Hiking the Hinterlands

I drove around the countryside a lot while I was back.  Sometimes with Mark and Holly, sometimes alone.  I guess I had to soak it all in.  Here, then,  are a few pictures of my expeditions into the hinterlands.  There is always something to marvel at when you travel.

As anyone knows, there are 7 classic American barn styles: Bank, Tobacco, English, Dutch, Crib, Prairie, and the rarest of all, the Round.  Originally built by the Shakers in the 1800's, they tried to advance the theory that round barns were more efficient and less costly to construct.  They postulated that round barns had greater volume-to-surface ratios than more conventional barns.  They were claims that were overstated, since few were made.  

There is a round barn right in your own back yard, on the George Ewing farm south of Seaton.  We used to play basketball there in high school.  It has been featured on several farm journal-type magazines.   You should drive by and see it.  Its the only one around. 

This picture represents some pretty cool things we did as kids.  This is in Seaton overlooking a creek we used to look for crayfish.  We'd get down there in the muck and were fascinated by the claws.  Up on the hill to the right was where the old Seaton school was.  We went to grade school there.  Also next to the school was the ball diamond where we played church league ball during high school and some college.  You can see the scoreboard standing up there.  I actually have a light from the old diamond which was in a pile of junk and I refurbished.  And that sloping area just this side of the scoreboard, that's where we would go sledding in the winter.  That was back when we actually had some good snowfalls.  (Watch for a more detailed post on the school in the future.) 

Still standing and not so different than when we were kids, this was where The Mole Man would hunch down next to the from door and just watch time go by.  His last name was Conder, and his father was Bert Conder.  Bert was, to us, an ancient and dapper fellow who used to wear a black suit and the Wombie reminded me that we used to buy him an occasional cigar when we were kids.  Not sure if we purloined one of our Dad's cigars or whether we bought them someplace. Hey it was Seaton in the 60's, sure, we'll sell you kids tobacco products.  

I don't know why we called him Mole Man, exactly, but he was always dark with dirt; I suppose that's the reason.  Never really knew what he did to make money, the front looks just like it did when we were kids.  Always just hunched next to the door watching the traffic go by.  You would have thought his knees would get tired hunched down like that, but he never had a chair out there, just hunched down.  

Driving south of Seaton we came across this warning painted on the pavement.  "Turn around.  Your life is in danger."  Complete with arrows directing us the other way.  Full sunshiny day, but in a way, that warning on the road was a little bit creepy.  

The next series of pictures were taken south of Aledo down from McCaw's corner.  I had remembered cousin Amy took some nice photographs there a few years ago and thought I'd give it a go.  I think she found a bridge or old barn down there.  I didn't but the overgrowth eventually forced me back.   

I love roads/paths/lanes like this one.  Hardly travelled except by the farmer with a tractor to work the land, these are scattered all over and present pretty good vistas without phone poles or lines.  They are also mysterious.  

These guys were doing their best to stay ahead of me and I was waiting for them to dodge into the overgrowth, but the poor things just kept running in the lane.  I finally stopped so they could catch their little breaths.  

See how it is getting almost too much for my little truck?  

I saw a pheasant to my left having ducked into the high weeds.  It was a stare down at that point.  But I had my camera and was able to get him.

A nice looking fellow with a bright red cap.  

Even weeds have a particular beauty to them.  

I had forgotten how much color there is in the ditches of the Midwest.  

South on the Kenny road is this bridge overlooking what might be Edwards River.  Wouldn't it have been fun, as a kid,  to build a raft, Huck Finn-style, and navigate it down something like this.  Wonder why we never did?  I was on a raft during college during homecoming week that capsized and sank.  It was one of my harrowing moments that I really thought I was a goner.  

  

Further South on that road you come to Candor Cemetery, where the folks are buried, and not much further is this old house that certainly has seen better days.  But, wow, what a looker this would have been a hundred years ago.  Big, stately, with elegant lines and fascinating round windows, this thing is huge and, sadly, will no doubt either catch fire or simply crumble one of these days.  But if you have any imagination at all, imagine this stately lady when it was a beauty.  A magnifiscent ediface with its own forgotten history of sheltering and housing generations.  Those voices are quiet now but think of the Christmas's, the celebrations, the great days of joy and the days of sorrow as well.  My mother was acutely bothered by empty houses.  I understand why.  They are, besides the wood and plaster, an extension of ourselves; they reflect our greatest happiness while containing our deepest pain.  

From the Grapes of Wrath when the Joad family is leaving the homestead for California:

Al Joad: Ain't you gonna look back, Ma? Give the ol' place a last look?

Ma Joad: We're going' to California, ain't we? All right then let's go to California.

Al Joad: That don't sound like you, Ma. You never was like that before.

Ma Joad: I never had my house pushed over before. Never had my family stuck out on the road. Never had to lose everything I had in life.

Homes are our anchors.  They keep us from drifting, they give us constancy, permanence and security.  

Thanks for hiking with me.  Tomorrow, a Flashback Fiday and on Monday we'll continue with the Great Ride Up North.