Love all the comments from readers. A thoughtful group, and not much to add, though I come down on the hopeful side of this image: we chose to make a life here for our family in this wildly beautiful place. Times changed.
If I stand very still I can smell the grass and the openness of that sky. I can imagine myself as a child, or perhaps still as an adult, climbing those hills, tumbling down to the bottom, then climbing again and tumbling back down. Even more fun in the winter with a sled. In another version of me, I can conjure the house as the setting for In Cold Blood. I like the child version better.
David, I have to see the house as a hopeful sign of the all in intention to build and sustain a happy life! I see there are indications of some success already, which were invested in rasing such a respectable house which took significant skill and effort in rasing. It is more than shelter, it is an anchor for those who started out their life and for those who ended it here. And I wouldn't be able to stand off and just look from a distance! I want to look closely at all the clues that are left behind...
Love this, Frank. As for standing off and looking from a distance... I still had six plus hours of driving ahead of me, which helped trim my exploratory sails just a bit...
I did not change my thoughts about this picture. I have always been drawn to homesteads that now stand empty . The skeletal remains of a former existence . A relic of the past. My mind writes the story . I take note of everything that still says ‘we lived here’ . A family that created a life on the prairie. Theirs was a tale of hardship and struggle. Though most likely a burial ground, love and legacy forever plowed into the soil. Only the shell of a lonely house still has a story to tell .
But then again, I may be a little biased . I’ve been a fan of Little House on the Prairie for many years. The Michael Landon version and the books by Laura Ingalls Wilder. Show me an empty relic in the city, and my story would be vastly different.
It felt friendly to my eyes, but I was aware of just how haunting such places may seem to others. I imagined a milk cow, a buckboard wagon, and definitely the laughter of children...
I think about the isolation. How far it must have been to go to the nearest neighbor. And how wonderful that kind of quiet can be and how lonely, especially if you are a woman, home alone with children, maybe even pregnant about to have a child.
Truly a Rorschach test. Maybe why I am living in a smallish city with friends and neighbors nearby after living 12 years in Marblemount.
I love this! Yes, I will put myself into a photo and I will also ponder the "whats" of the past and look for clues in the photo to tell a story. For instance, I am wondering about how the rain came down between the hills and whether that was man made to direct the water into the farm fields in front of the house. Or did they build the house because there was already a natural perfect spot that they spied as they rolled their wagon across the field looking for a spot to call their home?
Fascinating, especially so as last week I was photographing and writing around abandoned croft houses which inspire curiosity and sadness in equal measure. You’re right, the thoughts that we impose on a place are a mirror of ourselves if we choose to examine our reflection. Thank you David.
It reminded me of an article I just read about the Magdalen Islands in the Gulf of Quebec. The smallest island has seen its population decline from 270 to 23 in the last 50 years. Everyone the reporter talked to said they would never want to be anywhere else. I suppose it won’t be long until there is only one occupied home there.
Emotion exudes from the land---I've always felt it---and these mystery-questions you share of what might have gone before in this scene, this prairie cabin, rise and fall and drift and soar. Your ponderings seem such a natural part of standing on the earth in wonder---I love feeling open like that, too; connected to a particular place, a particular curve of land against sky; maybe a memory, too, walks over and grabs hold of your heart...
The cabin is a story standing so still, whispering its secrets to each of us... and me, I can't help but feel a hint of Summerville...
I immediately wanted to climb the big hill to see the view on the other side. My mind thought "Wow! The night sky must be fabulous! An uninterrupted view of the Milky Way!" What sort of birds inhabit the area? Who lived here? I hope they were happy. The silence would be wonderful.
Re, birds: I was being serenaded by Horned Larks, Meadowlarks and a Lark Sparrow. The significance of three kinds of lark did not escape me. And, yes to your ""Wow! The night sky must be fabulous! An uninterrupted view of the Milky Way!" I'd love to sit out there and take that in some clear, moonless night.
As someone who grew up in the Midwest, my reaction to this image is one of recognition, of coming home. I've lived in New England for the past 30+ years and love being surrounded by trees. But sometimes I miss being surrounded by plains and sky.
Dear David, it seems we have a similar tendency towards questions on finding such an abandoned abode… here of course, there is no prairie, just woodland and hills and deep valleys, it is harder to spot these mirages, but I do occasionally stumble on a ruin as yet undiscovered.
My first question is always of wondering what stories the fallen stones could tell…then, I wonder was the house built purposefully in a place with no daylight, no sky? Where is the well? Just in case it is uncovered… I don’t want to fall in, why is there no evidence of any access? What was the work that sustained them?
My curiosity - I know, curiosity killed the cat right - does not allow me to not step inside just in case tiny clues remain, a book, a photo, a newspaper perhaps?
Usually they remain an enigma though these tiny inaccessible dwellings… the stories in the stones remain just that, but, as for you the make great fodder for thought….
The house fell away for me, swallowed by purple grasses, wide open sky, uninterrupted horizon. I felt relief in the diminishment of human remains.
Love this, Kimberly. That's a big awareness.
Love all the comments from readers. A thoughtful group, and not much to add, though I come down on the hopeful side of this image: we chose to make a life here for our family in this wildly beautiful place. Times changed.
If I stand very still I can smell the grass and the openness of that sky. I can imagine myself as a child, or perhaps still as an adult, climbing those hills, tumbling down to the bottom, then climbing again and tumbling back down. Even more fun in the winter with a sled. In another version of me, I can conjure the house as the setting for In Cold Blood. I like the child version better.
I like you. And I like the choices you've made here.
That sky, tho. I just want to swim around inside it.
Makes perfect sense to these eyes...
David, I have to see the house as a hopeful sign of the all in intention to build and sustain a happy life! I see there are indications of some success already, which were invested in rasing such a respectable house which took significant skill and effort in rasing. It is more than shelter, it is an anchor for those who started out their life and for those who ended it here. And I wouldn't be able to stand off and just look from a distance! I want to look closely at all the clues that are left behind...
Love this, Frank. As for standing off and looking from a distance... I still had six plus hours of driving ahead of me, which helped trim my exploratory sails just a bit...
I did not change my thoughts about this picture. I have always been drawn to homesteads that now stand empty . The skeletal remains of a former existence . A relic of the past. My mind writes the story . I take note of everything that still says ‘we lived here’ . A family that created a life on the prairie. Theirs was a tale of hardship and struggle. Though most likely a burial ground, love and legacy forever plowed into the soil. Only the shell of a lonely house still has a story to tell .
But then again, I may be a little biased . I’ve been a fan of Little House on the Prairie for many years. The Michael Landon version and the books by Laura Ingalls Wilder. Show me an empty relic in the city, and my story would be vastly different.
What do you see?
It felt friendly to my eyes, but I was aware of just how haunting such places may seem to others. I imagined a milk cow, a buckboard wagon, and definitely the laughter of children...
Oh, I forgot this part;
An Outhouse about a
1/2 mile from the house
That's a long way to scurry when you're 'prairie doggin'
They always looked so far away in movies.
No one ever said they made it that far. Did they even have TP?🤔
Exactly
Made me think about Andrea Kowch's art. https://www.artsy.net/artist/andrea-kowch
Oh my. Thank you for this, Sue!
Thank you!
I'd never heard of Andrea Kowch but looked her up after your comment Sue. Amazing! Love it. Thanks for the intro. 😊
I guess I have a love hate relationship with life... life of Homo sapiens.
I see the recovery of nature in abandoned lands
May it be so...
I think about the isolation. How far it must have been to go to the nearest neighbor. And how wonderful that kind of quiet can be and how lonely, especially if you are a woman, home alone with children, maybe even pregnant about to have a child.
Truly a Rorschach test. Maybe why I am living in a smallish city with friends and neighbors nearby after living 12 years in Marblemount.
What a wonderful, insightful addition to this potluck, Steffany. I love this glimpse.
I love this! Yes, I will put myself into a photo and I will also ponder the "whats" of the past and look for clues in the photo to tell a story. For instance, I am wondering about how the rain came down between the hills and whether that was man made to direct the water into the farm fields in front of the house. Or did they build the house because there was already a natural perfect spot that they spied as they rolled their wagon across the field looking for a spot to call their home?
Fascinating, especially so as last week I was photographing and writing around abandoned croft houses which inspire curiosity and sadness in equal measure. You’re right, the thoughts that we impose on a place are a mirror of ourselves if we choose to examine our reflection. Thank you David.
It reminded me of an article I just read about the Magdalen Islands in the Gulf of Quebec. The smallest island has seen its population decline from 270 to 23 in the last 50 years. Everyone the reporter talked to said they would never want to be anywhere else. I suppose it won’t be long until there is only one occupied home there.
This is very touching, John. Thank you.
Emotion exudes from the land---I've always felt it---and these mystery-questions you share of what might have gone before in this scene, this prairie cabin, rise and fall and drift and soar. Your ponderings seem such a natural part of standing on the earth in wonder---I love feeling open like that, too; connected to a particular place, a particular curve of land against sky; maybe a memory, too, walks over and grabs hold of your heart...
The cabin is a story standing so still, whispering its secrets to each of us... and me, I can't help but feel a hint of Summerville...
Walked past that Summerville cabin a few weeks back... just not the same without Larry.
"Emotion exudes from the land" Love this.
I immediately wanted to climb the big hill to see the view on the other side. My mind thought "Wow! The night sky must be fabulous! An uninterrupted view of the Milky Way!" What sort of birds inhabit the area? Who lived here? I hope they were happy. The silence would be wonderful.
Re, birds: I was being serenaded by Horned Larks, Meadowlarks and a Lark Sparrow. The significance of three kinds of lark did not escape me. And, yes to your ""Wow! The night sky must be fabulous! An uninterrupted view of the Milky Way!" I'd love to sit out there and take that in some clear, moonless night.
As someone who grew up in the Midwest, my reaction to this image is one of recognition, of coming home. I've lived in New England for the past 30+ years and love being surrounded by trees. But sometimes I miss being surrounded by plains and sky.
Dear David, it seems we have a similar tendency towards questions on finding such an abandoned abode… here of course, there is no prairie, just woodland and hills and deep valleys, it is harder to spot these mirages, but I do occasionally stumble on a ruin as yet undiscovered.
My first question is always of wondering what stories the fallen stones could tell…then, I wonder was the house built purposefully in a place with no daylight, no sky? Where is the well? Just in case it is uncovered… I don’t want to fall in, why is there no evidence of any access? What was the work that sustained them?
My curiosity - I know, curiosity killed the cat right - does not allow me to not step inside just in case tiny clues remain, a book, a photo, a newspaper perhaps?
Usually they remain an enigma though these tiny inaccessible dwellings… the stories in the stones remain just that, but, as for you the make great fodder for thought….
A lovely post thank you.