White and Homeless in Everywhere

       I leaned against the ADA compliant railing on the corner of Pecan Street and the main drag through Everywhere, Texas. I wanted to get under way, but I settled in to listen when a local man stopped to visit with me while I photographed one of the old buildings on the corner. That's the old post office, he said.

       He told me that he'd been homeless for a year and a half and lived in a tent in a nearby forest, not far down the street.
     "What happened to you?" I asked him.
     "My wife divorced me," he said, "so I came back here where I have kin, but I lived in the forest. I used to be a school teacher. I came here and looked for a job but couldn't find anything, so I volunteered as a janitor over there," he said, pointing to one of the buildings. "I think I'm pro'ly the best toilet bowl cleaner in town."
     "Gotta count for somethin'."
     "Yeah, and then I helped a bit at the museum, and I also helped the African Americans research for their heritage, but that didn't go over very well with some folks."
     "Why not?"
     "East Texas is still very segregated."
     "Oh? What is the black population of this town?"
     "I don't know that any black people live here anymore. The Klan is here, you know. The blacks here used to live along the river, and they got flooded out sometimes, and if they ever crossed the railroad this much," he said spreading his hands about a yard, "they were hung." Ouch.
     "THE Klan?" I wasn't surprised by the history of the ill treatment against African Americans, but I was about the news about the Klan.
     "Yeah. They had a big membership drive recently. They're mad because President Obama got elected. It was the biggest membership drive since Martin Luther King."
     "I didn't know the Klan still existed." How naive of me.
     "They do. They're secret. They meet in the forest. They hide behind organizations like the Moose Lodge to give them some credibility."

     So I had to ponder the news. Living as a white person I do not, cannot see the abundant racism. Indeed, I may not even know the extent of my own prejudice instilled in me during childhood by a racist mother and growing up in a racist society. For many years my mother forbade me to have a friend, Marie, and I could not understand why not until I became an adult and recognized that my best friend was black and my mother was racist. One famous play, South Pacific, has a song with the lyrics "you've got to be taught to be afraid / [ . . . ] / and people whose skin is a different shade," yet, even as a child I took note of the lyrics and felt some level of disdain for, and confusion over them. It is how I felt this morning as I walked along the old street of Everywhere, a town founded in the 1860s where still such hatred as the Klan flourishes, and no doubt why culture in town remains at its level. I thought of Jahn, too, the friendly local man who took the time to tell me a bit about the history of the town, even how to pronounce it: [Ever-where]. His wife, no doubt -- and this is my theory -- could not tolerate his bleeding-heart attitudes, and tossed him out of the house.

     "That wasn't very Christian of her to do that."
     "Neither of us knew what would happen to me. I live with my faith in Lord Jesus to give me strength."
     We all need a whole lot more of Jesus around here if in 2011 there exist still people who foment hatred. But, was it all true, I wondered, what Jahn said about an organization that so despises one people, one culture, that they are compelled to hang them or burn them alive? Would they still hang a black man or woman if they took one step over the tracks? Is there still such darkness, such lack of Christ, everywhere? Remembering comments I'd heard in the past by some of the people whose paths I cross every week, the answer to my question was a painful yes. There are racists in my town and there are racists everywhere, white, black, red, and yellow. I put my camera away and drove away from there fast enough to exceed the speed limit.

Update: A local from the town responded to this post saying that it hurts the folks living there. I agree. I should  have used the name Everywhere instead of the real name, because there exists, unfortunately, racism everywhere and I would have made that point more clearly. I'm still awfully shocked by the experience of knowing that the Klan still exists, but I'm overcoming it enough to post some of the photographs I took of the wonderful old buildings in that old town.

Love the Rain; Love the Clouds

Texas has received several inches of rain the past few days. 

Clouds have looked gorgeous for days. 

Rain Headed Our Way

The weatherman predicts heavy rainfall in our neck of the woods.

Update: 3.95 inches at our house.

Finally, Camera in Hand, Clubs Put Away

      I volunteered to take pictures during the Women's Tournament and wound up substituting for a player, adding to my load at the golf club (and to my body, ouch). The third day, though, I did not have to play, so I spent some time driving around taking pictures and observing nature. I spotted a few Mallard Ducks and a Widgeon, several Robins, a load of goldfinches, and a couple of mockingbirds. I thought I saw a Red-tailed Hawk. In terms of birdwatching, I expected to see more, but the drought has changed the patterns. I saw several species of the smaller wild flowers that no doubt thrive under the golf course's sprinkler systems. It was beautiful out there.

The top contenders hard at work at play. 

The crew watered by hand all the greens all summer long. The added TLC shows. 

I especially appreciate the added TLC to the grand trees.

The Mesquite Plant hasn't noticed we are suffering through a drought, hardy fellow!

Many Mistletoe plants have withered and dried up while the Mesquite continues to grow seed pods.

Maybe in Ten Years

         Maybe in ten years I might walk across the golf course as often as I did this week. I completely changed my mind since yesterday when three times I exclaimed, "I will chuck it all to become a full time golfer." In spite of not having swung at a golf ball in many months, nay, years, I happened to play only because the organizers of the tournament asked me to substitute for a player. While at first I felt enthralled to find myself surrounded by the lovely landscaping and old trees, once the game began, I realized that the activity I really felt any interest in engaging was photography. Time and again I wanted to stop the golf cart to take a picture, but, you know, that's obnoxious to do during the game. So whenever my opponent occupied herself with her shot, I surreptitiously slipped out my iPhone and clicked away at some of the magnificent old trees. And if I could have shot macro with the iPhone, I would have crawled on my knees to capture the beauty of a flower, a stone, a fallen leaf, a damselfly . . . 

First Tournament in Ten Years

TLG: [Breathes deeply the cool air. Looks around at beautiful trees and golf course.] I'm going to chuck it all to become a full-time golfer.
Michael: Yeah. That flyin's gotta be fun, though.
TLG: [Ponders comment. Ponders chucking flying.] Yeah, you're right. I might just keep flyin'.

iPhone Images.

Nature, How Long Thou Art Dry?

Three dry ponds.

Yellow substance in the murky waters of a drying pond.

Hardy plants survive in a pond's bottom.

Lillies have turned an eerie color.

Dry trees surrounded by crisp dry grass.

Burnt trees from above provide another gut-striking abstract of Nature's drought art. 

How muddy and boggy the cattle crossing may have become after a rain.

The windmill might have filled the tank if it had water to siphon from beneath the surface. 

Cows have to drink water from algae-ridden waters. 

An island emerges in the middle of a pond.

Nature, Thy Drought Art

         MyMrMallory and I flew around in the helicopter today. From above one can see the effect of the drought.

The crops did not grow in the drought.

An abandoned veggie garden.

Dead Trees.

A dry creek lined by dead trees.

Dry grasses.

Dry reeds in a pond.

Bone dry.

A bush manages to survive in the bottom of a dry pond.

Colorful plants grow on a pond bottom.

Hoof prints along the bottom of a dry pond.

A stone ridge emerges along the dry grasslands.

Dead or alive.

After the fire.

Plowed earth.

Ryan's Explanation on the QR Code

Click here to visit Ryan's blog. 

Below I show one of his creations.

Quanah in Cache

   After Quanah Parker's death in the 1911, his daughter Mrs. Birdsong, bought his home and moved it away from the grounds of Fort Sill to Eagle Park in Cache, Oklahoma, thus saving it from demolition by the US Army. 

     Note the stars (fourteen in total) that Quanah painted on his roof, all with one tip pointed downward, his own version of showing a leader lived there, fashioned after a general's stars at his quarters in Fort Sill.

Back porch of the Star House. My foot almost went through the rotten floor boards. 

Quanah's (supposedly) table. George sits in (purportedly) Quanah's chair.

      Upon the dust-covered stove a sign lists some of the people who sat with Quanah at his table: Lord Brice, Geronimo, cattle ranchers of note, such as his friends Burk Burnett and Tom Waggoner, and several chiefs from the Comanche, Kiowa, Sioux, and Cheyenne nations, and generals from the US Army.

     Eventually, Herbert Woesner, Jr., the man who assisted Mrs. Birdsong, relocated several other buildings to Eagle Park. The park became a sight for tourists to visit, and surrounding its main attraction, the Star House, the could skate in a rink or ride a roller-coster. 

Eagle Park closed in the 1950s. 

     A railway, bifurcated now by trees, shows some of the path of a little train running through Eagle Park during its day. 

Farm machinery sits abandoned and strewn about Eagle Park. 

Trailer full of scrap metal, or an antique shop's inventory?

      A bust of Quanah Parker at the National Hall of Fame for Famous American Indians in Anadarko, Oklahoma. Would someone renovate his Star House, please?