Threads and traces: architecture

Showing posts with label architecture. Show all posts

28 April 2013

Curlew season

Pelican in flight, Quinn Dam

At the end of March, we were looking at the beginning of spring, buds on the trees, no need for snow boots, etc.

At the end of April, we have dug out from a cumulative 40 inches of snow. The buds are just now beginning to re-show. The migratory birds, slowed by the repeated storm, are starting to come through at last. So we headed east to Wall and Badlands to check out the spring action. Enjoy.

Pelican gliding

Meadowlark, Quinn

Meadowlark posing, Quinn

Grain elevator, Quinn

Cottonwood and snow wisps

I-90 concretia

Loggerhead shrike seeking next victim

Tree swallow pretending to be a bluebird

Prairie dogs. I have no explanation for the one at the back right.

Spring. Finally.

None shall pass.

Bison bull looking good after the winter

I said, none shall pass.

Two bison above Sage Creek

Timelessness

Only in South Dakota. I am kind of sorry I missed this.

Curlew in the grass, looking for..

...the other curlew in the grass. Their calls are hauntingly beautiful.

Feeding

Resplendent curlew

The plumage patterns showed up better in black and white

Curlews in spring

Curlews in barbed-wire frame

Looking at us

Preening and resting after a long migration

Railroad trestle, Wasta

Ghost cottonwoods, Wasta

What part of "none shall pass" do you not understand?

House, Base Line Road

Pronghorn in sunlight

Buildings, Owanka

Grain elevator, Owanka

Town greeter, Owanka

Truck, Owanka

House, Base Line Road

Great blue heron

Downfall

House, Wasta

01 January 2013

2013 is in the building

Shelton, Nebraska

Having once more taken care of that peculiarly Southern ritual of serving black-eyed peas, cornbread and green leafy stuff for luck in the New Year, we are looking out on a somewhat snowy landscape and watching the sunset in tones of blue. A little later today; we've passed the solstice and are heading into longer days. The light slants just a bit less today than it did yesterday, and will ease up another notch tomorrow. You notice these things up here, just as you notice the scent of snow. Yes, it has one.

The family genealogy project now includes records for over 16,000 people, on both sides of the family. Cousins continued to marry cousins, so the intertwining can be dizzyingly complex. I am finding that I am most interested in the ones who kept looking for the next frontier, the next promised land, the next homestead. There is so little left of their hard work, which is why those small structures on the endless prairies stop me in my tracks every time. They were not always so silent.

Today in ancestral history: Ambrose Cobb, 10th great-grandfather on the Brooks/Honnoll side, died in 1605 in Kent, England. He was 42 years old and didn't get out of Kent during his lifetime, as far as I can tell. At this remove of time, there is so little that we know about people who just lived their lives without fanfare. His descendants made up for it, though. His son Ambrose emigrated to Virginia, eventually patenting 350 acres on the Appomattox River. There is speculation that he first built an English-style small thatched house, followed by a mansion known as the Cobbs Hall. Ambrose and his line are ancestral to the Savages, Moons and eventually Nancy Ellinor Honnoll; Cobbs Hall is the burial place of Col. John Bolling, only great-grandson of John Rolfe and Pocahontas, to whom there is a whisper of a connection on the Shelton side of the family. I think I am related to everyone in the world at least twice at this point, and have just started calling everyone "Cousin Cousin" for simplicity's sake.

Ambrose's descendants didn't stay in Virginia long, not all of them, anyway. They moved onward, south and west, from Virginia to South Carolina to Hardeman County, Tennessee (named for, again, a family connected to the Shelton side of the family), and on to Mississippi, Arkansas and Oklahoma. They lived in structures far more like the thatched house than like Cobbs Hall, including half-dugouts on the plains. There was always some kind of roof made out of the materials at hand, it seems.

Starting this week, I will be part of the city Historic Preservation Commission, which I hope will help me put these tiny architectural stories into a good context. If I have a philosophy about all of this, it's that one should learn everything possible about the immediate vicinity and the recent ancestors, while those stories can still be saved, so that we have images and sounds and accounts of the people themselves, not just the structures they left.

Forward into the past.....

27 December 2012

Solstice count

Early morning light on the formations

So it's been a few weeks. This semester (I will spend my life dividing the year into semesters, which, when you think about it, is Not Normal) was the most hectic yet since we loaded up the covered wagon and moved to this prairie outpost. Sometimes it's difficult to know where, if anywhere, the fixed points of our orbits are.

The constancy of change is nowhere clearer than in the drylands and flatscapes of the prairies. We have shifted our annual Christmas Bird Count focus to Badlands National Park and surrounding areas, and this is a lovely and somber region indeed at the winter solstice. The light slants low; it blazes up and dies down quickly, like a small fire on bone-dry wood.

It was a day for deep, peaceful silences, cracking ice, a light so brilliant that everything seemed illuminated from within. It was not a day for flocks of birds. This is South Dakota. In winter. Birds aren't stupid. Most of them headed out over a month ago, late this year. Everything that could hide or hibernate did so, leaving us to the colors of winter grasses, tall formations, and ice. The bighorn sheep joined us all day, moving down to marginally warmer grazing.

In short, it was prairie magic.