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 . . .

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Dickens

      A small town populated by three or so hundred people lies sixty miles east of Lubbock, Texas. The town began as a stopping point for the cowboys and other people working in the area. It seems an intriguing little place that has served the people since the late 1880s. Find a good history about it at the Texas State Historical Association's site. I drive by there upon occasion, and this time I could not help myself but to stop long enough to take images of some of the buildings along Highway 82. The buildings reflect the charm and perseverance of the people who live in Dickens. Indeed, a story tells of several prisoners who escaped the Dickens jail, found a ride to the nearest bootlegger, then returned to the jail to consume their wine. Better yet, though, its people preserve their history and heritage in the Dickens Historical Museum, a place I hope to visit soon.

Dickens Historical Museum on Montgomery Street.

Dickens County Courthouse. Fascinating account of its history at their site.

Across the street from the courthouse, to the south, a lawyer's office still stands. 
H. A. C. Brummett died in 1980. 

The county jail. 

An abandoned but still loved building. 

Dickens Grocery.

Outside this building we can still tie our horses to the hitching rail.

Painted and decorated.

For Rent. Sleeps two. 

 

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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.