most of these adventurers expected the unexpected, the unknown. That was part of the draw.
On their heels followed those who brought their former lives with them. Most intended to establish the old on new land, fresh paint for the blank easels. Sometimes fumbling and bumbling, with successes and failures, they dragged with them what they deemed civilization, to push out the previous occupants and tame the land. There was no room for wilderness and savageness.
Now here I am centuries later leaning against the same tree that others may have, overlooking the same terrain, and wondering if I'm adventurous enough to try and catch the essence and experiences of these predecessors, human and non-human. Not like those in the forefront of civilization, but following its trail of debris and ghosts to outposts that have long been abandoned. It is with this sense that drives me, following trails through time and space. Bringing a sense of place back into my time, superimposed on my current temporal and spatial existence. In that way, to me it's all an adventure worth experiencing.
On we go now to explore and uncover ghosts.
11.09.2009,12:20 PM
Riding Tails of Trails: Part Four
Tahlequah, the Cherokee Nation Capital
Tahlequah has a complex history beginning in the southeastern states of Georgia, North Carolina and Tennessee. In some ways its history still extends all the way from its present location in Oklahoma, east to those areas and in between; in Arkansas, Missouri, Illinois, and Mississippi. Here, the town was the site of a new beginning for an old nation: the Cherokee.
The four (or more) routes of the Trail of Tears culminated in Indian Territory, now known as Oklahoma. Those Cherokee that survived the forced displacement from their homes in GA, NC and TN ended their weary travels in this area along the Middle and Lower Illinois River, a tributary of the Arkansas River. In 1839, the Cherokees founded a new town and capital: Tahlequah.
Years before the great removal of the tribes in the southeastern colonies, small bands of Cherokee had left their ancestral lands and ventured west. They remembered traditional stories of lands in the west where all the game they wanted flourished and away from intrusion of white men. Some settled in Arkansas, some in Texas, and some on the rivers in modern Oklahoma. The latter band of Cherokee had established a settlement and capital named Tahlonteeskee around 1829.
When the rest of their people joined the existing band in Indian Territory, things weren't exactly a homecoming. The established band were steadfast traditionalists and opposed adoption of the 'white ways': the religions, clothing, education, commerce, private property, and owning slaves. It was not 'their way'.
Many of the refugees arriving on the Trail of Tears were progressives. They realized and believed that the only way to survive was to adapt, adopt and change. They tried, but their efforts didn't alter the encroaching settlers, colonists, and the burgeoning upper class. After years of political and philosophical clashes, all the tribes in the southeastern states were driven from their homelands. Upon arrival in Indian Territory, it was time for the Cherokee people to unify if they were to survive.
The new Cherokee nation's capital was established in the new town of Tahlequah, north of the former capital. The name is a derivation of one of the older great towns, also a former capital of the Overhill Cherokee, in Tennessee: Great Tellico, the site of modern Tellico Plains on the Tellico River. For me, this was an irony. Having ridden and slept on their former lands in Tellico Plains, hiked and ridden on their former war paths and hunting grounds. And now here I am, standing in front of the former courthouse and on their new townsite: Tahlequah.
When the Dawes Act divided their public lands into individually-owned parcels, the town changed. It was no longer a Cherokees' home site. It became more like many of the places in this country: multiracial, multiethnic, and multicultural. The tribe and nation still exist as a solid community; they've adapted, adopted and changed. And they are the largest Native American nation in the country.
Walking around the courthouse is a walk through history, connections and many stories. On the lawn were stakes with photographs that told a story: a remembrance ride of the relocation on bicycles.
A group of Cherokee students and nation officials rode bicycles from Calhoun, GA, and retraced parts of one route of Trail of Tears. They arrived at the Courthouse in July of this year to a homecoming ceremony. The photographs shared some of their ride.
Walking around the perimeter of the building and square, one can learn quite a bit of history by reading the monuments and stones.
I was surprised, well, almost shocked, to see this. To embark on a long history of the Cherokee factions is beyond this travelogue. Suffice to say that Ross and Watie were polar opposites. Most of the Nation followed the leadership of Ross. Watie.... well, he paid a hefty price for a betrayal to the Cherokee people that cost them their homelands and ultimately thousands of lives*. On the other hand, it is a part of their history, no matter how painful it is. It is a part of their collective public memory. Better to acknowledge it, be reminded of it, than sweep it under the rug and ignore it.
Now, here was a surprise. Does 'Bell' ring a bell?
Anyone interested can read the long version of the story here.
Interestingly, interspersed in the brick and stone walkway around the perimeter of the courthouse are blocks commemorating all the principle chiefs of the Cherokee Nation since their arrival to Oklahoma. Including the present day chief, Wilma Mankiller (the first Cherokee woman chief).
The sky clouded and rain drizzled, which was refreshing, and stopped. The sun shone again and we were ready to move on.
* Synopsis: "A group of Cherokees known as the Treaty Party began negotiating a treaty with the federal government. The group led by Major Ridge and including his son John, Elias Boudinot, and his brother Stand Watie, signed a treaty at New Echota in 1835. Despite the majority opposition to this treaty - opposition led by Principal Chief John Ross - the eastern lands were sold for $5 million, and the [minority group of] Cherokees agreed to move beyond the Mississippi River to Indian Territory. The [U.S.] Senate ratified the treaty despite knowledge that only a minority of Cherokees had accepted it. Within two years the Principal People were to move from their ancestral homelands."
Labels: Adventures, history, Oklahoma, Trails of Tears
7.15.2009,11:58 AM
Tennessee: Blending space and time
One of the reasons I ride a bike is navigating through time and space -past, present, future- on the landscape. What is 'landscape'? It is the collective overlap of physical environment and cultural environment. Both have multiple layers of time in space, and space in time. In fact, at many points in time the artificial divide between conceptions of 'past' and 'present' blur. Most of all, being immersed in the surrounding environment can facilitate meaning and place-making.
I've always been interested in how people perceive places and how people create meaning through places. I try to listen to the voices, the versions and the scenes. I don't restrict meaning to organized tours, glossy brochures and pamphlets, but try to really find and listen to the many voices of a landscape. Even the quiet one of the physical environment, for it is not really silent.
Several things struck me during both my visits to Tennessee, more pronounced this visit than the first. One was naming -names attached to the physical landscape (called toponyms). They contrast like polar opposites to toponyms in Texas. Another is dominant voices in the past and the present. The former amused me, while the latter was a source of disappointment. I'll explain why later.
Regardless, during the last two days in TN both of these came to a head. It began earlier riding on the Joe Brown Highway, and continued growing to the surface. So my story begins here, at a site in Belltown.
I've always been interested in how people perceive places and how people create meaning through places. I try to listen to the voices, the versions and the scenes. I don't restrict meaning to organized tours, glossy brochures and pamphlets, but try to really find and listen to the many voices of a landscape. Even the quiet one of the physical environment, for it is not really silent.
Several things struck me during both my visits to Tennessee, more pronounced this visit than the first. One was naming -names attached to the physical landscape (called toponyms). They contrast like polar opposites to toponyms in Texas. Another is dominant voices in the past and the present. The former amused me, while the latter was a source of disappointment. I'll explain why later.
Regardless, during the last two days in TN both of these came to a head. It began earlier riding on the Joe Brown Highway, and continued growing to the surface. So my story begins here, at a site in Belltown.
The marker above offers a glimpse into history: a point in time and space, right there. But, as with most human interactions (especially with many divergent concepts of right, wrong, values, etc), it's way more complicated that this.
This is a good example of sequent occupance, the process by which a landscape is gradually transformed by a succession of occupying populations. All the physical environment on this continent has a human imprint at some time or another in space (here's that space and time continuum). Each population modifies the landscape left by the previous group; the landscape's dynamic character.
It is like biological genetics: any landscape has roots in a previous landscape and that is linked to its forbearance and to its offspring. What interests me is the evolutionary and dynamic nature of the landscape as shaped not only the earth itself, but also by all living things, including successive human cultures and populations. (This reminds me of my studies in forestry and silviculture)
Many times while in Tennessee I found myself drawing comparisons -differences and similarities- to landscapes in Texas and Oregon. Tennessee is too much like Maine to tickle my deep curiosity, but one reminder that surfaced often was that many settlers that came to Texas were from Tennessee. I often wondered.... why? (I still do)
Another interest was the Cherokee. My great-grandmother was Cherokee. That does not make me Cherokee or Indian, nor do I pretend to be. Nonetheless, I am curious not only about her and her people, but the interactions of the indigenous peoples on this continent and the Anglo-Europeans/New Americans. They were a world apart; in some ways, they still are. The question remains: "Why??" I'm still trying to understand. In looking for answers, I learn more about people, why we do what we do, why we are what we are, who we might become, and about our interactions with the landscape.
It all ties in, in various ways.
I learned some time ago that there were, and still are, Texas Cherokees. I thought that visiting the Nation in Oklahoma might enlighten me. Then I realized that they are too removed from their birthlands; the landscape that formed them as a large Nation in the southeast, and upon which they imprinted their culture for hundreds of years. There lies the origins of their mythology, beliefs, values, family histories, their pains and joys. When you want to know the 'truth', go to the source. But that can be misleading, too.
An archeologist/cultural geographer puts it in perspective: "Heritage sites are an organizing medium through which communities remember, consumed as place and experience by tourists seeking "authentic" "reconstructions" of the past. But heritage sites are always inventions, offering for consumption selective versions of the past. Definitions of authenticity and heritage, far from being politically neutral, hinge on who has the authority and power to define the authentic. Those who define authenticity will be able to have their account of history accepted as the public version." (Jakob Crockett)
So can one find the 'truth'? Or instead, a construction of a 'less-false' reality? The keys in any landscape -both physical and cultural- are voice, authority and authenticity. A convergence of these concerns helps produce a meaningful history. That is what I sought in Tennessee. It is what I try to find where ever I go; even Terlingua and Big Bend. It makes it all more 'real.'
During this trip to TN I was fortunate to spend time with Jack, a Tennessee native whose family, and family's family, grew up in the area of Tellico Plains. His voice, as well as that of his family by way of his family stories, enriched the visit. I learned more about the area than I could ever have as a typical tourist or vacationer. We rode through areas rich in history: physical remnants of previous occupants, their stories, his stories...all are voices. This was supplemented with reading before and after the week-long visit and from various sources. And maps. Lots of maps. And that is where the authority and authenticity come in.
I noticed last year, and later, that historical signs, brochures, articles, books, and papers (even maps) are many times inconsistent, sometimes even contradictory. I notice that here in Texas; a lot. But now I know why. So I wondered if anyone can ever know the 'facts.' But then, are the 'facts' the only important thing in history? In people? (harken back to sitting at your school desk reading about dates and events in history class, wondering why you had to memorize them, and who cares anyway?)
Facts are important, but only to pinpoint an event spatiotemporally; in time and space. The most important is meaning, the ways people have always created meaning through place and time. This develops meaningful history. People create history by things that they do, believe, say, sing, write, create and destroy: social action in time and in places. It engages people, elicits connections and incites empathy. Most of all, it shows people that many aspects of contemporary social and economic life that are taken for granted are neither 'natural' or inevitable. Rather, they are open to question, challenge and even change. As the old adage goes: "Why don't we ever learn from history?"
So, from that long introduction, I introduce Fort Louden. It was a fort built by the British around 1746 when the southeastern indigenous nations -Cherokee, Creek, Seminole, and Chocktaw- were caught in the middle of land lust and as a political volleyball between the British and the French. Both imperialists played the indigenous nations against the other with the same end in mind: to get their land. The ugly head of imperialism and land-hunger.
The Native Americans and the Anglo-Europeans -and later, the Euro-Americans- had more similarities than differences. (I refer those interested in this discourse to the most complete examination of this topic: A Strange Likeness: Becoming Red and White in Eighteenth-century North America, by Nancy Shoemaker, Oxford University Press, 2004.) The great gap was in the concept of land. And the landscape. We're still far from settling this issue and bridging the gaps, as unfolding history reveals.
The 1700's in the East was a time of tit-for-tat. The French built a fort, so the British had to build two forts. Both professed 'friendship' and trade relationships with the native tribes. As long as they were loyal to one or the other, not both. Another bait was the Shawnees, who had aligned themselves with the French, and who were sworn enemies of nearly all the southeastern tribes. So it was like an eight ball game on a pool table of thousands of forested acres rich in game, timber and water. Just don't hit the white ball in the hole.
Fort Louden was built near the Overhill towns and north of Great Tellico, once the largest and most powerful chief town in the entire Cherokee Nation, and for a long time, amongst the Overhill Towns. (Great Tellico was only a mile or so from the modern town of Tellico Plains. We rode through it, or on it. Nothing remains now.)
Relations with the Cherokee were shaky and tense then due to the current of power-play between the British and French, and the fluctuating loyalties of the various nations and tribes in the region. What neither the French or British understood was that loyalty meant different things to the natives. And loyalty from one local tribe was not loyalty of the entire tribal nation.
The native peoples had no central government or leadership. Each town had two chiefs: the war chief and the principle chief, who was responsible for civil matters. Sometimes they didn't agree on things, either. Regardless, the Europeans, and even the new Americans, couldn't seem to get it through their heads that the native peoples didn't share the same social and political structure that came across on the boats. They continued to see through European eyes. And they ignored the voices from the new lands. Never did the twain meet. Instead, they always clashed.
After a long series of tit-for-tat skirmishes - Europeans killing a group or town of natives, the natives retaliating likewise (another value intrinsic in all the tribes across the continent was clan revenge: tit-for-tat. But then, the Europeans proved to be no different in that respect, they just performed it differently and blamed everyone else)- a fox of a governor (of S. Carolina) at another British fort, Fort Prince George, captured under ruse an invited delegation of Cherokee peace makers, imprisoned them, abused them and killed several (a similar event occurred in Texas).
A group of Cherokee warriors retaliated, killing a lieutenant sent to meet with another Cherokee group outside the fort. The English then killed the remaining Cherokee prisoners in the fort. Of course, this incited the rest of the Cherokee nation, and a large contingency attacked Fort Louden in 1760. After four days of attacks, the Cherokee fighters appeared to abandon the siege (a common Indian war strategy) and then stealthily killed two soldiers when they left the fort to look for food.
Two Overhill chiefs agreed upon a truce with the captain of the fort under the condition that all weapons of the remaining garrison be turned over to the Cherokee, and the soldiers would be transported to Fort Prince George. The garrison left the compound after they had buried their shot and powder and throwing most of their guns in the creek. They camped on Cane Creek, in the field behind where the above historical marker now stands.
In the morning, the garrison troops found that their escort had disappeared and they faced a contingency of Cherokee warriors. They proceeded to fire on each other. Approximately twenty soldiers were killed. One junior officer who had befriended the local native people was spared and allowed to walk away with his life. In fact, he was escorted to the fort with provisions of food and blankets, in peace.
This is a good example of sequent occupance, the process by which a landscape is gradually transformed by a succession of occupying populations. All the physical environment on this continent has a human imprint at some time or another in space (here's that space and time continuum). Each population modifies the landscape left by the previous group; the landscape's dynamic character.
It is like biological genetics: any landscape has roots in a previous landscape and that is linked to its forbearance and to its offspring. What interests me is the evolutionary and dynamic nature of the landscape as shaped not only the earth itself, but also by all living things, including successive human cultures and populations. (This reminds me of my studies in forestry and silviculture)
Many times while in Tennessee I found myself drawing comparisons -differences and similarities- to landscapes in Texas and Oregon. Tennessee is too much like Maine to tickle my deep curiosity, but one reminder that surfaced often was that many settlers that came to Texas were from Tennessee. I often wondered.... why? (I still do)
Another interest was the Cherokee. My great-grandmother was Cherokee. That does not make me Cherokee or Indian, nor do I pretend to be. Nonetheless, I am curious not only about her and her people, but the interactions of the indigenous peoples on this continent and the Anglo-Europeans/New Americans. They were a world apart; in some ways, they still are. The question remains: "Why??" I'm still trying to understand. In looking for answers, I learn more about people, why we do what we do, why we are what we are, who we might become, and about our interactions with the landscape.
It all ties in, in various ways.
I learned some time ago that there were, and still are, Texas Cherokees. I thought that visiting the Nation in Oklahoma might enlighten me. Then I realized that they are too removed from their birthlands; the landscape that formed them as a large Nation in the southeast, and upon which they imprinted their culture for hundreds of years. There lies the origins of their mythology, beliefs, values, family histories, their pains and joys. When you want to know the 'truth', go to the source. But that can be misleading, too.
An archeologist/cultural geographer puts it in perspective: "Heritage sites are an organizing medium through which communities remember, consumed as place and experience by tourists seeking "authentic" "reconstructions" of the past. But heritage sites are always inventions, offering for consumption selective versions of the past. Definitions of authenticity and heritage, far from being politically neutral, hinge on who has the authority and power to define the authentic. Those who define authenticity will be able to have their account of history accepted as the public version." (Jakob Crockett)
So can one find the 'truth'? Or instead, a construction of a 'less-false' reality? The keys in any landscape -both physical and cultural- are voice, authority and authenticity. A convergence of these concerns helps produce a meaningful history. That is what I sought in Tennessee. It is what I try to find where ever I go; even Terlingua and Big Bend. It makes it all more 'real.'
During this trip to TN I was fortunate to spend time with Jack, a Tennessee native whose family, and family's family, grew up in the area of Tellico Plains. His voice, as well as that of his family by way of his family stories, enriched the visit. I learned more about the area than I could ever have as a typical tourist or vacationer. We rode through areas rich in history: physical remnants of previous occupants, their stories, his stories...all are voices. This was supplemented with reading before and after the week-long visit and from various sources. And maps. Lots of maps. And that is where the authority and authenticity come in.
I noticed last year, and later, that historical signs, brochures, articles, books, and papers (even maps) are many times inconsistent, sometimes even contradictory. I notice that here in Texas; a lot. But now I know why. So I wondered if anyone can ever know the 'facts.' But then, are the 'facts' the only important thing in history? In people? (harken back to sitting at your school desk reading about dates and events in history class, wondering why you had to memorize them, and who cares anyway?)
Facts are important, but only to pinpoint an event spatiotemporally; in time and space. The most important is meaning, the ways people have always created meaning through place and time. This develops meaningful history. People create history by things that they do, believe, say, sing, write, create and destroy: social action in time and in places. It engages people, elicits connections and incites empathy. Most of all, it shows people that many aspects of contemporary social and economic life that are taken for granted are neither 'natural' or inevitable. Rather, they are open to question, challenge and even change. As the old adage goes: "Why don't we ever learn from history?"
So, from that long introduction, I introduce Fort Louden. It was a fort built by the British around 1746 when the southeastern indigenous nations -Cherokee, Creek, Seminole, and Chocktaw- were caught in the middle of land lust and as a political volleyball between the British and the French. Both imperialists played the indigenous nations against the other with the same end in mind: to get their land. The ugly head of imperialism and land-hunger.
The Native Americans and the Anglo-Europeans -and later, the Euro-Americans- had more similarities than differences. (I refer those interested in this discourse to the most complete examination of this topic: A Strange Likeness: Becoming Red and White in Eighteenth-century North America, by Nancy Shoemaker, Oxford University Press, 2004.) The great gap was in the concept of land. And the landscape. We're still far from settling this issue and bridging the gaps, as unfolding history reveals.
The 1700's in the East was a time of tit-for-tat. The French built a fort, so the British had to build two forts. Both professed 'friendship' and trade relationships with the native tribes. As long as they were loyal to one or the other, not both. Another bait was the Shawnees, who had aligned themselves with the French, and who were sworn enemies of nearly all the southeastern tribes. So it was like an eight ball game on a pool table of thousands of forested acres rich in game, timber and water. Just don't hit the white ball in the hole.
Fort Louden was built near the Overhill towns and north of Great Tellico, once the largest and most powerful chief town in the entire Cherokee Nation, and for a long time, amongst the Overhill Towns. (Great Tellico was only a mile or so from the modern town of Tellico Plains. We rode through it, or on it. Nothing remains now.)
Relations with the Cherokee were shaky and tense then due to the current of power-play between the British and French, and the fluctuating loyalties of the various nations and tribes in the region. What neither the French or British understood was that loyalty meant different things to the natives. And loyalty from one local tribe was not loyalty of the entire tribal nation.
The native peoples had no central government or leadership. Each town had two chiefs: the war chief and the principle chief, who was responsible for civil matters. Sometimes they didn't agree on things, either. Regardless, the Europeans, and even the new Americans, couldn't seem to get it through their heads that the native peoples didn't share the same social and political structure that came across on the boats. They continued to see through European eyes. And they ignored the voices from the new lands. Never did the twain meet. Instead, they always clashed.
After a long series of tit-for-tat skirmishes - Europeans killing a group or town of natives, the natives retaliating likewise (another value intrinsic in all the tribes across the continent was clan revenge: tit-for-tat. But then, the Europeans proved to be no different in that respect, they just performed it differently and blamed everyone else)- a fox of a governor (of S. Carolina) at another British fort, Fort Prince George, captured under ruse an invited delegation of Cherokee peace makers, imprisoned them, abused them and killed several (a similar event occurred in Texas).
A group of Cherokee warriors retaliated, killing a lieutenant sent to meet with another Cherokee group outside the fort. The English then killed the remaining Cherokee prisoners in the fort. Of course, this incited the rest of the Cherokee nation, and a large contingency attacked Fort Louden in 1760. After four days of attacks, the Cherokee fighters appeared to abandon the siege (a common Indian war strategy) and then stealthily killed two soldiers when they left the fort to look for food.
Two Overhill chiefs agreed upon a truce with the captain of the fort under the condition that all weapons of the remaining garrison be turned over to the Cherokee, and the soldiers would be transported to Fort Prince George. The garrison left the compound after they had buried their shot and powder and throwing most of their guns in the creek. They camped on Cane Creek, in the field behind where the above historical marker now stands.
In the morning, the garrison troops found that their escort had disappeared and they faced a contingency of Cherokee warriors. They proceeded to fire on each other. Approximately twenty soldiers were killed. One junior officer who had befriended the local native people was spared and allowed to walk away with his life. In fact, he was escorted to the fort with provisions of food and blankets, in peace.
So, here on Belltown Rd, is one example of where one perspective of the landscape, one in time and space, is exhibited. One voice is heard. The others are silent.
2.28.2009,7:30 AM
Texas History Month
March is Texas History Month. Since it parallels my interests, several posts will appear here on that topic. Of all the states I have lived, Texas history -and the people- are the most paradoxical I've ever encountered. It is a state of extremes.
Although Texas still lives in the myths of the Old West, the New West collides and often clashes here. Even Larry McMurty, that famous author of Western lore, refuses to relinquish the mythical Old West. While Fredrick Jackson Turner's Frontier vanished in the 1890's, a new reassessment of 'frontier', which is the heart of the New Western History, demonstrates that it is still very much alive. But it is not the frontier of old historical myth. 'Frontier' has a new meaning; it is a new entity and it wears different clothes. And along with it, new stories and story tellers.
Because riding a motorcycle is so much more than sitting on a wound up twin engine, most of my rides this month will focus on bits of Texas and Western history -old and new. Photos and commentary will be posted.
So stay tuned.
Although Texas still lives in the myths of the Old West, the New West collides and often clashes here. Even Larry McMurty, that famous author of Western lore, refuses to relinquish the mythical Old West. While Fredrick Jackson Turner's Frontier vanished in the 1890's, a new reassessment of 'frontier', which is the heart of the New Western History, demonstrates that it is still very much alive. But it is not the frontier of old historical myth. 'Frontier' has a new meaning; it is a new entity and it wears different clothes. And along with it, new stories and story tellers.
Because riding a motorcycle is so much more than sitting on a wound up twin engine, most of my rides this month will focus on bits of Texas and Western history -old and new. Photos and commentary will be posted.
So stay tuned.
2.07.2009,10:47 AM
Pieces of Terlingua: History, not Frontier
Many people refer to the Big Bend as the 'last frontier'. Well, it's not really. In a few ways the physical environment of the region is unique, surely unique for Texas. But not the rest of the Southwest, and especially not unique of Mexico, its neighbor. 'Frontier' is a misnomer, living largely in the mythical past of the West. It has been a word describing a process of going-to-a region. And throughout this country 'frontier' has been analogous to 'conquest.' In that respect, the frontier ended in the 1890's. Everywhere. And still seems to dictate a sense of place today. We are still trying to conquer this country. But should we? Need we?
If one looks at history as changes occurring within a framework of culture, ethnicity, language, economy, politics, and the environment over time, it is still cycling through; it encompasses past, present and future. It addresses questions of 'How did we get here?", "Who are we?", and "Where do we go from here?". It's not really a frontier story of how we got to this place and conquered it, but a state of being and a sense of place that connects us with everything and everyone around us: past, present, future, and being in a region.
Big Bend region is unique to Texas in that the the physical and political environment has dictated history more than the rest of the state. It is arid with limited resources, drawn and quartered by a national political boundary: the border along Mexico. The area has been, and still is, highly influenced by many cultures: Anglo-American, Mexican-American, Indian, and even remnants of old Spanish. Economics and politics have been (and still are) influenced by state, federal, local and Mexican. All within an arid environment which, like other arid places in the US, impart a uniqueness from the rest of the state and country.
History is still alive here. Ghosts from the past remain and influence the present and future. Like any region and place, myths abound and people like their myths. But the facts are easier to sort out and see here. The environment dictates that because it resists the historical trend of human domination and conquest. So the sense of place one has here is nearly the same that humans had here thousands of years ago. Thus 'frontier' here has little relevance. It is instead a sense of place and being; less romantic and many times brutal and harsh, but it nurtures a connection that most people lack in urban and even many rural places. Including Texas.
One component in unique places such as Big Bend is the cross-over and overlap of cultures. Terlingua is a precious living example of western history and how the environment influenced changes in human habitation. It is also a prime example of the reverse: how human occupation changed the environment. People are attracted to Terlingua and the surrounding region because of the simplicity, diversity and connection that the region demands. Not to conquer it. (an example of the latter is the history and ongoing saga of Lijitas.)
Although the typical and historical western trend of land sharks, with which land is strictly a commodity and not a 'place', are apparent in the Big Bend region, examples of settlements as connected habitats are visible. One aspect that the southern area of the Big Bend region nurtures is a sense of community; largely dictated by the environment, but also facilitated by the type of people that live there.
One manifestation in this blending of cultures includes modes of habitation: homes, buildings, construction methods and materials. People are renovating ruins of rock and adobe structures to serve as their homes. Or they are following the traditional building of small, low and unobtrusive structures using material from their surroundings: adobe, rock, sand, washed gravel, etc. Many people live off the power grids, some of necessity, some by desire.
The most precious resource in any arid environment is water. In the past, the only sources were creeks -seasonal and year-round- and dug wells. Primitive water catchment systems have been used for generations, and now modern systems are incorporated in many homes and establishments.
Although a community water system exists in Study Butte and Terlingua, it is limited. The same applies to capacity for waste disposal and treatment. With the increase in demand by more people visiting and living in these areas, community systems -both sources and services- are experiencing growing pains. The future depends on if and how people will adapt to these limitations or if they will be ignored with increased demand beyond the system capacities, which has and still occurs in more urban areas (even many rural areas) of the arid West. What many people take for granted in their home localities -water, waste treatment, utilities- are expected at the same levels in the Big Bend region. It has and can break, sometimes destroy arid local areas such as Study Butte, Terlingua, and Lajitas.
I hope that rather than try to provide for unreasonable and excess expectations of newcomers and visitors to those places, the communities will try to increase and broaden awareness of their limited resources and how to adapt to them. (example: the signs in restroom and bathrooms asking not to flush any paper down the drains and to conserve water usage.) Time will tell.
Meanwhile, I will continue with a tour of Terlingua for readers.
12.18.2008,12:44 PM
Palo Duro: Campfires in the Canyon
It was time to head back to camp. With one last look around the town that time had forgotten, we headed back to the highway. As my wheels touched the highway pavement, I transcended through a hundred years of the past to that moment. For several minutes riding on Hwy 287 my mind had to catch up with my body in motion and leave Goodnight -and the era- behind.
As I rode back in the chilling air, thoughts tumbled through my helmet (as they usually do). Many times I'm still back in time -decades, hundreds, even perhaps a thousand years- and I'm caught in between being there and being here. Like I had just visited some Eight Dimension and seen what had been, what was to come, and what will be, all at once. Many times I'm still stuck or tormented with events and emotions of being there and being here. Then I step back in my own mind and intellectually resolve the history, now and the future.
You can read all the text books, academic papers, popular non-fiction and fiction, historical markers, and listen to countless stories. But to understand, comprehend, develop empathy and 'know' to our limits, you have to stand on the land or in the water. You have to 'be there' - surrounded by the same sky, soil, vegetation, smells, sounds, animals, as much as you can immerse yourself in. It is physical as much as it is mental or intellectual to experience history. It is sensory, sometimes even sensual.
History is the process of learning about ourselves and our humanity, how much we all have in common. Hopefully, it can prepare us for the future. Maybe.
"Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it." - George Santayana
We barely beat dusk back to our campsite. A campfire was very welcomed; it's warmth, glow and heat to bake cornbread and sausages on sticks.
Wiley enjoyed it, too.
With several other isolated campfires down from us, I entertained myself with an image of this is how it might have been with the Plains Indians camped for the winters in the shelters of the canyons. Their lodges and campfires nearby, their ponies grazing the lush grasses in the canyon bottoms. I'll never know, but I can imagine it.
12.17.2008,11:57 AM
Goodnight, Mr. Goodnight
Goodnight, Texas. A ghost town on the Texas High Plains. A place of many ghosts from the days before state parks, before paved highways and fast food joints serving hamburgers, before steel wheels and whistling coal engines, before the wolf, elk and bison dissipated into time, and even before the Comanche rode down into the canyons on their ponies.
Once a community of ranchers, farmers, pioneers, even college students; cowboys, railroad hands, the post masters, ministers and shop keepers. Today, cars, trucks and tractor-trailers speed through the middle on a straight paved ribbon; trains still transport coal and cotton on old rails. Few drivers see the two-foot long, 5-inch high green sign on the road, “Goodnight.” Fewer see anything here at all but another glimpse of emptiness outside their windows as they listen to the stereo, talk or try to stay awake, wondering ‘How far is it to the next city?’
But if you know what to look for, if you’ve read any of the Panhandle history, if you stand on the land they were born, worked and died on….. if you stop and listen, you can sense what it was like one, maybe even two hundred years ago.
The town is not noted for much beyond the legend for whom it was named, Charles Goodnight. He was the driving force behind the community. After selling his share of the JA Ranch and dabbling in a few other ventures, he built a house a mile or so from the edge of the Llano for he and his wife to live in their late years. Here on his new ranch the couple made notable contributions to the local community, the ranching world and our country.
Charles is a legend. But he wasn’t one to regal in it. In fact, he avoided publicity and he was known for his cantankerous nature. He didn’t suffer fools and, though he didn’t like violence, he was not hesitant to use it when necessary.
He possessed an uncanny sense of direction for which he relied upon as a scout for the rangers and during the Civil War.
“It was the scout’s business to guide the company under all conditions. Thus, above all things, the scout and plainsman had to have a sense – an instinct – for direction. He had to have the faculty of never needing a compass. With the point of destination fixed in his mind, a thorough plainsman could go to it as directly in darkness as in daylight, on a calm, cloudy day as well as in bright sunshine with the wind blowing steadily from one quarter. ….. I never had a compass in my life. I was never lost.”
But it takes more than just being born with a compass in your head:
“The first requirement is that by merely looking at the country the scout should be able to judge accurately in what direction water lies and the approximate distance to it. He should be familiar with every grass and shrub that indicates water. He should be able to tell by watching the animals, if animals there be, whether they are going to or from water.
The scout and plainsman should know the significance of the vegetation as well as the animal life of the country he ranges. By both, but mainly by observing the plant life, he usually estimates his elevation, and certainly his approximate latitude and longitude.” (recollections and interviews with J. Evetts Haley)
Through observation and patience, Charles became intimate with the country and range he traveled upon and lived on. He had a respect for it and all that lived on it, four- and two-legged. He learned and strove to work with it, not against it.
Known by many names –Old Man Goodnight, Colonel Goodnight, and Leopard Coat (name given by the Kiowas) – Charles was a man of integrity. “What is important today about Charles Goodnight is the man’s unshakable belief in right and wrong. He lived by a code, which most people on the frontier did. And that’s almost unheard of today,” said actor Barry Corbin.
Corbin has performed a one-man play, Charles Goodnight’s Last Night, since 1996. "It's a story about a man who is a symbol of what we need to be reminded about where we came from. This is a man of absolute loyalty and a man of absolute conviction about right and wrong, north and south."
And you can see that still in the descendants of the animals that he preserved from extirpation – the bison and the Longhorn breed, now living in Texas parks. He echoes in our time with his name on honors and awards to outstanding family ranches, roads and trails, and stories and legends about his deeds and quotes. He left his imprint on a large area of Texas, as well as Colorado and New Mexico.
The closest to his heart was his wife of 56 years, Mary Ann Dyer Goodnight. Often called “The Mother of the Panhandle,” she was the only woman on those wild plains for many years. She bottle-fed orphaned bison calves, helped restore turkeys to the plains, tended to injured and sick ranch hands, and shot a dose of civilization into Charles, the two of them building and supporting the Goodnight college and the community church.
On the south side of Hwy 287 in the town-that-was Goodnight stands a historical marker. You can pull up and read it out the window of your car. Or you can get out and look further south at the house he had built for he and his wife, Mary.
At this spot in the early 1900’s was a busy working ranch with Charles doing as much work as his aging body would let him. He and his hands built stout fences and corrals for his herd of 200 (sometimes more) bison, his Longhorns, some elk, the crosses he tried with cows and bison, the turkey flock and flowering trees and shrubs.
“His interests were still those of fine cattle, buffalo, cattalo, and native game – the life of the soil……And here was an old man, this extremely sensitive nature, contemptuous of sham, hypocrisy, and littleness, settled himself behind the mask of a brusk exterior to watch the race go by.” (J. Evetts Haley, Charles Goodnight: Cowman and Plainsman)
To immerse yourself a bit further, turn south down the gravel county road and pull along the shoulder about a quarter of a mile. Behind a long wrought iron fence is his house. Donated to the Armstrong County Museum in 2005, the house along with 30 acres is being restored in part with a $100,000 donation from the Texas Historical Foundation. The bison guarding the front of the house is reminiscent of Goodnight’s contribution to saving the species. He was very active in the American Bison Society.
Now all that is left of the ranch are run down fences and a broken paved road that turns to gravel within a few hundred feet.
Near the end of the public county road are two ranches: one on the east side, Goodnight Springs Ranch, and the other lays between us and the road going south down into the canyon. Private and gated road.
Wiley likes Mr. Goodnight, but, like most ranch and cattlemen, I'm not too sure Mr. Goodnight would have liked the likes of Wiley the Coyote.
Admitting defeat, we turned around and headed north of Hwy 287 to find the Goodnight cemetery. Again, down a county road and long gravel road up a hill, we found a part of history that made it all more real.
Mary died in 1926 and was buried in the community church. Charles was laid to rest beside her in 1929, with her brothers and other family flanking each side of the Goodnight couple. The Goodnight’s had no children, but in essence, they bore a legend and code that would be known throughout the West. Even to this day, many stop to pay their respects and give honors. For a few moments, I stood and gave my own; “Goodnight, Mr. Goodnight. I hope that you can be proud of what you left behind and know that a portion of the land you loved is in good caring hands.”
Other markers also leave their imprint upon the place.
The hilltop offered a subliminal view of the tabletop, as far as the eye could see. There is a serenity on that hilltop that is almost tangible. It was a very wise choice for a cemetery, and appropriate for the Goodnights' final resting place.
One final farewell and it was time to make the long cold ride back to camp.
