Fargo, Georgia

First timer? In this (hopefully) once-a-day blog, I have my computer select a random latitude and longitude that puts me somewhere in the continental United States (the lower 48). I call this “landing.” I keep track of the watersheds I land in, as well as the town I land near. I do some internet research to hopefully find something of interest about my landing location. To find out more about A Landing A Day (like who “Dan” is and what the various numbers and abbreviations mean), please see “About Landing,” (and “Abbreviations” and “Cryptic Numbers”) above.

Dan – Phew again. From the Northeast for yesterday’s US landing (ME) to today’s Southeast US landing . . . GA; 31/35; 4/10; 8; 154.3.

Here’s my landing map, showing my proximity to Fargo. Note the empty area on the map to the east. That’s the Okefenokee Swamp.

The Okefenokee (and my landing spot) are in the Suwanee R watershed (4th hit); on to the G of M (240th hit not counting the MM).

Here’s a nice shot of a train crossing the Suwanee River just south of Fargo:

Here’s a broader view, featuring Fargo:

Here’s an intermediate view from StreetAtlas, centered on the Okefenoke.  Notice the dearth of features in the swamp (which is basically the area between Routes 1, 84, 441, 2 & 23) . . .

What I find of particular interest is GA State Route 177!!  Note how it dead-ends after going northeast through Fargo.  Of course, that’s where it just can’t go any further into the OS (that’s Okefenokee Swamp, not the usual Over-Subscribed!).  And then, amazingly, it picks up again on the other side of the OS!! From what I’ve learned, there has never been a road that crossed the OS. I think that the person who decided the route numbers had a sense of humor!

I can’t find much about Fargo, except that’s the southern gateway to the OS. So, I’ll focus on the OS itself:

From the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Okefenokee website:

A Very Special Place

The Okefenokee is a vast bog inside a huge, saucer-shaped depression that was once part of the ocean floor. It covers an area of approximately 438,000 acres, or 684 square miles. The swamp now lies 103 to 128 feet above sea level. Native Americans named the area “Okefenokee” meaning “Land of the Trembling Earth”. Peat deposits, up to 15 feet thick, cover much of the swamp floor. These deposits are so unstable in spots that trees and surrounding bushes tremble by stomping the surface.

The slow-moving waters of the Okefenokee are tea-colored due to the tannic acid released from decaying vegetation. The principal outlet of the swamp, the Suwannee River, originates in the heart of the Okefenokee and drains southwest into the Gulf of Mexico.

The swamp contains numerous islands and lakes, along with vast areas of non-forested habitat. “Prairies” cover about 60,000 acres of the swamp. Once forested, these expanses of marsh were created during periods of severe drought when fires burned out vegetation and the top layers of peat. The prairies harbor a variety of wading birds: herons, egrets, ibises, cranes, and bitterns.

The People

Native Americans inhabited Okefenokee Swamp as early as 2500 B.C. The last tribe to seek sanctuary in the swamp were the Seminoles. During the Second Seminole War (1838-1842), the Seminoles were driven from the Okefenokee.

The Suwanee Canal Company purchased 238,120 acres of the Okefenokee Swamp from the State of Georgia in 1891 to drain the swamp for rice, sugar cane, and cotton plantations. Captain Henry Jackson and his crews spent three years digging the Suwannee Canal 11.5 miles into the swamp. However, the plan to drain the swamp for agricultural use failed.

Logging operations, focusing on the cypress, began in 1909 after a railroad was constructed on the northwest area of the swamp. More than 431 million board feet of timber were removed from the Okefenokee by 1927, when logging operations ceased.

Protected for Wildlife and You

The Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge was established in 1936 in order to preserve the 438,000 acre Okefenokee Swamp. The swamp remains one of the oldest and most well preserved freshwater areas in America.

Of course, I must show some pictures:

And how about this 69-cent stamp??

Anne Elredge Harris is an artist who was born in 1918. She remembered a foggy scene in 1929, when she was eleven and living in Fargo. Starting in 1995, she found it easier to abandon the usual media (watercolors, oil) and learned how to do computer art. She then used her new-found computer art skills to “paint” this piece (artist’s caption below):

The fog was low-lying and thick. Coming home from school we had a wonderful time walking half-blind with heads in fog, and the smaller children stooping down in the clear area at the ground level to guide us. It was hard to realize that reality was not changed, just masked. It was scary yet so exciting to feel our way along; trying to remember that nothing was changed except our vision of it. The fog was moist, thereby making it even more sensuous.

From Anne’s “My Vitae:”

Born in Pensacola, Florida in 1918, my childhood was spent in Washington, DC and Fargo, Georgia before moving to New Orleans in my teens. At the University of Alabama I met my brilliant engineer husband; we were married in my sophomore year when I was eighteen, and set of on an adventuresome life in several southern states while he designed bridges, then to Connecticut, Venezuela, Maryland, and finally to New Orleans, where for 25 years he was on the Tulane faculty. We were always interested in the forefront of science and technology, as well as philosophy, art, and creativity, which I have found again on the Internet.

Widowed in 1982, I moved to a retirement home in Delaware to be near NYC, Philadelphia, and Washington. Now a recluse in failing health, I find my “art studio in a box” the perfect answer for energy-sparing creativity.

After sixty years of working in traditional art mediums, I discovered digital art in mid 1995. With Fauve-Matisse software, using the mouse as a brush, I am experimenting daily and the possibilities blow my mind.

Cool lady. Here’s another piece of computer art:

I’ll close with a sunrise over the OS:

That’ll do it.

KS

Greg

© 2009 A Landing A Day

Dexter, Maine

First timer? In this (hopefully) once-a-day blog, I have my computer select a random latitude and longitude that puts me somewhere in the continental United States (the lower 48). I call this “landing.” I keep track of the watersheds I land in, as well as the town I land near. I do some internet research to hopefully find something of interest about my landing location. To find out more about A Landing A Day (like who “Dan” is and what the various numbers and abbreviations mean), please see “About Landing,” (and “Abbreviations” and “Cryptic Numbers”) above.

Dan – Phew. One USer doesn’t mean I’m out of the woods, but it’s still a relief after my recent 0/6 . . . ME: 19/21; 3/10; 7; 154.9. Here’s my landing map:

Here’s an expanded landing map showing the entire state; today’s is the one closest to the middle of the state (N45 / W69):

A new river, the Sebasticook (my 1031st river); on to the Kennebec (4th hit); on to the AO (311th hit). Funny, this is the first time I’ve enumerated how many AO hits I’ve had. For comparison’s sake, I’ve had 342 PO hits; 371 MM hits (excluding the MO); 334 MO hits; 239 “Other G of M” hits, and 185 “Internal” hits. Interesting how the number of hits (and presumably the size of the watersheds) is about the same for the AO, the PO, the MO and the (MM less the MO).

Moving right along. Well, Dexter (pop about 4,000) seems like a solid, classically New England style town. Here’s a fairly recent picture:

It’s in a scenic location, right on the shores of Lake Wassookeag (from a Penobscot Indian word meaning “Shining Lake”). Hmmm. If “keag” means “lake,” then this is like the Schuylkill River in Philadelphia where “kill” means “river,” so the literal translation of the Schuylkill River is the Schuyl River River.  Anyway, here’s a picture of the lake:

So Dexter (founded 1801) is an old mill town. From the Dexter Historical Society website:

The East Branch of the Sebasticook River, which flows south from Lake Wassookeag through the valley that is downtown Dexter, falls 142 feet in 3/4 of a mile. It has an evenly sustained flow from the spring-fed lake that made an ideal situation for dams (10 by 1893) to utilize the water-power for a variety of mills.

So, 142 feet drop in ¾ mile sounds like a lot (and actually, it is). It averages out be 3.5 feet per hundred feet, which is actually quite dramatic!   Another way to look at it is a drop of ten feet for every football field, which does seem pretty steep!!

For comparison, there’s a 3 mile stretch of the nearby Penobscot River that has a Class V whitewater rating. The gradient of this section of the Penobscot is 45 feet per mile, which is considered very steep. This comes out to only 0.85 feet per hundred feet, way less than the 3.5 quoted above.

Here’s an interesting little tidbit about Dexter:  Reportedly (at least as per Wiki), the cover of the Stephen King novel “Needful Things” shows downtown Dexter (although Wiki says that the cover “references” Dexter, whatever the heck that means):

Here’s a cool “then & now” study showing the back of the town library.  I’ll start with “then” which shows a horse-and-buggy:

Here’s now:

Too bad the “now” picture wasn’t taken from a little further back.  Anyway, it looks similar except for some more trees in the background . . .

Here’s a nice shot of a double rainbow over the lake:

I’ll close with a sunset shot over the lake:

That’ll do it.

KS

Greg

© 2009 A Landing A Day

Borup, Minnesota

First timer? In this (hopefully) once-a-day blog, I have my computer select a random latitude and longitude that puts me somewhere in the continental United States (the lower 48). I call this “landing.” I keep track of the watersheds I land in, as well as the town I land near. I do some internet research to hopefully find something of interest about my landing location. To find out more about A Landing A Day (like who “Dan” is and what the various numbers and abbreviations mean), please see “About Landing,” (and “Abbreviations” and “Cryptic Numbers”) above.

Dan – I’m getting seriously worried now as the OSers keep piling up . . . MN; 66/49; 2/10 (0/6); 155.6.  A new river, the S Br of the Wild Rice; on to the Wild Rice (6th hit); on to the Red R of the N (38th hit); on to the Nelson (55th hit); on to Hudson’s Bay; out the Hudson Straight and into Baffin Bay, which is, of course, part of the N Atlantic.

So, here’s my landing map, showing my proximity to Borup and the S Br of the Wild Rice R:

Here’s a broader view, featuring of course, Borup:

Borup, pop about 100, is pretty much GD. But it’s obviously the town that I have to feature, given the paucity of towns near my landing. I couldn’t find any information about how Borup got its name. I did find that there was a woman named Maud Borup who lived in St. Paul back in the day.  She started a company that thrives to this day. From MaudBorup.com:

In 1907, Maud Borup began making candy in her home kitchen in St. Paul, Minnesota. With the praise and urging of family and friends, she opened a counter with Holm & Olson Flower Shop in downtown St. Paul and soon was in business for herself.

Over the years the business grew and created such a loyal customer base that standing orders were continually filled as new generations took over. Today, Maud Borup remains a woman-owned company and the focus remains on quality confections inspired by sweet childhood favorites.

Here’s a picture of Maud in her kitchen:

Today, Maud Borup, Inc.  is a wholesale “comfort food” candy, cookies and snack food company.

So I don’t have a clue if Maud Borup is somehow related to the person after whom Borup is named, but I strongly suspect so.

So, it turns out that Borup has a photogenic grain elevator. Here’s a whole series of pictures that I’ve plucked from the internet:

Now, getting a little more mundane, here’s a shot of Al’s Garage in Borup:

Staying mundane, here’s a shot of “Wild Bill’s:”

I’ll close with a Borup sunset shot:

That’ll do it.

KS

Greg

© 2009 A Landing A Day

Alpena, Michigan

First timer? In this (hopefully) once-a-day blog, I have my computer select a random latitude and longitude that puts me somewhere in the continental United States (the lower 48). I call this “landing.” I keep track of the watersheds I land in, as well as the town I land near. I do some internet research to hopefully find something of interest about my landing location. To find out more about A Landing A Day (like who “Dan” is and what the various numbers and abbreviations mean), please see “About Landing,” (and “Abbreviations” and “Cryptic Numbers”) above.

Dan – This is getting serious . . . MI; 41/34; 2/10 (0/5); 155.2. I’ve really been spoiled over the last several months, having managed to avoid a serious slump. We’ll see how things go . . .

Here’s my landing map:

And even though Alpena isn’t the closest town, I’m a sucker for a waterfront community, so here’s a broader view featuring Alpena:

I landed in the Indian Ck watershed (the 21st creek or river with “Indian” in its name); on to the Beaver Ck (the 32nd creek or river with “Beaver” in its name); on to the Wolf Ck (the 9th creek or river with “Wolf” in its name); on to a new river, the Lower South Branch of the Thunder Bay R (the 1029th river in whose watershed I’ve landed); on to the Thunder Bay R (2nd hit); on to Lake Huron (13th hit); on to the St. Lawrence (82nd hit).

Note that there is an “Upper South Branch,” which joins the Thunder Bay River upstream from where the “Lower South Branch” joins it. (There’s also a plain old “North Branch.”)

It turns out that the Thunder Bay River enters Lake Huron at Alpena, which is yet another reason for me to feature it. So, Alpena . . .

From Wiki:

Alpena is the county seat of Alpena County. The population was 11,304 at the 2000 census. The population swells with a large number of visitors in the summer.

Despite its small population, it is by far the largest city in the sparsely-populated Northeast Michigan (lower peninsula) area, serving as its commercial and cultural hub.

Here’s an aerial shot of the town, showing the mouth of the Thunder Bay River:

Here’s a 1905 shot of Main St. As 1905 Main Streets go, this one looks very tidy:

Here’s a picture of a ship taken in 1913, with the caption below:

The 529-foot James Carruthers, the newest and strongest ship in the Canadian fleet, departed Alpena, Michigan Sunday morning, Nov. 9, and headed south on Lake Huron into the heart of the Great Lakes Storm of 1913. The ship was never seen again. Some wreckage was found Tuesday afternoon on the Ontario shore. All 24 members of the crew died.

From Wiki on the 1913 storm:

The Great Lakes Storm of 1913, historically referred to as the “Big Blow”, the “Freshwater Fury” or the “White Hurricane”, was a blizzard with hurricane-force winds that devastated the Great Lakes Basin from November 7 through November 10, 1913. The storm was most powerful on November 9, battering and overturning ships on four of the five Great Lakes, particularly Lake Huron. Deceptive lulls in the storm and the slow pace of weather reports contributed to the storm’s destructiveness.

The deadliest and most destructive natural disaster ever to hit the lakes, the Great Lakes Storm killed more than 250 people, destroyed 19 ships, and stranded 19 others. The financial loss in vessels alone was nearly $5 million, or about $100 million at current value.

The storm originated as the convergence of two major storm fronts, fueled by the lakes’ relatively warm waters—a seasonal process called a “November gale”. It produced 90 mph (145 km/h) winds, waves over 35 feet (11 m) high, and whiteout snowsqualls. Analysis of the storm and its impact on humans, engineering structures and the landscape led to better forecasting and faster responses to storm warnings, stronger construction (especially of marine vessels), and improved preparedness.

Here’s the front page from the November 12th Cleveland Plain Dealer, before the full loss of life was known:

Not far from Alpena, out in Lake Huron is Thunder Bay Island.  It has a beautiful lighthouse.  Here’s a back-in-the-day shot:

And a more recent one:

I’ll close with this shot of the Alpena Lighthouse, located at the entrance to the harbor:

That’ll do it.

KS

Greg

© 2009 A Landing A Day

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Dan - This is getting serious . . . MI; 41/34; 2/10 (0/5); 155.2. I’ve really been spoiled over the last several months, having managed to avoid a serious slump. We’ll see how things go . . .

Here’s my landing map:

And even though Alpena isn’t the closest town, I’m a sucker for a waterfront community, so here’s a broader view featuring Alpena:

I landed in the Indian Ck watershed (the 21^st creek or river with “Indian” in its name); on to the Beaver Ck (the 32^nd creek or river with “Beaver” in its name); on to the Wolf Ck (the 9^th creek or river with “Wolf” in its name); on to a new river, the Lower South Branch of the Thunder Bay R (the 1029^th river in whose watershed I’ve landed); on to the Thunder Bay R (2^nd hit); on to Lake Huron (13^th hit); on to the St. Lawrence (82^nd hit).

Note that there is an “Upper South Branch,” which joins the Thunder Bay River upstream from where the “Lower South Branch” joins it. (There’s also a plain old “North Branch.”)

It turns out that the Thunder Bay River enters Lake Huron at Alpena, which is yet another reason for me to feature it. So, Alpena . . .

From Wiki:

Alpena is the county seat of Alpena County . The population was 11,304 at the 2000 census . The population swells with a large number of visitors in the summer.

Despite its small population, it is by far the largest city in the sparsely-populated Northeast Michigan (lower peninsula ) area, serving as its commercial and cultural hub.

Here’s an aerial shot of the town, showing the mouth of the Thunder Bay River:

Here’s a 1905 shot of Main St. As 1905 Main Streets go, this one looks very tidy:

Here’s a picture of a ship taken in 1913, with the caption below:

The 529-foot James Carruthers, the newest and strongest ship in the Canadian fleet, departed Alpena, Michigan Sunday morning, Nov. 9, just ahead of the J.H. Sheadle, and headed south on Lake Huron into the heart of the Great Lakes Storm of 1913 . The ship was never seen again. Some wreckage was found Tuesday afternoon on the Ontario shore. All 24 members of the crew died.

From Wiki on the 1913 storm:

The Great Lakes Storm of 1913, historically referred to as the “Big Blow”, the “Freshwater Fury” or the “White Hurricane”, was a blizzard with hurricane -force winds that devastated the Great Lakes Basin from November 7 through November 10, 1913. The storm was most powerful on November 9, battering and overturning ships on four of the five Great Lakes , particularly Lake Huron . Deceptive lulls in the storm and the slow pace of weather reports contributed to the storm’s destructiveness.

The deadliest and most destructive natural disaster ever to hit the lakes, the Great Lakes Storm killed more than 250 people, destroyed 19 ships, and stranded 19 others. The financial loss in vessels alone was nearly $5 million, or about $100 million at current value.

The storm originated as the convergence of two major storm fronts , fueled by the lakes’ relatively warm waters—a seasonal process called a “November gale “. It produced 90 mph (145 km/h) winds, waves over 35 feet (11 m) high, and whiteout snowsqualls. Analysis of the storm and its impact on humans, engineering structures and the landscape led to better forecasting and faster responses to storm warnings, stronger construction (especially of marine vessels), and improved preparedness.

Here’s the front page from the November 12^th Cleveland Plain Dealer, before the full loss of life was known:

I’ll close with this shot of the Alpena Lighthouse, located at the entrance to the harbor:

That’ll do it.

KS

Greg

Geronimo, Oklahoma

First timer? In this (hopefully) once-a-day blog, I have my computer select a random latitude and longitude that puts me somewhere in the continental United States (the lower 48). I call this “landing.” I keep track of the watersheds I land in, as well as the town I land near. I do some internet research to hopefully find something of interest about my landing location. To find out more about A Landing A Day (like who “Dan” is and what the various numbers and abbreviations mean), please see “About Landing,” (and “Abbreviations” and “Cryptic Numbers”) above.

Dan – My slump deepens as I landed just north of the TX border in . . . OK; 48/41; 2/10 (0/4); 4; 154.7. Since I landed fairly close to the TX/OK border, it’s inevitable that I landed in the Red River watershed (43rd hit); on to the Atchafalaya (49th hit). The inevitability arises, of course, because the Red marks the border between OK & TX.

Here’s my landing map:

Of the bolded place name towns, you’ll see one large city (Lawton), one small city (Duncan), several small towns (Geronimo, Walters, Camanche & Sunray), and several little nothings (Oil City, Empire City and Corum).

Of the small towns, Walters is the closest. No offense meant to Walters, but it is GD. Next closest is Geronimo, named for (who else), Geronimo, who is buried just north in Lawton.  Here’s a broader view, featuring Geronimo:

So, how about a little info about Geronimo (the man, not the town)? Honestly, I don’t know anything about him. It was just what us kids yelled out when we jumped off the rope swing.  From Wiki:

Geronimo (Chiricahua: Goyaałé, “one who yawns”; often spelled Goyathlay or Goyahkla in English; June 16, 1829 – February 17, 1909) was a prominent Native American leader of the Chiricahua Apache who fought against Mexico and the United States and their expansion into Apache tribal lands for several decades.

You’ve got to love it!! His given name means “one who yawns.”  This doesn’t seem to apt a name, given his life story.  But anyway, his name reminds me of a two-word expression that I stumbled on back in my college days: yawn binge. I just like the sound of the phrase and the associated imagery. If I ever own a sail boat, maybe I’ll call it “Yawn Binge.” This conjures up what sailing should be: relaxing.

Back to Wiki on how he got his nickname:

His chief, Mangas Coloradas, sent him to Cochise’s band for help in revenge against the Mexicans. It was the Mexicans who named him Geronimo. This appellation stemmed from a battle in which he repeatedly attacked Mexican soldiers with a knife, ignoring a deadly hail of bullets. The Mexicans were pleading for mercy to Saint Jerome (“Jeronimo!”). The name stuck.

From Wiki on his general exploits:

Though outnumbered, Geronimo fought against both Mexican and United States troops and became famous for his daring exploits and numerous escapes from capture from 1858 to 1886. One such escape, as legend has it, took place in the Robledo Mountains of southwest New Mexico. The legend states Geronimo and his followers entered a cave, and the U.S. Soldiers waited outside the cave entrance for him, but he never came out. Later it was heard that Geronimo was spotted in a nearby area. The second entrance to the cave has yet to be found and the cave is still called Geronimo’s Cave. At the end of his military career, he led a small band of 36 men, women, and children. They evaded thousands of Mexican and American troops for over a year. His band was one of the last major forces of independent Indian warriors who refused to acknowledge the United States occupation of the American West.

From Wiki, on his capture:

In 1886, Captain Henry Lawton lead the expedition that captured Geronimo. Numerous stories abound as to who actually captured Geronimo, or to whom he surrendered. For Lawton’s part, he was given orders to head up actions south of the U.S.–Mexico boundary where it was thought Geronimo and a small band of his followers would take refuge from U.S. authorities. Lawton was to pursue, subdue, and return Geronimo to the U.S., dead or alive.

Lawton’s official report sums up the actions of his unit and gives credit to a number of his troopers for their efforts. Geronimo gave credit to Lawton’s tenacity for wearing the Apaches down with constant pursuit. Geronimo and his followers had little or no time to rest or stay in one place. Completely worn out, the little band of Apaches returned to the U.S. with Lawton and officially surrendered to General Miles on September 4, 1886 at Skeleton Canyon, Arizona.

Here’s a monument that was raised at the site of Geronimo’s capture:

From Wiki, on his later life:

Geronimo and his family were imprisoned in Mount Vernon Barracks in Alabama for seven years. In 1894, they were moved to Fort Sill, Oklahoma. In his old age, Geronimo became a celebrity. He appeared at fairs, including the 1904 World’s Fair in St. Louis, and sold souvenirs and photographs of himself. He also rode in President Theodore Roosevelt’s 1905 inaugural parade.

Geronimo died of pneumonia on February 17, 1909 as a prisoner of the United States at Fort Sill in Lawton, Oklahoma. He was buried there at the Apache Indian Prisoner of War Cemetery.

I’ll close with a couple of pictures from the town of Geronimo. Here’s a 1916 picture of a young girl picking cotton:

It’s a great photo, but I suspect that it was a set-up.  Somehow, I don’t think she actually filled that bag with cotton . . . Anyway, here’s a 1969 picture of a grain elevator along an abandoned railroad track in Geonimo:

That’ll do it.

KS

Greg

© 2009 A Landing A Day

Wounded Knee, South Dakota

First timer? In this (hopefully) once-a-day blog, I have my computer select a random latitude and longitude that puts me somewhere in the continental United States (the lower 48). I call this “landing.” I keep track of the watersheds I land in, as well as the town I land near. I do some internet research to hopefully find something of interest about my landing location. To find out more about A Landing A Day (like who “Dan” is and what the various numbers and abbreviations mean), please see “About Landing,” (and “Abbreviations” and “Cryptic Numbers”) above.

Dan – My mini-slump continues . . . SD; 48/45; 3/10; 3; 154.3. Here’s my landing map, showing my proximity to Wounded Knee and the Wounded Knee Creek:

Wounded Knee Creek discharges into the White R (10th hit); on to the Missouri (334th hit); on to the MM (705th hit).

Here’s a slightly broader view, where you’ll see that I landed very close to my Whiteclay NE landing of just a few days ago! Give me a break!

Here’s a comparison of the lat/longs (in decimal degrees):

Whiteclay landing: N42.98 / W102.75

Wounded Knee landing: N43.19 / W102.39

That’s a 0.21 degree spread south to north and a 0.36 degree spread east to west.

Compare this with Miami & Seattle (to give you an idea of big our country is and how incredibly close the above two lat/longs are):

Miami: N25.77 / W80.18

Seattle: N47.60 / W122.33

That’s a 22 degree spread south to north and a 42 degree spread east to west

Here’s a broader view yet, featuring Wounded Knee:

Of course, Wounded Knee is best known for the infamous Wounded Knee Massacre. It turns out that this is a subject already broached here on ALAD. The day after Christmas 2008, I landed in Timber Lake SD. An annual horseback ride (that passes through Timber Lake) is held to honor Big Foot (killed at Wounded Knee).  So, last December I did a little research on Big Foot, and wrote about him and the Ghost Dance Religion which is part of the background that led up to the massacre. Click here to read my ALAD post about Big Foot and the Ghost Dance.

Here’s some more straight ahead information about the massacre, from Wiki:

In the Wounded Knee Massacre, on December 29, 1890, 500 troops of the U.S. 7th Cavalry (supported by four Hotchkiss guns), surrounded an encampment of Lakota Sioux Indians near Wounded Knee Creek, South Dakota. The Army had orders to escort the Sioux to the railroad for transport to Omaha, Nebraska. One day prior, the Sioux had given up their protracted flight from the troops and willingly agreed to turn themselves in at the Pine Ridge Agency in South Dakota. They were the very last of the Sioux to do so. They were met by the 7th Cavalary, who intended to use a display of force coupled with firm negotiations to gain compliance from them.

The commander of the 7th had been ordered to disarm the Lakota before proceeding. During the process of disarmament, a deaf tribesman named Black Coyote could not hear the order to give up his rifle. This set off a chain reaction of events that led to a scene of sheer chaos and mayhem with fighting between both sides in all directions.

By the time it was over, about 300 men, women, and children of the Lakota Sioux had been killed. Twenty-five troopers also died during the massacre, some believed to have been the victims of friendly fire as the shooting took place at point blank range in chaotic conditions. Around 150 Lakota are believed to have fled the chaos, with an unknown number later dying from hypothermia. The massacre is noteworthy as the engagement in which the most Medals of Honor have ever been awarded in the history of the US Army.

Here’s a “Hotchkiss Gun.”

From a travel blog:

We reached the Wounded Knee Memorial, which is really just a sign along the side of the road, at the site of the actual massacre. The sign’s written description of the event is detailed and takes up both sides. Interestingly, the title – again, on both sides – originally must’ve said The Battle of Wounded Knee, but someone has screwed a piece of wood over it onto which is painted the word ‘Massacre’. It’s a pretty desolate spot.

Here’s a shot from the blog of the hill where the cavalry had their Hotchkiss guns they used on the Indians:

I might as well end a downbeat post with a downbeat photo. Here’s an abandoned church near Porcupine, the town just north of Wounded Knee (and just northeast of my landing):

That’ll do it.

KS

Greg

© 2009 A Landing A Day

Moravia, Iowa

First timer? In this (hopefully) once-a-day blog, I have my computer select a random latitude and longitude that puts me somewhere in the continental United States (the lower 48). I call this “landing.” I keep track of the watersheds I land in, as well as the town I land near. I do some internet research to hopefully find something of interest about my landing location. To find out more about A Landing A Day (like who “Dan” is and what the various numbers and abbreviations mean), please see “About Landing,” (and “Abbreviations” and “Cryptic Numbers”) above.

Dan – I’m in a mini-slump here, working on a 3/10. My latest OSer . . . IA; 38/33; 3/10; 2; 153.8. I landed in the South Soap Creek watershed, on to the Soap, on to the Des Moines R (10th hit); on to the MM (704th hit).

Here’s my landing map (the South Soap Creek is just NE of my landing):

And a broader view featuring Moravia:

Of course, I’m curious as to why Soap Creek is called Soap Creek. A little Googling and I found out that the name is derived from the fact that the creek flows through a local rock type termed “soapstone.” A little more research showed me that rocks around my landing are sedimentary, which is a problem because “soapstone” to a geologist like me is a metamorphic rock type (which is predominantly composed of the mineral talc). Sedimentary rocks like sandstone, shale and limestone don’t mix (geologically speaking) with a metamorphic rock like soapstone, so I can only presume that there is some type of sedimentary rock (likely a shale) that has a soapy texture for some reason . . .

Anyway, about Moravia. From the town’s website:

The town of Moravia (population 750) is located in scenic southern Iowa about an hour and a half from Des Moines. Moravia is situated in one of the prime hunting and fishing areas in the United States. Lake Rathbun (Iowa’s ocean) and Lake Sundown are both within five miles of town.

(I love “Iowa’s Ocean.”)

Don’t let the size of our town fool you. We have a well established reputation as a place where the so called “lost arts” are still practiced. Moravia boasts over seventy small businesses and is home to a variety of artisans. We have doll makers, quilters, carpenters, painters, printers, railroaders, historians, upholsterers, gravestone restorers, all of whom are past masters in their crafts.

We hope you will stop by for a visit to the little town of Moravia Iowa.

Moravia is named for the region and the religious faith. Moravian families left Salem, North Carolina in 1849 to start a colony in the west. Money was sent to purchase forty acres of land for a town site by several benevolent Moravian sisters. It was their wish that town lots be sold and the money be used to build a Moravian Church.

The families made the long journey to Iowa and acquired many acres of land. The town site of Moravia was laid out on June 27, 1850. The old ridge road from Unionville, Iowa to Moravia was part of the Mormon Trail of 1846 from Nauvoo, Illinois to Salt Lake, Utah.

(Some people see the term “ridge road,” and don’t think anything more about it.  Not me.  I found out that the ridge road leading into Moravia from the southeast runs along the watershed divide between the Soap Creek and the South Branch of the Soap Creek.)

A Moravian Church was built and dedicated in 1851. The early Moravian Families honored the customs of the Moravian Church, which was founded in the country of Moravia in 1597. Several of these customs are remembered and celebrated today in Moravia’s annual events and festivals.

Christmas time was a time for Moravians to visit their neighbors and view their colorful Christmas decorations. This custom is remembered and practiced at Christmas time each year by The Moravia Tour of Homes. Another Moravian custom relived each year at Christmas time in Moravia is the Love Fest. The Love Fest is a traditional religious service with music provided, usually by local talent. Moravian refreshments are served in the tradition of the early Moravians.

(Note: I checked out “Love Fest,” and found that it’s generally known as the “Love Feast” although some do in fact call it the “Love Fest.” I vote for Fest . . .)

About Moravia – It’s a eastern region of the current-day Czech Republic. The Moravian Churchwas formed as a breakaway from the Catholic Church. It was formed in the 16th century in Moravia & neighboring Bohemia.

Traditionally, a culinary part of the Love Fest (or Love Feast) is the Moravian Spice Cookie.

From Wiki:

Moravian spice cookies are a traditional kind of cookie that originated in the Colonial American communities of the Moravian Church. The blend of spices and molasses, rolled paper thin, has a reputation as the “World’s Thinnest Cookie.”

The cookie is especially popular around, and usually associated with, Christmas in communities with a strong Moravian background such as Winston-Salem, North Carolina and Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, which still maintain the two largest Moravian communities in the United States. Although there are a few bakeries that still roll and cut the cookies by hand, some now use a mechanized process for making the cookies in order to meet the demand. While this does not affect the taste, the machine-made cookies have been criticized for not being as thin as their handmade counterparts.

The afore-mentioned Lake Rathbun is located due west of my landing (see landing map).   Here’s a shot of Lake Rathbun, taken by the pilot of an ultralight airplane (see texas-flyer.com for his trip blog) on a trip from Minnesota to Houston (which took him three and a half days).

I love the wonderful fingers of fog on the lake.

Here’s a Christmas 1912 shot of a Moravia family (the Hiatts):

As is standard, you’ll note there are no smiles.  Also note that there was no White Christmas in Moravia in 1912 . . .

That’ll do it.

KS

Greg

© 2009 A Landing A Day

Canyon City, Oregon

First timer? In this (hopefully) once-a-day blog, I have my computer select a random latitude and longitude that puts me somewhere in the continental United States (the lower 48). I call this “landing.” I keep track of the watersheds I land in, as well as the town I land near. I do some internet research to hopefully find something of interest about my landing location. To find out more about A Landing A Day (like who “Dan” is and what the various numbers and abbreviations mean), please see “About Landing,” (and “Abbreviations” and “Cryptic Numbers”) above.

Dan – Back to a traditional WB OSer . . . OR; 65/57; 4/10; 1; 153.4. For the sixth time, I landed in the John Day R watershed; on to the Columbia (126th hit).

Here’s my landing map, showing my proximity to the town of John Day:

Here’s a broader view:

Well, it turns out that I landed near Dayville OR one week before last Christmas. As you may recall, I featured John Day (after whom Dayville was named). I also mentioned the John Day River and the town of John Day. Little did I know that about seven months later, I’d actually land just outside of the town of John Day.

Well, for all of you John Day fans, please enter “John Day” in to the WordPress search box, and you can read all about him. For today’s landing, let me reference the town of Canyon City, just south of John Day.

From Wiki:

Canyon City is county seat of Grant County, and is about a mile south of John Day. As of the 2000 census, the city had a total population of 669.

Canyon City was established in June 1862 as a result of the discovery of gold in Canyon Creek, which flows through the town. The discovery led to land between Canyon City and John Day being worth $500 per square yard.

Panning for gold could yield several ounces in each pan of sediment. At the peak of the local gold rush, it is claimed that 10,000 people lived in Canyon City, making it larger than Portland at the time.

The preeminent geologist, Waldemar Lindgren, during his 1900 visit to the gold belt of the Blue Mountains, estimated that approximately $16 million in gold had been recovered from Canyon Creek by then. This would correspond to roughly 800,000 ounces, worth today (at $600 an ounce) $480 million.

It turns out that a very interesting character in American Literature lived at least for a while in Canyon City. From Wiki:

Joaquin Miller was the pen name of the colorful American poet, essayist and fabulist Cincinnatus Heine (or Hiner) Miller.

Most give his birth date as September 8, 1837 and his birthplace as Liberty, Union County, Indiana. The Miller family was probably of German extraction. While a young boy, the Miller family moved to Oregon and settled in the Willamette Valley.

Miller’s exploits included a variety of occupations, including mining-camp cook (who came down with scurvy from only eating what he cooked), lawyer and a judge, newspaper writer, Pony Express rider, and horse thief.

As a young man, he moved to northern California during the California Gold Rush years, and had a variety of adventures, including spending a year living in a Native American village, and being wounded in a battle with Native Americans. A number of his popular works (Life Amongst the Modocs, An Elk Hunt, and The Battle of Castle Crags), draw on these experiences. He was wounded in the cheek and neck with an arrow during this latter battle, recuperating at the Gold Rush-era mining town of Portuguese Flat.

About 1857, Miller supposedly married an Indian woman named Paquita; the couple had two children born in California or Oregon. Miller married (also married?) Theresa Dyer (alias Minnie Myrtle) and had three children with her. The couple divorced in 1869. Miller also married Abigail Leland, in New York, New York.

He was jailed briefly in Shasta County for stealing a horse, and various accounts give other incidents of his repeating this crime in California and Oregon. Spending a short time in the mining camps of northern Idaho, Miller found his way to Canyon City, Oregon by 1864 where he was elected the third Judge of Grant County. His old cabin in Canyon City is still standing. He later removed to Eugene, Oregon.

After losing his bid for a seat on the Oregon Supreme Court, and a failed marriage, he left the Pacific Northwest and spent some years traveling, living in and visiting (among other places) England, New York, San Francisco, Washington, D.C., and Brazil. He eventually returned to settle in California, where he grew fruit and published his poems and other works.

He was championed, although not enthusiastically, by Bret Harte and Ambrose Bierce. Bierce, who once called Miller “the greatest-hearted man I ever knew” also is quoted as saying that he was “the greatest liar this country ever produced. He cannot, or will not, tell the truth.” Miller’s response was, “I always wondered why God made Bierce.”

From 1886 to his death 1913, Miller resided on a hill in Oakland, in a home he called “The Hights” but which is currently known as the Joaquin Miller House. He planted the surrounding trees and he personally built, on the eminence to the north, his own funeral pyre and monuments dedicated to Moses, General John C. Frémont, and Robert Browning

The Japanese poet Yone Noguchi began his literary career while living in the cabin adjoining Millers’ during the latter half of the 1890s. The Hights was purchased by the city of Oakland in 1919 and can be found in Joaquin Miller Park. It is now a designated California Historical Landmark.

Miller’s poem “Columbus” was once one of the most widely known American poems, memorized and recited by legions of schoolchildren.

Here are some famous lines from one of his poems (this is good stuff):

“In men whom men condemn as ill

I find so much of goodness still.

In men whom men pronounce divine

I find so much of sin and blot

I do not dare to draw a line

Between the two, where God has not.”

There’s a Joaquin Miller elementary school in Oakland:

I wonder if the kids know everything about ol’ Joaquin?

Back to Canyon City. Here’s a shot of Joaquin’s cabin:

Here’s Main Street:

And, here’s a bad day in Canyon City in 1937 (that somehow spared Joaquin’s cabin):

That’ll do it.

KS

Greg

© 2009 A Landing A Day

Geneva on the Lake, Ohio

First timer? In this (hopefully) once-a-day blog, I have my computer select a random latitude and longitude that puts me somewhere in the continental United States (the lower 48). I call this “landing.” I keep track of the watersheds I land in, as well as the town I land near. I do some internet research to hopefully find something of interest about my landing location. To find out more about A Landing A Day (like who “Dan” is and what the various numbers and abbreviations mean), please see “About Landing,” (and “Abbreviations” and “Cryptic Numbers”) above.

Dan – Phew. After four internally-drained western arid watersheds, I finally landed in an old-fashioned watershed, where a drop of water that lands on my landing spot actually makes it to the ocean. I landed in a state that has been an OSer for years, but has recently edged its way to US-land. The state . . . OH, 23/24; 5/10; 1; 152.9. You’ll note that this landing took me back into the realm of 5/10+.

Here’s my landing map:

And a broader view, featuring Geneva:

I landed in the Wheeler Ck watershed, on to Lake Erie (8th hit); on to the St. Lawrence (81st hit).

Here’s a little history about Geneva-on-the-Lake (not named on my landing map, but located due north of Geneva where 534 hits the Lake):

The Three Gentlemen Campers

In the Early 1900′s, three rather distinguished gentlemen embarked on a series of annual treks into he wilds and wilderness of America’s North (Great Lakes) Coast. According to onlookers, it was a rare sight, indeed, as servants scurried about laying campfires and pitching tents so that John D. Rockerfeller, Harvey Firestone and Henry Ford could get down to the business of camping, fishing, and just having fun in, of all places, Geneva-on the-Lake, Ohio.

There is no question that these three gentlemen possessed great vision and great wealth. They could easily have chosen a more exotic, more exclusive locale for their outings. So, perhaps, it was their uncanny genius for taking advantage of a good thing when they saw it that brought them back, again and again. And, perhaps that’s also why Geneva-on-the-Lake, Ohio’s First Summer Resort, continues to thrive, filling up each year with vacationers who, too, know a good deal when they see it.

Four years after the close of the American Civil War, a couple of locals (Mr. Spencer & Mr. Pratt) cleared a bluff overlooking Lake Erie and, on July 4th, 1869, opened a public picnic grounds. With a true appreciation of the monsters who thrashed, fought & spawned just off their beaches, they named this park “Sturgeon Point.” A few years later, Spencer & Pratt added a jerry-built, horse-powered carousel to the picnic grounds and Geneva-on-the-Lake’s colorful tradition as Lake Erie’s “Playground.” was born.

The rest they say, is history.  A history created by the industrious, hard-working people who built up “The Lake” and the hundreds of thousands of families who since 1869 have enjoyed the clean air, the sunny beaches, the fishing, the camping and, most of all each other in Ohio’s premier vacationland, Geneva-on-the-Lake.

OK, I used to live in northeast Ohio, and in fact had a friend who owned a cottage in Geneva-on-the-Lake, and I actually spent a couple of weekends there. It’s one of those old-fashioned honky-tonk fun kind of places.

Here’s a picture of Eddie’s Grill, perhaps the most iconic joint in town (caption below the picture):

Tiny Geneva-on-the-Lake is a throwback to another era, and Eddie’s is one of the reasons. Little has changed since it opened about 1950.

And this, from another lover of Eddie’s Grill:

We traditionally make a visit to Geneva on the Lake during the Memorial Day weekend to mark the yearly opening of Eddie’s Grill.

Geneva on the Lake has been something of a hidden getaway spot in northeast Ohio for nearly a century, providing a number of cabins and inns located right next to Lake Erie in a small town atmosphere. The area feels like a seaside resort that just happens to be under an hour away from downtown Cleveland.

In the center of the lakeside area is a long strip of road which is pretty much the place to cruise in your classic car or motorcycle. There are open-air arcades, novelty and souvenir shops, restaurants and nightclubs all along the main drag, but our favorite destination is always Eddie’s Grill.

Eddie’s Grill has been around since the mid-40s, and going there is like taking a trip back to the 50s. It’s an open-air burger joint, where you can grab a booth or sit at the roadside stools and partake in exactly the kind of burgers and chili dogs you would imagine such a place would serve.

It’s a great place to visit during Memorial Day to celebrate the arrival of decent, if not always warm, northeast Ohio weather. Geneva on the Lake is just far enough away from the bigger cities and suburbs of Ohio that driving the twenty-five miles seems like a real trip away from all your worries at home.

And this:

Geneva on the Lake is a town that doesn’t know that the rest of the world has progressed passed 1950. DON’T”T TELL THEM. Put-Put Golf. Arcades with TONS of SKEE BALL. and of course, Burger stands like Eddies Grill.

Here’s Eddie’s at night:

Just to give you more of a feel for the place, here’s some honky-tonk:

And some more honky-tonk.

And some more honky-tonk.

The oldest continuously-operating miniature golf course in the U.S.:

Here are some typical cottages:

And, yes, Lake Erie is right there:

And yes, there’s a beach:

Although you can’t swim just anywhere:

And I’ll close with a sunset shot from GOTL:

That’ll do it.

KS

Greg

© 2009 A Landing A Day

Ivanpah, California

First timer? In this (hopefully) once-a-day blog, I have my computer select a random latitude and longitude that puts me somewhere in the continental United States (the lower 48). I call this “landing.” I keep track of the watersheds I land in, as well as the town I land near. I do some internet research to hopefully find something of interest about my landing location. To find out more about A Landing A Day (like who “Dan” is and what the various numbers and abbreviations mean), please see “About Landing,” (and “Abbreviations” and “Cryptic Numbers”) above.

Dan – Wow. This is absolutely unprecedented. As you’re aware, my last three landings were in internally-drained valleys. Make that four in a row!  Before I say anything more about today’s landing, let’s look at some statistics.

This was landing 1774. Of those 1774, 185 have involved internally-drained watersheds. Let’s say that one in ten landings is internally-drained (close enough).

Obvioiusly, there’s a one in ten chance for any given landing to be internal. So, it’s a one in a hundred chance to get two in a row. With 1774 landings, no big deal. Moving right along, there’s a one in a thousand chance to get three in a row. Now we’re talking pretty-damned-unlikely. This is where I was with yesterday’s landing. But today – are you kidding me?!? Today’s internally-drained landing marks a one in ten thousand event!!!!

Where was this one in ten thousand landing? Gratefully, at least I ended my streak of four OSers in a row with today’s landing in . . . CA; 85/95; 4/10; 3; 153.6.

Here’s my landing map showing my proximity to Ivanpah:

And here’s a StreetAtlas original broader view (Ivanpah’s too small to merit a map on the internet):

OK, here’s another coincidence: three of the last four landing have involved ghost towns! That’s right, Ivanpah doesn’t exist anymore.

From ghosttowns.com:

In 1870 Ivanpah was the only outpost of civilization in the Mojave and remained so for the next thirty years. Founded after the Paiute Company of California and Nevada discovered silver deposits in the nearby Clark Mountains, the town consisted of about 15 buildings. Population reached around 300 by 1872, but by 1875 it had dwindled down to around 100.

Had a short resurgence in 1876 after the building of the Bidwell Mill. But, due to financial troubles with the mining companies and bigger strikes in other camps, by 1880 the glory days had passed for Ivanpah. By 1882 the town was all but deserted with the exception of a store and boarding house. The store closed in 1898 and the post office a year later.

Here’s an 1880s shot of the aforementioned Bidwell Mill:

Here are some shots of what remains in Ivanpah:

Here’s an entrance to an old mine near Ivanpah:

The Ivanpah valley is just north of Ivanpah. I found the following article of interest:

Greenbird Breaks Land Speed Record For Wind Powered Vehicle

On March 26th (2009), on the ‘dry’ Lake Ivanpah, California, The Ecotricity Greenbird driven by British engineer, Richard Jenkins smashed the world land speed record for wind powered vehicles. The Greenbird clocked 126.1 mph (202.9 km/h) , eclipsing the old, American held, record of 116 mph , set by Bob Schumacher in the Iron Duck in March 1999 at the same location.

Here’s a picture of the record-making event:

And here’s a much clear shot of the Greenbird:

I know a little bit about sailing – it seems to me the “sail” is a little small (especially to power the thing up to 126 mph!)

It turns out that a significant controversy has erupted in the normally-placid Ivanpah Valley. From the “Save Ivanpah Valley” portion of the BasinAndRangeWatch.org website:

Industrial Solar Energy Developments Threaten Desert

February 15, 2009 – Ivanpah, California

We stood in the quiet fan sloping gradually down from snow-covered Clark Mountain on the border of the Mojave National Preserve. The winter day was brisk and breezy, the air fresh, and the creosote bushes were green from recent rains. I noticed many animal tracks in the sandy washes winding through the cactus and bursage: coyotes, bobcats, kangaroo rats, kit foxes. Small green rosettes of annual wildflowers poked their leaves upwards, a harbinger of the coming spring when their blooms would add color to this desert.

Meanwhile in the distant city, other folks had designs on this land. Plans were being made, investments sought, deals struck. On February 11, Southern California Edison agreed to purchase 13,000 megawatts of electricity from solar projects to be built by Oakland-based BrightSource Energy.

It was the largest solar electricity deal in the world. BrightSource has been busy during the past two years undergoing the long application process to gain control of nearly 4,000 acres (about 6.4 square miles) of public land near the Nevada border in order to build a 400 megawatt (MW) solar thermal “power tower” plant, the first stage of the deal.

Here would be the so-called Ivanpah Solar Energy Generating System (ISEGS).

Ivanpah Valley “before”

After?

Here’s a broader view of the above installation:

According to the update posted on the website, the powers-that-be are modifying plans in response to environmental concerns.

Moving right along, I found a couple of wonderful railroad shots (see the railroad running through Ivanpah on the landing map). First, this of the tracks near the town:

And this absolutely cool shot, looking southeast down Ivanpah Road. That’s a train in the distance, and Ivanpah is where the road intersects the tracks:

I’ll close with a sunset shot of the Ivanpah Valley:

That’ll do it.

KS

Greg

© 2009 A Landing A Day