In a somewhat characteristic fashion, I seem to have gone about my Frank Lloyd Wright tour in more or less reverse order. After a couple of Wright stops on the way out to the SouthWest, the major stop was Taliesin West, which, of course, is in the latter part of his career. It is fascinating to see how the architecture and nature, the landscape and the plants and the light, all became interwoven and built on each other. It was a new direction in many ways. It was also a point at which Wright had pretty much become what he always said he was -- the best architect in the United States.
So, on my return swing, I went back toward the beginning and visited Taliesin in Wisconsin. One of the intriguing things about the house here is that he was constantly changing and building it over differently. Not just after the two disastrous fires or because there were repairs that needed to be done. Photographs for a magazine article or a special visitor were enough reason. And I don't mean redecorating. No, it meant changing walls and windows and floors. Making a terrace into part of a room. Changing stables into apartments. It gives new meaning to the term "work in progress". Not always the most practical (Wright houses seem to have a tendency to leak) but always open, always beautiful, always integrating the world outside and the world inside.
The real beginning for Wright was Chicago and Oak Park. Taliesin came later. It was a dream, a life. About refuge and work and disaster and keeping on and changing, over and over and over. I can't get enough of the spirit and the beauty. After watching the Mike Wallace interview with Wright, my goal was to have Wright design a house for me. I never quite accomplished that, but I am grateful for the many ways he influenced places I have lived.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Tall Grass Prairie
Having worked it out so that I didn't have far to drive today, I was able to go back to the Tall Grass Prairie Preserve and take one of the tours given by the Rangers. Listening to Rangers is always fun. Each one has his or her own stories to tell about the Park he works in. And every time you listen, you come away with more knowledge about some thing or some area of study that wasn't on your horizon at all before that.
I'd walked one of the trails the day before, but this time we used an old blue school bus covered by a painting of the hills and wildflowers in the prairie area, so we covered a lot more ground. I learned again that Rangers not only know their area, they also have sharp eyes. So I added a meadowlark and a western bluebird to my life list. (Forgot to mention that I added a roadrunner while I was in Arizona and yes it was running across the road.) Also I now know what a wild indigo flower looks like. What flint looks like and how to spot the scooped out evidence that someone or some weather force chipped away at the flint either to make a tool or as a means of chipping away and shaping another piece. Most interesting was learning how the various flowers and grasses space themselves seasonally, how they use different means, e.g., different types of root systems, to get what each species needs without competing with the other types of plants. How fire beneficially regulates the growth patterns of plants and the grazing patterns of animals. How important grasses are to the overall ecology of the planet. And how sometimes nature gives us a chance to undo our mistakes. The work that is going on to preserve the ecology of the prairie is one of those chances. Once the prairie in the US and Canada covered literally millions of acres. Today less that 4% of that is still grassland. But a combination of groups from the Park Service to the Nature Conservancy to rich Texans who send their cattle to graze there are holding the line.
The best story had to do with the buffalo herd that is living and growing on this prairie. At the beginning of the 1800s, buffalo herds were everywhere and the numbers were so great that it seemed unthinkable that they could ever be threatened by extinction. But by the days of Theodore Roosevelt the buffalo were down to no more than 1,000. They were functionally extinct. It was only a matter of time. Then TR and one of his NY friends decided to get involved. They collected a small herd of buffalo and took them back to NY where they could be protected. The descendants of that herd are still around and some of them are now living at the preserve here at Strong City, Kansas. In fact, they are thriving and the numbers are multiplying. They are no longer facing extinction. It will take a long time but we have been given a second chance to give these animals a second chance. Sometimes we learn, don't we?
I'd walked one of the trails the day before, but this time we used an old blue school bus covered by a painting of the hills and wildflowers in the prairie area, so we covered a lot more ground. I learned again that Rangers not only know their area, they also have sharp eyes. So I added a meadowlark and a western bluebird to my life list. (Forgot to mention that I added a roadrunner while I was in Arizona and yes it was running across the road.) Also I now know what a wild indigo flower looks like. What flint looks like and how to spot the scooped out evidence that someone or some weather force chipped away at the flint either to make a tool or as a means of chipping away and shaping another piece. Most interesting was learning how the various flowers and grasses space themselves seasonally, how they use different means, e.g., different types of root systems, to get what each species needs without competing with the other types of plants. How fire beneficially regulates the growth patterns of plants and the grazing patterns of animals. How important grasses are to the overall ecology of the planet. And how sometimes nature gives us a chance to undo our mistakes. The work that is going on to preserve the ecology of the prairie is one of those chances. Once the prairie in the US and Canada covered literally millions of acres. Today less that 4% of that is still grassland. But a combination of groups from the Park Service to the Nature Conservancy to rich Texans who send their cattle to graze there are holding the line.
The best story had to do with the buffalo herd that is living and growing on this prairie. At the beginning of the 1800s, buffalo herds were everywhere and the numbers were so great that it seemed unthinkable that they could ever be threatened by extinction. But by the days of Theodore Roosevelt the buffalo were down to no more than 1,000. They were functionally extinct. It was only a matter of time. Then TR and one of his NY friends decided to get involved. They collected a small herd of buffalo and took them back to NY where they could be protected. The descendants of that herd are still around and some of them are now living at the preserve here at Strong City, Kansas. In fact, they are thriving and the numbers are multiplying. They are no longer facing extinction. It will take a long time but we have been given a second chance to give these animals a second chance. Sometimes we learn, don't we?
Friday, May 24, 2013
Taking Stock
I'm looking back on my sojourn in the SouthWest and trying to figure out what I take away from it. I really can't quite explain how different it is. The space, the colors, the horizons, the shapes of the land itself, the fact that rain and even hail actually dries before it ever hits the ground, the art, the peoples and the history. Believe me, this is not like the difference between say Savannah and New York. Maybe the best way to tell it is to say that it is so different that when I would get into a conversation with someone local, there would be a nano second when I would be surprised that we were speaking the same language. It feels so much like another country. A beautiful and friendly one, but another world.
I'm in Kansas right now (of course, Dorothy had to return to Kansas) and today my taking stock went a bit farther into this question of variety. I had stopped at The Tall Grass Prairie Preserve in Strong City, KS. A couple had been in the Visitor Center and as they headed out to the parking area, I saw them take a look at my car with its New York plates. I followed them out, got into my car and started to study the map of hiking trails. Then I looked up to see the gentleman who had noticed my car standing at my window. He said he had always wondered how someone from New York would feel about the prairie and the flint hills that surrounded us. I told him that one word that came to mind was "stunned". I told him how impressed I was and how much I loved a simple thing like the immense horizon, the sheer size of it and how far it was away. I explained that I loved NYC and its theatres and art and the harbor and the ocean. I told him about the fact that it was so different that it seemed like another country, as though something this far away and this different couldn't possibly be part of the same place. "I see, " he said, " but then I guess that's what makes us us. We can be so different and still it's all us." From the heartland, straight to my heart.
I'm in Kansas right now (of course, Dorothy had to return to Kansas) and today my taking stock went a bit farther into this question of variety. I had stopped at The Tall Grass Prairie Preserve in Strong City, KS. A couple had been in the Visitor Center and as they headed out to the parking area, I saw them take a look at my car with its New York plates. I followed them out, got into my car and started to study the map of hiking trails. Then I looked up to see the gentleman who had noticed my car standing at my window. He said he had always wondered how someone from New York would feel about the prairie and the flint hills that surrounded us. I told him that one word that came to mind was "stunned". I told him how impressed I was and how much I loved a simple thing like the immense horizon, the sheer size of it and how far it was away. I explained that I loved NYC and its theatres and art and the harbor and the ocean. I told him about the fact that it was so different that it seemed like another country, as though something this far away and this different couldn't possibly be part of the same place. "I see, " he said, " but then I guess that's what makes us us. We can be so different and still it's all us." From the heartland, straight to my heart.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Earthship
What's an earthship? That was precisely my question. Well, for one thing, it was on the far side of the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge from Taos, where I was staying. Having talked myself into driving to the other side, rather like the bear going over the mountain to see what he could see, I proceeded on past the other side of the gorge. A few miles on in the middle of one of those flat stretches of New Mexico with nothing much more than knee high other than the Sangre de Christos in the distance, I found it.
An earthship is not a ship at all. It's a house built entirely of recycled materials that relies on natural sources for its utilities. It takes some pretty interesting shapes, which is understandable when you consider it's made of things like old tires filled with sand, glass bottles and cans. The most normal material - at least for the Southwest - is adobe, which is basically dirt and straw. It uses solar panels for power, water collected from rain and runoff, such as it is in a climate like New Mexico. That, of course, means that the water is scarce so it is re-used three times. First, for drinking, cooking and washing. Then on to water the plants which are growing in a greenhouse along part of the outside wall. Last for things like flushing toilets. The plants looked amazing, both ornamental and vegetables. I asked if the soaps used in cleaning affected the use of the water for the plants and they said it was not a problem. The grand total of cost for all utilities for an earthship for an entire year is $100. Now there's a help for a budget.
The earthship is now actually a small community of earthships and new ones are in construction. The local realtors have at least one listed if anyone is interested. Or you can see the whole thing on earthship.com It is definitely interesting to see what can be done if you're really willing to take the next step.
An earthship is not a ship at all. It's a house built entirely of recycled materials that relies on natural sources for its utilities. It takes some pretty interesting shapes, which is understandable when you consider it's made of things like old tires filled with sand, glass bottles and cans. The most normal material - at least for the Southwest - is adobe, which is basically dirt and straw. It uses solar panels for power, water collected from rain and runoff, such as it is in a climate like New Mexico. That, of course, means that the water is scarce so it is re-used three times. First, for drinking, cooking and washing. Then on to water the plants which are growing in a greenhouse along part of the outside wall. Last for things like flushing toilets. The plants looked amazing, both ornamental and vegetables. I asked if the soaps used in cleaning affected the use of the water for the plants and they said it was not a problem. The grand total of cost for all utilities for an earthship for an entire year is $100. Now there's a help for a budget.
The earthship is now actually a small community of earthships and new ones are in construction. The local realtors have at least one listed if anyone is interested. Or you can see the whole thing on earthship.com It is definitely interesting to see what can be done if you're really willing to take the next step.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Trails
I've found it a little difficult to find the sort of trails that suit an arthritic 60+ year old (I can still use that designation for a few more months). Either the difficulty or the distance is more than my knees care for. The best leads came from an outdoor equipment store and a local photographer who knew not only photography but the land he was photographing, as well.
The first was the Rift Trail which is a little south of Taos and along the east rim of the Rio Grande Gorge. I tackled that one twice. First, mistakenly thinking the loop was a lot shorter than it is, until I finally thought to check the trail map on Google (thank you, Steve Jobs). That was not a bad hike for scenery. It was just longer than I had wished for and didn't take me to the destination I had in mind. So, a few days later, when I had stopped getting protests and 'What were you thinking?' from my right knee, and after consulting the map again, I started from the other end of the loop and in about 2 miles found myself at the east rim of Rio Grande Gorge. Check the photo on Facebook as I still have not mastered uploading my photos to the blog.
The next one was the West Rim Trail right next to the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge. It was the fact that it was on the far side of the Bridge that gave me pause. The bridge, you see, is said to be 650' over the river. I use the term "said to be" because it is said to be several heights, depending on who is speaking. The least I have heard is 550' feet, so this is something of a distinction without a difference, to use an old law school term. And don't be picturing the Verrazano Bridge or the George Washington Bridge. This is a two lane road with railings slightly more than waist high. The supports are all beneath you. All you see is open air and flat plains stretching beyond the bridge and on to the next mountains. Gorgeous, beautiful and visually almost no indication of support. Also, tourists, who have walked out on the bridge to take a picture, have an extremely bad habit of stepping back into the traffic lanes to be sure they get a great picture of their friends and the 650' deep panorama. If there is really anything to the survival of the fittest, there would be a decrease in tourists on the Gorge Bridge.
It took me a few days to talk myself out of all the "let's scare the out-of-towners" talk. When I finally did it, it was, of course, not scary at all -- except for those tourists taking pictures. They really do that.
It led me to the West Rim Trail, which would have been a piece of cake if I had remembered my walking stick. I gave it a couple of miles with several photos (again, please see Facebook) and time spent on some handy large rocks just absorbing the views. When the storm clouds over the Sangre de Christo mountains started to get close enough to smell rain, I headed back and, wonder of wonders, got to my car just before the few raindrops started down. For New Mexico as I have experienced it, it was a decent rainfall. I wish many more of them for this beautiful area and for the pinon pines.
The first was the Rift Trail which is a little south of Taos and along the east rim of the Rio Grande Gorge. I tackled that one twice. First, mistakenly thinking the loop was a lot shorter than it is, until I finally thought to check the trail map on Google (thank you, Steve Jobs). That was not a bad hike for scenery. It was just longer than I had wished for and didn't take me to the destination I had in mind. So, a few days later, when I had stopped getting protests and 'What were you thinking?' from my right knee, and after consulting the map again, I started from the other end of the loop and in about 2 miles found myself at the east rim of Rio Grande Gorge. Check the photo on Facebook as I still have not mastered uploading my photos to the blog.
The next one was the West Rim Trail right next to the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge. It was the fact that it was on the far side of the Bridge that gave me pause. The bridge, you see, is said to be 650' over the river. I use the term "said to be" because it is said to be several heights, depending on who is speaking. The least I have heard is 550' feet, so this is something of a distinction without a difference, to use an old law school term. And don't be picturing the Verrazano Bridge or the George Washington Bridge. This is a two lane road with railings slightly more than waist high. The supports are all beneath you. All you see is open air and flat plains stretching beyond the bridge and on to the next mountains. Gorgeous, beautiful and visually almost no indication of support. Also, tourists, who have walked out on the bridge to take a picture, have an extremely bad habit of stepping back into the traffic lanes to be sure they get a great picture of their friends and the 650' deep panorama. If there is really anything to the survival of the fittest, there would be a decrease in tourists on the Gorge Bridge.
It took me a few days to talk myself out of all the "let's scare the out-of-towners" talk. When I finally did it, it was, of course, not scary at all -- except for those tourists taking pictures. They really do that.
It led me to the West Rim Trail, which would have been a piece of cake if I had remembered my walking stick. I gave it a couple of miles with several photos (again, please see Facebook) and time spent on some handy large rocks just absorbing the views. When the storm clouds over the Sangre de Christo mountains started to get close enough to smell rain, I headed back and, wonder of wonders, got to my car just before the few raindrops started down. For New Mexico as I have experienced it, it was a decent rainfall. I wish many more of them for this beautiful area and for the pinon pines.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Kit Carson
Who knew Kit Carson was the hero of Taos? Come to think about it, I didn't know much about Kit Carson at all, apart from the name recognition. Well, it seems he lived a good deal of his life in and around Taos. His home is in the center of Taos and the condo I'm renting is just off Kit Carson Road, so it was inevitable that we get together.
His home is about 200 years old and part of it was once a saddlery. Is any of this familiar? You might say I had an instant rapport with that house, even if it is made of adobe. It seems pretty comfortable. Adobe is a good material. The thickness makes for coolness in summer and warmth in winter and the fireplaces in each room add to that comfortable home feeling. The place did a good job of conveying the fact that a family actually lived there and had all the chores and family times that families do.
One of the most poignant stories about Kit Carson had to do with the dime novels about him that became popular in his lifetime. He had scouted for Army expeditions at least twice and, although Carson was pretty diffident and not talkative, the Army commander of the expeditions wasn't. In fact, the commander seems to have been good at some exaggeration here and there. Probably didn't do his career any harm either. So, Carson became the superhero of his day, credited with a whole bunch of things that no one could live up to in reality.
On one occasion, an Indian raid had occurred near Taos and a woman had been carried off by the raiding party. In a story right out of the dime novels, a rescue group rode out with soldiers and Kit Carson with them. They caught up with the raiding party. So far, so good. But they could only do so much. They drove off the raiders but in the fight, the woman they wanted to rescue was killed. With her she had one of those novels about Kit Carson. It is said that that is when Carson really began to feel the burden of those books. Perhaps it behooves us to realize that the issue of "the media" has been with us for longer than we think. It creates heroes and it also creates burdens, even for those heroes.
His home is about 200 years old and part of it was once a saddlery. Is any of this familiar? You might say I had an instant rapport with that house, even if it is made of adobe. It seems pretty comfortable. Adobe is a good material. The thickness makes for coolness in summer and warmth in winter and the fireplaces in each room add to that comfortable home feeling. The place did a good job of conveying the fact that a family actually lived there and had all the chores and family times that families do.
One of the most poignant stories about Kit Carson had to do with the dime novels about him that became popular in his lifetime. He had scouted for Army expeditions at least twice and, although Carson was pretty diffident and not talkative, the Army commander of the expeditions wasn't. In fact, the commander seems to have been good at some exaggeration here and there. Probably didn't do his career any harm either. So, Carson became the superhero of his day, credited with a whole bunch of things that no one could live up to in reality.
On one occasion, an Indian raid had occurred near Taos and a woman had been carried off by the raiding party. In a story right out of the dime novels, a rescue group rode out with soldiers and Kit Carson with them. They caught up with the raiding party. So far, so good. But they could only do so much. They drove off the raiders but in the fight, the woman they wanted to rescue was killed. With her she had one of those novels about Kit Carson. It is said that that is when Carson really began to feel the burden of those books. Perhaps it behooves us to realize that the issue of "the media" has been with us for longer than we think. It creates heroes and it also creates burdens, even for those heroes.
Friday, May 3, 2013
Ghost Ranch
I'm just back from a brief visit to Ghost Ranch, Georgia O'Keefe's summer home for many years. Actually, I didn't visit the house which has to be arranged separately. But the area is stunning and more than made up for anything else. Shapes simply rising immediately out of the ground. And colors that look impossibly bright and impossibly geometric, laid out in broad bands and conic hills. It has elements of looking back in time as you look at those bands and realize they are millions of years old. Then there's the fact that New Mexico has it own dinosaur, a relatively small one that was found here some years ago and eventually became New Mexico's state fossil. I wonder if any other states have their own official fossil. I really wish they had named it the official dinosaur instead of the official fossil. Sort of like a little kid's dream of having a pet dinosaur. I guess I shouldn't expect too much from a state legislature.
Apart from the sheer drama of the landscape, it was enlightening to see a particular landscape and compare it to the painting or paintings that O'Keefe made of that place. How she made you look at particular aspects of the scene or see the colors as she saw them. Even more, to see how she saw it at different times or seasons. And "her mountain", which slips into so many paintings, sometimes a major component, sometimes so small that is almost unnoticed. I especially liked one of her last paintings, Stairway to the Moon, that I had not seen before. Especially after hearing how she often slept on the flat adobe roof of her house and saw the home made ladder sticking up and over the parapet of the roof.
Apart from the sheer drama of the landscape, it was enlightening to see a particular landscape and compare it to the painting or paintings that O'Keefe made of that place. How she made you look at particular aspects of the scene or see the colors as she saw them. Even more, to see how she saw it at different times or seasons. And "her mountain", which slips into so many paintings, sometimes a major component, sometimes so small that is almost unnoticed. I especially liked one of her last paintings, Stairway to the Moon, that I had not seen before. Especially after hearing how she often slept on the flat adobe roof of her house and saw the home made ladder sticking up and over the parapet of the roof.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Taos Pueblo
Taos Pueblo is not Taos, although it is just outside Taos. Outside in the middle of openness and next to the beginnings of the Sangre de Christo range. It is older than memory in terms of how long people have lived there. It pretty much goes back to the beginning of humans living in the area. It has always been a place to meet and trade for all that time so far as anyone can determine. The adobe buildings are at least 1,000 years old and people are still living in them. There is an adobe church that goes back to the 1800s, but there is also a kiva that goes back a lot farther than that. Both are still in use. The church is open to visitors. The kiva is open only to members of the group of Indians who live here, living according to traditions and a heritage that has lasted for thousands of years.
[I want to say here that I am using the term Indian because it is the one that comes into my mind when I think of these people. It is not PC but it is less strained for me than Native American. So I'm gong to use the term that is comfortable to me. It may be mistaken historically, but it is used with no intention to show disrespect or condescension."]
There is no electricity and no running water in the Pueblo. The source of water is the Red Willow River which runs through the village. It begins with snow melt in the mountains at a specific lake, which is sacred ground to them. The Indians do not sell their traditional food, although they do sell their art and their crafts. They do not sell at all on festival days. That is festival days according to their heritage and tradition, not Anglo holidays or church holidays.
It is a strange feeling to sit by the river and think about what it must be like to drive a pickup truck but not have electric lights in your home. To carry water from that river for every use and to try to keep that river free from contamination from others who don't feel about it as you do. That is a level of respect for one's heritage and one's traditions that I don't think I have ever encountered before. I am reminded of a quote I came across from Eleanor Roosevelt. She and FDR were visiting a very talented Indian potter in New Mexico and Eleanor said, more or less: Educate your children, but follow your own Way.
[I want to say here that I am using the term Indian because it is the one that comes into my mind when I think of these people. It is not PC but it is less strained for me than Native American. So I'm gong to use the term that is comfortable to me. It may be mistaken historically, but it is used with no intention to show disrespect or condescension."]
There is no electricity and no running water in the Pueblo. The source of water is the Red Willow River which runs through the village. It begins with snow melt in the mountains at a specific lake, which is sacred ground to them. The Indians do not sell their traditional food, although they do sell their art and their crafts. They do not sell at all on festival days. That is festival days according to their heritage and tradition, not Anglo holidays or church holidays.
It is a strange feeling to sit by the river and think about what it must be like to drive a pickup truck but not have electric lights in your home. To carry water from that river for every use and to try to keep that river free from contamination from others who don't feel about it as you do. That is a level of respect for one's heritage and one's traditions that I don't think I have ever encountered before. I am reminded of a quote I came across from Eleanor Roosevelt. She and FDR were visiting a very talented Indian potter in New Mexico and Eleanor said, more or less: Educate your children, but follow your own Way.
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