A Landing a Day

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Cottonton, Dawson, Cuthbert and Plains, Georgia

Posted by graywacke on December 11, 2017

First timer?  In this formerly once-a-day blog (and now pretty much a once-every-four-or-five days blog), I use an app that provides 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 or towns 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) please see “About Landing” above.  To check out some recent changes in how I do things, check out “About Landing (Revisited).”

Landing number 2380; A Landing A Day blog post number 814.

Dan:  Today’s lat/long (31o 57.222’N, 84o 50.817’W) puts me in southwest Georgia:

My local landing map shows the usual VP* of small towns:

*veritable plethora

Here’s my local streams-only map:

I landed in the watershed of good ol’ Stream Perennial; on to the Briar Branch; on to Pataula Creek.  Zooming back, Pataula Creek discharges into the dammed-up Chattahoochee River (3rd hit):

Zooming back even further, the Chattahoochee flows to the Apalachicola (10th hit) before making its way across the Florida Panhandle, into the gulf:

I’d like my readers to linger a bit on the preceding sentence, being sure to savor the poetic pronunciation of the two rivers:  “The Chattahoochee flows to the Apalachicola.”

And then, I’d like to head back to Pataula Creek.  Am I the only one who instantly thought of Petula Clark?  Probably.  But she takes me back in a rush to early 1965, with her hit song “Downtown.”  I was 14, and really getting into popular music.  I had been doodling around on the piano for years, including two years of lessons.  I had the ability to play simple tunes by ear (I remember playing the theme to the TV show Bonanza), but hadn’t yet figured out any Top 40 hits on the piano.  Until Downtown.

I loved the song, and began to pick out a halfway-decent arrangement on the piano.  I threw myself into it, and ended up with a version I liked (and play occasionally to this day).  I remember sitting in school (9th grade), aching for the day to end so I could rush home and play Downtown on the piano.  My poor mother heard the song dozens, if not hundreds, of times.

So, here’s Petula:


A quick side note:  Just now, as I listened, I realized that there’s a very distinctive piano introduction that I never played!  Of course, I sat right down and banged it out.

Even though I sounded a little arrogant in the preceding sentence, I am very aware of how lucky I am to have innate musical abilities.  As far as I’m concerned, it was jut something I was born with . . .

Let’s move right along to Google Earth (GE), and take a look at my landing:

Here’s what the Orange Dude sees:

And nearby, there’s a view of Briar Branch:

And here ‘tis:

I’ll be moving to my first featured town, but by way of introduction, I’ll start with a Bible story.  I can imagine that my regular readers are already thinking “Say what?  A Bible story??” 

So, class.  Today’s Bible story is about Nebuchadnezzar.  I’ll do it Greg-style (bulleted):

  • Nebuchadnezzar was King of Babylonia from 605 BC to 562 BC.  Babylonia was centered on what is today Iraq.  The City of Babylon was along the Euphrates River, south of today’s Baghdad.
  • He is considered the greatest ruler of Babylonia; creator of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon (more about them in a bit).
  • He is mentioned by name 90 times in the Bible, and is a main character in the book of Daniel.
  • In Daniel, the story is told of Nebuchadnezzar’s destruction of Judah (an ancient kingdom that includes the southern portion of today’s Israel; Judah’s capital was Jerusalem.)
  • Nebuchadnezzar had conquered Judah at the very beginning of his reign, but Judah had rebelled twice. Nebuchadnezzar wasn’t happy:  he destroyed the temple and most of Jerusalem in 597 BC, and deported most residents as slaves to Babylon.
  • According to the Bible, Nebuchadnezzar was God’s instrument of justice, punishing Judah for its idolatry, unfaithfulness and disobedience.
  • Daniel was an advisor to Nebuchadnezzar, held in high favor because of his ability to interpret one of Nebuchadnezzar’s dreams.
  • Nebuchadnezzar created a gold statue of himself, and required all of the people to bow down before it.
  • Three of Daniels friends – Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego – refused to bow down before the statue, citing their belief in the one true God; the King had them thrown into a blazing furnace.
  • Miraculously, God protected the three, and they walked out unharmed from the furnace.
  • This blew Nebuchadnezzar’s mind, and he quickly decided that the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego was, in fact, the one true God.

I’d like my readers to linger a bit on the preceding sentence, being sure to savor the poetic pronunciation of the three friends of Daniel.

There’s more, but the above is the central nugget of the story.  So what does this all have to do with southwest Georgia?  Well, check out Daniel 3:1:

Nebuchadnezzar the king made an image of gold, the height of which was sixty cubits [90 feet] and its width six cubits [9 feet]; he set it up on the plain of Dura in the province of Babylon.

It just so happens that about 2400 years after Nebuchadnezzar’s reign, a very small town in Georgia was named “Plains of Dura,” after the Babylonian region.  Why it became the plural “Plains” rather than the singular “plain” mentioned in the Bible is not known. 

After the Civil War, local Plains of Dura businesses began to thrive.  However, the business leaders felt the name was awkward; they successfully petitioned the State Legislature to change the name of the town to simply “Plains.”

None of us would have ever heard of Plains, Georgia, if it weren’t for a local peanut farmer from Plains who gained national prominence:

Before moving on, here’s a quick word about the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.  From Wiki:

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon were one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, a term given to it by ancient Hellenic culture. The Hanging Gardens were described as a remarkable feat of engineering with an ascending series of tiered gardens containing a wide variety of trees, shrubs, and vines. The gardens were said to have looked like a large green mountain constructed of mud bricks.

They were supposedly built by Nebuchadnezzar for one of his wives; however, there are no extemporaneous Babylonian texts describing the gardens, and no archeological evidence has been found – although it is possible that if remains of the gardens exist, they are buried under the Euphrates

From IslamiCity.org, here’s an artist’s rendition:

Time to move to Cuthbert.  Under Notable People, I saw that “Winfred Rembert, artist” was wiki-clickable.  So, wiki-click I did:

Winfred Rembert is an African-American artist who hand-tools and paints on leather canvases. Rembert grew up in Cuthbert, Georgia, where he spent much of his childhood laboring in the cotton fields. He was arrested during a 1960s civil rights march. As a prisoner, he learned to make tooled-leather wallets and design on leather.

Rembert stretches, stains, and etches on leather and creates scenes from the rural Southern town where he was born and raised.

An award-winning documentary film about his life, All Me: The Life and Times of Winfred Rembert, was released in 2011.

From the website for the movie:

With his intensely autobiographical paintings depicting the day-to-day existence of African Americans in the segregated South, Winfred Rembert has preserved an important, if often disturbing, chapter of American history.

His indelible images of toiling in the cotton fields, singing in church, dancing in juke joints, or working on a chain gang are especially powerful, not just because he lived every moment, but because he experienced so much of the injustice and bigotry that is apparent in hi work.

Now in his sixties, Rembert has developed a growing following among collectors and connoisseurs, and enjoyed a number of tributes and exhibitions of his work. In “ALL ME: The Life and Times of Winfred Rembert,” the artist relives his turbulent life, abundantly visualized by his extensive paintings and, in a series of intimate reminiscences, shows us how even the most painful memories can be transformed into something meaningful and beautiful.

Here’s the trailer for the movie:


Here are some of his works; I’ll start with “All Me,” whereby Rembert painted every garbed inmate as if it were him; i.e., all me:

Dye on carved and tooled leather, 21 1/2 x 24 1/2

And a few others:

Time to move on to Dawson.  Under Notable People was one Otis Redding.

For my generation, “Sittin’ on the Dock o’ the Bay” is one of our most memorable songs.  It was recorded just three days before Otis died in a plane crash, en route from Cleveland to Madison. 

He never knew the success of the song.  From Wiki:

In early December 1967 Redding was working on a new song,  “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay,” which was written with guitarist and musical collaborator Steve Cropper.  At the time, they were staying with a friend on a houseboat in Sausalito [at the base of the Golden Gate bridge, across from San Francisco].

Redding was inspired by the Beatles album Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and tried to create a similar sound, against the wishes of Stax [his label].  His wife Zelma disliked its atypical melody. The Stax crew were married to a more traditional R&B format, and were also dissatisfied with the new sound.  However, Redding wanted to expand his musical style and thought it was his best song, correctly believing it would top the charts.

The song reached #1 on Billboard’s Top 100 weekly charts, and was ranked #4 for the year of 1968.

Here ‘tis:


Here’s my favorite verse:

Looks like nothing’s gonna change
Everything still remains the same
I can’t do what ten people tell me to do
So I guess I’ll remain the same.

Of course, I noted that he “left home in Georgia, headed for the Frisco Bay,” and that he traveled two thousand miles.  That always sounded a little on the short side to me.  It’s time for an ALAD fact check!

Well, by car it’s a little over 2500 miles (and 38 hours).  So, Otis must have been talking about the shortest straight-line distance, which is a little less than 2200 miles . . .

One other thing.  Otis wrote “Respect,” which was a minor hit for him.  But it was a huge hit for Aretha Franklin, becoming a Motown anthem:


What you want
Baby, I got
What you need
Do you know I got it?
All I’m askin’
Is for a little respect when you come home (just a little bit)
Hey baby (just a little bit) when you get home
(just a little bit) mister (just a little bit)

I ain’t gonna do you wrong while you’re gone
Ain’t gonna do you wrong  ’cause I don’t wanna
All I’m askin’
Is for a little respect when you come home (just a little bit)
Baby (just a little bit) when you get home (just a little bit)
Yeah (just a little bit)

I’m about to give you all of my money
And all I’m askin’ in return, honey
Is to give me my propers
When you get home (just a, just a, just a, just a)
Yeah baby (just a, just a, just a, just a)
When you get home (just a little bit)
Yeah (just a little bit)

[instrumental break]

Ooo, your kisses
Sweeter than honey
And guess what?
So is my money
All I want you to do for me
Is give it to me when you get home (re, re, re ,re)
Yeah baby (re, re, re ,re)
Whip it to me (respect, just a little bit)
When you get home, now (just a little bit)

Find out what it means to me
Take care, TCB*

Oh (sock it to me, sock it to me,
sock it to me, sock it to me)
A little respect (sock it to me, sock it to me,
sock it to me, sock it to me)
Whoa, babe (just a little bit)
A little respect (just a little bit)
I get tired (just a little bit)
Keep on tryin’ (just a little bit)
You’re runnin’ out of foolin’ (just a little bit)
And I ain’t lyin’ (just a little bit)
(re, re, re, re) ‘spect
When you come home (re, re, re ,re)
Or you might walk in (respect, just a little bit)
And find out I’m gone (just a little bit)
I got to have (just a little bit)
A little respect (just a little bit)

*Taking Care of Busness

I’m going to close this post with a short visit to Cottonton.  Wiki has very little to say, but they did post a couple of back-in-the-day pictures.  First this, of a “well sweep:”

Here’s how it works.  The log with the chain on the end rocks up and down (teeter-totter style) on the fulcrum.  A bucket on the chain is lowered into the well, and then raised up using the sweep and emptied in the box.  The water then flows out of the box into the pipe at the bottom (headed towards the photographer). 

And the second Wiki picture is of an “old mule gin house,” which is a mule-powered cotton gin:

I found a working version of such a gin in North Carolina:

And here’s the mule doing his thing:

I’ll close with this Wiki shot (by Rivers Langley) from the town of Weston, about 14 miles east of my landing:


That’ll do it . . .




© 2017 A Landing A Day




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Pioneer, Ohio

Posted by graywacke on December 4, 2017

First timer?  In this formerly once-a-day blog (and now pretty much a once-every-four-or-five days blog), I use an app that provides 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 or towns 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) please see “About Landing” above.  To check out some recent changes in how I do things, check out “About Landing (Revisited).”

Landing number 2379; A Landing A Day blog post number 813.

Dan:  Today’s lat/long (41o 39.642’N, 84o 33.767’W) puts me in far northwest Ohio:

My local map shows that I landed just outside of Pioneer:

My very local streams-only map shows that I landed in the watershed of the East Branch of the St. Joseph R (first hit ever!); on to the St. Joseph (first hit ever!).

Zooming back:

You can see that the St. Joseph heads due southwest, and then, the water molecules therein do a 180, and end up heading northeast up the Maumee (3rd hit) to Lake Erie (11); on, of course, to the St. Lawrence (108).

I have excellent Google Earth (GE) Street View coverage:

And behold!  The magnificent yellow spear has landed in yonder field!

And with such excellent Street View coverage, a good look at the East Branch of the St. Joseph River is inevitable:

And here’s what the Orange Dude sees:

As always, I have the Orange Dude check to see if there’s a road sign announcing the name of the river, and indeed there is!

Notice that the sign makers didn’t bother with the “East Branch.”  Oh, well.

So, Wiki told me absolutely nothing about Pioneer, so I went to the Pioneer town website:

Earliest recorded settlers of Pioneer were P.W. Norris and Owen McCarty (brothers-in-law), who were hired to clear James A. Rogers land in 1842-3.

Both men were ambitious businessmen, a trait that is still prevalent among the citizens of modern day Pioneer. Mr. Norris built a grist mill and a saw mill along the north side of the creek.

Mr. Norris finally moved away to north of Detroit where he named a village “Norris.” It now has been incorporated into Warren, Michigan (a Detroit suburb).

Normally, the above information is not hook-worthy.  But ever curious, I took a long shot and Googled P.W. Norris.  Wiki took me to “Philetus Walter Norris.  I had to confirm that he was, in fact, the same as the founder of the town of Pioneer OH:

In 1845, Norris married Jane K. Cottrell of Fayette, Ohio. Once married, the couple became two of the original settlers of Pioneer, Ohio.

OK, so that’s out of the way.  Here’s some more from Wiki:

When the Civil War began, Norris joined the Union troops, eventually rising to the rank of Colonel.  He served as a spy behind Confederate Lines and Captain of the West Virginia Mountain Scouts. While fighting near Laurel Mountain, West Virginia, Norris’s horse was shot out from underneath him, severely injuring his shoulder and spinal cord.  After his injury, Norris returned to Pioneer.

I’ll be returning to his injury later in this post . . .

A quick aside.  In my July 2016 Richwood WV post, I featured Nancy Hart (I landed near her gravesite).  Nancy was a fascinating character, who became famous as a Confederate spy.  Just to give you a sense of who she was, here’s a small piece of her bio, which recounts an episode when she escaped from captivity:

One evening, Nancy grabbed the pistol from her naive young guard, and shot him dead with a single shot. She leapt out a second-story window into a clump of tall jimson weeds, stole a horse, and escaped to behind Confederate lines.

I wonder if Nancy knew of Philetus and if Philetus knew Nancy?  Spy vs. spy, eh?

Back to Wiki:

In 1870, Norris traveled west, entering the Yellowstone Park area; he returned again in 1875.  During this time, Norris wrote a series of articles on “The Great West” which were published in the Norris, Michigan Suburban newspaper.

Perhaps because of the series of articles, Norris achieved some fame as a western explorer, and in 1877, Norris became the second superintendent of Yellowstone National Park, a position he held until 1882.

Here’s Wiki’s picture of Mr. Norris:

What a dude!

A quick word about Nathaniel Langford, the first Yellowstone Park superintendent (from Wiki):

After the park’s official formation, Nathaniel Langford was appointed as the park’s first superintendent in 1872 by Secretary of Interior Columbus Delano. Langford served for five years but was denied a salary, funding, and staff. Langford lacked the means to improve the land or properly protect the park, and without formal policy or regulations, he had few legal methods to enforce such protection.

[Say what?  Yellowstone was declared as a National Park, but no money was allocated?  Not unexpectedly, the park was not properly protected.]

Observations about the lawlessness and exploitation of park resources were included in a report by William Ludlow [a Yellowstone explorer].  The report documented the poaching of thousands of buffalo, deer, elk, and antelope for hides.

As a result, Langford was forced to step down in 1877.

AYKM??  Poor guy.  Gets no salary, fails because of lack of support, then gets fired.

Very strangely, P.W. Norris was hired as a replacement, even though Congress had still not approved any funding to run the Park.  And he took the job!  And, after an arduous 14 months serving as Park Superintendent (and not getting paid), he sent a petition to the Secretary of the Interior asking for reimbursement.  In his petition, he had quite the story to tell (although he told it in the third person).

I’m going to present his petition in nearly its entirety.  This is going to be quite long by ALAD standards, but bear with me, as (obviously), I think it’s well worth the read!

February 18, 1882.

To the honorable the Secretary of the Interior:

Sir:  Your petitioner [i.e., P.W. Norris] presents this memorial of facts in connection with his appointment as superintendent of the Yellowstone National Park by the honorable Secretary of the Interior, on the 18th day of April, 1877.

Your petitioner would respectfully state that he immediately entered upon the laborious and then dangerous duties of his office, and by the expenditure of his own private means proceeded to the said park and assumed exploration, care and protection thereof, which, under the name of the Yellowstone National Park, was set aside by an act of Congress, approved March 1, 1872, a copy of which act, as well as the rules and regulations of the honorable Secretary of the Interior for its management, are as follows:

[ALAD readers:  Although the ACT is interesting and worth the read, feel free to skim through it or skip it altogether.]

AN ACT to set apart a certain tract of land lying near the headwaters of the Yellowstone River as a public park.

Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America in Congress assembled, that the tract of land in the Territories of Montana and Wyoming lying near the headwaters of the Yellowstone River, and described as follows, to wit:

Sec. 1 [A detailed description of the boundaries of the park follows but is not included here]

[The described area] is hereby reserved and withdrawn from settlement, occupancy, or sale under the laws of the United States, and dedicated and set apart as a public park or pleasure ground for the benefit and enjoyment of the people; and all persons who shall locate, settle upon, or occupy the same or any part thereof, except as hereinafter provided, shall be considered trespassers and removed therefrom.

Sec. 2. That said public park shall be under the exclusive control of the Secretary of the Interior, whose duty it shall be, as soon as practicable, to make and publish such rules and regulations as he may deem necessary or proper for the care and management of the same. Such regulations shall provide for the preservation from injury or spoliation of all timber, mineral deposits, natural curiosities, or wonders within said park, and their retention in their natural condition.

The Secretary may in his discretion grant leases for building purposes, for terms not exceeding ten years, of small parcels of ground, at such places in said park as shall require the erection of buildings for the accommodation of visitors; all of the proceeds of said leases, and all other revenues that may be derived from any source connected with said park, to be expended under his direction in the management of the same, and the construction of roads and bridle-paths therein.

He shall provide against the wanton destruction of the fish and game found within said park and against their capture or destruction for the purposes of merchandise or profit. He shall also cause all persons trespassing on the same, after the passage of this act, to be removed therefrom, and generally shall be authorized to take all such measures as shall be necessary or proper to fully carry out the objects and purposes of this act.

Approved March 1, 1872.


Ist.  All hunting, fishing, or trapping within the limits of the park, except for purposes of recreation, or to supply food to visitors or actual residents, is strictly prohibited; and no sales of fish or game taken within the park shall be made outside of its boundaries.

2d.  Persons residing within the park, or visiting it for any purpose whatever, are required under severe penalties to extinguish all fires which it may be necessary to make, before leaving them. No fires must be made within the park, except for necessary purposes.

3d.  No timber must be cut in the park without a written permit from the superintendent.

4th. Breaking the siliceous or calcareous borders or deposits surrounding or in the vicinity of the springs or geysers for any purpose, and all removal, carrying away, or sale of specimens found within the park, without the consent of the superintendent, is strictly prohibited.

5th.  No person will be permitted to reside permanently within the limit of the park without permission from the Department of the Interior, and any person now living within the park shall vacate the premises occupied by him within thirty days after having been served with a written notice so to do by the superintendent or his deputy, said notice to be served upon him in person or left at his place of residence.

[Amazing that the above ACT was passed, but no money allocated for implementation and enforcement.  Anyway, back to P.W.’s narrative.]

As above shown, at the time of your petitioner’s appointment as superintendent, although no money for services or expenses was furnished or specifically promised, it was confidently expected, that through the recommendation of the department, an appropriation for such purposes would be made, at a then anticipated special session of Congress, which however was not called.

[So at least P.W. thought he was going to get paid . . . ]

The honorable Secretary of the Interior made a request upon the War Department for transportation from Chicago to the Yellowstone National Park and return, but this request was never received by your petitioner, nor was the transportation or any portion thereof ever furnished him.

[So at least P.W.’s boss put in for some transportation expenses.  But alas, no luck.]

Therefore, by the expenditure of his own means he proceeded by railroad to Bismarck, and thence by steamers to Fort Keogh, at the mouth of Tongue River. At this point your petitioner purchased saddle and pack animals and outfit, and then proceeded up the Yellowstone Valley, and through the ”Gate of the Mountains” to the Mammoth Hot Springs in the National Park.

Here finding his animals worn out your petitioner hired fresh animals and proceeded 80 miles to Fort Ellis and Bozeman to purchase supplies, and for consultation with the civil and military officers of those regions.

From this point he returned to Bottlers, 40 miles below the park, where he hired an assistant and ascended the Yellowstone and Gardiner Rivers to the Mammoth Hot Springs, and thence throughout much of the central and northern portions of the park; with fresh animals and an additional assistant explored a new pass to the Stillwater and lower Yellowstone Rivers.

Thence returning to the Mammoth Hot Springs and Bottlers Ranch, went down the Yellowstone toward the “Gate of the Mountains,” until meeting Generals Sherman and Pope with a small escort, from which fact, as well as from a desire for further explorations in the park, he returned with them to Bottlers Ranch and hired fresh animals and outfit, and with two companions proceeded with General Sherman’s party to “Tower Falls,” 17 miles below the ” Great Falls” of the Yellowstone.

[Remember when I said that I’d have more to say about his injury when he was a spy in West Virginia?  “Norris’s horse was shot out from underneath him, severely injuring his shoulder and spinal cord.”  Well, check out the following:]

While your petitioner was proceeding alone, some miles in advance of the party, he met with a severe accident by the breaking of one of his stirrup straps, caused by a bucking horse; your petitioner was precipitated from a ledge of ”Lava Rocks,” receiving such severe injuries to his neck and spine as to render him unable to proceed or even to return, save, with extreme difficulty and great suffering; he was thereby compelled to return to Mammoth Hot Springs and Bottlers for aid and care.

[Hmmmm.  Sounds like he aggravated his previous injury!  He should call one of those ambulance-chasing injury lawyers!]

He would state that as a result of this accident, occurring in the line of his duty, he has suffered ever since much bodily pain and inconvenience, and has been obliged to expend considerable sums of money for medical aid and assistance.

[Dude!  Go for the jugular!  Pain & Suffering!]

Further: Your petitioner states that, in the line of his official duty, he had printed at considerable expense 500 copies, on cloth, ‘Notices of Warning’ to the public against careless use of fire, and acts of vandalism in the park, many of which were affixed to trees therein, and others distributed throughout the regions adjacent thereto, a copy of which is hereto attached, and reads as follows, viz:


Notice is hereby given that extreme caution is necessary and required in building and extinguishing fires within the National Park.

Vandalism in breaking, defacing, or carrying off cones or specimens from the geysers or hot springs or any section of the park is prohibited; also wanton destruction of game, fish, or fowl is in violation of law.

Law, public sentiment, the future attractiveness of Wonderland and the good fame of Montana alike forbid violation of this notice.



[At least $1.00 a copy.  That’s $500.00!  Anyway, continuing his narrative.]

Unable to otherwise return east, he here assisted in the cost of construction and outfitting a small boat, in which with two comrades he descended the Yellowstone through the ”Gate of the Mountains” and by the course of the river, fully 500 miles to a steamboat near the mouth of Tongue River, and then by steamboat to Fort Keogh.

Here your petitioner met General Miles. After this long and tedious journey he imparted to the general, information regarding the regions that he had explored upon this and previous expeditions and of the different Indian tribes therein, which proved valuable in his subsequent successful operations against Chief Joseph and his hostile Nez Perces.

[And go for a hazardous-duty Indian-fighting bonus!]

He descended the Yellowstone and Missouri Rivers to Bismarck, thence by rail to Duluth and by steamer to Detroit, and from thence to Washington City, where he reported in person to the honorable the Secretary of the Interior, who approved the recommendations of your petitioner and in his report to Congress makes the following recommendations, viz :


[His recommendations follow.  As before, feel free to skim or skip.]

On the 18th of April, 1877, P. W. Norris, of Michigan, was appointed superintendent of the Yellowstone National Park. As no appropriation was made for the payment of a salary to the superintendent, the services rendered by Mr. Norris have been without pay.

By reference to his report it will be seen that he has visited the park and taken such measures toward the protection of its natural curiosities as were deemed practicable.

He recommends adequate appropriation for the following purposes:

First. Survey with distinct and durable evidence of the boundaries of the park.

Second. Construction of a plain but substantial wagon-road connecting the two entrances to the park, and the laying out of necessary bridle-paths.

Third. Salary sufficient to justify a capable and experienced superintendent, and at least one resident assistant, in devoting their time to the improvement and care of the park.

Other recommendations are made by the superintendent, looking to the improvement and protection of the park and its approaches.

Under the act of March 1, 1872, this tract of land was reserved and withdrawn from settlement, occupancy, or sale, and dedicated and set apart as a public park or pleasuring ground for the benefit and enjoyment of the people.

It was placed under the exclusive control of the Secretary of the Interior, who was authorized to make such regulations as would provide for the preservation from injury or spoliation of all timber, mineral deposits, natural curiosities or wonders, within the park, and their retention in their natural condition.

[OK.  Back to P.W.’s narrative.]

Very little has been done toward carrying out the provisions of the act referred to. No appropriation has been made for the pay of a superintendent or the survey of the park, and no revenues have been received, nor have any leases been granted by the department.

Without the necessary appropriation by Congress very little can be done toward making this land of wonders, what it deserves to be on account of its natural formation, one of the most attractive public parks in the world.

[Here comes a great summary . . . ]

During the arduous and responsible duties of your petitioner, while on horseback or on foot, in the snow-girt [snowbound] park, or on the desert paths around it, the dangerous descent in a skiff of a rapid and nearly unknown river, an aggregate distance of fully three thousand miles through regions infested with hostile savages, by whom several of his comrades were killed and various articles of his own outfit captured, your petitioner furnished his own outfit, consisting of provisions of all kinds, fire-arms, ammunition, saddle and pack animals, tools, and all necessary supplies, skiffs and such things as were needed in his undertaking as forage, assistants, guides, transportation, and innumerable articles necessary to carry out his commission and perform the duties incumbent upon him.

[Wow.  How can one read this and not pay the guy?!?]

From the 18th day of April, 1877, to the 30th day of June, 1878, a period of one year, two mouths and thirteen days, your petitioner was on continuous duty, and has never for his services or for money advanced, received one dollar in money, transportation (except transportation from Saint Paul to Bismarck and return), supplies, or other assistance or remuneration whatever, nor for continuous and costly medical treatment for the injury to his neck and spine, received at Tower Falls, while in the line of his official duty, and from the effects of which he never has, and probably never will recover.

In conclusion your petitioner will only add that from misfortunes largely resulting from inattention to his private interests while for nearly five years absent, and wholly engrossed in his official duty as superintendent of the Yellowstone National Park, he finds himself at the close of these duties in financial circumstances imperatively requiring the payment of what he claims his due

Such payments are necessary in order to provide for his advancing age, and hence most respectfully, but earnestly and confidently, presents this candid statement of facts and sustaining proofs, relying upon Congress for justice in this matter by making an appropriation at an early day to reimburse him for the time and means dedicated to the arduous and responsible efforts which have resulted in securing all the protection and improvement which has ever been afforded to the people’s heritage of wonders in the Yellowstone National Park.

The following bill of particulars, hereto appended, shows the amount due your petitioner, $3,180.41.

All of which is respectfully submitted.


Statement of salary due, and expenses incurred by P.V. Norris while discharging the duties of superintendent, Yellowstone National Park, for the period from April 18th, 1877, to June 30, 1878, inclusive, as follows, vis:

[Of course, the following is skimmable.  But check it out to the extent necessary to get a feel for it . . . ]

May 29. For salary, superintendent, Yellowstone National Park, from April 18, 1877, to June 30, 1878, inclusive, being one year, two (2) months, and thirteen (13) days, at $1500 per annum:   $1,805 57

May 29. For railroad fare from Detroit, Mich. , to Saint Paul, Minn:  $23.00

May 29. Sleeping car fare from Detroit, Mich., to Saint Paul, Minn:   $4.00

June 4. Sleeping car fare from Saint Paul to Bismarck:   $2.00

June 4. For charges on extra baggage from Detroit, Mich., to Bismarck, Dak:  $4.35

June 12. For meals and lodgings from May 29, to June 12, inclusive, including unavoidable delays at Chicago, awaiting transportation orders, and in Bismarck, awaiting a steamboat to ascend the Yellowstone River, being 15 days, at $3 per day:   $45.00

June 13. Steamboat fare (steamer General Meade) from Bismarck to Fort Buford, Mont:   $12.12

June 18. For meals on steamer, 13th to l8th June, inclusive, 6 days, at $2 per day:  $12.00

June 19. For fare on steamboat (steamer Ashland) from Fort Buford to Fort Keogh on Tongue River:  $18.95

June 24. For meals while on steamer Ashland, from June 19th to 26th, inclusive, 9 days, at $2.50 per day:   $22.50

Aug. 15. For use of saddle and pack animals and outfit from June 29th to August 15tli, inclusive, 48 days, at $4 per day:  $192.00

Aug. 15. For subsistence for self, forage for animals, fire-arms and ammunition furnished, and camp outfit during the period from June 29th to August 15th, 1877, inclusive, while engaged in exploring the park, going to, and returning from the park to the skiff near Bottlers, 48 days, at $5 per day:   $240.00

Aug. 15. For hire of guide or assistant with saddle and pack animals, including outfit and subsistence, from June 29 to August 15, 1877, inclusive, 48 days, at $5 per day $240.00

Aug. 15. For hire of passage on skiff in running the Yellowstone River from above the “Gate of the Mountains,” to near Tongue River:  $50.00

Aug. 15. For subsistence while descending the river from August 16 to 25, inclusive, 10 days, at $3 per day:  $30.00

Aug. 26. For transportation on steamer Far West, from above Tongue River (Ft. Keogh) to Bismarck, Dak:   $31.07

Aug. 27. For meals on steamer Far West, August 26 and 27, 2 days, at $2 per day $5.00

Aug. 28. Sleeping car from Bismarck to Saint Paul:   $2.00

Aug. 29. For railroad and steamboat fare from Saint Paul, Minn., to Detroit, Mich:  $27.35

Sep. 3. For 21 meals, from August 28 to September 3, 1877, inclusive, 7 days, at $3 per day:  $21.00

Oct. 2. For railroad fare from Detroit, Mich., to Washington, D. C, for consultation with the honorable Secretary of the Interior, on business concerning the Yellowstone Park:   $16.50

Oct. 2. Sleeping car fare from Detroit, Mich., to Washington, D. C.:   $2.00

Oct. 3. For 6 meals en route, at 75 cents each:   $4.50

Oct. 6. For board and lodging in Washington, D. C, October 4 to 6, inclusive,  3 days, at |1.50 per day:  $4.50

Oct. 7. For railroad fare from Washington, D. C. to Detroit, Mich:   $16.50

Oct. 7. For sleeping car fare from Washington, D. C, to Detroit, Mich.:   $2.00

Oct. 7. For 6 meals while en route from Washington, D. C, to Detroit, Mich., at 75 cents each:  $4.50

Dec. 12. For railroad fare from Detroit, Mich., to Washington, D. C.:  $16.50

Dec. 12. For sleeping car fare from Detroit, Mich., to Washington, D. C.:  $2:00

Dec. 12. For 6 meals, at 75 cents each, while en route from Detroit to Washington, D. C.:  $4.50

June 30. For board and lodging in Washington, D. C, from December 3, 1877, to June 30, 1878, while engaged on duty, 210 days, at $1.50 per day:  $315.00

Total amount due:   $3,180.41

I certify that the foregoing statement is correct and just; that the detailed items charged herein are taken and verified from memorandum kept by me; that the amounts charged for subsistence were actually paid, and were occasioned by official business or unavoidable delays, and that I have not been furnished with transportation, or money in lieu thereof, for any part of the journeys herein charged for.



Geez.  $3,180.41 doesn’t sound like much.  For the record: 1$ in 1877 is equal to about $22 today (according to some inflation calculator I found online).  So, $3,180.41 x 22 = about $70,000.  Still doesn’t sound like much!

Continuing this dramatic story, here’s a letter from President Chester A. Arthur:

MESSAGE FROM THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES, TRANSMITTING A communication from the Secretary of the Interior relative to the pay of P. W. Norris as superintendent of the Yellowstone National Park from April 18, 1877, to July 1, 1878.

March 1, 1882.

To the Senate and House of Representatives:

I submit herewith, for the consideration of Congress, a letter from the Secretary of the Interior, enclosing a petition of Mr. P. W. Norris, for compensation for services rendered and expenses incurred by him as superintendent of the Yellowstone National Park from the 18th of April, 1877, to the 1st of July, 1878.


Executive Mansion, February 28th, 1882.

Department of the Interior,

Washington, February 24, 1882.

Sir: I have the honor to state that the act of Congress, approved March 1, 1872, setting apart a tract of land on the headwaters of the Yellowstone River as a National Park, placed the same under control of the Secretary of the Interior, who was authorized to make and publish regulations for its proper care and management. These regulations were to provide for the preservation from injury and spoliation all timber, mineral deposits, and natural curiosities within the park.

It was also made the duty of the Secretary to provide against the wanton destruction of fish and game within the park, and for the removal of all trespassers.

The Secretary of the Interior, on the 18th of April, 1877, appointed Mr. P. W. Norris, of Michigan, superintendent of the park, with the following reservation as to pay, stated in the letter of appointment:

As Congress has not provided any appropriation to carry out the purposes of the act of March 1, 1872, relative to the park, you will understand that no obligation is incurred by this department in regard to payment for your services.

[So they gave P.W. heads up that he might not be paid!]

Mr. Norris acted as superintendent under this appointment until the 1st of July, 1878, when an appropriation made by an act approved June 20, 1878, to protect, preserve, and improve the park became available, and he was reappointed at a salary of $1,500 a year.

I have the honor to enclose herewith a petition of Mr. Norris for compensation for services rendered, and for reimbursement of expenses incurred by him, as superintendent of the park, for the period prior to July 1, 1878.

As Mr. Norris, during the period stated, performed faithful service for the government, in enabling the department to execute the law relative to the park, his claim, in my judgment, should be favorably acted upon by Congress.

Very respectfully,


Acting Secretary.

Was he paid?  From Wiki:

Philetus W. Norris (August 17, 1821 – January 14, 1885) was the second superintendent of Yellowstone National Park and was the first person to be paid for that position.


Here’s the cover page of the President’s letter:

By the way – all of the materials I’ve quoted in this post were attached to the on-line document – which was digitized by diligent Mormon students from Brigham Young University.  OK.  I don’t know they’re Mormons, just guessing . . .

I have no choice but to present some iconic Yellowstone pictures!

From Wiki:

From You Tube:

From YellowstonePark.com:

From NationalParks.org:

From FoundTheWorld.com

From Wallpapers13.com:

From Yellowstone Valley Lodge:

And from Wiki – a picture of the location mentioned several times in P.W.’s narrative, Mammoth Hot Springs:

I’ll return to Pioneer to close things out with this GE Panoramio shot by my long-time contributor, JB the Milker:

That’ll do it . . .




© 2017 A Landing A Day



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Solomon, Arizona

Posted by graywacke on November 29, 2017

First timer?  In this formerly once-a-day blog (and now pretty much a once-every-four-or-five days blog), I use an app that provides 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 or towns 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) please see “About Landing” above.  To check out some recent changes in how I do things, check out “About Landing (Revisited).”

Landing number 2340; A Landing A Day blog post number 771.

Dan:  Today’s lat/long 44o 51.893’N, 117o 5.874’W) puts me in SE Arizona:

My very local map shows that I landed close to Solomon:

Zooming back a little, we can see a whole string of communities along the Gila River:

FYI, Safford (pop 9,600) is far and away the largest town.

Speaking of the Gila River, let me jump into my watershed analysis.  Here’s my very local streams-only map, which labels a blue patch as the San Simon River (less than 3 miles west of my landing).

A quick Google search confirmed that the blue patch is indeed part of the San Simon River (we’ll get a much better look on Google Earth).  Anyway, this was my second San Simon River landing.  Just for the record, my only other landing in this watershed was landing 89, which occurred on 9/1/1999.  Wow.  Two thousand, two hundred and fifty-one landings ago!

Zooming back:

Not surprisingly, the San Simon discharges (very rarely, I suspect) into the Gila River (39th hit).  Although you’ll have to trust me on this, the Gila discharges (also very rarely, I suspect) into the Colorado River (178th hit).

OK, Dan.  It’s time to fess up.  I suspect that you have noticed nothing particularly unusual about today’s post.  Unless, that it is, you were paying close attention and noted that today’s landing number is 2340, while my most recent post (Lake Chelan) is 2378.  You also could have noted that some of the ALADus Obscurus numbers were not consistent with recent posts.  Well, here’s the story:

I was sitting at my computer with my son Jordan who was visiting over Thanksgiving.  While Jordan is an avid member of the ALAD Nation, he tends to slip behind.  But he refuses to skip any posts; he just keeps plugging away, albeit now months behind.

He mentioned that he had just read (and really enjoyed) my Placitas NM and my Halfway OR posts.  We had my landing spreadsheet open, and noticed that the next post would be Solomon AZ:

But on my A Landing A Day site, Solomon AZ was nowhere to be seen!  Trenton GA was next, right after Halfway!  As you can see on the above spreadsheet, I had duly noted Solomon as having been posted, but for reasons that will remain unknown to all (including me), I never posted it!

And get this:  I open the WordPress “Dashboard” every time I need to write, edit or post one of my entries.  And here’s what I see:

As you can see, “Solomon, Arizona  April 23, 2017” has been staring me in the face since April.  As I tell my kids, “I’m just a confused old man . . . “


Back to Solomon:

Let’s jump on board the Google Earth (GE) yellow push-pin, and blaze our way down into SE AZ.  Click HERE for the trip.

We’ll start right out with a dual-purpose GE Street View shot, showing both the closest “stream” (which discharges into the San Simon) as well as the landing:

And here’s what the Orange Dude (OD) sees:

See the pipe?  That carries runoff from my landing under the road!

Zooming back, we’ll go quite a ways (20 miles) south/upstream to get a look at the bone-dry San Simon:

And here’s what the OD sees (looking upstream):

I moved the OD a few hundred feet west, and had him take a look at the road as it crosses the San Simon (with no bridge):

I love the sign:  “DO NOT ENTER WHEN FLOODED.”

And now we’ll go downstream of my landing for a look at the downstream end of the San Simon:

The OD sees the San Simon, ever-so-slightly fortified by irrigation seepage:

And then I moved a little west to get a look at the Gila:

And here ‘tis:

FYI, the river disappears a couple of miles further downstream.

I checked out that whole string of towns along the Gila, and couldn’t come up with much of anything for this post.  In fact, this entire region is pretty much:

I started with Solomon, didn’t see much, and moved downstream and found even less.  By the time I had looked at all of them, I realized that my best story was where I started, in Solomon.

From Wiki:

In the early 19th century, settlers founded a town at Solomon’s location, and named it “Pueblo Viejo” (Old Pueblo) because of a previous Native American settlement, the ruins of which were still visible.

Isadore Solomon, a German Jewish immigrant, came to the town in the 1870s. He moved to Solomon with his wife and three children, the oldest of whom was three. When the Solomons came to town there were only five houses in the town.

Also in the 1870s Mormons moved to the Gila Valley region, although no Mormons moved to Solomon until 1884, when they began large scale irrigation. Solomon and Safford are the only towns in this local Gila Valley region that has not been historically dominated by Mormons.

From the 1880s to about 1910 Solomon had over 1000 residents, and reached 1,283 in 1930.  In the 2010 census, the population of Solomon was 426.

Getting back to the Solomons:  I stumbled on a piece about them in JMAW.org, which is the website for the Jewish Museum of the American West:

Isadore and Anna Solomon (both born in Poznan, Poland) first settled in Towanda, PA, where they had a livery business.  [Hmmmm.  Wiki says Isadore was German.  Well, some quick research shows that the political country of Poland didn’t exist in 1872 when Isadore and Anna were born in what is today Poland, so one could “accurately” say they were German, Polish or Prussian.]

In 1876, the Solomons sold all they possessed and headed to New Mexico with three babies. They traveled by train – to the end of the line – and then by stage to Clifton, Arizona Territory.


“We sold everything we possessed except our three children, and started on our journey to New Mexico. We had a very hard trip even on the railroad.  Traveling with those three babies was bad enough, but when we reach La Junta, the end of the railroad in those days, and had to travel by stage, packed in like sardines, traveling day and night for six days…when we got there I was so tired out to death.”

[They headed to Pueblo Viejo because Anna’s cousin owned a mine there.]

Isadore Solomon worked for Anna’s cousin as a miner until he landed a contract to supply the mine with charcoal.  The Solomons set up the mesquite-charcoal operation (and a new home) in Pueblo Viejo along the Gila River.

As the mesquite for charcoal was used up, the land proved fertile and productive. Isaac Solomon became the principal food supplier for four army forts and had government supply contracts for 25 years.

The Solomons expanded into livestock, merchandising, freighting, and forwarding [forwarding??] as the Solomon Commercial Company.

Isadore Solomon opened the Gila Valley Bank in 1900.

Anna Solomon opened the Solomon Hotel which became the social center of town.

The Solomon’s also owned the Montezuma Flour Mill and, in 1890, they partnered with Anna’s bother, Phoebus Frudenthal  to form the Solomonville-Sheldon Stageline.

Phew.  There you have it.  These Solomons did OK!  They obviously figured out how to work with Mormons . . .

It’s time for some GE Panoramio shots.  I’ll start with this, entitled “Lonely Dead Tree,” by Andreas Geh:

And this of a cotton farm between Solomon and Safford by the GilaRiverRider:

I’ll close with this by John Eby, taken about 8 miles east of my landing:

That’ll do it . . .



© 2017 A Landing A Day



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Lake Chelan, Washington

Posted by graywacke on November 24, 2017

First timer?  In this formerly once-a-day blog (and now pretty much a once-every-four-or-five days blog), I use an app that provides 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 or towns 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) please see “About Landing” above.  To check out some recent changes in how I do things, check out “About Landing (Revisited).”

Landing number 2378; A Landing A Day blog post number 812.

Dan:  Today’s lat/long (47o 45.462’N, 120o 27.285’W) puts me in Central Washington:

And this is a first!!!  What “first” would I be talking about, you might ask.  Well, my titular entity is visible on the above totally-zoomed out Street Atlas shot!  So I labeled it!

Anyway, let’s take a more local look:

Today’s landing (2378) is the one southwest of Lake Chelan.  Amazingly, the landing shown to the northeast of Lake Chelan is landing 2375, just three landings ago!  That’s my November 9th Methow and Pateros post – with no mention of Lake Chelan.

Here’s my local streams-only map:

You can see that I landed in the watershed of that fan-favorite, “Stream Perennial,” on to the Mad River (1st hit ever!); on to the Entiat River (1st hit ever!).  I’ll zoom back just a bit:

The Entitat discharges to the Columbia (175th hit). 

As is often the case, I was so far out in the boonies that I have no relevant Google Earth (GE) Street View shots of my landing.  The closest is to the east by the Columbia River, about 11 miles from my landing. 

As for Street View shots of my drainage, I likewise have to go all the way east to the Columbia to see where the Entiat River discharges:

Here’s the lovely view that the Orange Dude sees, looking up the Entiat:

And when he turns around, there’s the mighty Columbia:

So of course, I checked the numerous small towns in the vicinity of my landing.  Guess what?  They were all

As I checked out the town of Chelan, of course I noted that it was at the downstream end of Lake Chelan.  And then – what the heck – I Googled the lake.  So, it’s a very beautiful lake and all, but where’s the hook? 

Then I googled “Lake Chelan Geology.”  I saw that there was a You Tube video posted by a Central Washington University geology professor entitled, appropriately enough, “Lake Chelan Geology.”  Of course, I clicked.

After just a couple of minutes of viewing, I knew I had my hook.

I told my wife Jody (who, like me, is a geologist) that I landed near Lake Chelan, Washington.  She immediately perked up.  Lake Chelan??  Cheryl’s brother Darrel and sister-in-law Carol live there!!

Now wait a minute.  Cheryl, Darrel and Carol? 

But anyway, this isn’t just any Cheryl.  This is Cheryl, one of the “Feathers,” a group of Media PA women who went to school together.  The seven of them (alas, now only six) were good friends in Junior High & High school and referred to themselves as the Feathers – based on a pillow fight gone bad.

So Jody and Cheryl and Sooze and Kathy and Debbie and Sally and (sigh) Sue stayed in touch through all these years, periodically getting together, but emailing and calling each other on a regular basis.  The husbands/significant others joined the fun, and all 14 of us got together on numerous occasions.  Amazingly (and I mean truly amazingly), all 14 of us really got along and enjoyed each other’s company.

We gentleman were jealous of the moniker the women had, so we came up with one of our own.  Proudly, we’re the Peckers.

But of all the Feathers, Cheryl has a special place in my heart because she (of all the Feathers) is the only devoted A Landing A Day follower.  And Cheryl saw a similarity in how I view the world with how her brother Darrel views the world, so she turned him on to my blog.

I was well aware that Darrel lived in Washington and was very tuned into geology, particularly the wondrous story of the Glacial Lake Missoula floods.  I knew that he and Cheryl went on a geology field trip, visiting the scablands and the Dry Falls.

I had corresponded with Darrel just a little, and I do believe that at some point he told me he lived at Lake Chelan – which, of course, I promptly forgot.

Well, Darrel (and Cheryl) – this post is for you!

Back to Lake Chelan geology.  I listened to the entire hour and seven minutes of Nick Zentner’s lecture, and totally enjoyed it.  And I learned a lot, as well.  I therefore cordially invite you, my readers, to similarly partake of the good Doctor’s lecture.  At least give it a shot, and see if he hooks you like he hooked me.

But I’m a realist, and know that probably the majority of my readers are already thinking “No way I’m using up an hour of my life listening to a geology lecture.”

So what did I do?  I rewound the tape (yea, right), but this time, I was typing, pausing, typing, pausing, etc., preparing not Cliff Notes but Greg Notes.

So here’s the lecture.  The Greg Notes (for those who’d rather spend 10 minutes reading than an hour watching) follow below.


Nick’s premise:  You’re a Washington geologist and you have a geologically-oriented friend named Jerry from New Jersey.  Jerry calls out of the blue and says that he has one day to spend in the State of Washington and he wants to learn as much about Washington geology as possible.  Considering the great geologic diversity in Washington, that’s a tall order.  Where do you meet him?

Mt. Rainer; the Dry Falls; the west coast?  Nope.  Nick would take Jerry to Lake Chelan.  Here’s what’s at (or very near) the Lake:

  • Continental ice sheets
  • Alpine glaciers
  • Third-deepest lake in the U.S.
  • The Columbia River
  • Glacial Lake Chelan
  • Ice age floods
  • Basalts
  • “Exotic terrains” (having to do with bizarre west-coast plate tectonics)
  • Metamorphic Rocks
  • Granite Batholiths
  • The biggest earthquake ever recorded in Washington

Everything but an active volcano.  OK, so maybe Jerry’ll need a separate trip to Rainier.

Lake Chelan is 50 miles long, one mile wide.  Most long and narrow lakes are artificially formed by damming up a river.  Not Lake Chelan.

Here’s a GE shot of the long, narrow lake:

Note the Narrows.  That’s going to be part of our story in a bit.

There is a dam, built in the 20s, but it only raised the existing lake about 20 feet.  Not sure why they built the dam . . .

But this is the third deepest lake in the U.S.:

  1. Crater Lake – 1949’ deep
  2. Lake Tahoe – 1645’
  3. Lake Chelan – 1459’
  4. Lake Superior – 1332’
  5. Lake Pend Oreille – 1152’

If you guessed the glaciers made the lake, you’d be right. But the bottom of Lake Chelan is 386 feet below sea level!  How did the glaciers do that?

Other nearby glacial lakes are formed when alpine glaciers (glaciers formed in a particular valley and limited in extent to the valley) push up moraines that dam up the valley, creating a lake.  But these are much, much shallower.  For years, Nick didn’t think much about it; he just figured that the alpine glacier in the Chelan valley somehow dug a deeper hole.

But he had to think again.  It turns out that the Canadian Ice Sheet made its way down to Central Washington.  That’s the same ice sheet that was 3000’ feet thick in Seattle.  And the same ice sheet that created the Lake Missoula floods [discussed numerous times in this blog.]  The ice sheet was about 5000’ thick in the Chelan valley.

The massive ice sheet crawled over and around the North Cascade Mountains.  An arm of it passed over a low spot in the mountains to the north, and ground its way down the Chelan Valley.  Five thousand feet of ice is a lot of ice that can move a lot of rock.

But there’s more to the story.  There was another arm of the same ice sheet that actually flowed north up the Chelan Valley.  It came from the east before curling up the valley.  The northern arm made it down to the Narrows.  The southern arm made it up to the Narrows:

Remember – these two “arms” are connected to the vast Canadian Ice Sheet. 

For nerdy, curious geologists, this is a big deal.  And if one were to make the claim about two separate continental ice sheet arms coming in from different directions, one better have good evidence.  Well, good evidence there is.

So, both arms of the ice sheet left moraines and till deposits – the moraines are the earthen debris that the glacier pushed out to the edges the valley (actually, much like an alpine glacier), and the tills are what it left behind as the ice melted.  Of course, geologists have studied the moraines and tills from both ends of the valley, and guess what?  They are entirely different! 

The northern arm came from the Cascade Mountains to the north and west, and the rocks in the moraines and tills are typical of the rocks in the Cascades:  granites, lava rock and light basalt (andesites).

The southern arm came from the east and was “bearing different gifts.”  This ice had traveled through the dark flood basalts (“layer after layer of German Chocolate cake”) of eastern Washington, and low and behold, the till and moraines of the southern end of the lake are loaded with these dark basalts.

Any questions?  And this unique glacial set-up also set up some interesting hydrology.  There were times when the two arms retreated, leaving a lake in the valley between the two ice masses.  Fed by meltwater, this lake reached elevations as high as 700’ above current lake level!

As happens with ice dams holding back huge volumes of water, the dam will fail, and a massive flood results.  For Glacial Lake Chelan, the massive flood headed south, towards the Columbia River.  The water left coulee scablands similar to those left behind after the much-more-massive Glacial Lake Missoula flood.

Moving on to bedrock and exotic terrains . . .

The deepest part of the lake is just north of the Narrows.  Why?  Well, just north of the Narrows, the lake is underlain by schist, a metamorphic rock with lots of mica that is softer than other metamorphic rocks.  So, the bottom blade of the ice sheet bulldozer was able to dig much deeper in the schist than other areas.

Further uplake is a much harder metamorphic rock known as gneiss.  It’s a much gneisser rock than the sloppy schist to the south. [My terrible pun, not Nick’s.]  Because the gneiss is harder, the northern end of the lake is much shallower.

Down lake (south of the Narrows) is a highly unusual and much rarer rock known as migmatite (the formation is known as the Chelan Migmatite Complex).  So what’s migmatite? 

Nick says it’s like a “swirl” cone you can order at a soft ice cream joint – that’s when the chocolate and vanilla are swirled together on the cone.  But the migmatite is a swirl of metamorphic rock and igneous rock.  More about migmatite in a minute, but first a quick word about “exotic terrains.”

Head further down stream, there’s another schist, and then another gneiss.

The various schists and gneisses are pieces of what’s known as “exotic terrains:” pieces of crustal rocks that came from far away, and were plastered against the North American tectonic plate by crazily complex tectonic movements.

They could have come from as far south as Mexico!

How do we know this?  The various schists and gneisses are very different in terms of temperature and pressure required for their genesis.  They couldn’t have been neighbors when they formed – they must have formed in regions far from each other, and were brought together by tectonic movement.

So where does migmatite come from?  Well, imagine this.  We’re in a volcanic region.  Below the volcano is a huge pocket of liquid magma that is the source for the volcano.  Way below the magma chamber is the boundary between the crust and the mantle (the Mohorovic Discontinuity, or Moho).

So what’s going on in this zone between the magma chamber and the Moho?  This is the zone where magma from the mantle is migrating upward to the magma chamber beneath the volcano.  And this migrating magma intertwines with the crustal rock, creating the swirl of metamorphic rock (the crust) and the igneous rock (the magma).  Ergo, migmatite.  Oh yea – by the way – the migmatite was forming 18 miles below the surface of the earth – 165 million years ago.

Here’s a very interesting aside:  It just so happens that to the east and north of the Chelan Migmatite is a large body of granite (more-or-less adjacent to the migmatite).  The traditional view is that they represent different exotic terrains, or at least are separated by some sort of fault that makes them very separate.  But there’s an alternate theory that is just now being investigated:

As mentioned above, the volcano/migmatite system occurred 165 million years ago.  Let’s imagine that the whole system was uplifted and cooled and turned to solid rock (granite for the magma chamber, underlain by migmatite).  Tectonic forces keep on doing their work, and the whole shebang is uplifted even more, layed on its side and exposed at the surface.

And then, a geologist happens on some outcrops of migmatite adjacent to some outcrops of granite.  As I just mentioned, he figures that there’s some kind of fault, or the two rock types represent exotic terrains.  But what if the two geologic bodies are intimately connected?  What if the migmatite has always been associated with that very same magma chamber?  Pretty cool, eh?  Stay tuned – ongoing research will figure this out one way or the other.

And an important aside – the 165 million year old migmatite is much older than the schists and gneisses in the vicinity (they’re like 100 million years younger).  Since the schists and gneisses are part of exotic terrains, does this mean that the migmatite was formed right here in Washington?  Or is it possible that it, too is an exotic terrain?  Oh my.  All of the unanswered questions . . .

Let’s talk a little more about the schist that’s south of the valley.  It’s for sure an exotic terrain – it was originally sediment at the floor of a deep ocean, and was transported to the surface, near Entiat.  [See my local landing map!]

So how do you do that?  Here’s a more-or-less direct quote from Nick:  “You take stuff on the ocean and you convert it into rock (#1); then it is metamorphosed into schist – with high temperatures and pressures (#2); and then get it to interior Washington and oh – by the way – at a couple thousand feet above sea level (#3).  Good Lord!  There are stories to tell.”

Continuing the quote:  “I mentioned there’s also a gneiss south of the Chelan valley.  This was originally sediment – mostly sand – deposited in an oceanic trench – also interpreted as an exotic terrain.  Once again, we need to turn the sand into rock, we need to apply heat and pressure to turn it into a metamorphic rock, and then somehow, we need to get it here along the Columbia in central Washington.  Am I blowing your mind?  Have you heard about this exotic terrain stuff before?  Boy, if I get gutsy enough, I’ll do a bunch of lectures, but you’ve got to eat your Wheaties to put all of this stuff together!”

One more piece of bedrock information. There are a slew of 50-million year old dark basalt “feeder dikes.”  These are the cracks in the older rock that transported the German Chocolate Cake from the depths up to the flood basalts.  They’re the obvious dark stripes you can see in outcrops all over the place around here.

Moving right along to the 1872 earthquake – estimated magnitude 7.4 – that was long suspected to be centered somewhere in the Lake Chelan area.  This quake (the largest in Washington in recorded history) shook the entire Pacific Northwest, but until three years ago, the location of the epicenter was unknown.

There was a large landslide south of Chelan where a big hunk of a mountain broke off during the earthquake, and temporarily dammed up the Columbia River.  This landslide – and its connection to the 1872 earthquake – have long been suspected.  It has been presumed that the landslide occurred somewhere close to the epicenter, but as I said earlier, the location of the epicenter has not been known until recently.

A seismologist from the USGS, Brian Sherrod, has been working on understanding the 1872 earth for many years.  But finally, Sherrod used LIDAR technology to find the fault trace. 

Here’s what NOAA says about LIDAR:

LIDAR, which stands for Light Detection and Ranging, is a remote sensing method that uses light in the form of a pulsed laser to measure variable distances to the Earth. These light pulses—combined with other data recorded by the airborne system— generate precise, three-dimensional information about the shape of the Earth and its surface characteristics.

So, Sherrod managed to find the money to perform a LIDAR survey over a wide area around Lake Chelan (that “magically removes all of the vegetation.”)  He painstakingly checked the terrain, looking for a telltale linear feature – a “fault scarp” that might have been caused by an earthquake.

A fault scarp is an abrupt change in slope, where one side moved vertically relatively to the other, creating a linear cliff.

Here are some examples of fault scarps (from wherever, not Washington):


But my favorite:

Anyway, Brian found an excellent candidate in Spencer Canyon:

Here’s a GE Panoramio shot looking south towards Spencer Canyon (by LongBachNguyen):

Here’s a screen shot from the lecture, with Nick pointing out the trace of the fault scarp in Spencer Canyon.  You’ll never guess, but “U” mean “up” and I’m not going to even tell you what “D” stands for:

Moving over to Google Earth, I think I can see a little of the scarp:

He also found evidence of a relatively fresh landslide (the lighter area on this GE shot):

The Seattle Times actually covered Sherrod’s work as a news story (by Sandi Doughton, Nov 2014):

The quake struck on the evening of Dec. 14, 1872, long before the first seismometer was installed in the Northwest.

The fact that chimneys cracked in Olympia, trees toppled in Puyallup and fissures split the ground south of Seattle led early observers to assume the quake was centered under Puget Sound.

But windows also shattered as far away as Victoria, B.C., and people were knocked off their feet at Snoqualmie Pass. The first analysis of newspaper reports from the time put the epicenter not far from Vancouver, B.C.

The most compelling eyewitness accounts, though, trickled in from east of the Cascades, in the sparsely populated hills near Wenatchee. Settlers and Native Americans reported a massive slide that briefly dammed the Columbia River. Some claimed geysers spouted from the ground and gushed for months. Throughout Washington and Oregon, strong aftershocks kept the populace on edge for more than a year.

Subsequent studies proposed epicenters in the North Cascades and near Lake Chelan. Estimates of the quake’s size have ranged from magnitude 6.5 to 7.5, which would make it one of the biggest in recorded state history.

“No matter how you define it, that’s a big earthquake,” said USGS researcher Brian Sherrod, who led the modern-day hunt for the quake’s source. “It was felt from Montana and British Columbia down into Oregon and Northern California.”

Beginning six years ago, Sherrod brought a new tool called LIDAR to bear on the puzzle. The technique allows scientists to virtually strip away vegetation and generate detailed topographic maps by beaming laser pulses from an airplane and analyzing the way the signals bounce back.

The area near Entiat was already a prime suspect as the source of the quake, based on eyewitness reports and recurring swarms of small quakes. The first LIDAR images didn’t show much, though, so the USGS commissioned another sweep in 2013.

“When I looked at those, it just popped out,” Sherrod said on a crisp morning in late October as he led a team of geologists down a fire-blackened hillside in the Okanogan-Wenatchee National Forest and into a small valley that drains into the Columbia River.

He pointed to a faint ridgeline a few feet high that snaked across the landscape like an oversized mole track. “That’s the scarp.”

A scarp is a scar created when an earthquake ruptures the ground surface. This one extends at least 3.5 miles, bearing witness to a major upheaval in the recent past, Sherrod said.

“Clearly we have a fault. There’s no doubt about it,” he said, scrambling into a 15-foot-long trench cut perpendicularly across the scarp. He named it the Spencer Canyon fault, after the drainage where it’s located.

The steep terrain and winding road ruled out the use of a backhoe, so Sherrod and his team dug two trenches by hand.

Here’s a picture of hydrogeologist Tanna DeRuyter helping to dig one of the trenches:

[Hey!  I’m a hydrogeologist!]

In the exposed dirt walls, Sherrod traced the diagonal line that marks the fault. Soil layers on one side are higher than on the other, he explained, revealing the way the ground jerked during past quakes.

Scraping the walls of the trenches and using colored pins to delineate layers, the geologists have uncovered evidence of at least two quakes, and perhaps as many as four.

But did the most recent one strike in 1872?

Moving to LiveScience.com 2015 article by Becky Oskin (about the results of the 2014 field work), the question was answered:

In one trench along the newly identified fault, Sherrod discovered a distinctive ash layer called the Mazama ash, blasted out by the volcanic eruption that created Oregon’s Crater Lake more than 7,000 years ago. The ash layer is now offset from itself about 6.5 feet on either side of the fault, Sherrod said.

In the second trench, the Spencer Canyon fault pushes 75-million-old gneiss (a metamorphic rock) on top of soil that has bits of charcoal just 285 years old.  [From a forest fire – and the charcoal can be accurately dated using carbon dating.  So the earthquake happened less than 285 years ago, or after 1730.]

The young charcoal helped link the fault to the 1872 earthquake by providing a maximum age for its recent movement.  Sherrod also showed the fault scarp is older than two small landslides that buried it. The oldest trees growing on top of the landslides are 130 years old, he said. [So the earthquake happened before 1885.]  Ponds created by the landslides also drowned trees, and those trees were killed sometime in the past 300 years.

“The evidence pins down the action to a window of time,” Sherrod said.  [And that window is between 1730 and 1885.]

A period of time consistent with the 1872 earthquake.

One could argue he hasn’t proven anything, but then again, there’s no evidence for any major earthquake during that time period besides the one in 1872 . . .

Back to Nick’s talk . . .

So, this is a shallow earthquake.  What’s going on?  Generally, western WA is moving to the NE, and Central Washington isn’t moving.  Something has to give, and what gives are fault blocks that are pushed up and out of the way as these tectonic plates inexorably keep moving, resulting in an extremely slow-motion collision.

Interesting side note.  While Nick is waxing poetic about some bedrock outcrops, he mentions that one is on the road to Pateros.  As mentioned early in this post, I featured Pateros just three landings ago, but without a word about Lake Chelan or the local geology.

OK.  Enough geology already.  It’s time to close out this post with a GE Panoramio shots, this one looking across the Columbia Valley near Spencer Canyon, by Jeffrey King:

That’ll do it . . .




© 2017 A Landing A Day



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Schaghticoke, New York

Posted by graywacke on November 19, 2017

First timer?  In this formerly once-a-day blog (and now pretty much a once-every-four-or-five days blog), I use an app that provides 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 or towns 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) please see “About Landing” above.  To check out some recent changes in how I do things, check out “About Landing (Revisited).”

Landing number 2377; A Landing A Day blog post number 811.

Dan:  Today’s lat/long (42o 54.471’N, 73o 37.135’W) puts me in East Central New York:

My local landing map doubles as my watershed map:

I landed in the watershed of the Hoosic River (2nd hit); on to the Hudson (16th hit).  So.  A drop of water that falls on my landing eventually ends up in New York Harbor.  And if that drop is very lucky (it’s daytime and the drop is at the surface), and if it has eyes and a brain, it will get to see this (GE Panoramio shot by Thomas Splietker):

The Google Earth (GE) Street View coverage of my landing is excellent:

And here’s the view:

The Hoosic River runs close to my landing, and a Street View look-see is just upstream in Schaghticoke:

Looking upstream:

The dam you see was built in 1907, forming “Electric Lake” behind it.  The water was diverted to a channel that goes under the far end of the bridge and on to a hydro-electric plant – yes, way back in 1907. 

So it’s time to take a look at Schaghticoke.  From Wiki:

The Town of Schaghticoke (named after the Indian tribe of the same name) is in an area that was historically occupied by the Mohican tribe, and later by a mixed group of Mohicans and remnants of numerous New England tribes who had migrated north and west seeking to escape European encroachment.  Their societies had been disrupted due to a high rate of fatalities from new infectious diseases, to which they had no immunity.

[Note:  the State of New York has “towns” are similar to “townships” in other states.  What I would normally call the town of Schaghticoke (and is shown on my landing map) is actually a “village.”]

The Schaghticoke Indians (SKAT-i-kohk) are a Native American tribe of the Eastern Woodlands who historically consisted of Mohican, Potatuck, Weantinock, Tunxis and Podunk, peoples indigenous to what is now New York, Connecticut, and Massachusetts. The remnant tribes amalgamated in the area near the Connecticut-New York border after many losses.

[More about Podunk in a bit.]

In 1675, Governor Andros, governor of the colony of New York, planted a tree of Welfare near the junction of the Hoosic River and Tomhannock Creek, an area already known as Schaghticoke, “the place where the waters mingle.” This tree symbolized the friendship between the English, the Dutch, and the Schaghticoke Indians.

The junction of the Tomhannock and the Hoosic is very close to my landing:

Here’s a Street View look down the Tomhannock, right at the literal Schaghticoke – the place where waters mingle:

Here’s what Wiki has to say about the etymology of Schaghticoke:

Schaghticoke has various spellings: Pachgatgoch, Patchgatgoch, Pisgachtigok, Pishgachtigok, Scachtacook, Scaghkooke, Scanticook, Scatacook, Scaticook, Schaacticook, Scotticook, Seachcook, derived from an Algonquian word meaning “the confluence of two waterways or “gathered waters.”

I can understand that when the various decimated Indian tribes came together to form a single tribe, they needed a name.  And I think “gathered waters” is an apt choice, with both local geographic significance as well as symbolic meaning.

And it just so happens that the name they selected is complex for us English speakers, and was predictably butchered as the word was Anglicized.  But please.  Schaghticoke? 

As promised, I’ll get back to Podunk.  Obviously, it caught my eye, and I assumed that was a connection between the name of the Indian tribe and the popular use of the word “Podunk.”  And there is.

From Wiki:

The word podunk is of Algonquian origin. It denoted both the Podunk people and marshy locations, particularly the people’s winter village site in what is today central Connecticut.

The earliest known written use is from Samuel Griswold Goodrich’s 1840 book, The Politician of Podunk:

“Solomon Waxtend was a shoemaker of Podunk, a small village of New York some forty years ago.”

So there is a teeny Finger Lakes hamlet known as Podunk.  But Wiki continues:

In American discourse, the term podunk came into general colloquial use through the wide national readership of the “Letters from Podunk” of 1846, in the Daily National Pilot of Buffalo, New York. These represented “Podunk” as a real place but one insignificant and out of the way.

The term gained currency as standing for a fictional out of the way and backwards place. For examle, in 1869, Mark Twain wrote an article, “Mr. Beecher and the Clergy,” defending his friend, Thomas K. Beecher, whose preaching had come under criticism. In it he said:

“They even know it in Podunk, wherever that may be.”

JFTHOI*, I typed “podunk” into the A Landing A Day search box.  I found a couple of references to ePodunk.com, which is a community database from which I garnered some info.  But I actually used the word “podunk” twice.

                 *Just for the heck of it.

In my Camp Wood TX post (February 2016), I said this just after my Google Earth spaceflight:

Did you see what looks like a runway?  Here’s a static look:

I’ll say!  And this is no podunk grass airstrip!  It’s paved, and over a mile long.  I’m out in the middle of no where, so a paved runway makes no sense.  But as you’ll learn soon enough, I figured out the story.

And then, in my April 2015 Everglades Florida post (right after my Google Earth spaceflight in):

Zooming back a little, here’s the lay of the land nearby:

I was shocked to see an airport!  And not some podunk little thing, but a two-mile runway!  More about that later . . .

Oh my!  It’s remarkable (almost scary) how similar those two passages are.  Obviously, my brain works in predictable ways . . .

For the record, the Texas airstrip is for one of those Texas mega-ranches. 

About the Everglades airport (from my post):

This isolated airport was originally planned to be the largest airport in the world. Begun in 1968, the Everglades Jetport was to be an eight-runway airport for supersonic aircraft.  Because of environmental concerns, construction was halted after the completion of just one runway. The facility remains in use today as an aviation training facility.

Note that I fairly recently wrote about an isolated-yet-substantial airstrip in my October 2017 Trementina NM post – where the mysterious airstrip is operated by the Church of Scientology.  Somehow I wrote about it without the use of the word podunk. 

But I can’t help myself.  Here’s my just-revised piece from that post (with my revision highlighted):

So I cruised on over to GE, figuring I could find the airstrip near Trementina, and indeed I could:

Here’s a closer look at the base:

This isn’t some podunk little airport!  And looky there!  A giant symbol carved in the ground that would make Dan Brown proud (or at least curious).  We must take a closer look. . .

Enough already. It’s time to close things down with two GE Panoramio shots by Dan Campbell, taken near Schaghticoke:

That’ll do it . . .




© 2017 A Landing A Day



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A Plethora of Small Towns in West-Central Indiana

Posted by graywacke on November 13, 2017

First timer?  In this formerly once-a-day blog (and now pretty much a once-every-four-or-five days blog), I use an app that provides 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 or towns 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) please see “About Landing” above.  To check out some recent changes in how I do things, check out “About Landing (Revisited).”

Landing number 2376; A Landing A Day blog post number 810.

Dan:  Today’s lat/long (39o 48.501’N, 86o 58.142’W) puts me in West Central Indiana:

Here’s my local landing map with so many towns highlighted, I couldn’t make them all titular!

My local streams-only map shows that I landed in the watershed of the Big Raccoon Creek; on to the Wabash River (28th hit):

You probably know this, but here’s the rest of the story:

The Wabash (after serving as the boundary between Indiana and Illinois), discharges to the Ohio (148th hit).  The Ohio (after serving as the boundary between Indiana and Kentucky, then Illinois and Kentucky) discharges to the Mississippi (925th hit), at the point where Illinois, Kentucky and Missouri come together.

Here’s a Google Earth (GE) close-up of my landing:

Zooming back, we can see GE Street View coverage for Raccoon Creek (at the upstream edge of Raccoon Lake):

And here’s what the Orange Dude sees:

Let me show you (once again) my local landing map:

As you can see, my work is cut out for me.  I’ll group these towns a little:

Group 1:  Greencastle & Crawfordsville

Group 2 (alphabetically):  Alamo, Ladoga, Mecca, Montezuma, Tangier and Yeddo.

Group 3:  Waveland and Roachdale.

I’ll start, appropriately enough, with Group 1.  While ploughing through some uninspirational Wiki material, I noted that Greencastle was the home of DePauw University, which rang a bell.  I immediately texted my buddy Bob Prewitt:

So Prewitt, did you go to DePauw or DePaul?

Prewitt:  Don’t insult me with talk of DePaul.  I graduated from DePauw, class of 69.

Me:  Geez.  I forgot how old you are.  Anyway, I just landed a few miles north of Greencastle.  (Prewitt follows this blog and knows full well what I mean by “I landed.”)

Prewitt:  Very cool.  Get this:  besides me, my brother, mother and father all went to DePauw.  I’ll be free for an interview in the morning.  Were you close to Crawfordsville?  That’s the home to our archrival, Wabash College.

Me:  I landed in between the two.

Prewitt:  Check out the Monon Bell.  Big deal.  For over a hundred years, the winner of the DePauw/Wabash game gets to take the Monon Bell home.  It’s an old bell off a railroad locomotive.

Me:  I just checked it out.  Cool.

Prewitt:  I graduated with Jim Ibbotson from the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band.  He was the lead singer for their biggest hit, Mr. Bojangles.  But get this – he sang ‘The Ballad of the Molon Bell.’  Check it out on You Tube.

With that, I’ll jump to a 1985 live version of Mr. Bojangles, featuring Jim Ibbotson.  Note that the band is introduced by none other than Willie Nelson.


Here’s a little about the Monon Bell, from Wiki:

The Monon Bell (pronounced MOE-non) is the trophy awarded to the victor of the annual college football matchup between the Wabash College Little Giants (in Crawfordsville, Indiana) and the DePauw University Tigers (in Greencastle, Indiana) in the United States. The Bell is a 300-pound locomotive bell from the Monon Railroad. As of the end of the 2015 season, the two teams have played against each other 123 times. Wabash leads the all-time series, 60-54-9, and also has the advantage since the Bell was introduced as the victor’s trophy in 1932, 41-39-6.

And then, here’s a very recent video clip from Indianapolis TV (and yes, it’s must-see TV).  Just click on the link.


So Jim Ibbotson (maybe with the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band) recorded a song about that very bell:

Back to Prewitt.  He told me a story about a time about 40 years ago when students from DePauw were trying to steal the Monon Bell from Wabash (who had obviously won the game the previous year).  The students realized that the bell was hidden somewhere on the Wabash campus, but no one knew where it was. 

So they came up with a scheme, whereby a DePauw student, who could look and speak convincingly like a Saudi Prince, was dressed up in full prince regalia  The fake prince showed up on the Wabash campus, and received a campus tour.  He mentioned that he had heard a wonderful story about some bell, and wondered if he’d be able to see it.  And yes, he was shown the bell.

The faux prince went back to De Pauw and joined up with some students who successfully managed to steal the bell . . .

I must jump in here and give some street cred to my alma mater, Lafayette College.  Do you think the fact that 125 games have been played between DePauw & Wabash is impressive?  The number one most-played rivalry in college football is Lafayette – Lehigh.  From Wiki, about “The Rivalry:”

“The Rivalry” is an American college football game played between Lafayette College and Lehigh University. It is the most-played football rivalry in the nation and the longest uninterrupted annual rivalry series.

As of 2016, “The Rivalry” has been played 152 times since 1884 with only a single interruption in 1896. The colleges’ football teams met twice annually (except 1891, when they played three games, and 1896, when they did not play at all) until 1901. The two institutions are located seventeen miles apart in the Lehigh Valley in eastern Pennsylvania.

What the heck happened in 1896?  Wiki to the rescue!

The 1896 Lafayette college football team was declared National Champion of college football, in one of the most surprising and dramatic championships in the early history of college football.

[Cool bunch of studs, eh?  And there aren’t very many players on the team (like 15).  Obviously, nearly all (if not all) of the starters played both offense and defense.]

Lafayette began its season by tying Princeton 0–0, and defeated West Virginia University three times in three days by a combined score of 56–0.

[AYKM?  The same two teams played three games in three days?]

At 4–0–1, Lafayette was set to meet the University of Pennsylvania on October 24 at Franklin Field in Philadelphia. Penn was the current national champion and was in the midst of a 34-game winning streak and was only guaranteeing Lafayette $150 for a game that would net $10,000.

As an intense media war surrounded the game, Lafayette enrolled Fielding Yost, a tackle from West Virginia, whom Lafayette had defeated those three games in a row.

Along with Yost were College Football Hall of Famer Charles “Babe” Rinehart, and the inventor of the football helmet George “Rose” Barclay, as Lafayette squeaked out a 6-4 victory.

[6-4???  OK, I had to check out the 1896 scoring rules.  A touchdown was 4 points, and the after touchdown conversion kick was two points.  So it looks like each team scored a TD; Lafayette made the kick and Penn didn’t.]

It was the first victory of a ‘small school’ over one of the Big Four (Harvard-Yale-Penn-Princeton). Penn would win its next 31 games.

[Wow.  If not for Lafayette, Penn would have won 66 game in a row!  The landscape of college football has changed a little, eh?]

Lafayette closed its season with an 18–6 win over Navy. Following the season, Lafayette was recognized as co-national champions along with Princeton (11–0–1) and was the first national champion outside the Harvard-Yale-Princeton-Penn rotation prevalent during that era.

[So what about no Lehigh game?]

However, absent from their 1896 record book was the annual rivalry with Lehigh, which cancelled two games scheduled for November in protest over the eligibility and amateur status of Rose Barclay who had played professional baseball the previous summer.

There you have it.  It’s time to move to Group 2:  Alamo, Ladoga, Mecca, Montezuma, Tangier and Yeddo.  What do they have in common?  They’re all named after a distance locale.

Alamo – Obviously named after the Texas Alamo (Alamo IN is the only town in the group without an international connection).

Forgoing the usual Alamo shot, here’s a photo of some cool arches in the back:

Ladoga – Named after a Russian lake.  From Wiki:

Ladoga was platted in 1836 by John Myers. Myers invited his friends to help him find a name. He required that the name not end in -burg or -ville and that it would not be named after another town. He chose Ladoga after finding Lake Ladoga on a map of Russia.

Here’s a picture of an ancient fortress on the shores of the lake (GE Panoramio by © Bear:

Mecca – After Mecca in Saudi Arabia (maybe).  Wiki was silent on the issue, so I rolled up my sleeves a little.  And I found an obscure source that actually addressed the naming of the town.

From Inventing America’s ‘Worst’ Family:  Eugenics, Islam, and the Fall and Rise of the Tribe of Ishmael, by Nathanial Deutsch:

In the case of Mecca, Indiana, [the name suggests] a possible connection to Islam.  According to one local story, in the 1890s a tile plant was built in the vicinity of the town, “and they needed cheap workers, so they sent over to the Near East and got these Moslems . . . When they got paid, they’d come to town and say it was almost like coming to Mecca, and so they called the town Mecca.”

Another local tradition traced the genesis of the town’s name to the 1880s, when Arab workers from the Middle East were supposedly brought to train Arabian horses.

From CNN.com, this, of the Hajj in Mecca:

Montezuma – After a ruler of Mexico.  From Wiki: 

Montezuma was laid out in about 1824.  The town was named for Moctezuma II, ruler of Mexico from 1502 – 1520.

Also from Wiki:

The first contact between indigenous civilizations of Mesoamerica and Europeans took place during his reign, and he was killed during the initial stages of the Spanish conquest of Mexico, when conquistador Hernán Cortés and his men fought to escape from the Aztec capital Tenochtitlan.

Tangier – After the city in Morocco, located on the southern shore of the Strait of Gibraltar.   

Here’s a picture from Tangier (hotelmapper.com) looking across the Strait.  You can the Rock of Gibraltar to the far right:

And another Tangier shot, from GQ.com:

Yeddo – After an old name for what is currently Tokyo.  Oh my!  I just realized that I featured Yeddo in an earlier post (November 2014).  From that post:

Googling Yeddo (without Indiana) got me to Wiki, which redirects Yeddo to Edo:

Edo (江戸), literally “bay-entrance” or “estuary”), also romanized as Yedo or Yeddo, is the former name of Tokyo.  It was the seat of power from 1603 to 1868. During this period, it grew to become one of the largest cities in the world.

It looks like it’s time to roll up my sleeves and see if there’s some interesting Yeddo history I can write about.  First, a little nuts and bolts history.  From Wiki:

By 1590, when the shogun leader Tokugawa Ieyasu selected Edo as his military headquarters, the settlement boasted a mere hundred thatch-roofed cottages.

[So, in 1590, we had a hundred thatched-roofed cottages.]

Ieyasu assembled warriors and craftsmen, fortified the Edojuku castle with moats and bridges, and built up the town. By 1603, Ieyasu was the de facto ruler of Japan, and his Edo became a powerful and flourishing city as the effective national capital.  Japan’s imperial seat and official capital remained in Kyoto, but the Emperor was virtually powerless.

[So, somehow, this Shogun Ieyasu totally out-maneuvered the Emperor in Kyoto.]

The outer enclosures of Edo Castle were completed in 1606.and it continues to remain at the core of the city.

Continuous growth ensued, only interrupted by natural disasters, including fires, earthquakes and floods. Fires were so commonplace that they came to be called the “blossoms of Edo”.  In 1657, the Great Fire of Meireki destroyed two-thirds of the city and killed 100,000; and another disastrous fire in 1668 lasted for 45 days.

In spite of the disasters, by 1721, over a million people lived in Edo (Yeddo), making it (by far) the largest city in the world.

Here’s a picture of the most spectacular part of Edo Castle (from Wiki):

Back to now.  And (finally), it’s time for Group 3, which are towns with an independent hook in each.  I’ll start with Roachdale, which was named after Judge Roach, a late 19th century railroad official.  From Wiki:

An annual tradition of roach races began in the town in 1981, as “a gimmick for the Fourth of July carnival.”  Contestants put their insects in a plastic container that is placed in the center of a circular board.  The container is lifted at the start of the race and whichever roach reaches the perimeter of the board first is declared the winner of each heat.

The popularity of the race resulted in its appearing on the television programs regionally on Across Indiana and nationally on Good Morning America.

Many contestants dress their roaches by gluing paper top hats, saddles, or other apparel to their backs. At the end of racing the roaches are collected, sprayed with insecticide, and disposed of.

Ouch.  “Used and abused” isn’t strong enough . . .

Here’s a June 2013 race picture from the Greencastle Banner Graphic:

So what about Waveland?   Wiki tells us that Waveland was the boyhood home of American Impressionist artist T. C. Steele (1847 – 1926).  I checked out his work, and really like it.

Interestingly, his art reminds me of another Indiana artist that I recently featured, Daniel Garber (1880 – 1958), from North Manchester, Indiana (featured in my August 14, 2017 post, with an October 10th “revisited” post).

By the way, Steele studied art at Asbury College – now DePauw University.  I’ll just go right to some of his art:


Want a Steele on your living room wall?  A cursory internet search reveals you’ll spend from $10,000 – $50,000.

And I’ll close with this GE pano shot by Ed Allen, taken about 4 miles west of my landing:

That’ll do it . . .




© 2017 A Landing A Day



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Methow and Pateros, Washington

Posted by graywacke on November 9, 2017

First timer?  In this formerly once-a-day blog (and now pretty much a once-every-four-or-five days blog), I use an app that provides 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 or towns 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) please see “About Landing” above.  To check out some recent changes in how I do things, check out “About Landing (Revisited).”

Landing number 2375; A Landing A Day blog post number 809.

Dan:  Today’s lat/long (48o 10.878’N, 119o 57.308’W) puts me in North Central Washington:

Here’s my local landing map (which doubles as the downstream portion of my watershed map):

You can see my titular Pateros there at the junction of Methow River (1st hit ever!) and the Columbia River (174th hit).

But I actually landed in the watershed of French Creek:

More quickly than usual, click HERE for my Google Earth (GE) space flight that ends up in the boonies of Washington.

I’ll do double duty with my GE Street View of both the Methow River, and my landing:

The Orange Dude is looking across the Methow, up the French Creek valley towards my landing:

Before checking out Pateros (featured), here’s a quick Wiki word about Methow:

It is named after the Methow people, an Interior Salish people who lived in the area. The name “Methow” itself comes from the Okanagan placename meaning “sunflower seeds.”

Cool name and all, but not really a hook.  OK, it’s time for Pateros. From the town website:

Around 1900 things in this little community really started to take off. There were some real visionaries in control of the community, and they had great big plans!

In 1899-1900, a Spanish-American War veteran that had served in the Philippines named Charles Nosler came to what would become Pateros.

Charles Nosler bought homestead land for $8,000 and renamed the community PATEROS (pronounced Pah-TARE-us) after a village he had known in the Philippines.

The name is derived from the word “PATO”, the duck that lays the eggs for balut making, and “SAPATERO” meaning shoemakers, both the main industries in the Philippine Pateros. A few old timers objected to the name change at first, but it fit well and stuck.

Not so sure why “it fit well,” but it obviously stuck.

So.  Pateros is a village in the Philippines, eh?  And what the heck is balut?  Let’s take a quick look at the “village.”  I went to Google Maps, which I found refers to Pateros as “Pateros, Metro Manila, Philippines.”  Hmmmm. Maybe not a village anymore.

Here’s the map:

And here’s a regional GE shot:

And zoomed in:

Pateros is obviously an extremely urban neighborhood in the greater Manila area; not what we’d normally call a “village.” Here’s a Wiki picture of a typical street scene in Pateros:

Notice the Golden Arches?  I checked, and McDonald’s has over 500 restaurants in the Phillippines.  I bet way more than half are in Metro Manila.  I stumbled on some information that said that McDonald’s is the number two restaurant chain in the Philippines.  Number one?  Jollibee. 

Here’s their menu:


By the way, there are more than 3000 Jollibee restaurants world wide, including 10 in northern California, 12 in southern California, 4 in Hawaii, 2 in the Chicago area, 2 in Las Vegas, and one each in NJ, NY, TX, WA, VA and FL.  You might find one popping up in your neighborhood soon!

So, what does Wiki have to say about Pateros?

Pateros is a municipality in Metro Manila, Philippines. According to the 2015 census, it has a population of 63,840.

This small town is famous for its duck-raising industry and especially for producing balut, a Filipino delicacy that is boiled, fertilized duck egg. Pateros is also known for the production of red salty eggs and “inutak,” a local rice cake.

Moreover, the town is known for manufacturing of “alfombra,” a locally-made footwear with a carpet-like fabric on its top surface.

Balut again.  We’ll get to that in a minute.  But first, inutak (a rice desert).  From pinoyhapagkainan.com:

Inutake is a two layered sticky rice cake that has been flavored with Purple yam or vanilla, broiled until the coconut cream toppings turn to a brainy texture. Served with ice cream and coconut toppings.

I suspect that inutak is really good.

And then alfombra?  From ThePinoyWarrior:

Here in the Philippines, there is a city who’s name comes from “sapatero” or shoemaker. In Pateros, shoemaking has been a mainstay industry as well as making “balut.”

Because of the innovative shoemaking skills of the people of Pateros, a different line of footwear emerged and it was called “Alfombra.” The name means “carpet” in Spanish, and literally, the alfombra is a pair of slippers with carpeting. It is one of the best indoor slippers because of its comfort and durability. Colorful and very appealing, every pair is an absolute beauty. Seemingly, the alfombra is uniquely Filipino and only skilled shoemakers of Pateros can do it correctly.

Cool slippers, eh?  But the star of the Pateros legacy is balut.  From Wiki:

A balut is an egg containing a developing bird embryo (usually a duck) that is boiled and eaten from the shell. It originates and is commonly sold as street-food in the Philippines.

The Tagalog word balut means “wrapped.” The length of incubation before the egg is cooked is a matter of local preference, but generally ranges between 14 and 21 days.

As soon as I read this, I realized that I have a personal story to tell, which I’ll get to shortly.  Here’s a Wiki picture of a balut with the top of the shell removed after it has been boiled:

And I found this You Tube video (from BuzzFeed) of Americans eating balut:


Time for my story. Way back in the day (the mid 90s as I recall), I was on an overseas business trip when I worked for Mobil Oil.  After stops in Sydney, Melbourne and Hong Kong, I went on to Guam.  While there, my host was showing me around, and we hooked up with a group of Chamarros (Guam natives) of Filipino descent. 

I forget the details, but I remember that we were sitting in a circle in some public park, when out came balut.  It almost appeared ceremonial, as the  eggs were passed around.  Of course, I was offered one.

The gentleman next to me opened his, and drank off the broth.  He then showed me what he was about to eat. 

And in one of my lifetime regrets, I took one look at the dark fetus in the shell, and said no thanks.

I had forgotten that what I turned down was called balut . . .

I’m going to use the Philippines connection for a gratuitous excuse to play one of my favorite songs of all time:  “Imelda” by Mark Knopfler.  The song is about Imelda Marcos, the wife of Philippine dictator Ferdinand Marcos, who ruled the country from 1965 to 1986.  The regime was world renowned for its corruption, and Imelda was world renowned for her insatiable appetite for clothes, particularly shoes. 

Anyway, Mark Knopfler wrote a song about her.  Mark’s diction isn’t always the clearest; I recommend that you follow along with the words below.


She’s goin’ shoppin’, shoppin’ for shoes
She want ‘em in magenta and Caribbean blue
Platinum and buttercup, lilac and black
They fill a bucket up, laugh behind her back
Imelda baby, Imelda baby what to do?
All the poor people sayin’ they gotta quit payin’ for you

In New York and Paris, Champs Elysees
They see her comin’ from a long long way
Yeah clap their hands together when they get her in the store
She gonna wanna get more more more and more and more

Imelda baby, Imelda baby what to do?
All the poor people sayin’ they gotta quit payin’ for you

Everyone’s gone Jackie O
Was a regular you know
Thought Madame would like to know
We’ve got the blood red rouge, yea

We’ve got all of Madame’s requisites, all in Nadame’s size
Madame’s taste is truly exquisite, she must accessorize
Yeah the belts are alligator, bags are kangaroo
Enchanté?   May I say the jade was made for you

Imelda baby, Imelda baby what to do?
All the poor people sayin’ they gotta quit payin’ for you
Poor people sayin’ they gotta quit payin’ for you

Imelda baby, yes Imelda baby what to do?
All the poor people sayin’ they gotta quit payin’ for you
Poor people sayin’ they gotta quit payin’ for you.

It’s time to head back to Washington (gee, I forgot — is that where I landed?) for some GE Panoramio shots near my landing (all within 5 miles). 

I’ll start with this great old truck shot by Willie K:

And also by Willie K, this great outcrop:

And then this, by Sandy Beech:

I’ll close with this artfully-composed shot, also by Sandy:

That’ll do it . . .




© 2017 A Landing A Day



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Wallbach, West Virginia

Posted by graywacke on November 3, 2017

First timer?  In this formerly once-a-day blog (and now pretty much a once-every-four-or-five days blog), I use an app that provides 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 or towns 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) please see “About Landing” above.  To check out some recent changes in how I do things, check out “About Landing (Revisited).”

Landing number 2374; A Landing A Day blog post number 808.

Dan:  Today’s lat/long (38o 30.887’N, 81o 12.511’W) puts me in Central West Virginia:

Here’s my local landing map:

Today’s landing is the one to the west (just inside the Clay County line).  The other landing is my recent (9/26/17) landing, documented in my “Clay County” post.   What are the odds of landing in the same county so quickly?  I don’t know, but they’re PDS*.

*Pretty damn slim.

As you can see, I landed in the watershed of the Upper King Shoals Run; on to the Elk River (3rd hit):

Zooming back:

The Elk discharges to the Kanawha (16th hit); on to the Ohio (147th hit).  Not shown, but known by all (OK, almost all), the Ohio makes its way to the Mighty Mississippi (924th hit). 

Let’s jump over to Google Earth, and check out the real estate where the yellow push pin randomly lands.  Click HERE to do so.

Here’s a nice GE shot of my local watershed, the Upper King Shoals Run:

I landed in the woods, so of course there’s not much to see on Street View.  This is closest I could get – where the GoogleMobile dead-ended:

And here’s what the Orange Dude sees:

I’m not sure why the GoogleMobile just stopped shooting all of a sudden . . .

Fortunately, there’s a river road with Street View coverage, so we could get a look at the Upper King Shoals Run just before it discharges to the Elk:

Ain’t much to see:

I was able to get a nearby look at the Elk River:

Here’s the view:

It looks like a cool bridge.  I had the Orange Dude go to the end of the bridge and look back:

Moving right along – as mentioned above, I landed in Clay County recently (a mere seven landings ago).  For that post, I scoured the long list of unincorporated “towns” in the county looking for a hook. 

But I think I missed Wallback, today’s titular town.  From Wiki:

The community is named for John de Barth Walbach, an Alsatian hussar of the French Revolutionary Wars who became an aide to Alexander Hamilton, rose to Adjutant General of the United States during the War of 1812, served in the Army for 57 years and was on active duty until his death at age 90; the oldest acting officer in U.S. history.

“Alsatian hussar?”  What the heck?  So, he was from the Alsace region of eastern France, along the German border.  Historically, Alsace has swung back and forth between France and Germany; in fact, Walbach is a German name. 

Wiki tells us that the term “hussar” is of 15th century Hungarian origin and refers to lightly-armed calvary.  The term came into general European usage in the 18th and 19th century.   

His career was distinguished, as is clear from his official Army eulogy:

“His long life and military career were characterized by some of the best traits of a gentleman and as soldier – unwavering integrity, truth and honor, strict attention to duty and zeal for service; and he tempered the administration of an exact discipline by the most elevated courtesies.”

Also –  I love that the Americanization of “Walbach” is “Wallback.”  Let’s take a quick GE look at Wallback:

And there’s Street View coverage!  I think I’ll get wild and crazy and call this “Mowing the grass in Wallback:”

Here’s some more on Wallback from Wiki:

John de Barth Walbach inherited 10,000 acres on the Elk River (including the land surrounding the town of Wallback) from his father, Count Jean-Joseph de Barth, who led the “French 500” fleeing the French Revolution and founding Gallipolis, Ohio.

I’ll bite.  I checked out Wiki and some other general sources of information about the French Revolution and the French 500.  Here’s my summary:

The French Revolution (1789 through most of the 90s) was a crazy, tumultuous, deadly time.  Although the French monarchy officially ended with the arrest of Louis XVI in August 1792 (he was guillotined the next January), the seeds of the revolution were planted in the late 80s, inspired at least in part by the American Revolution.

The early phase of the uprising culminated on July 14, 1789 when rioters stormed the Bastille fortress in an attempt to secure gunpowder and weapons; many consider this event, now commemorated in France as a national holiday, as the start of the French Revolution.

It wasn’t a good time to be a French aristocrat (or anyone against the revolution).  The first wave of killings of such folks occurred in 1792, culminating in the Reign of Terror (“la Terreur”), a 10-month period in 1793 when suspected enemies of the revolution were guillotined by the thousands.

So, smart loyalists got out early.  That’s where the French 500 come in.  Five ships left France in 1790, filled with loyalist families who had bought shares for land along the Ohio River in what became southeast Ohio.  Their settlement became known as the town of Gallipolis (City of the Gauls). 

From HubPages.com:

Life was not easy for these settlers. Most of them were accustomed to the finer lifestyles of nobleman France, having been part of the upper class of the reign of King Louis XVI. The life in their new colony was rough and basic, but many strove to make it work because the alternative would have been to return to France and possibly face the guillotine.

Before leaving the French Revolution, I felt like I needed to learn how the revolution led so quickly to the rise of Napoleon Bonaparte who came to power sometime around 1800. I didn’t have a clue, until now.  From History.com:

On August 22, 1795, the National Convention, composed largely of Girondins (a moderate revolutionary party), approved a new constitution that created France’s first bicameral legislature. Executive power was in the hands of a five-member Directory (“Directoire”) appointed by parliament.

The Directory’s four years in power were riddled with financial crises, popular discontent, inefficiency and, above all, political corruption. By the late 1790s, the directors relied almost entirely on the military (led by a young general named Napoleon Bonaparte) to maintain their authority.

On November 9, 1799, as frustration with their leadership reached a fever pitch, Bonaparte staged a coup d’état, abolishing the Directory and appointing himself France’s “first consul.” The event marked the end of the French Revolution and the beginning of the Napoleonic era.

There you have it (and I hope you learned something).

So I need to close this admittedly lackluster post with a little music followed by a couple of local-to-my-landing GE Panoramio shots.

Music?  Well, since this is my second WV post in short order, I thought I’d give a listen to “Almost Heaven,” by none other than John Denver.  Poor John.  He has often been dismissed as a light-weight pop singer, which I guess he is.  But I like several of his songs, including this one:

Now on to some GE Pano shots.  First this, by Lawlimoth, of the Elk River:

I close with this classic barn shot by West Virginia Explorer:


That’ll do it . . .




© 2017 A Landing A Day


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Scott City, Garden City and Holcomb, Kansas

Posted by graywacke on October 29, 2017

First timer?  In this formerly once-a-day blog (and now pretty much a once-every-four-or-five days blog), I use an app that provides 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 or towns 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) please see “About Landing” above.  To check out some recent changes in how I do things, check out “About Landing (Revisited).”

Landing number 2373; A Landing A Day blog post number 807.

Dan:  Today’s lat/long (38o 25.848’N, 100o 48.105’W) puts me in W-Cen Kansas (and you can see my previous landing, as well):

Obviously, this is my second Kansas landing in a row, which marks my 64th double, the first for Kansas.

Here’s my local map:

Garden City for some reason didn’t show up (so I added it).  Scott City was hidden behind my lat/long flag.

Before I continue, I’ll take a little Bahamian detour.  As all regular readers know, I often land outside the lower 48, because I define my potential landing area as a big rectangle that includes the lower 48, but obviously extends well beyond.  I simply ignore these faux landings and try again. 

I had one faux landing before I landed in Kansas.  Here it is, just off Royal Island and near Spanish Wells:

Oh my!  I’ve been to Spanish Wells many times, and even been on a boat exploring Royal Island!  Let me zoom back a little:

As friends and family (and regular readers know), my wife Jody & I are regular visitors to Eleuthera, where we have a house (although it’s on the verge of being sold – boo!!). 

So anyway, a couple of trips ago, Jody and I were sitting on the front porch drinking coffee after an early morning shower, admiring (as always), the lovely little island that’s just out front.

As the sun came out, a marvelous rainbow appeared off to the right.  Seeing a photo op, I ran down the beach to catch this shot:

OK, so I’ve posted this photo before, but I’ll use any excuse to post it again!  And while I’m at it, here’s another shot by yours truly:

Before leaving the Bahamas, here are a coupleo f Royal Island shots by Bee Blonde:

Now back to Kansas.

My watershed map is based solely on Google Earth (GE), so I’ll jump right on the yellow pushpin and drift on down to West Kansas farmland.  You can, too, by clicking HERE.

By using the GE elevation tool, I quickly realized that I landed near a fairly sizable topographic depression, and that any rain that landed on my landed would simply accumulate not far away in the bottom of the depression.

In case you missed it on the trip in, here’s what the depression looks like (the center of the depression is the dark area just north of my landing:

I couldn’t help but noticed the lines on the ground that look and act just like topographic contour lines.  Using the GE elevation tool, I found out that the lines are, in fact, essentially topo lines:

I can imagine that various lakes have existed at various times in the past, and left lines where the former shorelines were.  See what I mean?

But what I don’t get is the apparent 2981 contour line.  That line would be above the elevation of any lake, as the water would overflow to the south when it got higher than 2977.

Mystery identified but not solved. 

I wanted to see if the official USGS Topographic map also showed a depression.  It does:

The blue area shows that this is at least sometimes a lake. The little hill at elevation 2981 is nowhere to be seen.

So – it’s time to check out nearby Scott City.  From Wiki:

In October 1884, two women from Chicago, Illinois claimed the land that Scott City is on and built a cabin. The following February, two men from Chicago came to the cabin and settled. Soon after, many people started arriving in the county and Scott City was then founded in 1885.

Oh my.  One’s imagine can run wild with various scenarios that remain consistent with what Wiki says.  The ALAD Nation needs additional information!

Here’s some more detail, from ScottCity.net:

A few nomadic stockmen held their herds near what would become Scott City, but civilization began when the first permanent settlement was made in Scott county in October, 1884 by Mrs. M.E. De Geer and her daughter, Mrs. I.L. Eastman.

[Phew.  So now we know it was a mother and daughter.  But they are both married!  Where are the husbands?  Continuing . . . ]

These brave women from Chicago, Illinois, selected and filed on claims where Scott City now stands, and built a cabin which was shared with many newcomers the following severe winter.

[This doesn’t help at all!  “Cabin which was shared with many newcomers??”  What the heck were these married women doing?  Continuing . . .]

Frank H. Miller also came from Chicago in October, 1884, for the improvement of his broken health. He hauled lumber from Garden City to construct Mrs. De Geer’s cabin, and remained through the winter of 1884-85.

[Ah ha!  There was a man who helped the good ladies build their cabin.  And he stayed the winter!  Sounds scandalous to me!  Continuing . . .]

Charley Waite [not a husband] came in February 1885, and a month later was followed by John Keeve [also not a husband]. These Chicago boys came for a broader field of enterprise and to enjoy the fine climate of the plains. They were brave, self-helpful young men, well reared, but equally well suited to the rough work of pioneering.

[These must be the two men from Chicago mentioned in Wiki; although Wiki suggests that they stayed in the De Geer cabin.]

Mrs. De Geer’s daughter married Frank Miller soon thereafter.  In March 1885, Mrs. De Geer began the publication of the “Western Times” and from this time the county filled up rapidly.

Mrs. Eastman got married?  But she was already married!  I’m sorry, but the more we learn, the more we don’t know.  I see a tailor-made opportunity for a little ALAD storytelling:

Chicago, April 1884

Mrs. Eva De Geer was distraught.  Her husband of 23 years, Samuel, lay gravely ill.  The De Geers were quite wealthy, and could afford the finest medical care available in Chicago.  But even the best doctors that money could buy were unable to reverse Samuel’s now rapid decline.

Adding to her distress was that fact that her daughter Maude’s marriage to Mr. Joseph Eastman was deteriorating as quickly as her husband’s health.  That no good scoundrel, Joe Eastman.  Eva had grave concerns about her daughter’s marriage three years ago.  She didn’t like Joe Eastman the day she met him, and her opinion of him never changed.  He was an arrogant braggadocio with a violent streak. 

Yes, he was good looking; yes, he could be charming, and yes he had social status and excellent financial prospects.  She went so far as to actively attempt to dissuade Maude from the marriage all together, but to no avail. 

They seemed happy enough for the first year, but then signs of tensions in their relationship were unmistakable (and, in Eva’s opinion, inevitable). 

It was practically on the day of their second wedding anniversary that Eva noticed bruises on Maude’s face and arm.  Maude claimed she had stumbled and fallen while performing some simple household chore; Eva knew better.  And then two more times in the ensuing months, it happened again.

So now, everything was coming to a head.  Eva’s dear husband wasn’t going to make it, and it was critical that Maude get away from Joe.  And – it must be said – Maude had seemingly caught the eye of Mr. Frank Miller.  Frank was a casual acquaintance of Joe’s, and Maude and Frank had met at several social engagements.  They fervently hoped no one (especially Joe) had noticed the sparks (subtle as they may be) that were flying between them. 


Chicago, June 1884

It was all over.  Eva’s beloved Samuel was gone; he passed quietly in May.  Also in May, Maude finally came to her senses and moved in with her mother.  Thank God there were no children.

And yes, with Joe out of the way, the sparks that flew between Maude and Frank were now obvious to all.  Eva’s more prudish friends were shocked, because it was easy to put 2 and 2 together and figure out that this new relationship probably sprung up while Maude was still married.

Mother and daughter were sitting in the living room, finally trying to put their lives back together and make some plans for their futures.

“I’m so grateful that Father left you enough money that you don’t have to get a job in some sweat shop hell hole,” said Maude.

“Daughter!  Watch your language!”

“I’m sorry, Mother.  I’m just enjoying the ability to use the kind of language Joe used all the time, but wouldn’t allow me to utter.”

A brief silence followed while Eva collected her thoughts.

“I’m over 50 and feeling at loose ends.  Here’s what I think.  I think I’ll sell this house – after all, it’s way too large for the two of us, and the upkeep is expensive.”

“And where, pray tell, are we going to live?” asked Maude.

“Where would you like to live?”

“You really want to know?”

“Well, I asked, didn’t I?” replied Eva.

Maude took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.  “Out west,” she said.

Eva smiled.  “I was hoping you were going to say that.  And, if I might be so bold as to ask, would Frank be part of your plans?”

Maude quickly nodded.

“I thought so,” said Eva.

They talked on for over an hour, remembering the trip they took as a family 10 years earlier, leaving Chicago by train and traveling to Wichita, Kansas.  Charles’ older brother Robert lived out on the prairie just south of Wichita.

Eva reminisced:  “Remember how exciting it was the ride the train?  And the tracks to Wichita were completed just a couple of years before our trip.  Let’s go back to Wichita, meet up with Robert, and see what it takes to start a new life out there.”

“You didn’t ask how Frank fits in.”

“I didn’t need to,” replied her mother.  “He has spent a lot of time out west and knows how to handle himself in a hostile environment. He will be very useful.”


Chicago, Early October 1884

So the three of them – Eva, Maude & Frank – bought train tickets from Chicago to Wichita.  A letter to Charles’ brother Robert announcing their intentions had been sent (although rather vague about the duration and reason for their visit), and a return letter from Robert saying he’d be delighted to host three sophisticated Chicagoans as his guests was received.


Wichita, Early October 1884

“Why sister Eva and niece Maude – so delighted to see you.  And you sir,” as Robert extended his hand to Frank in greeting, “to whom should I thank for escorting these brave women to the wild, wild west?”

“My name is Frank Miller.  I have known these fine ladies for quite some time, and thought I could be useful as they seek a new life.”

“A new life?  Really?  Maude and Eva – I think we have some catching up to do, eh?”

After retiring early (after all, traveling the train from Chicago is so tiring), the next morning provided plenty of time for casual chit chat.

After Robert was filled in on all of the details about the lives of the Chicago De Geer family, he got around to some pertinent questions:  “So, what are you looking for?  A new life here in Wichita?  Out on the prairie?  In a smaller town?”

Eva replied:  “Frank can build a cabin from scratch, Maude can cook, make and mend clothes, and I can finance the whole shebang.  I’d like to find a start-up community in need of a newspaper, since I spent a few years working for the Chicago Tribune back in the day.”

“I happen to know of just such a place a little bit north, but mostly west of here.  I’m not sure it has a name, but a good friend of mine told me that shares of land are available for a very reasonable price; well within your budget, Eva.  The land is going like hotcakes, but there are still major parcels available.  It’s about 30 miles north of Garden City.”


Thirty Miles North of Garden City, Late October 1884

The work was hard, but Frank and the ladies managed to buy a horse and wagon, haul lumber, supplies and furniture from Garden City up to their plot of land, and build a rudimentary but functioning cabin.  It only had two bed rooms and two beds . . .

Mail service was available in Garden City; Maude wrote letters to several single young men she knew, encouraging them to join in their homesteading adventure.  Two of them – Charley Waite and John Keeve – responded enthusiastically. 


Scott City, February 1885

The winter was tough, but firewood was plentiful, and the road between Scott City and Garden City remained passable for much of the winter. 

“Maude,” said Frank one unseasonably warm early February day while Eva was outside enjoying the sunshine, “I think it’s about time we legalized our relationship, and I’d . . .”

Maude interrupted:  “It’s about time you asked, Frank Miller!  Of course, I’ll marry you!  We’ll soon have neighbors (and maybe a child); what would they think if we weren’t married??”

There was a Methodist church in Garden City with a minister they had met and liked.

“Well, what are you doing next Sunday?” asked Frank . . .

One day in later February, they heard a horse approaching.  Always a little nervous about visitors, they peered out a window.

“It’s John Keeve!” exclaimed Maude.

John, who slept on the floor of their cabin while building his own cabin, was an enterprising young man who eventually became a pillar of the community.

A month later, Charley Waite (who had worked with Eva at the Chicago Tribune) similarly arrived – also sleeping for a time on the floor of the cabin.

As the weather warmed, homesteaders began flooding in.  Eva found a used printing press in Garden City, and hired Charley to help with the writing and publication of “The Western Times” Scott City’s first and only newspaper.

The rest is history . . .


Right next to Garden City is the little town of Holcomb. But before visiting Holcomb, I’d like to return to my local landing map from my previous landing – which, as you recall, was also in Kansas:

The circled towns are those I featured in that post.  You’ll notice that the town of Murdock didn’t make the cut.  Well, it almost did, based on this, from Wiki:

 Notable People

  • Alvin Dewey (1912-1987), special agent of the Kansas Bureau of Investigation.

Alvin was Wiki-clickable, so of course, I did:

Dewey was born in Murdock, Kansas in 1912.  He is most known for his role as the chief investigator of the 1959 murders of the Clutter family in Holcomb, Kansas.  This murder case was made famous by Truman Capote’s 1966 book In Cold Blood.

I checked on Holcomb, and realized it was far away from my landing.  I wasn’t familiar with In Cold Blood, so decided to pass on this potential hook.

But then, in a truly amazing coincidence, I landed near Holcomb for this, my very next landing.  So, In Cold Blood it is.  From Wiki:

Herb Clutter was a widely respected self-made man, who had established a successful and prosperous farm in western Kansas from modest beginnings. He employed as many as 18 farmhands, and former employees reportedly admired and respected him for his fair treatment and good wages.

His four children—three girls and a boy—were also widely respected in the community. The elder daughters, Eveanna and Beverly, had moved out of their parents’ home and started their adult lives. The two younger children, Nancy, 16, and Kenyon, 15, were high school students living at home.

Clutter’s wife, Bonnie, a member of the local garden club, had been incapacitated by clinical depression and physical ailments since the births of her children, although this characterization of her has been disputed by surviving family members.

Two ex-convicts recently paroled from the Kansas State Penitentiary, Dick Hickock and Perry Smith, committed the robbery and murders in the early morning hours of November 15, 1959. A former cellmate of Hickock’s, Floyd Wells, had once worked as a farmhand for Mr. Clutter, and had told Hickock about a safe at the farmhouse where he claimed Herb Clutter kept large amounts of cash.

Hickock soon hatched the idea to rob the safe (which he believed contained as much as ten thousand dollars), leave no witnesses, and start a new life in Mexico with the cash.

According to Capote, Hickock described his plan as “a cinch, the perfect score.” Hickock contacted Smith, another former cellmate, about committing the robbery with him.

After driving more than four hundred miles across the state of Kansas on the evening of November 14, Hickock and Smith arrived in Holcomb, located the Clutter home, and entered through an unlocked door while the family slept.

Upon rousing the Clutters and discovering there was no safe, they bound and gagged the family and continued to search for money, but found little else of value in the house. Still determined to leave no witnesses, the pair briefly debated what to do; Smith, notoriously unstable and prone to violent acts in fits of rage, slit Herb Clutter’s throat and then shot him in the head.

Capote writes that Smith recounted later, “I didn’t want to harm the man. I thought he was a very nice gentleman. Soft spoken. I thought so right up to the moment I cut his throat.”

Kenyon, Nancy, and then Mrs. Clutter were also murdered, each by a single shotgun blast to the head.

Hickock and Smith left the crime scene with a small portable radio, a pair of binoculars, and less than fifty dollars in cash.

Six weeks passed; but on the basis of a tip from Wells, Hickock and Smith were identified as suspects and arrested in Las Vegas on December 30, 1959.

Both men eventually confessed after interrogations by detectives of the Kansas Bureau of Investigation. They were brought back to Kansas, where they were tried together for the murders.

They both pleaded temporary insanity at the trial, but local doctors evaluated the accused and pronounced them sane. The jury deliberated for only 45 minutes before finding both Hickock and Smith guilty of murder. Their conviction carried a mandatory death sentence at the time.

After five years on death row at the Kansas State Penitentiary, Smith and Hickock were executed by hanging just after midnight on April 14, 1965.

The novel was hugely successful, and three movies followed.

Here’s the trailer for the 1967 movie – “In Cold Blood” – that depicted the novel:


And then there’s the 2005 movie “Capote” that’s obviously about Truman – but revolves around the Clutter murder story.  Here’s the trailer for that:


I have a Kindle, and it just so happens that last night I finished reading a novel I had been reading for a couple of weeks (I’m a slow reader).  And I figured what the heck, I’ll down load “In Cold Blood.” 

Here’s how the book begins:

The village of Holcomb stands on the high wheat plains of western Kanas, a lonesome area that other Kansans call “out there.”  Some 70 miles east of the Colorado border, the countryside, with its hard blue skies and desert-clear air, has an atmosphere that is rather more Far West than Middle West.  The local accent is barbed with a prairie twang, a ranch-hand nasalness, and the men, many of them, wear narrow frontier trousers, Stetsons, and high-heeled boots with pointed toes.  The land is flat, and the views are awesomely extensive; horses, herds of cattle, a white cluster of grain elevators rising as gracefully as Greek temples are visible long before a traveler reaches them.

Holcomb, too, can be seen from distances.  Not that there is much to see – simply an aimless congregation of buildings divided in the center by the main-line tracks of the Sante Fe Railroad, a haphazard hamlet bounded on the south by a brown stretch of the Arkansas (pronounced Ar-KAN-sas) River, on the north by a highway, Route 50, and on the east and west by prairie lands and wheat fields.

Here’s a GE shot of Holcomb, with the railroad running through the center of town and the Ar-KAN-sas River to the south:

I doubt it has changed all that much since 1959.  OK, there’s a new high school and a new community park with a pool.  Also – Capote mentions dirt streets in town, and now they’re paved . . .

As regular readers know, I always try to point out unusual place name pronunciations.  I’m ashamed to admit that this is the first time I’ve run across this particular pronunciation of the Arkansas River.  Wiki weighs in (supporting Capote), saying that people in Colorado and Kansas typically pronounce it as shown above, while folks in Oklahoma and Arkansas pronounce it as one pronounces the state name.

Alrighty then.  I think it’s time for some GE Panoramio shots near my landing.  I’ll start with this, by JR Cowell, taken about 3.5 miles north of my landing:

I’ll close with this, by frequent ALAD contributor, JB the Milker, taken just west of Scott City:


That’ll do it . . .




© 2017 A Landing A Day


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Cleveland, Kingman, Zenda, Rago and Norwich, Kansas

Posted by graywacke on October 24, 2017

First timer?  In this formerly once-a-day blog (and now pretty much a once-every-four-or-five days blog), I use an app that provides 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 or towns 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) please see “About Landing” above.  To check out some recent changes in how I do things, check out “About Landing (Revisited).”

Landing number 2372; A Landing A Day blog post number 806.

Dan:  Today’s lat/long (37o 29.460’N, 98o 0.759’W) puts me in S-Cen Kansas:

My local landing map highlights my titular towns:

My watershed analysis shows that I landed in the watershed of Blue Stem Creek, which in turn is part of the watershed of the Chikaskia River (2nd hit):

Zooming back:

The Chikaskia flows to the Salt Fork of the Arkansas River (12th hit); on to the Arkansas (130th hit).  And of course, it’s all rolled up into the watershed of the MM (923rd hit).

Now it’s Google Earth’s turn.  Click HERE to see what south central Kansas really looks like.

I’m out in boonies Kansas, but there’s excellent Street View coverage.  Check this out!

Wow!  The GoogleMobile is working its way east to west on all of the back roads!  Let’s take a closer look:

And here’s what the Orange Dude (OD) sees:

I had him turn 90o to get a look at the back country dirt road:

With the intense Street View coverage, I knew I’d get a local look at the Blue Stem Creek.  And I do:

Here’s what the OD sees:

I sent him south a little to get this look at the Chikaskia:

This is the kind of bridge they build to carry dirt road traffic.  I wouldn’t want to drive across this bridge on a dark and stormy night . . .

So.  This is going to be one of those little-of-this-little-of-that posts.  Here’s another look at my local landing map:

I think I’ll start in the middle, then head north, and then go west to east along the southern tier.  So that makes Cleveland first.  Wiki:

Cleveland was named in 1879 after Cleveland, Ohio. Cleveland was situated at the geographic center of Kingman County, and it hoped to become the county seat, which was located in Kingman at the time.

The issue was brought up for a vote; Kingman won.

[Based on the extensive ALAD data base of similar situations, Cleveland’s viability would soon decline.]

The town had 80 residents as of 1887.  [Assuming 4 folks per house, that’s 20 houses.]  By 1912 it contained a school, a church, two grain elevators and a large hotel. [Yea, but how many bars?] 

The town declined, and by the 1950s it had only the school, the church, one elevator, and eight homes. [Down one elevator, a hotel and a bunch of houses.]  The school closed in 1958 followed by the church in 1967.

Cleveland now contains only the grain elevator, described by a resident as “one of the busiest elevators in the area”, and a few houses.

Viva l’elevateur!  (OK, according to Google, I should say viva le silo à céréales.)

Et voici le silo (GE Panormio shot by BlueBuffSteve):

We’ll move up the Cleveland-Kingman road to (you guess it) – Kingman.  Kingman is pretty much hookless.  I noticed a former Major League Baseball player name of Don Lock.  The name was familiar, so I clicked. 

Well, Don’s career peaked in the early-mid ‘60s with the Washington Senators, when I was a Cleveland Indians fan living in Ohio.  I suspect that when the Indians played the Senators, I was at least aware of Don Lock.  I don’t know, maybe I liked his name.  Or maybe I knew someone else named Don Lock. 

Don also played a couple of years with what is now my team, the Phillies.  Here’s Don in a Phillies uniform:

Anyway, I was checking out Don Lock on October 10th, when I noticed something at the very beginning of the article that had escaped my attention:

Don Wilson Lock (July 27, 1936 – October 8, 2017).

Oh my.  He died (at age 81) just two days earlier. . .

Moving right along to Zenda.  Here’s all that Wiki has to say under “History:”

Zenda was named after the 1894 novel The Prisoner of Zenda.

This was (and still is) a very popular and well-known book (well, maybe to you, but not to me). Here’s the set-up, per Wiki:

The Prisoner of Zenda (1894), by Anthony Hope, is an adventure novel in which the King of Ruritania (a mythical realm) is drugged on the eve of his coronation and thus is unable to attend the ceremony. Political forces within the realm are such that, in order for the king to retain the crown, his coronation must proceed.

Fortuitously, an English gentleman on holiday in Ruritania who resembles the monarch is persuaded to act as his political decoy in an effort to save the unstable political situation of the interregnum.

The novel has been adapted to stage (s), movies (m), radio (r) and TV (t) numerous times.  Here are the dates of the various productions:  1895(s), 1913(m), 1915(m), 1922(m), 1925(s), 1937(m), 1939(r), 1952(m), 1961(t), 1963(s), 1979(m), 1984(t), 1993(m), 2012(m) and 2015(m).  Geez – you’d think I’d have heard of this. 

BTW, the 1979 movie was a comic version starring Peter Sellers and Elke Sommer; the 1993 movie is “Dave,” which is loosely based on Zenda.  The later two movies are Bollywood & Korean.

Anyway, the most famous is the 1937 movie.  Here’s the trailer:

OK, OK.  I’ll put The P of Z on my reading list . . .

Moving on to Rago.  Here’s the entire Wiki entry:

Rago is an unincorporated community in Kingman County, Kansas.  Rago is the hometown of Clyde Vernon Cessna, original founder of Cessna Aircraft.

So here are some Clyde Cessna highlights (from Wiki):

  • His family moved to Rago from Indiana when he was 2.
  • In the early 1900s, he became an automobile dealer in OK.
  • In 1911, he built his first plane, “Silverwing,” a monoplane.
  • After 14 unsuccessful attempts to get airborne, he flew a short distance before crashing into trees attempting to turn.
  • He repaired the plane, and had more successful flights, leading to a 5 mile flight and landing (at the point of departure) in December 1911.
  • Between 1912 and 1915, he built numerous airplanes, making his living flying exhibitions.
  • Here’s a picture of one of his exhibition planes, the Comet:

  • With the coming of the World War, the flying exhibition market ground to a halt [so to speak], and Clyde returned to the family farm in Rago.
  • After the war, he returned to the aviation business, and eventually started up Cessna Aircraft Corporation. Here’s one of his early planes, a Cessna DC-6B:

  • And here’s Clyde with one of early planes:

  • Clyde gave up on the business as the Depression hit. He sold it to two of his nephews, who built it into a global success.
  • Cessna was bought in 1985 by General Dynamics, and then bought again in 1992 by Textron.
  • Clyde died in 1954 (aged 74) in Witchita (which is where the corporate Cessna headquarters are still located.)

Moving right along to Norwich.  The only thing of very slight interest is that the town was named after Norwich CT. 

The only thing of very slight interest about Norwich CT is that the first time that the word “hello” appeared in any printed document was in an 1826 article in the Norwich Courier newspaper.

How about that!  So, you’re on the streets of Philadelphia in 1768, and along comes Benjamin Franklin.  Old Ben was a friendly guy who routinely greeted people on the street, even those he didn’t know.  But guess what?  He didn’t say hello!

According to an impeccable source, here are the common greetings in use at that time in America:

  • How do you do? (Howdy – the contraction of “how do you do” didn’t come along until the 1800s, and then used mostly in the South).
  • Good Day / Morning / Afternoon
  • Greetings!

Although neither the Norwich City website nor Wiki say anything about the name origin, I can only assume that Norwich CT was named after Norwich England.

So what the heck, I took a quick virtual look-see.  Norwich (pop 135,000) is about 100 miles NE of London:

So, Norwich looks like a wonderful old city – a great place to explore.  There are things to see like the Norwich Cathedral, began in 1096 and completed in 1145 (pic from Wiki):

But then this caught my eye:

What was I looking at, right in the heart of Norwich?  Well, there’s excellent GE Street View coverage, so I took a look.  Here’s what the OD sees:

A bunch of little, striped roofs.  Hmmm . . . looks like a market place, so I Googled Norwich Market, and lo and behold, it has a Wiki entry:

Norwich Market is an outdoor market consisting of around 200 stalls in central Norwich, England. Founded in the latter part of the 11th century to supply Norman merchants and settlers moving to the area following the Norman conquest of England, it has been in operation on the present site for over 900 years.

Oh my!  The next thing the OD saw was this cool building across the street from the Market:

I had him look down the street:

And a little further down the same street:

Wait a minute!  The OD is on the sidewalk!  A walking Google Cam?  He went around the corner:

No doubt!  He’s walking, and the girl (or guy) right in front with the Hollister hoodie is reacting to the camera.  And turning the corner, it’s getting narrower!

They’re selling paper planes and e-cigarettes . . .

Right behind this booth is a more traditional British institution:

Good Food . . . . Local Ales . . . Fine Whiskies . . . Afternoon Teas.

Afternoon teas?  We’re not in Kansas anymore!

Completing the circuit, we’re back to looking at that cool building we started with:

Enough already!  It’s time to head back to Kansas.

I’ll close with this GE Panoramio shot of a lonely tree by LucyGoose (just west of Kingman):

That’ll do it . . .




© 2017 A Landing A Day


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