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Lansing, Iowa

Posted by graywacke on March 25, 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 2334; A Landing A Day blog post number 765.

boxDan:  Today’s lat/long 43o 19.618’N, 91o 13.617’W) puts me in far NE Iowa (barely):


My local landing map shows why Lansing obtained titular status:


So this was a Lansing Landing. . .

My streams-only watershed map is pretty straightforward:


I landed in the watershed of Village Creek which has the distinct privilege of discharging directly to the Mighty Mississippi!

Notice Lake Winneshiek on the above map?  It’s pretty big:


It was formed by one of many navigational dams associated with locks on the river.  Here’s a Google Earth (GE) Panoramio shot of Lock & Dam #9 (by Pemo12):


Speaking of Google Earth, it’s time for my GE spaceflight, zeroing in on NE Iowa.  Fire the retro rockets!  (AKA click HERE).

Looks pretty good for Street View coverage, and it is!  (I moved the Orange Dude up the road a little so I could bring in the barn for reference).


And here’s what he sees:


I moved the OD a little south to get a look at Village Creek:


And here’s the creek:


There’s also Street View coverage of where Village Creek hits the Mighty Mississip:


Here’s the upstream view:


The downstream view shows nuttin’ but river:


From MyLansingIowa.com:

Lansing Iowa is a Mississippi river town of 1000 people located about 30 miles South of LaCrosse, Wisconsin and about 3.5 hours Southeast of Minneapolis. For the folks who live here all year, we have many of the things that make it a great small town like a grocery store, library and many small businesses that cater to locals and tourists alike.

Our downtown is very close to the Mississippi River and in fact, Main St. gently slopes down to and dead ends in The River. In the old days, that’s where you would have embarked and disembarked the steamboats that use to ply these waters. We still have a great amount of history on our Main St., with many original buildings and storefronts that all add to the value and charm of our Riverfront town.

Here’s a Street View shot of the end of Main Street mentioned above:


Here’s what the OD sees just after making a left on Front Street (near the silver sport SUV above):


I like Lansing.  I like that it has a viable downtown, but mostly I like its intimate connection with the Mississippi River.  That said, there’s not really a hook in Lansing to form a basis for this post.  But leave it to me, I found a hook (albeit more regional)!

Just a little further down in the MyLansingIowa.com website, I saw this:

Mississippi River Road Driftless Area Center Coming To Lansing

The roof is on and building continues for what is looking like a grand visitor center!  Lansing will soon be home to a new multi-million dollar Mississippi River Visitor Center complete with handicap accessible river access, classrooms, viewing decks and information about the driftless area and river on tap.

I shouldn’t be picky, but “on tap???”

So, they’re building a Driftless Area visitor center.  So just what is this Driftless Area?  I don’t need Wiki to talk about this a little – and yes, being a geologist helps a little. 

In the big picture, nearly the entire Upper Midwest was glaciated – covered by continental ice sheets up to a mile thick that came and went numerous times over the last bunch of hundreds of thousands of years.  The most recent (known as the Wisconsonan) peaked about 20,000 years and retreated a mere 10,000 years ago. 

So the Native American Homo Sapien ancestors (who came to North America 12,000+ years ago) were eyewitness to the ice age and its wildlife like woolly mammoths and saber-tooth tigers (which, by the way, they likely hunted to extinction).

As you know, glaciers grind away high spots and fill in low spots with gravel, sand and clay.  These glacial deposits are left behind everywhere the glaciers visited, and collectively, they’re known as glacial drift.

Ah.  So now you’re getting the drift.  (Unless, of course, you’re driftless.)

So:  the Driftless Area (red area on map) must have no drift!  And no drift means no glaciers!  And not just no Wisconsinan glaciers, but no glaciers over the last 1,0000,000 years!screen-shot-2014-05-04-at-9-47-30-am

Without glaciers lopping off the high spots and glacial drift filling in the low spots, the Driftless Area has more pronounced, dramatic topography, with bedrock exposed in steep valleys & cliffs.

I found in informative post on all-geo.org by Anne Jefferson.  Here are some excerpts:

Even before the last glacial period, the Driftless Area seems to have uniquely escaped the terrain smoothing, till depositing influences of the ice sheets. (Play with this animation to watch southeastern Minnesota avoid glacial advance after glacial advance.)

The map below shows the maximum extent of glaciers at:

  • (a) 1 million years ago,
  • (b) ~600,000 years ago,
  • (c) ~250,000 years ago (the Illinoian glaciation) and
  • (d) ~22,000 years ago (Wisconsinan glaciation).


In most parts of the Upper Midwest, the bedrock is buried under glacial drift; but millions of years of uninterrupted erosion have spectacularly dissected the landscape of the Driftless Area, creating 150+ meter bluffs and narrow valleys.

This dissected landscape stands out in sharp contrast to the flatter glaciated areas which surround it, as shown in the image below.


And what the heck?  Why not a You Tube video, “Serious Science:  The Driftless Area” by Into The Outdoors TV:


But here comes the best part.  Scott Sumner, a writer for Wall Street Pit, was looking at the 2012 election map, where individual counties are shown red for the Republicans and blue for the Democrats:


He focused on an apparently anomalous blue area:


From Scott’s article:

Do you see it now? There’s a big blob of counties where Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa and Illinois come together, which are solid blue. Why is that? These are counties with farms and small towns; there are basically no cities of any size.

The biggest city is Madison, population 200,000, which is the big blue county in south central Wisconsin, on the eastern edge of the blob. I grew up in Madison, but I don’t have a clue as to why those counties further west are blue. I always assumed western Wisconsin was exactly like north-central and eastern Wisconsin—full of corn and dairy farms, and small towns with one church and 4 bars.

Counties full of people with northern European backgrounds. Everywhere else in the Midwest the farm areas went for the GOP, except that strange blob that overlays parts of 4 states. A few of those counties may have small cities with a few manufacturing firms, but look how uniform that blue area is. There is obviously some difference that explains this, and now I feel like we should have been taught in school that southwestern Wisconsin is really weird.

Or perhaps we were taught in school, and I wasn’t paying enough attention. There is in fact something weird about southwestern Wisconsin. The glacier that covered North America during the Ice Age missed this area; indeed it went completely around it, leaving it hillier than normal for the Midwest. It’s called the “Driftless Area.” If you grew up on the coasts you’ve never heard of this area, because nobody on either coast finds the American Midwest to be at all interesting. They rather go visit Paris or Bali.

So here’s a map of the Driftless area:


Whoa! That is exactly the same area as the strange blue blob of rural Obama voters. This is beginning to resemble a Stephen King novel. What’s going on in them thar hills? You might argue the blue extends a bit further south into Illinois, but that’s probably the Quad cities area, which is somewhat more industrialized. The mysterious blue farm counties almost perfectly match the Driftless Area.

If these counties were red like “normal” rural counties are supposed to be, the race would have been closer.

Why did farmers who settled hilly areas become more liberal than farmers who settled flat parts of eastern Wisconsin? I have no idea. The Appalachian and Ozark regions are far hillier than the Driftless Area, but are strongly red. It’s a mystery. Only God (or Nate Silver) knows the answer.

I also found a piece by Richard Longworth (“The Midwesterner,” writing in GlobalMidwest.typepad.com).  He read and then wrote about Scott Sumner’s article.  Here’s an excerpt, which shows a tongue-in-cheek (but decidedly democratic) perspective:

The area’s singularity was first spotted by Wall Street Pit, a financial news website, in a piece written by Scott Sumner, a Madison native who admitted that “I don’t have a clue” why these counties voted as they did.

If this phenomenon baffled Sumner, it was quickly explained by commenters to the blog, who said it was all due to the superior character of the residents — “hard-working, open-minded peaceful people, (who) value people above profit, are neighborly and fair-minded…not cut-throat capitalists…engaged voters…an epicenter for education, medicine and organic farming. People are against suffering, and believe in helping others and creating strong communities.” Organic farming in the area seemed especially vital to the region’s progressive, true-blue flavor.

Ah, that explains it. No argument here. I’ve spent time in the Driftless Area and it indeed is full of folks who are the salt of the earth, peaceable types who feast on organic produce, value fairness and hence are natural Democrats.

And then, I had to take one more step.  I had to look at the 2016 election map.  I found one with tints of red & blue, reflecting the margin of victory in each county:


There you have it.  Trump carried the Driftless Area, although it’s more pink than red.  Oh, well.

Time for some Pano shots.  I’ll start with this one by IdaWriter, with a sign referencing my watershed stream:


Also by Ida, here’s one from the bluff north of town, looking south:


And yet another Ida shot from the same bluff, looking northeast:


And this cool shot of the bridge, by AlKonMan:


I’ll close with this artsy shot of a Mississippi River backwater area (a slough), just across the bridge from Lansing, by MoFun:


That’ll do it . . .




© 2017 A Landing A Day



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Wendover and Salduro, Utah (with bonus coverage of Tinian Island)

Posted by graywacke on March 21, 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 2333; A Landing A Day blog post number 764.

boxDan:  Today’s lat/long 40o 53.866’N, 113o 53.416’W) puts me in NW Utah:


Here’s my local map:


Before going on, I need (want?) to mention that I suffered through 5 “waterings” (as opposed to “landings”) before I hit dry land:  2 in the Atlantic, 2 in the Pacific, and 1 in Lake Superior.

I’m in the desert, and there are no streams anywhere close to my landing.  So what the heck, I’ll jump right to my Google Earth (GE) spaceflight on in to NW Utah.  Click HERE, please.

So here’s my watershed analysis:


If Noah’s Flood were to occur (or I mean re-occur), runoff from my landing would make its way over to Great Salt Lake (which would get quite a lot bigger after 40 days and 40 nights of rain).  Otherwise, there ain’t no way any runoff from my landing will ever make it to the lake. . .

Here’s an oblique GE shot of my landing, looking west:


And here’s another, from just behind Pilot Peak, looking east:


In terms of distance, GE Street View coverage isn’t very good.  But considering the expansive vista across the salt flats, it’s not bad:


And here’s what the Orange Dude sees:


Here’s a GE Panoramio shot of Pilot Peak from just SW of my landing (by ANomad):


While I’m at it, here’s a Pano shot of the mountains to the NE of my landing, by Springlake:



Think maybe there used to be a lake here?  The horizontal lines are old shorelines!

And here’s my most local Pano shot, taken just a couple of miles to the SW of my landing (also by Springlake):


(Regular readers may be wondering why I didn’t save these shots for the end of the post.  I guess I could have, but I found some really spectacular photos for my close, as you’ll see.)

Time to move on to Salduro.  Salduro means hard (duro) salt (sal), a good name for a town on the Bonneville Salt Flats.  The town was founded because of local mining of salt and potash (a potassium-rich salt).  The mining declined in the 40s, and the town disappeared.

Here’s a Wiki shot of an eastbound train going past a couple of buildings in or near Salduro, in 1912:


Now we’ll move about 8 miles west to Wendover.  Just a couple of items caught my interest.  From Wiki:

The transcontinental telephone line was completed as workers raised the final pole at Wendover, Utah on June 27, 1914, after construction of 3,400 miles of telephone line.  The line was successfully voice tested by the president of AT&T, Theodore Vail, in July.

Six months later, on January 25, 1915, amidst the celebrations surrounding the Panama–Pacific International Exposition [aka the San Francisco World’s Fair], the first “official transcontinental call” was made between New York and San Francisco.

Alexander Graham Bell, in New York City, repeated his famous statement “Mr. Watson, come here. I want you,” which was heard by his assistant Mr. Watson in San Francisco, for a long distance call of 3,400 miles. Mr. Watson replied, “It will take me five days to get there!” President Woodrow Wilson and the mayors of both cities were also involved in the call, which officially initiated AT&T’s transcontinental service.

Also from Wiki, here’s the second item that caught my eye:

During World War II, the nearby Wendover Army Air Field was a training base for bomber pilots, including the crew of the Enola Gay. The Enola Gay was stationed here until June 1945.  The Enola Gay dropped the atom bomb on Hiroshima Japan two months later, on August 6th.

Sobering, indeed.  Any mention of the Enola Gay and/or Hiroshima takes me back to the mid-1990s when I was working for Mobil Oil (as an environmental guy specializing in the clean-up of soil & groundwater contamination).  I had quite the business trip:

  • Travel from Newark to Sydney via L.A.
  • Four days in Sydney (which included a non-working weekend)
  • A travel day
  • Four days in Melbourne (which also included a non-working weekend)
  • All of the above with my wife Jody! A great trip!
  • A travel day (Jody going home, me going to Hong Kong)
  • Two days in Hong Kong
  • A travel day
  • Two days in Guam
  • One day in Saipan
  • One day visiting Tinian & Rota
  • One more day in Guam
  • Back home (via Honolulu and Houston to Newark)

So what does the above itinerary have to do with the Enola Gay and Hiroshima?  I suspect that at least a few of my readers know:  The Enola Gay took off from an air field in Tinian to drop the A-bomb on Hiroshima.

Here’s a GE shot to put things in perspective:


 My visit to Tinian included a trip to the deserted and overgrown airfield.

The entire scene was surreal.  We were the only people there; no souvenir stands, not at all touristy.  The runways were hardly visible, thanks to the tangle of vegetation closing in from both sides.

Most eerily, the trip included a visit to a large soil-filled rectangular hole in the pavement.

Large rectangular hole?  Here’s the story:  the A-bomb was loaded in the belly of the plane, and it was so big that they needed to first lower the bomb into the hole (which was not filled with soil back then), taxi the plane over the hole, and raise the bomb through the bomb bay door.

A plaque next to the hole identified it as the bomb pit for the Enola Gay.

Actually, there were two separate holes – one for the Enola Gay and the Hiroshima bomb (“Little Boy”) and another for the Bockscar (a name I might have read about on a plaque in Tinian, but don’t remember) and the Nagasaki bomb (“Fat Man”). 

Here’s a GE Panoramio shot (like what I saw) of Pit #2 (for the Bockscar) – Panoramio shot by MontaraPete:


 As part of the 60th anniversary of the taking of the islands (in 2005), both pits were excavated, and covered thusly (Pano shot by Likai):


To put the Tinian effort into a little perspective, here’s a little WWII history.  Before Tinian was captured from the Japanese, the Allies took Saipan (from Wiki):

The Battle of Saipan from 15 June to 9 July 1944 was one of the major campaigns of World War II. The United States Marines and United States Army landed on the beaches of the southwestern side of the island, and spent more than three weeks in heavy fighting to secure the island from the Japanese.

The battle cost the Americans 3,426 killed and 10,364 wounded, whereas of the estimated 30,000 Japanese defenders, only 921 were taken prisoner. Some 20,000 Japanese civilians perished during the battle, including over 1,000 who committed suicide by jumping from “Suicide Cliff” and “Banzai Cliff” rather than be taken prisoner.

During my stay, I visited the cliff (GE shot):


And a GE Pano shot by Rodger Springsteen:


And then the Allies took Tinian.  From Wiki:

The island was seized by the Allies during the Battle of Tinian from 24 July to 1 August 1944. Over 300 Americans lost their lives, but of the 8500-man Japanese garrison, only 313 survived the battle.

From AtomicHeritage.org:

Navy construction battalions known as the SeaBees began bulldozing mere days after the island was secured. Six runways were completed within two months and Tinian soon became the biggest air base in the world. North Field consisted of four airfields and supported 269 B-29s.


Phillip Morrison, who went to Tinian to help assemble Fat Man, spoke eloquently about Tinian’s transformation, stating:

“Tinian is a miracle. Here, 6,000 miles from San Francisco, the United States armed forces have built the largest airport in the world. A great coral ridge was half-leveled to fill a rough plain, and to build six runways, each an excellent 10-lane highway, each almost two miles long. Beside these runways stood in long rows the great silvery airplanes. They were not by the dozen, but by the hundred. From the air this island, smaller than Manhattan, looked like a giant aircraft carrier, its deck loaded with bomber…”

~From: Richard Rhodes, The Making of the Atomic Bombs (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1986), 681.

Unbelievable.  The whole story is unbelievable.  So much death, so much suffering, yet unfathomable dedication to victory.

On the lighter side (if you could call it that), here’s some more from Wiki:

The base was a 40,000-personnel installation, and the Navy Seabees laid out the base in a pattern of city streets resembling New York City’s Manhattan Island, and named the streets accordingly. The former Japanese town of Sunharon was nicknamed “The Village” because its location corresponded to that of Greenwich Village. A large square area between West and North Fields, used primarily for the location of the base hospitals and otherwise left undeveloped, was called Central Park.

The main drags on Tinian are Broadway and 8th Avenue:


Here’s the intersection of Broadway and 42nd Street:


I also found 86th Street, 2nd Avenue, and Riverside Drive.  There are likely more Manhattan streets, but these are all I could find on GE.

And why are the Navy SeaBees called SeaBees?  Because they were (and are) the Navy’s “Construction Battalion.”  Here’s their logo:


Well, it seems to me that it’s time to head back to Utah.  Although I didn’t mention it earlier,  I landed about 30 miles further east (landing 2164) a couple of years ago (March 2015).  For landing 2164, I presented some spectacular GE Pano shots of the Bonneville Salt Flats – actually much closer to this landing.

I’ll close out this post with some of them. Here’s a cool shot (by Micah Sheldon) of the western portion of the Flats in winter – when there’s often an inch or two of water:


Here’s a great shot by Will Huff (willhuff.net):


And some desiccation cracks by Cassegrain:


I’ll close with this other-worldly sunset shot by Nick Stelma:


That’ll do it . . .




© 2017 A Landing A Day



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Jasper and Newton, Texas

Posted by graywacke on March 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 2331; A Landing A Day blog post number 762.


Dan:  Today’s lat/long 30o 54.365’N, 93o 59.968’W) puts me in SE Texas (about 100 miles NE of Houston):


My local landing map shows that I landed just south of Jasper:


My streams-only map shows that I landed in the watershed of Sandy Creek, on to the Neches River:


Zooming back, you can see that the Neches makes its way to the Sabine:


Without further ado (whatever the heck ado is), I’ll launch my Google Earth (GE) Yellow Push Pin spacecraft for my trip on in to SE Texas.  Click HERE and enjoy the trip.  Some readers think this is much ado about nothing . . .

You can see that I landed in the woods, which always makes for an unspectacular Street View shot (even though I’m close):


Here’s what the Orange Dude sees:


I did my best to get a decent Street View of Sandy Creek, but to no avail.  So, I went a ways south to get a look at the Neches River:


And here ‘tis:


So what about Jasper?  (I’m holding off on Newton for now).  From Wiki:

The area around Jasper (pop 8,250), which was then part of Mexican Texas, was settled around 1824 by John Bevil. Thirty families occupied the settlement as early as 1830, when it was known as Snow River or Bevil’s Settlement.

In 1835, the town was renamed after William Jasper, a war hero from the American Revolution, who was killed attempting to plant the American flag at the storming of Savannah in 1779.

There’s a monument to Jasper in Savannah (photo from Wiki):


He was also known as a hero during the Battle of Sullivan’s Island (in South Carolina) on June 28, 1776 – right at the beginning of the war.  Back to Wiki:

When a shell from a British warship shot away the flagstaff, he recovered the South Carolina flag, raised it on a temporary staff, and held it under fire, thus rallying the troops.


Governor John Rutledge gave his sword to Jasper in recognition of his bravery.

Jasper County was one of the 23 original counties when the Republic of Texas was created in 1836.  Jasper and Jasper County became part of the United States with the Texas annexation in 1845.

This, about the Siege of Savannah (from Wiki):

The Siege of Savannah was an encounter of the American Revolutionary War in 1779. The year before, the city of Savannah, Georgia, had been captured by the British. The siege itself consisted of a joint Franco-American attempt to retake Savannah, from September 16 to October 18, 1779.

On October 9 a major assault against the British siege works failed. During the attack, Polish nobleman Count Casimir Pułaski, leading the combined cavalry forces on the American side, was mortally wounded [not to mention our hero, William Jasper].

[For the record, ALAD has featured Casimir Pulaski a couple of times:  for Mt. Pulaski IL (for the obvious reason) and San Pierre IN – where I featured the Jasper-Pulaski Wildlife Area.  Jasper!  How about that!]

With the failure of the joint American-French attack, the siege failed, and the British remained in control of Savannah until July 1782, near the end of the war.

Wiki lets us know that counties named after Jasper are in:  GA, IL, IN, IA, MS, SC, TX and MO.  Cities/towns named after Jasper are in:  TX, AL, AR, FL, GA MN, MO, TN, IN and NY.

Wiki also had this to say in their William Jasper entry:

Sgt. Jasper’s story is similar to that of Sgt. John Newton. Several states have adjacent counties named Jasper and Newton, as these two American Revolutionary soldiers were remembered as a pair, due to the popularity of Parson Weems’ treatises on early American history.

Several other states have a Jasper County with a county seat of Newton, or vice versa.

The above statement motivated me to take a broader look at the vicinity of my landing.  Well, check this out:


The circled “Jasper” and “Newton” are county names.

Son of a gun if we don’t have the city of Jasper in Jasper County right next to the city of Newton in Newton County.

So what about this guy Newton (and who is Parson Weems?).  From the Wiki article on John Newton:

Sgt. John Newton (1755–1780) was a soldier of the American Revolutionary War who was popularized by Parson Weems in his early 19th century school books.

Newton served under Brigadier General Francis Marion, the famous “Swamp Fox”. Today Newton appears to have been a very minor figure. However, place names across the United States demonstrate his former fame.

Parson Weems has Sgt. Newton bravely save a group of American prisoners from execution by capturing their British guards at the 1779 Siege of Savannah. However, no contemporary account of this rescue exist, and the only source is the very unreliable Weems.

In fact, according to Lieutenant Colonel Peter Horry, who took part in the campaign, “Newton was a Thief & a Villain.”

Sgt. Newton’s tale is similar to the true story of Sergeant William Jasper, who was a genuine hero but was exaggerated by Weems.

OK, so I have to check out this Weems character.  From Wiki:

Mason Locke Weems (1759 – 1825), usually referred to as Parson Weems, was an American book agent and author who wrote the first biography of George Washington immediately after his death.

He was the source of some of the historically-doubtful stories about Washington. The tale of the cherry tree (“I cannot tell a lie, I did it with my little hatchet”) is an example of a likely fiction.

The New York Times has described Weems as one of the “early hagiographers” of American literature “who elevated the Swamp Fox, Francis Marion, into the American pantheon and helped secure a place there for George Washington”.

[Hagiography = biography that idealizes its subject.  Continuing from Wiki about the cherry tree incident:]

Among the exaggerated or invented anecdotes is that of the cherry tree, attributed by Weems to “… an aged lady, who was a distant relative, and, when a girl, spent much of her time in the family …” who referred to young George as “cousin”.

Quoting Weems [with some edits for brevity and clarity by yours truly]:

The following anecdote is a case in point. It is too valuable to be lost, and too true to be doubted; for it was communicated to me by the same excellent lady to whom I am indebted for the last.

“When George,” said she, “was about six years old, he was made the wealthy master of a hatchet! Of which, like most little boys, he was immoderately fond, and was constantly going about chopping everything that came in his way.

One day, in the garden, where he often amused himself hacking his mother’s pea-sticks, he unluckily tried the edge of his hatchet on the body of a beautiful young English cherry-tree, which he barked so terribly, that I don’t believe the tree ever got the better of it.

The next morning George’s father, finding out what had befallen his tree, which, by the by, was a great favourite, came into the house to investigate the damage.

Nobody could tell him anything about it. Presently George and his hatchet made their appearance. “George,” said his father, “do you know who killed that beautiful little cherry tree yonder in the garden? ”

george-washington-cherry-treeThis was a tough question; and George staggered under it for a moment; but quickly recovered himself: and looking at his father, with the sweet face of youth brightened with the inexpressible charm of all-conquering truth, he bravely cried out, “I can’t tell a lie, Pa; you know I can’t tell a lie. I did cut it with my hatchet.”

“Run to my arms, you dearest boy,” cried his father, “run to my arms; glad am I, George, that you killed my tree; for you have paid me for it a thousand fold. Such an act of heroism in my son is more worth than a thousand trees, though blossomed with silver, and their fruits of purest gold.”

It went on to be reprinted in the popular McGuffey Reader used by schoolchildren, making it part of the culture, causing Washington’s February 22 birthday to be celebrated with cherry dishes, with the cherry often claimed to be a favorite of his.

In 1896 Woodrow Wilson’s biography George Washington was published, calling it a fabrication, after which almost all historians of the period followed suit.  The story was never denied by Washington’s relatives, notably Eleanor Parke Custis Lewis (1779-1852), whom Washington raised as his own daughter, and who spent her life preserving his memory and debunking false stories.

In spite of the speculation offered by some historians the story remains plausible and has not been proven or disproven.

Ça suffit.  (Regular readers know this means “that’s enough” or literally “that suffices” in French).

It’s time for some GE Panoramio photos of Hog Creek Falls (by Jonathan Gerland), taken about 8 miles NW of my landing.



That’ll do it . . .




© 2017 A Landing A Day



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Key West, Florida

Posted by graywacke on March 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 2330; A Landing A Day blog post number 761.

boxDan:  Today’s lat/long 24o 34.958’N, 81o 48.695’W) puts me what looks like is out in the ocean:


Of course, based on the title of this post, well all know we’re not out in the middle of the ocean.  We obviously need a closer look:


And yet a closer look:


As all regular readers know, it is routine for me to “throw away” landings that are in water (or in Mexico and Canada).  This happens all of the time, because the program that I use for coming up with random lat/longs has me define a large rectangle that is bounded:

  • on the north by the latitude that defines the Canadian Border (49o)
  • on the south by the latitude that marks the southern edge of (you guessed it), Key West (24.5o)
  • on the west by the longitude that just touches the western-most point of the state of Washington (124.5o)
  • and on the east by the longitude that just touches the eastern-most point in the State of Maine (67o)

Geez.  After I wrote the above words (all 67 of them), I came up with this picture.  As they say, a picture is worth 67 words:


Reminder:  Lines of longitude are not parallel; they get closer together the further north one is.

Because I keep track of all things landing, I can tell you that out of 2330 landings, I have missed the “lower 48” 1657 times, as follows:

  • Atlantic Ocean – 566
  • Pacific Ocean – 295
  • Mexico – 258
  • Canada – 224
  • Gulf of Mexico – 206
  • Misc – 118 (includes the Gulf of California, Gulf of St. Lawrence, the Great Lakes, Chesapeake Bay and Delaware Bay)

So, by the book, I should throw out today’s landing.  But it’s the exception that makes the rule, and today’s landing (along with one in Barnegat Bay NJ that I decided to keep) will be that rarest of all rare landings:  in tidal salt water.

For the record, here’s the NJ landing I mentioned (landing 503, well before I began blogging):


And zooming back:


We’re looking at Long Beach Island, well known to the Jersey Shore crowd.  My wife Jody’s parents owned a placed in Harvey Cedars, so I am well familiar with the scene.

I think it’s time to head back to Key West, via my Google Earth (GE) Yellow Push Pin spaceflight.  Click HERE.

When I switched on the GE photos around my landing, I noted several 360s – these are photos taken with a special camera that allow you to zoom in and take a look around.  Well, I noted one fairly close to my landing (exactly 1.50 miles away, as you can see):


Here’s a screen shot video showing what happens when you click on the 360. You’ll see that I was scanning left to right across Tank Island and then Wisteria Island.  When you see the yellow circle (my cursor) going up and down, I’m showing you my approximate landing location.  Click HERE.

Zooming way back, here’s a GE shot of the entire Keys:


You can see, physiographically speaking, that I landed in the Keys (i.e., there’s a large area of shallow water surrounding the Keys proper that are part of the same geologic structure). 

Here’s a shot of Key West:


And, zooming much further in, here’s a shot of the immediate (watery) vicinity of my landing:


Maybe it’s deceptive, but it sure looks extra shallow just west of my landing.  Notice the boats apparently anchored to the south in deeper water.  Probably fisherman, eh?  I think the white trails to the east are jet skis.

I had to find a nautical chart so I could determine water depth.  Well, here ‘tis, showing my landing location:


As you can see, the apparently shallow area shown on GE is actually shallow, shown on the chart as  typically 1 foot deep at mean low tide.  I just checked a tide chart, and it doesn’t look like the tide goes low enough to turn the shallows into an island.  Although, the chart does show that green area NW of my landing, labeled “uncovers 2 feet,” which I assume means it’s actually a low tide island.

And the chart gives me a basis for my “watershed” analysis.  A drop of rain that falls on my landing immediately becomes one with “Man of War Harbor.”

One other thing.  Notice a couple of symbols near my landing?  Here’s what they are:


That shallow water can be tough on boats (especially during a storm).

I found a cool map, courtesy of TopoZone.com:


So I landed right on the edge of Pearl Bank.

I Googled Pearl Bank, and found this (which obviously has absolutetly nothing with Key West).  In a what-the-heck moment, I decided to run with it:


So, this is a photograph that can be yours for a mere $2,800.  But before you’d spend that kind of money, you probably want to know something about the artist/photographer:


Just to finish up, the photo is of the Pearl Bank Apartment building in Singapore, so named because the building is in the Pearl’s Hill section of the city.  Here’s a picture, from ArchiTravel.com:


Let me get back on the main road after that little Singaporian detour.  So, what about Key West?  Well, since I didn’t land on Key West proper, I’ve decided not to feature the island per se (at least not much).  As I’m sure my readers know, it’s quite the tourist destination, with a reputation for life a little on the uhh . . .loose side.

A very quick look at Key West:

  • It’s about 160 miles by car from Miami
  • First European to visit was Ponce de Leon in 1521
  • Name comes from the Spanish Cayo Hueso
  • The island was more-or-less under Spanish control until 1822, when it was formally claimed by the U.S.
  • By 1889, Key West was the largest and wealthiest city in all of Florida
  • It was first connected to the mainland by rail in 1912. The railroad was destroyed by a 1935 hurricane.
  • A highway replaced the rail, and was completed in 1938.

And this, from Wiki, about “Conchs:”

Many of the residents of Key West were immigrants from the Bahamas, known as Conchs (pronounced “conks”‘), who arrived in increasing numbers after 1830.

In the 20th century many residents of Key West started referring to themselves as Conchs, and the term is now generally applied to all residents of Key West. Some residents use the term “Conch” (or, alternatively, “Saltwater Conch”) to refer to a person born in Key West, while the term “Freshwater Conch” refers to a resident not born in Key West but who has lived in Key West for seven years or more.

[I suspect that new arrivals throw a “Conch Party” to mark their new status after seven years in Key West.]

In 1982 the city of Key West briefly declared its “independence” as the Conch Republic in a protest over a United States Border Patrol blockade. This blockade was set up on U.S. 1, where it meets the mainland at Florida City.

The blockade was in response to the steady stream of Cubans who made it to Key West to escape to the U.S.  A traffic jam of 17 miles ensued while the Border Patrol stopped every car leaving the Keys, supposedly searching for illegal immigrants attempting to enter the mainland United States.

This paralyzed the Florida Keys, which rely heavily on the tourism industry. Because of the protests, the blockade was lifted.

Flags, T-shirts and other merchandise representing the Conch Republic are still popular souvenirs for visitors to Key West, and the Conch Republic Independence Celebration—including parades and parties—is celebrated every April 23.

People (alive and dead) associated with Key West include:  John Jay Audubon, Jimmy Buffett (of course), Ernest Hemingway, Calvin Klein, Harry Truman and Tennessee Williams.

It’s time to move on to some overall Florida Keys geology. I found an article posted on WordPress blog called EverybodyLovesRocks (posted by eheesche).  Some excerpts:

The Florida Keys are a chain of limestone islands that extend from the southern tip of the Florida mainland southwest to the Dry Tortugas, a distance of approximately 220 miles. They are island remnants of ancient coral reefs (Upper Keys) and sand bars (Lower Keys) that flourished during a period of higher sea levels approximately 125,000 years ago (an “interglacial” period, when there was much less glacial ice than today, and sea levels were significantly higher).

During the last ice age (beginning 100,000 years ago) sea level dropped, exposing the ancient coral reefs and sand bars which became fossilized over time to form the rock that makes up the island chain today. The two dominate rock formations in the Keys are Key Largo Limestone (ancient coral reefs) and Miami Oolite (ancient sand bars turned to rock).

During this time of lower sea levels, the Florida land mass was much larger than it is today and the area now referred to as Florida Bay was forested.

Here’s a map showing the Keys and the erstwhile-forested Florida Bay:


Time for some GE Pano shots. As you might expect, there are literally thousands of shots posted for Key West.  So, since I landed in the water, I stayed with water shots near my landing, northwest of the island.  I’ll start with a snorkeling shot by Syzygy2992:


As you might also expect, there are a plethora of sunset shots.  I like sailboats, so you’ll notice a theme here.  First this one, by Blue Cap:


And this, by Demi Pita


I’ll close with this wildly-different shot by TBourne125:


That’ll do it . . .




© 2017 A Landing A Day



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Belpre, Macksville and Zook, Kansas

Posted by graywacke on March 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 2329; A Landing A Day blog post number 760.

poiuDan:  Today’s lat/long 37o 59.812’N, 99o 1.859’W) puts me in Cen-SW Kansas:


In case you’re confused, “Cen-SW” means that I landed in the southwest portion of central Kansas.  Here’s my Zookless local map:


My streams-only map is rather simple.  It shows that I landed in the Rattlesnake Creek watershed creek, on to the Arkansas River (126th hit):


Not shown (but trust me on this), the Arkansas makes its way across Arkansas and discharges into the MM (909th hit).

So.  It’s time to hang on to Mr. Yellow Push-pin, and allow him to safely land us in Kansas.  Click HERE, and hang on as directed.

This GE shot is not Zookless:


There’s no worthwhile GE Street View shot of my landing, so I won’t bother.  Just for the heck of it, here’s a random Street View look at the landscape, about 4 miles west of my landing, showing the edge of one of the circular-irrigated fields:


Of course, I need to take a look at Rattlesnake Creek:


And here what the Orange Dude sees:


So, we have three towns to look at.  Let’s start with Belpre (pop 84).  Wiki says:

Belpre is derived from the French for “beautiful meadow.”

No argument from ALAD. 

So, let’s take a actual look at Belpre, thanks to Van L. Johnson and his drone:


Here are a couple back-in-the-day shots of Belpre, from Witchita State University Libraries:




I’m amazed at how lively these towns were. 

And today?  Here’s a GE Street View of downtown Belpre:


And a residential part of town:


Macksville (pop 549) is about 7 times the size of Belpre.  It was named after George Mack, the first postmaster.

Hmmm.  Generally, it’s the postmaster who takes the first crack at naming a town.  Maybe he didn’t want to name it after himself, but the townspeople convinced him otherwise.  Maybe he was sneaky and did it behind everyone’s back.  Maybe he was a pushy and intimidating egomaniac . . .

Also from the Witchita State University Library collection, here’s a back-in-the-day shot of Macksville:


And another, from the Stafford County photo archive:


And from USGenWeb archives, the Crescent Hotel:


Coming back to the present, here’s a Street View shot of Main Street, showing viability in Macksville:


I’ll now move to my far-and-away favorite of the three towns, Zook.  According to KansasGhostTownTravels, the town was named after landowner Jake Zook.  There ain’t much there:


But there used to be a Zook High School!  Here’s all that remains (from vanishing-kansas.blogspot by Sean Fyodorovich):


And here’s a shot of the way the school used to look:

s-l1600aI think they tore down the school, and made a park (thus the landscaped entryway shown on the recent picture, vs. the concrete walkway above).  I wonder why only one of the two brick pillars survived?

And they had a basketball team, as evidenced by this 1941 picture from gregssandbox.com (by Glenn McMurry in an article about Zook High School):


Not obvious who played center!

And they had a woman’s team as well (1936 photo)!


And a marching band!


And a school bus!


Here’s a shot of what farming used to be like, from just outside of Zook:


One of my more laid-back posts, eh?  That’s what happens when I can’t find any hooks.

Anyway, it’s time for the GE Panoramio photos in the vicinity of my landing.  First this, by Christopher O’Neal, 6 miles west of my landing:


And this by JB the Milker (a previous contributor to this blog), from 8 miles SW:


And I’ll close with this by Russel Karlowsky, from 10 miles W:


That’ll do it . . .




© 2017 A Landing A Day



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Lords Valley, Greeley and the Dingmans Falls Bridge, PA

Posted by graywacke on February 27, 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 2328; A Landing A Day blog post number 759.

untitledDan:  Today’s lat/long 41o 20.697’N, 75o 0.585’W) puts me in northeast Pennsylvania:


My local map:


OK, so we can’t see the Dingman’s Ferry bridge.  Later, gator.

My streams-only map:


It shows that I landed in the watershed of Birchy Creek; on to Shohola Creek; on to the Delaware River (8th hit).

With no delay, here comes my Google Earth (GE) re-entry trip from the upper atmosphere to NE PA.  Click HERE to take the trip.

As you just saw, I landed in the middle of heavy woodlands.  Guess what?  Even though I have Street View on I-84, there’s nothing to look at, so I won’t bother.

But just a mile SW from my landing, I found this GE Panoramio shot by Oleg March:


Maybe this very bear was stopped dead in his tracks by seeing a huge yellow push-pin in the woods . . .

You also may have noticed three landings in Pennsylvania, all bunched in the northeast corner (the one on the southern boundary is actually in Maryland).  Does the landing god have something against the rest of the state?  (Note that the GE map only shows landings since January 2013 – 351 landings ago.)

Searching for Street View coverage of my watershed streams, I found a Street View near Greeley on a bridge over Shohola Creek.  But it’s a deep wooded valley, so the view from the bridge looks like a dent in the woods.  I won’t bother with that, either.

But I will bother with another GE Pano shot, this one of Shohola Creek (by SwampMudd), 1 mile NW of my landing:


I had to go way up to Barryville NY (on the Delaware River) to find a place for the Orange Dude to see anything worthwhile:


Here’s what the Orange Dude sees, with the discharge point of the Shohola Creek into the Delaware River more-or-less identified:


So, how about Lords Valley?  From Wiki:

Lords Valley’s first resident was Levi Lord in 1810. Levi Lord and eleven friends purchased land in the vicinity of what was to become Lords Valley. Levi Lord built a brick hotel here with his sons, circa 1850.

The building, which was also a post office from 1853 – 1955, is owned by the Glen Eyre Corp. and was listed on the National Historical Registers in 1980.

Here’s a 2001 picture of the Lord house from rootsweb/ancestry.com:


Here’s a GE shot of Lords Valley:


IT LOOKS AWFUL!  I thought this was going to be a historic old town.  Yea, right . . .

And here’s an even closer look:



I plunked the Orange Dude in downtown Lords Valley to check out the scenery.  The main blight on the landscape is a concrete block / cement facility:


Don’t get me wrong.  I know that cement and concrete blocks are important to our economy. And I’m sure that the owners of this facility are doing nothing wrong.  It’s just that I expected more from Lords Valley.  The name is so . . . dignified. 

Anyway, I moved the OD a little up the road to get a look at the house:


And this:



If the Glen Eyre Corp. still owns the house, they should be ashamed!  You’d think that the National Historic Register folks could pull some strings (or do some kind of enforcement action) to get the house repaired.

Oh my.  I just stumbled on a very relevant 2011 news story from the News Eagle – the local rag . . er . . .news website (article by Peter Becker):

No injuries were reported Monday night, March 7, after two pickups collided on SR 739. One of the trucks, however, did substantial damage to a corner of the historic brick Lord House.


Bricks fell from both of the two stories on the northeast corner, leaving a gaping hole. The house has since been shored up with plywood and protected from the elements.

Although currently unoccupied, the Lord House originally was an inn and hotel, built in 1850 by Simeon Lord. In the early 1900’s, Simeon “Sim” Lord Jr. was managing the hotel, and sold gasoline. Sim Lord was remembered for his enjoyment of whistling.

[I guess there are worse things he could have been known for . . . ]

The Lord House served as the Lord’s Valley Post Office for 101 years, until Hawley Post Office took over the routes in 1955. In later years there were offices in the building.

According to Gail Masker, Blooming Grove Township Historian, the Township Supervisors held their meetings there for an estimated 50 years.  In 1980 it was put on the National Historic Register.

Masker, who has lived in the area all her life, recounted fond memories of the Lord House. She said that when she was a girl growing up in the 40’s, she would make daily walks to the Lord House to buy candy. She said it was a small post office, but they also sold such things as bread, candy and cigarettes.

She said it was a much quieter time then with much less traffic. There was no interstate. Route 739 was a dirt road, she said.

Masker was hopeful that the structure could be repaired.

The building is currently owned by the Glen Eyre Corporation. A representative of the corporation declined a request for comment at this time about prospects for repairs and plans for the property.

It’s time to move a few miles north to Greeley.  The only Greeley I know of is Horace.  He was the newspaper man who said “Go west, young man,” right?  From Wiki:

Greeley is named for Horace Greeley (1811 – 1872) an American newspaper editor and a founder of the Liberal Republican Party. The New York Tribune (which he founded and edited) was the US’s most influential newspaper from the 1840s to the 1870s.

[And yes, he did say “Go west, young man.”]

Horace Greeley supported a rural commune known as the Sylvania Colony, located near present-day Greeley.  The commune, for which Horace Greeley served as Treasurer, structured itself in accordance with the radical ideas of Albert Brisbane, who studied Charles Fourier and Karl Marx.

The association purchased 3200 acres in 1842. They subsequently built a small saw mill, two small two story houses, and a small barn. The old mill wall still stands alongside a stream that flows through the township.  It can still be seen near a historical state marker along what is now the junction of Routes 434 and 590. The association eventually failed because the members, unaccustomed to wilderness, failed to plant and harvest sufficient crops in 1845.

Here’s what a historical marker in Greeley says:


Hmmm.  Killing frost in July?  What a bummer.

I’ve run into several utopian communities in my landing adventures.  Even though there were the best of intentions, they all failed . . .

To wrap things up, here’s a local landing map, shifted to the southeast:


You can see that I landed near the Dingman Turnpike, which goes to Dingman’s Ferry, along the Delaware River (with NJ across the river).

This, from Wiki, about the Dingman’s Ferry bridge:

The Dingman’s Ferry Bridge is the last privately owned toll bridge on the Delaware River and one of the last few in the United States. It is owned and operated by the “Dingmans Choice and Delaware Bridge Company.”

In 1735, Andrew Dingman, a Dutch pioneer, operated a ferry that connected Sussex County NJ to Pike County PA. The ferry thrived for over a century as pioneers utilized this important river crossing to move westward.

In 1836, the first bridge was built by the Dingmans. The first bridge lasted until 1847 when high water washed away the Milford Bridge upstream and swept the debris into Dingman’s Bridge.

A second bridge was soon built, but after a brief life, it was destroyed four or five years later, in a severe windstorm.

A third bridge was constructed in 1856, but, being of poor quality, it fell apart by 1862.

[Geez.  They should have hired a real engineer . . . ]

The ferry was operated once again by the Dingmans until the property was sold in 1875 to John Kilsby, whose family operated the ferry until the turn of the twentieth century when the current bridge was constructed using some materials recycled from a railroad bridge on the Susquehanna River. This bridge has survived major floods in 1903, 1955, 2005, and 2006.

Records from an early log book show tolls of 40 cents for a horseless carriage, 25 cents for a two-horse wagon, 10 cents for a horse and rider, 5 cents for a bicycle, and 2 cents for a footman. Under the terms of the original charter, no toll was charged for school children or individuals traveling to church or a funeral  This custom is still practiced.

Today, the bridge provides an important link for commuters to reach destinations in New Jersey and New York City. The bridge lies south of the current Milford Bridge, and well north of the Interstate 80 bridge at the Delaware Water Gap. As such, it is in a location which caters well to the commuter lifestyle of many area residents of Delaware Township, Dingman Township, and other surrounding communities.

Today’s tolls are not much higher than previously noted. Automobiles pay $1.00. Bicyclists may cross for free, but pedestrians are not allowed due to the narrow lanes.

Christmas Day is the only day of the year which finds the toll booth unmanned; everyone may cross for free. Dingman’s Bridge is also remarkable in that there is a single toll collector who stands in between the single lanes of traffic, collecting toll fees by hand.

Because the Bridge Company is responsible for its own repairs, it employs an engineering firm certified for bridge inspection to regularly and thoroughly inspect the bridge from the tops of the trusses to the underwater foundations.

Each year, the bridge company closes the bridge the second week after Labor Day to conduct any repairs needed to maintain the structural integrity of the bridge. These floor boards are held in place with anchor plates and collar nails which results in a characteristic rattling of the deck with the traffic moving.

Here are some GE Panoramio shots of the bridge.  First this, by RLBookMD of the toll booth:


And this, showing the wooden floor of the bridge (by Princessunflower):


And this lovely shot of the bridge, by Charlie Anzman:



Calm down, old man (I’m talking to myself). It’s time for some GE Pano shots closer to my landing, and it turns out that there’s a scenic waterfall not far from my landing, Shohola Falls:


First this, by Aaron Nuffer:


And another by Aaron:


And this, by long-time ALAD contributor, Chris Sanfino (OK, so it’s a scene close to the falls):


And I’ll close with this one by Clock Doc (making me think of my dear departed friend Mike Kinney, a master clock builder/repairman):


That’ll do it . . .




© 2017 A Landing A Day



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Keyes, Oklahoma

Posted by graywacke on February 23, 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 2327; A Landing A Day blog post number 758.

untitledDan:  Today’s lat/long 36o 48.889’N, 102o 15.464’W) puts me in the Oklahoma Panhandle:


Here’s my local (very local) landing map:


No doubt about which town to feature, eh?

My streams-only map shows that I landed in the watershed of the North Canadian River (18th hit):


As you can see, the North Canadian flows to the Canadian (47th hit); on to the Arkansas (125th hit); on, of course, to the MM (908th hit).

Looking  at the above map got me to thinking.  Obviously, the Arkansas River is appropriately named, running right through the heart of Arkansas.  But the Canadian River?  Why not the Oklahoma River, running right through the heart of Oklahoma?

Well, here’s what Wiki has to say about the name:

It is unclear why the river is called the Canadian. On John C. Fremont’s route map of 1845, the river’s name is listed as “Goo-al-pah or Canadian River.”  “Goo-al-pah” is from the Comanche and Kiowa name for the river.

[OK, but from whence cometh “Canadian?”]

In 1929 Muriel Wright wrote that the Canadian River was named about 1820 by French traders who noted another group of traders from Canada (Canadiens) had camped on the river near its confluence with the Arkansas River.  [Or alternately, I would think, the traders from Canada simply named the river after themselves.]

[That’s explanation # 1.]

According to the Encyclopedia of Oklahoma History and Culture, Spanish explorers in the 17th and 18th centuries called it the Rio Buenaventura and the Magdalena.  The upper part was called Rio Colorado by the Spanish.

[No explanation here.]

A more recent explanation comes from William Bright, who wrote that the name is “probably derived from Río Canadiano”, a Spanish spelling of the Caddo word káyántinu, which was the Caddos’ name for the nearby Red River.

[Explanation #2.]

The name could be of Spanish origin from the word cañada (meaning “glen”), as the Canadian River formed a steep canyon in northern New Mexico and a somewhat broad canyon in Texas. A few historical records document this explanation.

[Explanation #3.]

You know what?  If I had to choose, I’d go with #3.  WordReference.com confirms that cañada means small valley, ravine or narrow pass.  But my bottom line is this:  too bad somebody didn’t think of “Oklahoma!”

By the way, “Oklahoma” is derived from the Choctaw words okla and humma, meaning “red people.”

Time to strap yourself and go for a ride. Click HERE.

Since I landed so close to Keyes, one would figure I have decent Street View coverage.  One would be right:


And here’s what the Orange Dude sees:


I have to travel some distance to get a look at the North Canadian River:


And here’s what the OD sees, looking upstream:


I don’t see any water, do you?  Anyway, let’s look downstream:


I guess these guys are pretty damn confident that there’s no significant rain in the forecast!

There’s not much to say about Keyes (pop 324).  But before going to Wiki, I’ll post this pleasant little jaunt through Keyes, courtesy of KSpangler1977:


Now it’s Wiki time, which (who?) says that Keyes was named after a “deceased railroad engineer.”  Wiki goes on to say:

The town’s location in the Hugoton Friedrich Basin makes it an ideal source for helium production from natural gas. A helium plant was built near Keyes in 1958.  169 million cubic feet of liquid helium is produced annually by the Keyes Helium Company.

Two things:  I don’t know squat about where & how we get our helium, and 169 million cubic feet of liquid helium sounds like a helluva lot.  To get a handle on helium quantities produced, this from Wiki:

In 2008, worldwide, approximately 169 million cubic meters of helium were extracted from natural gas or withdrawn from helium reserves, with approximately 78% from the United States

There are about 35 cubic feet in a cubic meter, so 35 x 169,000,000 = 60,000,000,000 (or 60 billion) cubic feet for the world, and about 47 billion for the U.S.  I guess 169 million cubic feet (or about 0.4% of the US production) makes sense. 

Most interestingly, Wiki refers to “helium production from natural gas.”  Really?  Well, I’ll start with the “helium” entry for Wiki:

Helium is a chemical element with symbol He and atomic number 2. It is a colorless, odorless, tasteless, non-toxic, inert, monatomic gas, the first in the noble gas group in the periodic table. Its boiling point is the lowest among all the elements.

A helium atom consists of two protons, two neutrons and [of course], two electrons.

After hydrogen, helium is the second lightest and second most abundant element in the observable universe, being present at about 24% of the total elemental mass, which is more than 12 times the mass of all the heavier elements combined.

History of Helium Production

After an oil drilling operation in 1903 in Dexter, Kansas, produced a gas geyser that would not burn, Kansas state geologist Erasmus Haworth collected samples of the escaping gas and took them back to the University of Kansas at Lawrence where, he discovered that the gas consisted of, by volume, 72% nitrogen, 15% methane [the typical natural gas compound, but not enough for the gas to catch fire], 1.8% helium, 1% hydrogen, and the remainder unidentifiable. This showed that despite its overall rarity on Earth, helium was concentrated in large quantities under the American Great Plains, available for extraction as a byproduct of natural gas.

On Earth it is relatively rare—5.2 ppm by volume in the atmosphere. Most terrestrial helium present today is created by the natural radioactive decay of heavy radioactive elements (primarily thorium and uranium). This radiogenic helium may be trapped with natural gas in concentrations as high as 7%, although concentrations as low as 0.3% can be economically recovered.

[The Oklahoma Panhandle contains gas deposits with helium concentrations as high as 2%.]

This is all pretty interesting to me.  Let me make sure that my readers know what the word “trapped” means as used above.  When natural gas is produced by decaying vegetative matter in rocks, it tends to rise through cracks in the rock, or between grains within the rock.  Obviously, some will simply rise like that until it is discharged to the atmosphere. 

But lucky for us, some is trapped.  Conceptually, this means that the natural gas rises until it “bumps into” an overlying geologic formation that is very dense, aka non-permeable.  And then, if the overlying cap bows upward, forming a dome, more and more natural gas will become trapped under the dome, making the trap a subsurface reservoir that can be drilled into and tapped for natural gas production.

So how is the helium trapped with the natural gas in the Oklahoma Panhandle?  Let’s look at a cross-section from the Anadarko Petroleum Coporation:


Notice in the upper left, it says “Panhandle Field.”  That’s another name for the Hugoton Field.  You’ll also note the orange layer of rock titled “Early Permian Carbonates.”  Carbonates are limestone, and this limestone formation (which is several hundreds of feet thick) is permeable; i.e., fluids can readily flow through the formation.

You’ll note that above the Early Permian Carbonates are the “Middle Permian Evaporites.”  An evaporate is a formation that is left behind when an inland (typically salty) sea evaporates.  Evaporites are typically non-permeable, so this formation forms the cap.

Through the eons, natural gas (and helium) that was released from deeper formations rose up until it became trapped in the dome formed by the “Amarillo Uplift,” associated with the building of the Witchita Mountains (which are at the surface in SW Oklahoma). 

And then, somebody smart drilled a well down to the carbonate formation at the dome & the rest is history.

Did we all learn something today class?  I can see by the nodding heads that we did!  Excellent!

It’s time for a couple of GE Panoramio shots.  I’ll start with this, by DeGlobalNomad, taken just SW of Keyes:


And this, taken a few miles further SW, by TomWint55:


That’ll do it . . .




© 2017 A Landing A Day



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Bob White, Uneeda, Gordan and Van, West Virginia

Posted by graywacke on February 17, 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 2326; A Landing A Day blog post number 757.

untitledDan:  Today’s lat/long 37o 58.910’N, 81o 43.142’W) puts me in SW West Virginia:


Here’s my local landing map:


My watershed analysis is as follows:


I landed in the watershed of (and right next to) the Pond Fork of the Little Coal River (2nd hit); on to the Little Coal River (3rd hit); on to the Coal River (4th hit); on to the Kanawha River (14th hit); on to the Ohio River (141st hit).

Of course, the Ohio discharges to the MM (907th hit).

It’s time to wrap your legs around the Google Earth (GE) yellow push pin, and ride, bronco style, on into the hills and valleys of southwest WV.  Click HERE to do so.

Here’s an oblique GE shot, looking down the Pond Fork valley, past Van and my landing:


You may have noticed that a road (WV State Route 85) runs right past my landing.  Since it’s a State Route (and not a measly county road), it seems like a good bet for Street View coverage:


Sure ‘nuf; and here’s what the Orange Dude sees:


I’ll send the OD down to Van, where Route 85 crosses the Pond Fork:


And here’s what he sees (looking downstream):


So how about my titular towns?  Well, I could find out nothing about Bob White WV, except that it’s an unincorporated town (no population data), and (according to Wiki), most of the residents work in coal mines (no surprise there).

Actually, it looks fairly substantial:


I found a You Tube video entitled “Explosion in Bob White, WV,” posted by AppalachianVoices (an environmental group that opposes the “mountain removal” method of coal mining).


The description on You Tube:

From the front porch of Maria Gunnoe’s home in Bob White, WV this mountaintop removal site was recorded. Courtesy of Maria Gunnoe, Community Organizer for the Ohio Valley Environmental Coalition.

Here’s a GE shot of a large coal mine near Bob White (about 1.5 miles end to end), likely the site of the above explosion:


So what about the name Bob White?  I could find absolutely nothing about it.  I thought of the bird of the same name, but realized that the name of the bird is one word:  bobwhite.  So, it’s the official ALAD verdict that the town of Bob White is named after some guy named Bob White, lost to internet history.

I’ll move downstream (bypassing Van and Gordon for now), and settle in on Uneeda:


Uneeda looks like Bob White, and like Bob White, Uneeda is unincorporated, with no population data.  But Wiki got wild and crazy, and had this to say:

The community was named after a brand of biscuit, Uneeda.

I guess I strongly suspected that that must be the case.   I mean, after all, where else would the name Uneeda come from? 

I’m sure that some (if not most) of my readers remember Uneeda Biscuits.  The product was discontinued in 2008; here’s a fairly recent package (on flickr by Lisabelladesanto):


My wife Jody & I both remember these biscuits, but mainly from our childhood. 

They’ve been around since the late 1800s.  Here’s a 1923 tin on sale on Ebay for a lousy $8.99:


Here comes my ALAD town-naming story (yea, this is too easy):

Around the turn of the 20th century, as increased demand for coal, advances in mining technology, and the development of a robust railroad system for transport all came together, small coal mining communities began to pop up in Boone County (and neighboring counties) in southwest West Virginia.

One of these small communities took root in a wide spot on the floodplain of the Pond Fork, within a few miles of two burgeoning coal mines.  An informal governing body was convened, comprised of the major landowners in the new town. 

[OK, OK, I’ll cut to the chase.]

They couldn’t agree on a new name, so they took a break.  One of the wives who was present was in charge of refreshments, and decided to serve coffee and biscuits.

[It’s OK to be sexist when you’re talking about turn of the century, right?]

And you guessed it – she served Uneeda Biscuits. 

She suddenly had an idea and said (as she held up the biscuit tin), “You need a name? Why looky here.  How about Uneeda?”

Done deal, and the rest is history.

It’s time to make a quick stop in Gordon:


Nothing much to say about Gordon, except that Wiki has a straightforward naming story:

Gordon was named in 1883-1884 by Asa White, the postmaster, after a favorite nephew, Gordon Mason.

OK.  time to move to our final stop, Van:


Van has the local high school.  See the football field?  Anyway, from Wiki, under Notable Residents:

Hasil Adkins – Appalachian Rockabilly one man band who recorded many songs, appeared in movies and TV shows and was featured in a documentary, “The Wild World Of Hasil Adkins.”

Sounds interesting.  His name was wiki-click-able, so I wiki-clicked.  Here are some excerpts:

Adkins was born in Boone County, West Virginia on April 29, 1937, where he spent his entire life [just outside of Van, I think].  He was the youngest of ten children of Wid Adkins, a coal miner, and Alice Adkins, raised in a tarpaper shack on property rented from a local coal company.  Adkins’ early life was stricken by poverty.  His parents were unable to provide him shoes until he was four or five years old.  Some reports say he attended school for a very brief time, as few as two days of first grade.

Adkins’ given name, Hasil, pronounced “Hassel”, was often mispronounced.  One of his brothers was named Basil, similarly pronounced “Bassel”.  Hasil dated a girl named Hazel, and was later given the nickname The Haze.   As he explained it, the nickname came about “’cause Starlight records wanted something catchy.”

Hasil Adkins loved to eat meat, specifically poultry, the subject of many of his songs.  Following the release of a 2000 album, “Poultry in Motion,” Adkins toured with “dancing go-go chicken” dancers.  His diet also reportedly consisted of as much as two gallons of coffee a day, and copious amounts of liquor and cigarettes.

Well, what the heck.  I’ll interrupt Wiki with a pertinent YouTube video:


Back to Wiki:

Adkins was said to have suffered from manic depression and insomnia among other mental illnesses.  He never married.

On April 15, 2005, Adkins was deliberately run over in his front yard by a teenager on an ATV.  Ten days later, on April 26, Adkins was found dead in his home, two days before his 68th birthday.

In another account of his death, it was stated that he died of lung cancer. . .

Back to Wiki about his musical style:

Frenetic in progression and explicit in lyrical content, Adkins was known for having an unconventional take on traditional rockabilly.  His unpolished sound was a praised by-product of the makeshift studio equipment used for the majority of his career. “I didn’t try to be primitive, I just had bad microphones”, he wrote.

His lyrics explored topics such as eating peanut butter on the moon and the suggestive strut of a chicken.  Recurring themes in Adkins’ catalogue included sex, heartbreak, decapitation, aliens, hot dogs and poultry.

[Decapitation?  Check out “No More Hot Dogs” on You tube if you dare.]

Together with country and honky-tonk, Adkins’ assortment of styles helped delineate a genre known as psychobilly.

He played and recorded in relative obscurity in the 1950s, 60s and 70s.  But in the 80s, he was “discovered,” developed a cult following, and played in clubs all around the country.

Here’s a Wiki shot of Hasil in 1993:


And one of him performing in Baltimore on the guitar & drums in 2003 (also Wiki):


And here’s a great album cover:


What the heck – with some trepidation, I’ll post another of his YouTube videos.  The words are tough to understand (but I checked out the lyrics and they’re not too bad).  Here’s Hasil playing “She Said.”

(Do a Google search for Hasil Adkins lyrics she said, if you want to read along.)

There is a documentary film about Hasil’s life called My Blue Star.  Actually, I’m not sure if the film was ever completed, but I am sure that a 9 minute trailer for the film was.  It’s on You Tube and is worth seeing to get a real feel for Hasil.  This is for mature audiences, so you’re on your own (but just go to You Tube and search for Hasil Adkins and look for My Blue Star).  It’s actually quite compelling.

Enough Hasil. It’s time for some GE Pano shots.  It turns out that the good folks within about 10 miles of my landing aren’t really into photography.  But at distances of 10-15 miles from my landing, I found a few.  Here’s one by Sean Rose of a stream a couple of watersheds to the east:


And this, by Kenneth King, or a stream a couple of watersheds to the southwest:


And this lovely shot, by Brian Humphreys, taken about 12 miles to the northeast:


That’ll do it . . .




© 2017 A Landing A Day



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Antimony and Fish Lake, Utah

Posted by graywacke on February 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 2325; A Landing A Day blog post number 756.

untitledDan:  Today’s lat/long 38o 8.588’N, 111o 57.867’W) puts me in S-Cen Utah:


My local landing map shows my proximity to the titular Antimony:


Here’s my local streams-only map:


You can see that I landed in the watershed of the East Fork of Sevier River (2nd hit); on to the Sevier (12th hit).  Zooming back, you can see that the Sevier (poor thing) never makes it out of Utah:


It’s time for my Google Earth (GE) spaceflight.  Click HERE to zoom on in to today’s landing spot.

Street View coverage is so-so.  I couldn’t get the Orange Dude any closer than about 2 miles from my landing:


And here’s what he sees:


I sent the OD a few miles upstream to get a look at the East Fork of the Sevier River:


And here’s what he sees looking north (upstream):


And looking south:


Here’s an oblique GE shot, looking northeast past Antimony and across the East Fork Sevier valley:


So, what about Antimony?  Well, it turns out that quite a ways back (December 2009, landing 1827, blog post 245), I landed close to Antimony:


Remember that I said this was my second landing in the East Fork Sevier watershed?  Well, landing 1827 was my first. 

And from that post, this from UtahOnLine:

In early 1873 about twenty-two men, arrived in what would become Antimony while on a peace-keeping mission with the Fish Lake Indians. 

While near the present site of Antimony they caught and earmarked several coyote pups.

[Caught and earmarked coyote pups?  Why would rough and tumble pioneers on a “peace keeping mission” with the Indians “catch and earmark” coyote pups?  I really doubt it was advancement of scientific research about coyote habitats and lifestyles . . . ]

This incident led to the town founded at the site to be named Coyote.

[ALAD doesn’t think so.  Coyote’s a great name, likely due to a plethora of coyotes living in the East Fork Sevier river valley.  Earmarked pups just doesn’t cut it!]

The meadowlands were used as early as 1873 for grazing and several families moved here in 1878.

In 1880 antimony (stibnite), a metal used in the making of alloys, was discovered in nearby Coyote Canyon, so Coyote became a mining town as well as a ranching community. 1n 1921 the town of Coyote was renamed Antimony after the metal mined in the area.

Doh!  Coyote is way better.  Oh, well . . .

One other point.  UtahOnLine doesn’t seem to exist anymore.  A victim of the budget cutter’s axe?  I’m a little surprised, given the Mormon dominance in all things Utahan.  After all, the Mormons are very big into history and lineages.

Following any little lead, I Googled “Fish Lake Indians.”  Evidently, based on the lack of any internet presence, the Fish Lake Indians were a White Man’s label, or a small band of Indians (likely part of a larger tribe) that isn’t seriously recognized by any descendants.

However, I did find that there is a Fish Lake (about 30 miles north of my landing):


And, at Fish Lake, there is a plaque commemorating a peace treaty with the “Fish Lake Indians,” with the same date as mentioned above, 1873.  Here’s the plaque (from Waymarking.com):


It says (in part):

Peace Treaty
With Fish Lake Indians
Was Made Here
June 14, 1873

This treaty led up to the final treaty at Cedar Grove in Grass Valley July 1, 1873, ending the Black Hawk Indian War in Southern Utah.

OK, so the 1873 “peacekeeping mission” makes sense, but I can’t buy the earmarked coyote pups part . . .

Although UtahOnline doesn’t seem to exist, I did find ILoveHistory.Utah.gov (an educational website).  I searched for “Fish Lake” and found this:

In 1889, farmers in the Fish Lake vicinity banded together to form a new irrigation company–the Fremont Irrigation Company. They wanted to work together to build reservoirs and canals to get water on their land.

But they needed to own the water. In order to make sure they would have no trouble using the water from Fish Lake, they bought the “outlet” of the lake from local Indians – Paiutes and Utes who had for generations fished in the lake and hunted in the area around it.

Only eight Indians signed the agreement, so we don’t know what others thought about it. Through the agreement, they kept their rights to fish in the lake, but that didn’t last long. Soon enough, both Utes and Paiutes would be forced to live on reservations.

The article has a picture of Tom (with caption below):


Tom (as the Anglo settlers called him) was a Paiute who was over 100 years old in this picture. His name is on the deed selling Fish Lake water to the Fremont Irrigation Company.

In another article from the same site, the same picture appears, but this time with this caption:

“Tom,” a Paiute who lived to be 112 years old. His name is on the deed giving Fish Lake to the Mormons.

The actual agreement is posted on the website:


The transcript:

Loa Piute Co Utah, March 1st 1889

Artickels of Agreement

Between the Indians Poganib Bob and other owners by Descent of The Out Let of Fish Lake – and the Fremont Eragation Companys – That we the Above named Indians Do This Day Sell all our Right and title also all our airs and assigns to the Said Fremont Eragation Company [while allowing the Indians] to Fish in Said Out Let of Said Lake for Ever. For an In Consideration of

9 Nine horses
500 lbs of flour
1 good Beef Stear
1 Suit of Close

By us this Day Receved of Said Company – of our own free will and accord

Witness our hand or Mark
Signed in present of

E. H. Blackburn
Seth Taft
H. J. McClellan
Geo. W Shiner
Alonzo Blackburn
F. Archie Young

Poge Neab (his mark)
Bob   his mark
Toanolk   his mark
Gr atchout  (his mark)
Tom     his mark
Joe    his mark
Gray Head     his mark
Timacant    his mark

Notice that the terms of the agreement don’t really make sense unless you add in the phrase “while allowing the Indians” (which I did).

By the way, ILoveHistory.utah.gov is a great site, with great detail.  I told you the Mormons care about history!

While checking out Fish Lake, I couldn’t help but take a quick look at some GE Panoramio shots, showing that this is a truly lovely lake.  First this (by John Roberts):


And then this (by K Sampson):


I’d never guess this was Utah!  Given a choice, I’d guess the Adirondacks!

And then, while perusing the Pano photos, I put my cursor on an icon southwest of the lake:


You see that it says “Pando.”  There are five photos embedded under the icon, all by Mukil Elango.  Here’s the one that first pops up when you click on the icon:


What a great photo!  And then this, also titled Pando:


And this, titled “Trembling Giant:”


I love the photos, but what’s Pando and the Trembling Giant?  I had no idea.  So I Googled “Pando” and was amazed to learn what this is all about.  From Wiki:

Pando (Latin for “I spread”), also known as the Trembling Giant, is a 106-acre clonal colony of a single male quaking aspen located in Wayne County, Utah near Fish Lake.  This colony has been determined to be a single living organism by identical genetic markers; it is assumed to have one massive underground root system. It is composed of approximately 40,000 tree trunks.

The plant is estimated to weigh 6,600 tons, making it the heaviest known organism.  The root system of Pando, at an estimated 80,000 years old, is among the oldest known living organisms (although some scientists have claimed that the organism could be 1 million years old).

Just for the record, a tree fungus (i.e., mushroom colony) in Oregon is generally accepted to be the world’s largest organism, occupying some 2,384 acres.  But it’s not as heavy and not as old, so my vote (at least for the coolest huge organism) goes to the Trembling Giant.

Back to Antimony (and excerpts from my earlier Antimony post):

Moving right along . . . there is an “Archibald Hunter” collection of historical documents maintained by the State of Utah.  This is from a write-up about old Archibald [by the way, this time around I couldn’t find this document on the internet, except referenced in some crazy blog called “A Landing A Day”].  By the way, the following is a little long, but worth the read.  Just take your time . . .

Some ten thousand Mormon converts from Scotland emigrated to the United States by 1900. While Archibald Hunter was not a member of that church it seems likely that his arrival in this country at age eight and his eventual arrival in Utah must have been at least partly a result of Mormon influence (although a religious motive for emigration is not required, for Scotland was poor and the Hunter family was large).

If Hunter’s reasons for emigration to this country are not fully known, neither are his early travels after arriving in Boston in 1851. His obituary reports that he remained in that city only briefly, then headed for Utah. Where he lived and how he supported himself in Utah for perhaps the next ten years is not clear, and he left in 1862 for the mining camps of Nevada.

He may have been successful in mining, for in 1874 he returned to Utah, taking up residence in Sevier County as a breeder of blooded race horses. In 1879 he joined the settlers in the Garfield County community known variously as Clover Flat, Grass Valley, Coyote, and, after 1920, Antimony. He spent the rest of his life there, supporting himself by various mining speculations, running a hotel, and raising and exporting to Scotland his fine horses.

One could hardly invent a person with a background seemingly less likely to harmonize with Antimony community life than Archibald Hunter. The settlement was composed primarily of exceptionally devout Mormons who had moved there from the United Order of Enoch (the Mormons’ communitarian order) at Kingston just barely before Hunter arrived.  Hunter was not a Mormon, a foreign immigrant, an Odd Fellow, a life-long bachelor, and an ardent Socialist.

The latter affiliation is probably the reason for his taking up residence in Antimony, for the Socialist Party was strong in that area, and he may have been attracted not only by the good pasture but by the compatible political climate as well. At any rate, cultural differences proved to be unimportant, and Hunter quickly became a valued neighbor and respected pillar of the community

Archibald Hunter died in Antimony in 1931.

But wait, maybe it isn’t so strange that Archibald was comfortable amongst the Mormons in Antimony.  From Wiki, this about the Mormon United Order:

The United Order established egalitarian communities designed to achieve income equality, eliminate poverty, increase group self-sufficiency, and to ultimately create an ideal utopian society Mormons referred to as Zion. The movement had much in common with other utopian societies formed in the United States and Europe during the first half of the 19th century.

The United Order is not practiced within mainstream Mormonism today; however, a number of groups of Mormon fundamentalists, such as the Apostolic United Brethren, have revived the practice.

Sounds totally socialist, eh?  (Especially the part about “egalitarian communities” and “income equality”.)  Not exactly compatible with the conservative politics of the Mormon church!

I’ve heard about Odd Fellows, but don’t know anything about them.  From Wiki:

The name Odd Fellows refers to a number of friendly societies that originated in the United Kingdom, with Lodges that date back to the 1700s.  These various organizations were set up to protect and care for their members at a time when there was no welfare state, trade unions or National Health Service. The aim was (and still is) to provide help to members when they need it. 

The “friendly societies” (like the Odd Fellows) are non-profit mutual organizations owned by their members.  All income is passed back to the members in the form of services and benefits. 

[See the socialist connection?]

The Odd Fellows are fundraisers for both local and national charities.  Branches raise money for local causes and the Societies as a whole raise significant amounts for charities.

Name origins:  In smaller towns and villages, there weren’t enough Fellows from the same trade to set up a local Guild, so Fellows from a number of trades banded together to form a local Guild of Fellows from an odd assortment of trades. Hence, Guilds of Odd Fellows.

The Independent Order of Odd Fellows (IOOF) is big in the U.S. (and Archibald was a member of the IOOF).  Check out the various symbols that associated with the IOOF:


Looks like it’s right up Dan Brown’s alley . . .by the way, FLT stands for friendship, love and truth.

Back to now, and it’s time for some nearby GE Pano shots. I’ll start in the “town” of Osiris, 7 miles south of Antimony.  Osiris shows up on neither StreetAtlas nor GE.  But there’s a very cool “creamery” building here that supported the local dairy farmers (later converted to a grain processing facility).

Here’s a shot of the creamery by that long-time ALAD contributer, LSessions:


And here’s another, by Ron Broad:


Leaving Osiris (and getting closer to my landing), here’s a Pano shot of the East Fork of the Sevier, by Elifino 57 (about 6 miles NW of my landing):


And another local shot, by Ron Broad (about 3 miles NW of my landing):


I’ll close with this one by Teek4, taken about 5 miles SE of my landing:


That’ll do it . . .




© 2017 A Landing A Day



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