Old Roof, New Roof

Falls Flyover Sunrise

      The city of Wichita Falls, founded in the late 1800s, has a rich history in aviation. The workforce Sheppard Air Force Base, coming from all over the nation and world, infuses the community with dynamic new culture. In addition, Sheppard collaborates generously with the city in maintaining the municipal airport, soon to become regional airport. A nearby airport, Kickapoo, receives a large number of aircraft daily, from Cubs to Citations, and is the meeting place of the "Ol' Codgers" group of pilots, veterans of past wars, or not, who enjoy talking shop. Hobbyists devoted to aviation hangar their aircraft at Wichita Valley airport. On the edge of Lake Wichita, there lies a runway, now covered with growth, with buildings and hangars at the southwest end, still shown on a sectional as the Tom Danaher airport, where during Tom's younger years pilots would gather every weekend.
      It came as no surprise to me, and I felt charmed by it, that the community in 2007 chose to call the newly-constructed highway ramps "Falls Flyover." Here is an iPhone image I took as we "flew" over one of the ramps. In the background, we see the Attebury grain elevators built in the early Twentieth century by Jack Kemp.

Festus' Shadow on the Grass

Helicopter Sunrise

Painted Bunting

The folks at Wild Bird Rescue rehabilitated this painted bunting and then released it back into the wild.

First Ride in Helicopter

       Gary takes off with a young girl, who upon landing exclaimed her wish to become a pilot.

Aerobat Landing

       Picture of MyMrMallory landing his acrobatic airplane, squeaking upon the runway, maintaining the nose wheel up for a couple hundred yards. So that's how to land!

The Rain Fell, Two Inches

At four o'clock in the morning a bucket-full of rain fell on North Texas. It was a kind storm in my neighborhood, with not-too-strong winds and a steady pitter-patter on our new roof.

A rarely seen sight around these parts: Two inches and more of rain in one rain.

The lake rose a bit with two inches, and may rise a bit more during the next few days. 

Nests on a Wire Bridge

     On a suspension bridge carrying an oil line over the Wichita River, vultures (I think) found a place to roost, one with a good view.

Beautiful Storms that Covered the Perseids

       MyMrMallory and I headed out into the wheat field from which, we thought, we could glimpse some of the Perseids. Thunderstorms popping up in the early evening surprised us, but we felt that eventually, the sky would clear and the meteors would show in all their impressive beauty. The rain goddess had other things in mind: We got drenched. First, after a couple of hours of enjoying the view of the thunderstorms all around us, when one loud, ear-breaking crack of lightning nearly sent us off our little lawn chairs. Soon, the rain began in buckets. No meteor shower for us last night, nor sunset, nor photos of the crescent Moon near Venus. Instead, we were treated to other remarkable displays by nature. 

Sunset upon our arrival to the middle of the wheat field. 

A small shaft of rain appeared in the distance while we unpacked chairs and cameras. 

The small rain became a sight to see!

We started noticing other shafts of rain . . . 

. . . to the east . . .

 . . . to the north and the storm that drenched us in the field and all the way home. 

A pleasant and impressive surprise!

Grasshopper Sitting on Car

Baxter

Infrared Abstract, Unintended

 Some accidents look interesting, particularly in regard to art.

Infrared Hay Rolls

     A large number of hay rolls, gathered in 2012 after heavy moisture made the wheat unusually high, dwindled to only a half dozen this year. I stopped by with my infrared camera for a few images.

Bluebell Variant, White

Bluebells, A Study

Baker Hotel in Mineral Wells

      Closed in 1963, two Web sites share interesting history behind the Baker Hotel in Mineral Wells, built in 1929 and closed by its owner in 196: Wikipedia, and the hotel site. 

      

Texas Bluebells

Prolific and gorgeous along the middle part of the state. 

An Impressive Cloud

Out of the Big Blue

     And one day, out of the blue, a letter appeared under our doors. To paraphrase: This building [this historic building] will be closed and locked by July 31st. My eyes blinked a few times, I swallowed, then read the letter again. I held confirmation in my hands.

     "You can't close the building by the end of the month!" a tenant shrieked on the fifth floor, supposedly, at the owner. But the owner did. Until I saw the letter, as I watched people carrying boxes out of the building, I couldn't believe anyone would act on only a shriek heard, allegedly, by someone in the elevator down the hall. A kind of Exodus began.

     Even MyMrMallory took action, he who refused to move, and found office space the very morning he read the letter.

     Finally, it sank into my head: We had to move out. We had to find other office space. And we only had four weeks so to do.
 
     Because, we were informed, the elevators could not be repaired.

Maps and boxes were brought out from the offices to crowd the hallway on our floor. 

Our maps, gently, though messily, placed in the back seat of my sedan.

Bob brought out more maps and more stuff to be packed. 

The moving company, Albert's, surrounded the building with large trucks. 

One of our movers told me that on July 30th, 

they loaded from seven o'clock in the morning to midnight.

   We had to buy boxes, bubble wrap, and wrapping paper. More boxes. More bubble wrap. The moving company brought more boxes and wrapping paper. We did very little for four weeks but pack, pack, and pack. 

      

    Only one elevator was in use during those four weeks, and could only be operated manually, to serve twelve floors of tenants moving out. With every trip, arms and dollies loaded with boxes, we had to phone one of the men downstairs to bring the elevator up to the seventh floor; and when we needed to go up, we waited in the lobby for the elevator to finally come down and be unloaded, piling stuff that crowded the small lobby area. 

    Desks, tables, chairs, filing cabinets . . . coming down with the elevator, its malfunctioning engine ever-present in our minds. At times, I had to go outside to take three deep breaths. 

     

   As I packed, I struggled to accept the historic building closing, but I comforted myself with the thought that someone, someday, would buy it and renovate it, turn it into an apartment building, or something like that, a Quixotic thought, perhaps. I longed to be in the countryside with my camera.

   At the same time, I felt elated to leave, for the maintenance was indescribably bad, and the maintenance crew surly in attitude. It was, I see in retrospect, as if a disdainful youngster found himself saddled with this building, as if saddled with an older relative, a member of the "greatest generation," and then left her to the uncouth, unreasonably reliant upon their concern to care for her. 

   The service was the least of the problems, for we all learned to live with it, somehow. It was the air circulating in the building, more significantly, that was not healthy. I stopped going to our offices years ago because I could not breathe. 

    Once a month, when I did go, I pointed to the black ring around the air vents in our offices, my face contorted with horror. "Really, we must move," I would say, knowing MyMrMallory would not undertake the inconvenience unless there was a catastrophe. And a catastrophe did occur.

We moved out of the First Wichita, known as the "Big Blue" . . . 

. . . into the diagonally opposed building, the City National, just as historic, 

but in contrast managed professionally. 

A fellow from the telephone company surrounded by wires 

as he installed our lines at the City National building.

iPhone photos.

    From our corner offices at the City National, we gaze now at the "Big Blue," its shiny facade reflecting under the sun, its color an attractive saturated blue that conceals the disaster within. I noted this with not much sorrow, but my sorrow deepened when I realized the gravitas of the loss to the city. 

   My thoughts drift often to the security officer who worked at the "Big Blue," a burly, sweet man, named Blue -- and by the size of him, he could also be called "Big Blue" -- for what will become of him? He made coffee every morning and at mid-afternoon, too; and he could tell the weather as well as an educated weatherman.  

   "Will it rain this week, Blue?" I would ask him, and he would mumble a "Yesh," or a "Naw," shake his sweet head, his white teeth sparkling in his smile, and resume reading the newspaper. It rained or it did not, depending on what Blue said.

   

   He was always kind to me, and cheerfully pressed the elevator button when he saw me walking through the front doors. So kind was Blue, that MyMrMallory reciprocated by taking the newspaper to him every day of the week.

    The local newspaper, Times Record News, published an editorial on Sunday, July 28th.

Update: 

     A wondrous project made me return to Big Blue. See Kevin Selle's website here: http://texomamoment.weebly.com.

          Inside the Big Blue, as I walked down the hall toward the mailroom, I could see on the floor a sheet of paper. I recognized it right away. My heart jumped. It was the letter written by Womble to his tenants telling us we had only thirty days to vacate, and that thereafter he would turn off the air and lock the building. I reached down to pick it up. The letter had foot prints on it. I don't recall what I did with my copy, though, knowing me, I surely tore it in half and tossed it. I had forgotten its harsh message.  See its image below: