Except as noted, all images copyrighted by and should be attributed to E B Hawley.
I had become many eons ago a traveling literary gnome, inquisitive about places I had and had not visited,
walking the same paths of peoples from the past, through places once grand and still grand,
photographing images that now show me the places about which I still dream . . .

Monday, March 29, 2010

Horsing Around in Dalhart



This is the view outside the Dalhart cafe. The curtains have an aviation theme, most appropriately. I saw both aviators and locals enjoying the food at the Dalhart Cafe. Above I show the Wichita Valley airport with its choice of landing strips (north/south and east/west) depending on the crosswinds. The buildings shown above were built during WWII for training. Indeed, some remnants of barracks remain near the buildings. A cook is busy preparing late breakfasts for locals and aviators at the Dalhart Cafe. I'd love to write the captions directly under each photograph, but the technical details of blog-keeping are a bit beyond me for now. 


The Panhandle of Texas has miles and miles of fencing. 


Horses rest in the late morning. 


A horse approached me, curious about me. 


The chickens lost interest in me once they found out I have no food for them.


The foreman and his family live here, with his Border Collie. 


Underneath this large roof they store wheat year round. 


A Dodge Ram 2500 transports the round bales of wheat hay. 


From Dalhart we flew to Pampa. Here's a picture of an old barn I took for Ben and Larry. Narcissus bloom in all that oldness and trash. 

Perry LeFors Field in Pampa constantly has aircraft traffic. Some of the aircraft are old and interesting, such as the Citabria pictured above, and often I see modern aircraft, such as Citations. The wind is always strong in Pampa, so make sure you tie down your airplane.




Silos.



No comments:

Post a Comment

Let Lovely Turn of Phrase Begin

JMHawley Gave Me a Kiss to Build a Dream On

Listen, will you? I think that . . . literature, poetry, music and love make the world go round . . . while mathematics explains things; I fill my life with them, then go walking in snowy woods.
Let us go then, you and I
like two etherized patients floating
through life, together feeling prufrockian.
DDB Jr. makes my world go 'round; during his absence, Pachelbel fills it up.
One summer I sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, then through the Gulf of Finland to reach Saint Petersburg; I pursued Joseph Brodsky in its alley ways. I dream of making that two summers.
I read “Biking to Electra;” found my way in a Jaguar car, and glanced at the flashing steel grasshoppers at sunset. I’ll follow K.O.P.’s footsteps after he followed N.Scott Momaday’s; find warmth and inspiration on a rainy mountain.
Throw chinese coins for the I Ching.
Save the whales, the spotted owl, the woman in toil.
Cast a fly for trout; my memories of fly fishing under the sunny blue Colorado sky remain; I yearn to build more . . . with more trophy Browns.
Listen for the swan’s calls on the Baltic Sea. Feel KKII's joy, his arms spread wide in Yazilikaya.
Good night, Jimmy Durante, where ever you are.