What's with the Tortoise? The Circle of life?

The Tortoise-an ancient symbol 

of long life and and good health

as well as mother earth.

The Circle of life.

Some tribes called it the sacred circle

It is the circle of unity

It is these two things in life 

That seem so simple yet so complex

Tortoise Pictograph from Paint Rock Texas(Enhanced)

      Benjamin Franklin said there were only two things certain in life: Death and Taxes. Ben wrote in a letter to Jean-Baptiste Leroy, 1789. I think if I could have visited with Ben, I would have asked about life and enjoying every moment and experiencing new and wondrous  things! Of course this is a man who flew kites in storms, travel to England like we travel to Wal Mart.

     We here so many times "Life is short. Live it to the fullest!" Yet when we try to go that route we are sometimes met with skepticism and criticism . We get asked about our other responsibilities like home, job family like those have no weight or value to us anymore. It can be done with some sacrifices. My lawn is the best manicured in the neighborhood. And yes, I am sure there some faucets and a bathroom that need my attention.  They will be there when I get back, and odds are I will be off looking for something else to experience before they all get done. I am almost positive that I will not be laying in my deathbed saying to myself, "God, if I had just mowed the lawn one more time, and fixed that faucet, my life and Legacy would be complete!" This video is so perfect. It has always been one of my favorite commercials, and truly shows the grace of life. Funny as this is.....

     So here we are- living the full life. Or are we? Is work the main reason for existence? It shouldn't be. It should be about having fun. I blame this mindset on my childhood. Yes I was an only child. Most of my your days were spent at my uncle's farm. I was left to my own imagination, where toys were stationary tractors and barns filled with adventure. I learned about my families life from stories and tales from relatives. I would walk the fields, and woods looking for signs of ancient cities and ruins from the past. Of course there weren't any, but you can be sure I always returned with some item I was sure belonged to some indian tribe, or outlaw that had hidden in the woods many years ago. 

     But like all children, I grew older and as time went on, I never really lost the desire to explore, and learn about an area. I was lucky because as an MP dog handler in the Army, I was able to go just about anywhere I wanted to at anytime. (I had a gun and a dog. Who was going to argue with that?) Even when I was working at the Pentagon, I would eventually wind up in the basement, walking the area, marveling at the wood grains, in the concrete. I found the historical section, and it was explained that the Pentagon had been built using rough lumber. So the wood grains were from the forms they used. I would walk and crawl the tunnels, to find ANYTHING that I could find. Of course that lead to many meeting with very large rats, and various other critters, but in my mind that was the price I was willing to pay, for this moment of exploration. 

     I have been blessed with some awesome times, an extremely "patient" wife. Exploring, and living this way does come with a "few" problems. I have had my share of a few Hospital visits, injuries and other challenges that have required her assistance from time to time. She has weathered the storm, figuring it is better to visit me in the emergency room than to forward my mail to the mental ward. She knows I would go insane if I could not live this way, and she has endured. 

     But she knows my internal clock is running at a pace that is not normal. I have never really been at peace with the circle of life. I have alway been running wide open, attacking everything with a passion and near frantic pace. For some it is disconcerting or even frightening. At times I will run a passion or event until it dies right in front of me. This drive became even worse when my dad passed away last year. We had never really gotten along very well. NO we never got along at all. He always questioned this way of life, exploring old towns, visiting cemeteries, riding my motorcycle across ranch properties to find an old house. It was labeled  stupid to him. It became a chip on my shoulder and that chip I carried was there for all to see. I refused to relent to anything. I would go out in any type of weather to find that "one place" that would bring me peace. The one location that give me the answers I was never going to find from my father. It had to be out there somewhere, and no matter what I was going to find it. 

     I did. It was me. Peace comes from understanding yourself. accepting the fact that as time goes so goes us. The circle of life got a whole lot smaller when my dad passed away. Before my mom passed away in 2007, her and I had a long talk on the phone. She had come to some sort of understanding of why I was so willing to run like a "wild man" through life. She finally understood that though I was totally willing to take risks to experience something, I did not have a death wish. Spending 22 years in the Army had taught me not to fear death. Yet I was controlled by my one and biggest fear. The fear of not living. I was able to make it to Michigan from Texas hours before she died. When she saw me, In my motorcycle gear, helmet in hand, her strained smile, and her softening eyes told me she knew that the time was close. When she died the next day. I stood there looking at the woman who had tolerated so much insanity with my childhood. The one who had defended my life's choices. Her circle was gone, and the tortoise had won once again. 

Looking to the gods, and walking up the hill. 

     It took a trip to Paint Rock Texas for me to come to grips with who and what I am. Spending time walking a cliff of 1500 pictographs from over two thousand years ago did it start to come to light. I wasn't looking for anything other than some cool pictures, and to meet a few people, write about for my book about US Hwy. 83. It was when I was watching one pictograph interacting with the sun that I became overcome with emotion. It is a pictograph depicting death, and the travel to to the gods. I stood there and watched the sun pass through and was amazed at the simple complexity of it all. I had heard Cora talk about the tortoise pictograph and she showed me several pictures of it in action. The sun piercing the center of the tortoise signifying life and the start of a new season. I can't tell what happened that day. I wouldn't even want to try and explain it. It changed me. What I thought was just an emotional exciting day became more. The panic of time running out on me has disappeared. Like an alcoholic, I have my moments, but my mind settles, and I move forward. I sleep like I have never slept. I no longer feel like the circle of life is a noose around my neck, but a handle to hang onto the moments I experience. There is a depth of my visits with people and a different appreciation for the surroundings I am in. The Tortoise is going to win. But I am going to enjoy view until the race is over. 

  

Cora showing the tortoise in all of its splendor

     So there you have it. Some personal rants, and why the tortoise and the circle of life are so prominent in my writing. They give peace and understanding about life, and why I am the way I am. It really isn't all that complex after all is it? 

     So go and enjoy life. At the very least I plan on replacing a faucet in my bathroom very soon. 

History-When it does repeat itself- It can be magic

"When will it start mommy?"

"Soon dear."

"Do you see them waaaay down there?"

"Yes dear."

"Were you REALLY Miss Shamrock?"

"I was."

You're still pretty mommy!"

"Thank you."

"Here they come! Here they come!"

"I see."

"Mommy! Miss Shamrock just waved at us!!!!!" She's Pretty Just like you!

"Wave back to your sister."

The tortoise of time pauses and smiles. His Journey continues . 

     History- What a wonderful word. It can signify the end of an era "The fight is over! He is history!" I can mark the start of an era "You are witnessing History in the making!" It can even mark the end of love " I am through! We are history!" It is when we here the term "History repeats itself", THAT is when we want to know why? How? 

     History has repeated itself 70 times in Shamrock Texas.  Every St. Patrick's Day weekend since 1946 the town polishes the Blarney Stone, paints the town green and celebrates in a way the is refreshing and will bring a smile to your face. 

     This is city pride at it's best. Folks start to line up downtown almost as early as the participants. That is more than likely because their husband, wife son or daughter is in the parade. So yes, the local towns people are the stars. Firetrucks from other local towns, as well as Police cars lead the parade, as it has since the beginning. With sirens cutting through the crisp morning air the parade begins. Children and adults run to the edge of the street to not only get the best view possible, but to ready themselves for the history making event. Children riding on the firetrucks toss candy in a seemingly wanton manner, until they see someone they know, then the candy is strategically lobbed in their direction. The only exception to the candy being tossed is when someone's mother or grandmother is spotted. Then the truck stops and allows them to approach, and candy is politely handed to them. A kiss on the cheek will be exchanged with a "see you at dinner tonight." Other local businesses also compete for the approval of the crowds, by driving cars laden with more candy, or some other item tossed into the crowd. 

Respect is always given to everyone in Shamrock. 

     History continues as the parade moves on. Candy that has been tossed is quickly gathered, and will come to a halt as the color guard passes by. Everyone stops and hats are removed, children stand in silence as the flags of the United States and the US Navy pass by. Children are reminded of the sacrifices people have suffered for our country, and the importance of civic duty. Friends wave and give a hearty "Thank You" as the VFW float as it passes by. Even entertaining participants are an opportunity for learning. As the Shriners rode by, I heard a parent explain to her son, "The Shriners help raise money for children that are very sick" They come to the parades to thank us for our help." 

     No parade is with beauty and Shamrock continues to honor the past with their own "Shamrock Queen" or Miss Irish Rose. Her court is honored and met with approving applause as she passes by. I am sure the proudest was her Grandmother who made sure everyone knew that the beautiful young lady at the front was HER Granddaughter. 

     The parade seems to be over much too quickly and the crowds begins to dissipate. It is now lunch and the carnival is only here for one more night. The rides are crowded and the local restaurants are packed. Yet no one seems to mind because there is plenty to talk about while waiting in line. Comparisons are made to other years' parades and plans are already being made for next year. The conversations will drift back to the good old days, and "remember when?" will start more sentences then there was candy being tossed today. 

     This is an event best experienced in person. There might be bigger parades. There might be longer parades. Heck this is NO Macy's day parade by any stretch of the Imagination . Shamrock's is better. Thank God history does repeat itself. 

For more information about next years' parade and schedule of events follow them on Facebook at this link   Shamrock Texas St. Patrick's events

For information about the the great city of Shamrock, it's attractions and museums visit the city website. City of Shamrock Texas web site.

Visit my link here for for a You Tube video from their past event in 2016. Shamrock Parade and events video.

Ghost Towns and the Circle of Life

I stand in silence

The noise of my imagination in conflict with my eyes

The cruelty of the present, always victorious,

Mocking the past like an abandoned lover.

Hollowed buildings stand aphonic

Like imprisoned sentries on duty, steadfast

The only movement, their shadows

Casting distorted angles on the streets

Time does not stand still

Its unapologetic arrogance taunts me.

If time is the tortoise, then I am the hare

I will be passed too. 

Preface - Neither Wellington or Paducah are listed as ghost towns- Let’s make sure it stays that way with our support by visiting, and enjoying their charming and wonderful people. Take the time to make a day trip to these locations along US 83, and visit their shops, their museums, and visit with the local folks along the way. Their stories will entertain you, and leave you with a sense of family. At the bottom of this blog, are links to their city website and links from Texas Escapes. So get out there and participate in one of their festivals, or events, and enjoy the history and the contributions they have made to our state. 

Ghost Towns. The term conjures up visions of dusty streets and romantic notions of a by-gone era. It transports you back to a happier time when life was simple and we find ourselves longing for the past. But nothing could be farther from the truth.


     While driving to Shamrock Texas this past weekend to experience the St Patrick’s Day festival, I stopped at several towns along the US 83 route. Town like Eden, Paint Rock, Ballinger, Childress, Anson, Wellington and Paducah to name a few. In between these towns the terrain varies from level pastures and grazing land to hardscrabble sparse scrub brush and 83 follows these cues. From seeming straight sections to undulating curves and hills US 83 passes next to and over several rivers. It’s on these sections between towns, I allowed my mind to contemplate the town I had just left, and wonder about what was waiting for me ahead.

One thing that seemed to jump out to me was- As the terrain goes so do the people. On the flat open sections, you see farmhouses dotting the landscape. Water towers are easily seen in the distance assuring you a town is nearby. Cattle, mostly Black Angus eagerly graze on the fresh spring shoots unaware of their impending fate. You see tractors of all sizes, pulling various types of implements designed to torture the earth to get her ready for the spring planting. But as the terrain toughens, so do the people. Homes are farther apart, the economy goes industrial, like Oil, and farms are smaller. Towns become farther apart. Even the cattle change, from the soft rounded physique of the Angus, brown muscular longhorns rule this rocky area. The sparse vegetation is only shared with sheep and an occasional goat herd.




     The towns along US 83 are usually fairly small, yet each seem to have been able to have sustained themselves in one way or another. The farming towns will probably have at least one feed store, and across the street will be a gas station-minimart. Perhaps there will be a diner and even a high school that is proudly displaying the football or baseball championship with a date before you were born. The workforce in these towns is truly a dichotomy of the past, and a fore bearer of thing to come. You most likely will see two generations working at the diner and the mini mart. The first group are the local teenagers eagerly planning their next day off to spend their money on what they deem necessary. At the other end of the spectrum, you find the second group, 60 or older. They are eager for their next day off also, but they plan on spending the day resting. They have one thing in common, and one enemy. Time and age are their weakness. One group too young to leave the town, and the other too old to leave. Whenever I am in a diner like this, I find it surreal to see the patrons walk in. They are the regulars, the cash flow of the community. They cover the rest of the age group. They sit down and are served by people that could be their children or their parents. So it poses a couple of questions. Are the younger servers going to grow up and become the major cash flow in the community? What about the current cash flow patrons? Are they going to be the next set of elder servers? The odds are the answer to both of those questions is no. So the circle of life is broken. And the gap between the break widens every day.


     The speed and size along the circle in which these towns travel varies. When a town hits the gap and begins the downhill path also varies. Much like our own lives, their eventual death cannot be predicted. Some of these towns seem to be in a perpetual hospice environment. No one seems to be willing to let go, and everyone around begins to suffer. Because just like a family member, residents are hoping for a miracle. That the city will wake up one morning, and be cured, and life will return to its former self. But the towns life support has been turned off. The unplanned has happened.  Either the loss of a railroad or Interstate in a neighboring county or even weather. Perhaps it was the poor planning of former leaders, bad politics or greed. It never just one thing. It will be a toxic “witches brew” of events and the start of decline will be silent and generally unseen. You can sometimes see what is happening by taking a look at two towns. Paducah and Wellington Texas.


      Wellington and Paducah are far from dead, but the struggles for economy are present.  The

stores in both squares are sparse. Looking into the windows, you sometimes see scaffolding and paint can, offering promises of possible revival. Some buildings are boarded up, with no windows to look into. People in both towns, have a sense of pride, and a strong desire for preservation. That takes money, and people who are willing to take a chance, and inject needed dollars into the towns’ square. For now, most of these towns only hope are to continue their annual festivals, and do their best to keep their museums, and shops open for the public to come see and enjoy. But for some towns, it is getting increasingly harder to manage these events, and maintain the museums. People who remember the past, and curate these places are growing old, and as they retire, the stories, and the memories fade with each passing of the sun. The displays become fragile and show aging as well. What was a historical item 5 years ago becomes todays financial burden, and most be either sold at an auction or thrown away. Sometimes these small towns have tough decisions to make, and

paying bills sometimes trump the painting of a building or the repair of an old monument no one seems to care about any longer.

       
     Towns do not die from the inside out. They die from the outside in. You have to travel beyond the town’s city limits to understand what has happened. Take a look along the side of the road leaving any town, and look along the horizon. In the cases of some of these towns, you will see the remains of farm houses, barns and lonely windmills standing testament to the past. Those farms were the cash flow, the children were the workforce, who became the cash flow. And the circle continued for quite some time. But the draw to these towns became the lure to leave. The trains and the highways that brought commerce, also stole the future workforce. They went forth to claim their future in another manner with promises of a better life elsewhere. So as the workforce aged, the circle became smaller, and as the youth left on the trains and highways, the gap began to widen. As the elder workforce was no longer able to work, and age attacked the cash flow, the towns began to suffer, the youth engaged in their own life, some never returning. The houses that sustained a city and lifestyle became ignored, and with age succumbed to the tortoise of time. And just as time chases us and our hair begins to gray, homes with once silver steel roofs turn dark with rust. It seems ironic that the colors are reversed.






      In most of the towns the building are the only reminder, a footnote in the history books. A sort of sideshow to the past if you will.  Their condition varies from near pristine condition to nothing more than a shell with bare beam exposed. Nothing seems to move except for an occasional cat seeking refuge in a nearby gap in a building. Perhaps another car may pass by as it makes it was from town to 83 for the lonely trip home. Most movements come from a flag waving in the breeze and the shadows of the buildings casting sharp angles contrasting against the red brick streets.


US 83 is like a timeline but do not be fooled. The road is anything but straight. We often use a timeline to measure the past present and future. But it is the circle of life that commands us. What is becomes what was. That is true for everyone and everything around us. My advice is simple. Make you circle big, walk slow, and keep the gap small.

May the tortoise of time take many breaks along his journey- And let’s hope he takes the scenic route. Perhaps US 83


For more information visit Texas Escape’s website
Paducah     http://www.texasescapes.com/TexasPanhandleTowns/PaducahTexas.htm
Wellington    http://www.texasescapes.com/TexasPanhandleTowns/WellingtonTexas.htm

City websites showing more history and events for the year
Paducah     http://www.paducahtx.com/index.html
Wellington     http://wellingtontx.com/

Poetry- Music and the "Rhythm" of Life.

Working on my project has helped my grow in so many ways. It has finally allowed me to concentrate on my dreams and work towards a goal the I feel is important. I have met so many wonderful folks already, and I have not logged a single mile towards Canada yet! from store owners to Government officials, Musicians, to Poets Laureate, They have help me in ways I can not fully explain. Their kind words, offers of help and encouragement have been nothing short of amazing. Including appreciating Music, Poetry, Prose and their special place in our world. 

     There are very few things in our lives that can stir our souls like a good song. Music is truly one of the very few universal forms of communication. Even if the song you hear is in a foreign language, we seem able to understand and feel the intent of the singer. From a soulful heartfelt syllable drawn out over a series of notes or a short staccato sentence , we are able to feel their pain or joy of moment.  It touches us and transports us to a time and place, happy or sad that is burned into our memory. Or it allows us to optimistically look ahead to the future. We forget our troubles when we hear of loves lost or or smile to the sunny days ahead. We connect to the singer and share their pain, or revel in their joys. 

  Poems on the other hand seemed to have been always  reserved for the “few”. The unique individuals who see life in a different manner. Poetry and Prose are 2 different yet important forms of expression. They are the “music-less” form of song if you will. They invoke emotion and  stir the imagination in ways most songs can only wish they could. Yet I believe they are one and the same when done right. 

     Bear with me here, “All Poems are Songs, yet not all Songs are Poems”. I know this is sounding like a math problem, but stay with me here. Poems stand on their own merit, they do not need music to get their point across. Strip the music from a some songs, and read the words- like this. “I shot the Sheriff. But I did not shoot the deputy. “Sheriff John Brown always hated me. For what I do not know. Every time I planted a seed, He said Kill it Before it Grows. A song about a pot growing man, who had to kill a policeman? And we LOVE that song!!! Is it the beat? Is it the chords of the music? It can’t be the story. Seriously! How do we find meaning in Do WOP- DO DO DO WOP? In some songs it is is the musical beat and tones that move us at times. Think of a song that moves you, and brings back those memories. Odds are the song is a story, you can relate to. So unless you are a pot growing cop killer, you can not draw any real inspiration from that song. 

     How did I come to this, well while working on my project for Hwy. 83, I have met several incredibly talented folks, from songwriters to Poets Laureate. One songwriter has written 3 songs for my documentary, and I visiting with two Poets Laureate, I have realized just how important both of their skills and God given talents really are to our lives. As I have received the songs from the songwriter, He has also sent me the printed words. I sat back and read the words, and they stand alone. I see and feel the moment. I am attached to the event. The words create their own rhythm, or iambic pentameter. (I LOVE that phrase!) It is my life experiences and upcoming events that create the internal music. And when I play the song, it matches. This song is really a poem. And like great poems, a great set of lyrics will stand alone, on their own merit. 

Try it and see what I mean 

Bob Heart Texas Musician 

     Cruzin On Hwy. 83 – Bob Heart

1^ST VERSE

My love once I am home again

I promise you I’ll never leave.

You’ve heard that old song once before

This time the words you can believe

2^ND VERSE

I hear your voice in every breeze

I miss your gentle touch each night

Just one more river yet to cross

And I’ll be home by mornings light

CHORUS

From Texas North to the Dakotas

From prairie towns to city streets

Someday we’ll only have the mem’ries

Of cruzin’ hi-way 83                

3^RD VERSE 

I’ve seen the torment in the skies

Raining so hard I’d blind your eyes

And grasses flowing like the sea

The way God meant it just to be

4^TH VERSE

Around the next bend you will be

Waiting again to welcome me

As I have told you once before

I’m home to stay and leave no more

CHORUS

I know I’ll always have the mem’ries 

Of cruzin hi-way 83

© copyright Bob Heart/Bob Heart Music 2016

Author/ Songwriter - © Bob Heart 2016

This sure does seem better and more relaxing than shooting a sheriff to me anyway. 

Here is a poem from Karla Morton

Karla K. Morton Texas Poet Lauerate
Photographer and Author

Don't Be Nervous

when you see her.

Don't worry about

what you will say, or

how you will say it.

Just look at her,

and wonder

how your hand will fit

in the small of her back;

how many pins it takes

to hold up her hair. . .

Author Karla K Morton © Karla K. Morton 2010                  

     Both speak of love, but in a different manner, yet they move you in a different manner. The emotion is universal. If you are a man, you can see yourself in Bob’s words exploring and wandering promising to come home and settle down. If you are a woman, perhaps you see your mate working hard in life to get ahead and soon the efforts of his work will be rewarded in a way that you both will enjoy a long life together. 

     With Karla’s poem, it speaks of love to be. If you are a man perhaps you have felt that uncertainty of how to speak to that special woman or perhaps what you have forgotten about your current partner in life. If you are a woman, perhaps you remember the butterflies of that young man, and his awe in your beauty, and his fumbling with the words to express it to you. 

      Of course these are only conjectures and general ideas of what I think that Bob and Karla are saying to you. I know what they are saying to me. Their soulful words of promises to be kept and promise to be made both in love and life. The rhythm goes forth and the Iambic Pentameter of my life continues . (God I love that phrase!)

Read more about Bob, and hear more about his wonderful music here.
Bob Heart's Bio and more music.

To learn more about Karla Morton and her incredible poetry- Visit her website.
Karla Morton's Home page

The Magic of Paint Rock Texas

      There are times when you know an event is going to be incredible. I was sure of that as soon as I got off of the phone with Cora, the owner of the Paint Rock Pictographs, on US Hwy.  83 in Paint Rock Texas. The last words she spoke to me on the phone were fresh in my head. "Now you make sure you get lunch at the Grocery. They have the best burgers you have EVER had!" I promised her my lunch would be eaten there, and she assured me she would check.

     I had been to Paint Rock 2 weeks earlier for a quick ride on the motorcycle to check out my new GPS and get a few photos of the town. I had been blessed with great weather, and on my ride home, I was already planning my return, to see the pictographs. I hit the web, found the number, and our date was set.

     Heeding Cora's advice (warning) I decided to stop at the "Paint Rock Grocery and get the burger basket. As soon I walked in, I knew I was in for a day to remember. The clerk, was being cordial, but I knew she was only taking an order from a stranger, the 3 men at a table around from the counter were talking, but in a hushed voice only they were going here. As I reached into my wallet to pay, the clerk suddenly ignored me and bellowed out "Hey miss K!" I had never met Cora in person, yet I knew her nick name was "K". I turned around and said "Hey Miss Cora!" She grinned from ear to ear, and greeted me with "Well hello Mr. Professional Photographer!" Cora then proceeded to tell everyone in the store about my mission to ride from Mexico to Canada on my motorcycle, recording history with pictures and video, and writing a book. (I had told her I was only thinking about writing a book). She picked up her lunch and was off to the ranch. Her parting words were "See you in a little bit. I can't wait to read your book!" The mood of the building changed in a heartbeat. The clerk called me Hun as she took my money. The 3 men in the corner began to talk in normal voices about the weather, and the upcoming storms.

     It was then, the magic hit, a 4th man joined the group, and was asked if there was ever a car dealership in Paint Rock. He explained that the only dealership was an Essex dealer, where the precinct build is. I saw my chance and asked "The White Building across the street?" He replies "Yes" and the stories began to flow, One man explaining where the 2 roundhouses were located, only to be outdone by the statement of where the Undertaker worked. Now a contest of memories and wills were afoot. Stories of gunfights, building, where the stagecoach used to go to I was in heaven.
45 minutes disappeared quicker then the hamburger, and I was off to the ranch to meet Cora

The Campbell Ranch has not change much in 100 plus years.

   It is only a short drive North on 83 to get to the gate. As you drive over the bridge, you can see the cliffs on the North side of the river,  jutting out over the tree-line, the beige rocks standing out, shining in the sun as they have for thousands of years. When you open the gate and cross the cattle guard you realize, this is a place that time has not forgotten, but a place time has refused to alter. The lone dirt road leading to the Ranch House her Grandfather built in the late 1800's is still there, some addition and changes have been made, but the spirit is still there. from the wagon sitting out side, to the furniture her grandparent brought to the area time has been kind and passed this ranch by.
            
     Cora is not your typical 88 year old woman. Time also seems to have passed her by.  Her bright eyes, quick wit and charm is something you will enjoy. The stories of the past flow from her like water from a glass. She never pauses to remember, unless she is talking about her family. It is then that her eyes soften, and you realize the weight of 88 years in Texas are not weighing heavily on her or have taken their toll, but the time is a true sense of pride and honor for her. She loves her life and what she has done. Not only her years as a school teacher, but as a caretaker of the pictographs. They are everything to her and she is as passionate about them today as her grandfather was when they purchased the land in the early 1900's. Her family photos that hang on one wall of the cabin are a testament of her love of family and her desire to share it with others.

Coras' Family

Coras' Mother

     Once Cora greets you at the Cabin, The Journey begins. Her stories about the past come to life. Her time as a teacher served her well, and she is able to cater the stories and information about the area to keep everyone engaged and interested. This particular day I was joined by a family of four from Buffalo Gap, and two Texas Poets Laureate.  Cora knew why I was there, so I just stayed as far back as I could trying to take in the presentation, and watch the people around me. Cora immediately began to focus on the children, engaging them with stories and simple questions. She realized that the young boy was bashful, so when she talked to him, she smiled in a grandmotherly way that quickly made him feel at ease. It was obvious his older sister had much better things to do so Cora used the importance of women and their role in the world to get and keep that young lady engaged and interested. Cora is able to work an audience like a well seasoned comedian. She even made sure she engaged me during the show (Presentation), by explaining how discovery of places like Paint Rock actually came to be. "The Indians most important need was water. So they knew that animal needed water as well, so they would follow the animal trails, because they knew that it would lead them to the water, and intact, that is how most of our roads came to be, including US Hwy 83!"

It seems as soon as her presentation started it was done, and you are on your way to the pictographs. The drive is short but it felt like an eternity to get there. The scenery along the way reminds you that times were hard back then and you begin to wonder how people made it from one place to another in one piece. As you get closer to the pictographs, You begin to feel different. My excitement was replaced by a sense of reverence and calm. The closer you get the intensity builds. It becomes palpable and is almost overwhelming. As I stepped out of my truck, I knew that this is one of those special places on earth, the sanctity of this place and it's history will envelope you like no place has. I stood there in awe of what I was seeing.  It transforms you in a way that is hard to describe. I grabbed my gear and was off to shoot. 

     Cora has a small unspoken rule about being down at the pictographs. As she is talking and guiding you though the points of interest you are not supposed to just wander off. But after a few minutes, I began to walk away. One of the Poets Laureate was going to "herd me back" but Cora stopped her. For some reason she knew that I was captured by the moment and it was best to leave me alone. Her years of life gives her an instinct that just seems to work. As I walked along the formations, taking pictures, I was taken aback by the different types, styles and positions of the pictographs. The way the sun illuminates each one in a different way is amazing. What you see at 2 O'clock is not what you see fifteen minutes later. There are several pictographs that were placed to interact with the sun during the the two equinox's and the 2 Solstices. One in particular had my eye. We were close to the equinox when I was there, so this particular one was close to telling it's story. On this pictograph, you see 3 people, along with a heart and a liver. At firsts glance the people seem to be positioned in some strange way, and yet when the sun passes by them during the equinox the story unfolds. The light creates an angled hill, lighting the way for the man to ascend to meet the gods. We have all seen something like this on TV and you are probably impressed by the event. I will tell you when you see it first hand, and watch it unfold infant of you, It is emotional in a way that is hard to explain. I was overcome with the visual effect but then, it becomes more than that. There was a sense of just how little we really know about or planet and the things around us. You realize that with our technology and our "intelligence" we have lost something along the way. We have lost us. We have lost our ability to truly connect to our world in a way that isolates us from our own selves. We read about global warming and the damage we are doing to our planet, yet global warming is a bargain to what we are doing to ourselves and our souls. We look to so many things to find inner peace and tranquility. We hunger for the unity of our minds our hearts and our souls. We read books, watch Dr. Phil and even allow ourselves to be medicated to reach that spot. We all seem to think that reaching that peak of inner calm and peace is a complicated near impossible journey. It is not Chinese Math. It is not Rocket Science. It is not Chinese Rocket Science. The answer is so simple it becomes hard. It is life. And this what my Journey along Hwy 83 is all about. So I ask the question. What is you Journey? What will be your Hwy 83?