Palo Duro Trip - Canyon Cabin

Let this be a POSTCARD ALERT!  POSTCARD ALERT!  Many of the following pictures will be run-of-the-mill, even mundane photos that may as well end up on postcards.  Nevertheless, I've had fun capturing these landscapes and working with them in order to share the beauty of the North Texas canyon system.

Out in the middle of the canyon was this cabin, the home of my dreams.  Actually, it was just one of four or five out there and none were occupied, which left us wondering if they are even available for rent.  I plan on checking for availability in September or October.

Japan - Fuji at Sunrise / Brush with Slavery #2

This trip was my fifth to Taiwan, and for the first time we decided to make a hop over to Japan and take a look.  Chenjean's father is getting on up there in age, so this was an opportunity also to take him with us for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity...a win-win for all.

Of course, no one can be a tourist in Japan without at least trying to see Mount Fuji.  Having said that, I am issuing a POSTCARD ALERT! for this and the next several postings.

We were extraordinarily lucky in that the weather was perfect for the entire five days we were there.  Wisely, we went with a tour operator, and he stated that of the ten groups he'd taken to Fuji that season we were the only ones that got a good view, as it was rainy or foggy for the others.

We were also extraordinarily lucky in that our hotel room for that leg of the trip faced directly toward the mountain.  This was the morning at sunrise after our arrival.  It had snowed the day before, dusting the peak in white; the reason the snow is at an angle is that the afternoon sun melted it a bit more on the western side.
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Brush with Slavery #2

You never know who you're going to meet in a small town.  I've discovered over the years that it is often in the backwaters of America that you run across the most fascinating characters.  Nacogdoches, Texas, is no exception.

It was in one of the smaller, outlying congregations of the churches of Christ in Nacogdoches, called East Main, that I, to my knowledge, first laid eyes on a Chinese person.  Her name was Chenjean.  I had lately fallen away from attendance and on a Wednesday night my landlord out in the country, Mr. Curry, offered to pick me up on his way to Bible study.  It turned out that there were only five in attendance at the service that night - in addition to Mr. and Mrs. Curry and myself, only two more, one of whom was Chenjean.

In spite of that inauspicious beginning I took up attending again, and as time went by there were enough young people to take on the appearance of a youth group.  We all got along and enjoyed doing things together, playing games on Friday nights and going on the occasional trip.  It was a blessed time when, looking back, I'm convinced that God was allowed to breathe a little life into East Main.

One of the duties we'd taken on as a group was the delivery of the Lord's Supper to the local rest home on the west side of town, on Loop 224.  The accouterments fit into a little box that neatly encased the unleavened bread, little cups and "fruit of the vine", as the emblem of the blood is called.  Eventually it fell upon Chenjean and I to take on this duty.

At the home there was really only one resident that we visited.  Her name was Lottie Upshaw, an elderly African American who lit the room with her smile and greeting as we walked into the room.  She was so fun to visit, full of stories and opinions on the news of the day.  Often we considered our time with Lottie the highlight of our Sundays.

As we got to know Lottie, we discovered some fascinating things about her life and history.  One was that she responded to the Gospel and was baptized well into her eighties.  Another was that she became a staunch Republican who adored Ronald Reagan, which was highly unusual for her demographic.  And lastly, she was the daughter of a slave.

When Lottie revealed to us that her mother was a slave I silently did the math in my head to ascertain whether it could be true, much as I'd done by the fence at the Pitts' home in last week's story.  This was 1987, and if Lottie was born late in her mother's life - as told by Lottie she was in her fifties - it was possible that as a child her mother could indeed have been a slave as a youngster.  This made our acquaintance with Lottie all the more interesting.

Chenjean and I had been delivering the Lord's Supper to Lottie at the home for a month or so when one Sunday she dropped another of her bombshells.  After visiting for a short while she looked at us and declared that we'd make a good couple, that we should just "get together"!  At the time Chenjean and I had not really dated, but we were doing more together, mostly for the church.  Lottie's comment changed things, though, and I began to look at her a little differently.  Thus, due to the seed planted by Lottie Upshaw, this daughter of a slave, our lives took a turn and the "rest is history", as they say.

Taiwan - Kaohsiung Buddhist Museum, Bell Tower #2 / Dead Germans and the Christmas Feast

This post from ten years ago mentions one of the most fascinating people we've ever met; his name was Cletus B. "Tinker" Slatter.  He was a combat veteran of WWII, but unlike many veterans Tinker enjoyed talking about his time overseas and the battles he helped fight.  And rather than describe events with a grim demeanor, he saw most of it with a sense of humor.

For example, during the Battle of the Bulge, which went on for weeks, he got so tired of being there - in the cold, dirty trenches where being on constant alert frazzled the mind - that he actually stood up, met the eyes of a German across the way, raised his foot where the guy could see it and vigorously pointed.  He was inviting the German to go ahead and shoot his foot so he could qualify to go into the hospital and get out of that miserable place.  His enemy, partially submerged in his own trench manning a machine gun, simply laughed and shook his head, not giving in to the request.

Another time Tinker and his fellow soldiers were marching through the cold and snowy countryside when they came upon a farmhouse, long abandoned because of the war, and spied a chicken wondering around the yard.  It was Christmas day, so they decided to catch that chicken and cook themselves a Christmas dinner.

After building a fire out there in the yard they caught it, killed it and plucked its feathers, eagerly anticipating the first fresh meat to be had in months.  Trouble was, there was no place to sit.

During an earlier battle that was fought there the grounds were littered with dead Germans, frozen solid in all kinds of grotesque positions.  Then an idea hit..."Why not?"  So, as if gathering logs, Tinker and his comrades collected enough frozen dead Germans to arrange around the fire.  Then they sat on them, using them as benches while Christmas dinner finished cooking.

They'd just started eating when they heard a buzz, and within seconds recognized the sound as a Messerschmitt approaching fast.  Very tired and without time to even react, they watched as the plane went into a shallow dive, expecting to be strafed any moment as they sat using the pilot's dead, frozen comrades as benches.  But to their amazement and surprise, the guy leveled out at 50 feet and actually made eye contact as he flew by, wagging his wings on the way back up, disappearing in the distant sky.

Thus it was that Tinker and his men not only were able to enjoy a rare treat for Christmas, but lived to see another day thanks to a Christmas reprieve granted from a very unexpected gesture of goodwill on that special day.

Texas Visitor Center in Orange - Heron on Branch / Dr. Hoke and Shangri-La

This type of wildlife is one of the reasons the Texas Visitor Center in Orange is one of my go-to places to take pictures.  I'd love to rent a 500mm lens one day and come back here - and to Shangri-La, also in Orange - to capture these guys up close during nesting season.

Speaking of Shangri-La, it still surprises me at how far it's come in contributing to the economy, culture and education of the communities in Orange County and beyond.  Its founder and first administrator was Michael Hoke, who in 1971 was my 7th-grade science teacher...his first year teaching and probably the best school year of my young life.  His talent, ingenuity and influence eventually landed him in the Bush-41 White House to receive an honor in the Rose Garden.  Quite the individual.  While I was living in Nacogdoches, when he learned that I'd become certified to teach 7th-grade earth-life science and high school biology, he invited me to join him as staff during his summer program, Bios, which was basically a field trip on steroids.  Reluctantly I had to decline.

But that's not what surprises me.  It is a strange feeling to go into the place and wander freely, because as kids my friend Brent and I used to have to sneak through a fence and trespass to walk (or run, as was sometimes necessary) along its pathways, always on the alert for the tight security placed to catch folks like us.  The Stark family was notorious for their zero-tolerance stance on anyone caught in such a transgression.  Now, thanks to Dr. Hoke, all you have to do is fork over a little cash to go inside.

After all of that, what surprises me most was his sudden and unexpected death in 2016.  His obituary is easy to find on Legacy.com, but does not mention the cause of death at the relatively young age of 67.  Surely he is still sorely missed by the community and all who knew him...

Orange, Texas Visitor Center - Heron Roosting #5 / Robbie the Watchdog

Back in my college days, for the Christmas of 1978, I went up north to Wilmington, Delaware, to visit family.  It was my first time there, as Dad had recently transferred back from Orange with DuPont.

Because it was my first visit, and because I was scheduled to arrive in the wee hours, Dad left a key under the mat, but with a warning:  Robbie, their golden retriever, may take measures to protect the territory.  I was told to be cautious upon entering the house.

After arriving from the airport at almost 4:00 in the morning I retrieved the key and very quietly inserted it, hoping not to alert Robbie.  I opened the door and peered inside, not stepping in until I was sure it was safe.

Nothing happened, so in I went, setting my suitcase just inside the door.  Since Robbie still hadn't made her presence known I felt she must be behind something, waiting for just the right moment to pounce.  Very quietly I surveyed the area and, seeing no activity, went into the kitchen downstairs.  Nothing.  The family room, where the fireplace was...nothing there either.  Where's this ferocious dog?

It was while in the formal living room that I heard a faint scratching sound, then something going "bump bump" as if it were thumping on the floor.  The noise got louder when I went back into the kitchen.  After a few seconds I was able to isolate it...under the table, where Robbie was trembling in fear so badly that her legs were shaking enough to cause her claws to scratch on the linoleum floor.  Her imploring eyes told enough of the story - we'll be great friends if you don't scare me like that again!

Taiwan 2024 - Chenjean's General Village Area, Tumbledown Shot #3 / The Light

Some tumbledown structures such as this one have fallen out of use due to economic reasons, with the owners still living in the adjacent house, as is the case here.  I'd love to climb up into this thing to see what's inside, but wouldn't want to pay the price for trespassing.

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One time, however, when we were kids, a friend and I found ourselves trespassing when the owner was very much at home.

This friend was Brent Holland, probably the best friend I had growing up in Orange, Texas.  This was in the days when kids could hop on bikes and explore their world - be it in the woods, around town, or even short forays out of town if we had the time and stamina to do it on our bikes.  And that we did as often as possible.  The only concern was that we return home by a time specified by our parents.

One of our favorite activities in those days was finding a house that was full of stuff but vacated by whoever lived there.  This allowed us to break in somehow, usually through a window, and look around.  The best houses were the ones left completely untouched, with all furniture and household goods in place as if the owners just upped and left.  We discovered one house, on Cypress Street, that had the table still set for dinner and dried out coffee in the pot on the counter.  A girl's bedroom was upstairs with unfinished homework on her desk, pencil left beside the paper that had made the last marks.  This was a remarkable find, as the paper was dated 1958, the year I was born.  This means the family had to skedaddle thirteen years before.  What was the cause of this...why did the family have to leave in such a rush, leaving everything in its place?  We enjoyed imagining the circumstances surrounding their sudden departure, guessing that it must've been something about money.

Our MO in finding a potential house to explore was to pull up on our bicycles and knock on the door to see if anyone was at home.  If someone came to the door we pretended to be paper carriers for the Orange Leader, the local paper, and would they like a subscription?  If no one answered, and if upon closer inspection we determined that the house was indeed vacant and still full of the previous owner's possessions, we circled the house looking for an entry point.  Of course we were prudent about this, behaving nonchalantly enough to avoid suspicion from neighbors or anyone passing by.  Finally, if the coast was clear and we were able to open a window - usually in the back of the house, from an inside porch was best - we lifted it and crawled through.  We never broke a window or lock; if a nondestructive way to get in was not available we moved on to another adolescent activity for the day.  In this manner we were successful in exploring four or five such houses there in Orange, never getting caught or hauled in for trespassing.

One day a house on Pine Street grabbed our attention as a potential exploration opportunity.  Of all the houses we'd broken into, this was by far the creepiest.  It was a two-story clapboard surrounded by tall water oak trees, the limbs of which extended well above the high roof line, darkening the house and yard with ominous shadows.  From the street we could see that some of the rooms on the second floor were dilapidated to the point of collapsing in places.  Hmmm...a very interesting prospect.  But was it really vacant?  Oddly, there was an old tan Camaro parked in front.  Could somebody really live in this place?  As per usual, we parked our bikes in the front yard, approached, and knocked on the old, paint-chipped door.  After waiting a minute we knocked again, this time a little louder.  When there was still no answer we peered into a window, and it clearly looked as if nobody had been there in a very long time.  Next we circled the house, discovering more rooms rimming the second floor that were in a similar state of dilapidation to what we'd seen from the front.  The car parked in front still caused us to hesitate, but we concluded that a neighbor was simply using the space.  So we considered all the signs that we'd seen - the rundown condition of the house, the unkempt yard with those big trees that hadn't been trimmed, the appearance of vacancy, and the lack of an answer at the door - as a green light to go ahead and explore inside.  We parked our bikes in some bushes, opened a kitchen window in the back of the place, and crawled through.

We made our way cautiously through the kitchen and saw that this one was something special, probably the best old house we'd yet explored.  The entire place was furnished, yet most of the furniture in the front and living spaces were covered in old sheets.  And I kid you not, there were cobwebs in the corners of the rooms, rendering a spooky, haunted feel.  We wandered through quietly, speaking to one another in hushed tones about the things we'd see in this or that room.  There was a desk; we opened the drawers and shuffled through old papers trying to piece together a picture of past occupation, when there was life within the walls of these dank, dusty rooms.  Even an old organ.  What a bonanza!

To our left as we approached the front of the house was a broad staircase that curved to the left.  How could we not go up and explore what it leads to...if downstairs was so interesting, what awaits us up there?  Together we began to ascend those steps, several of which creaked and groaned as we placed our weight on them.  We tried to do this quietly, not wanting to alert a neighbor or passer-by of our presence.  For this reason Brent went ahead of me, diminishing the noise made by our combined weight.  Thus he reached the top first and had made his way some distance down a hallway by the time I stepped fully onto the upper floor.  I saw that there were a couple of doors to the left and another couple to the right of the hallway.  Surely these must lead to some of those dilapidated rooms we saw from the outside.  Halfway through to the right there was a small cabinet with some pictures on top that Brent was examining, and a dresser to the immediate left that looked interesting to me.  I was reaching down to open one of the drawers when something caught my eye that froze my heart.

Not six inches from my foot I saw a LIGHT ON under the first door to my left.  A light was on in that room!  Brent wanted to show me something he'd found but I had to hush him so that I could listen.  Drawing my ear to within an inch of the door, being very careful not to touch it, I heard a TV going inside.    Brent was a little miffed that I'd hushed him, but he understood instantly when I motioned him over and pointed to the light shining from under that door.  For a moment I stood rooted to the spot, petrified that whoever was in there would have to go to the bathroom, or decide to get a snack, and emerge to see two teenage boys standing there in the hallway.

Wow, what to do now?  It was obvious, really, that we needed to somehow get out of that house as quickly and quietly as possible.  Remembering the creakiness of the steps, we softly but quickly descended the broad, winding staircase, made our way back to the kitchen, and closed the window through which we'd entered as quietly as possible after crawling through.  Retrieving our bicycles out of the bushes, we hopped on and rode like hell, leaving as much distance between us and that house as possible.

After a breathless mile or so we stopped to gather our thoughts.  The close call and exertion left me exhilarated but shaking.  There was somebody in there that belonged to the Camaro after all!  After settling down a few minutes, we decided to head back to that house and find out who was in there after all.  As nonchalantly as we could, we rode up the driveway, parked next to the car, but this time banged on the door so that whoever was in that upstairs room would hear us.  Sure enough, after we'd banged on that door a second or third time a big, burly guy with mustache and five-o-clock shadow opens the door, glaring at these kids who'd interrupted his solitude.

"Would you like to subscribe to the Orange Leader, sir?"  "Are you kidding?  Don't think so," he replied, shutting the door hard in our faces.  We left still shaken but very, very relieved to have escaped what we now knew would have been a terrible fate if discovered in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Getting back on our bikes we looked back at the house with a fresh perspective, but wondering how anyone could live in such a dilapidated structure.  The outside rooms upstairs were literally falling apart, so the room he was in had to have been completely interior, with no window facing to the outside.  We concluded he must have inherited it or acquired it through similar means, because who else would live in a house that literally was falling down around him?  Never before or since during our childhood did we see anything else like it. 

So did we learn a lesson from this, perhaps to avoid these break-in explorations in the future?  You must be kidding!  On the contrary, we were emboldened.  More stories like this to follow...