For the first two years I was learning the language I was physically unable to replicate this sound (if you want to get technical, it’s the alveolar trill /r/). I had no problem distinguishing it in speech; I was completely aware of its linguistic environment (when the “r” is doubled and when the “r” is word-initial); and I understood the location of the tongue (along the alveolar ridge).

But no matter how many tips I read, all I could get out of my mouth was either a tapped “r” (alveolar flap /ɾ/) or a breathy, trill-ish sound that might be written hrhrhr or something. Sometimes, for fun, I used my uvula to get some kind of trill noise, but wasn’t satisfied with it very much. A few months ago I even resigned myself to the fact that I’d never be able to pronounce the language completely correctly.

However, the evening after my last final for this past semester, the ability to trill seemingly descended on me out of nowhere. I can’t explain how or when things finally “clicked” between my brain and my tongue; it was almost an involuntary thing that “just happened.” I was overjoyed because trills have to be some of the most difficult sounds to learn as an adult; they involve pushing air over a part of the mouth and letting that part vibrate on its own.

Still, even though this ability came to me almost spontaneously, there were a number of things I found very helpful in encouraging this ability in me. I hope they help you, too!

1. Understand the phonetic description of the alveolar trill.
2. Substitute a breathy or airy flap to create a bridge between the flap /ɾ/ and the trill /r/.
3. Listen to people use the sound. Susana Baca helped me a lot when she sings the word cierra in her song “Resbalosas” from her album Seis Poemas (2009).
4. Attempt to make a double flap (two /ɾ/ in a row: [ɾɾ]).
5. Bring your tongue a little further back in your mouth. The tongue should be along the ridge behind your teeth (alveolar), not touching your teeth (dental).
6. Move your jaw around. The example speaker for the vibrantes section in this explanation of Spanish sounds shifts his jaw to his left to trill, and I have to shift mine a little to the right.
7. Release your inhibitions. I can’t trill if I feel like I’m going to bother somebody, so I practice a lot when I’m driving the car or alone in the house.
8. Support it with voice. I can’t trill if I’m talking softly, so I speak at a fairly high volume.
9. Support it with air from your diaphragm.
10. Try again and again. Don’t give up—be persistent! After realizing I couldn’t make the sound, it took me two years to finally gain it, so keep on. When you can one day trill, you’ll be giddy for days and be trilling all over the place.

To those who have learned how to trill later in life, what tips did you find most helpful?

Campos de Castilla by cuellar

Whenever students of Spanish discuss the accent of speakers in the country of Spain, they often (incorrectly) describe that accent as a lisp in contrast with the Latin American variants of Spanish.

It’s okay if you thought that

This idea isn’t without basis, though. It’s natural to think Castilian pronunciation is lispy because in English, such a speech condition affects the production of sounds represented by the letters “s” and “z” (/s/ and /z/, respectively). People who lisp often replace a /s/ or /z/ with the sound represented in English by “th” (/θ/ or /ð/). Those who imitate lispers tend to say things like “I thpeak with a lithp, thorry.”

Also, at least in America, we all learn Latin American pronunciation in Spanish class—a pronunciation that doesn’t include the “th” (/θ/) sound. The three letters in question in this post (ce, ese, and zeta) are all pronounced like the English letter “s.” So when people who have been taught that ce and zeta make the same sound as ese, and they hear Castilians using /θ/ in place of /s/, they assume that this also applies to the ese as well.

However, charges of lisping fall apart because Castilians are able to create the /s/ sound in addition to realizing ce and zeta as “lispy.” Although the ese is a bit more whistle-like than Latin American eses, the existence of the sound in the Castilian dialect alongside the interdental (English “th” sound) one refutes the lisp description.

So why the, erm, lispiness?

It may be all fine and dandy that Castilian pronunciation isn’t technically a lisp, but this leaves you asking why it seems so lispy, especially since you might have heard the legend that King Ferdinand mandated that his subjects copy his lisp. In short, Castilians pronounce ce (before i and e) and zeta interdentally for the same reason that the language spoken in the Iberian peninsula is no longer the same tongue that Roman legions and Cicero talked in: language changes over time.

To demonstrate, I’ll use three words that differ in their middle consonant: caza (“hunt”), casa (“house”), and caja (“box”). (In linguistics we call this sort of example a minimal pair, but since I’m using three words, I wasn’t sure if minimal triplet was proper.)

Let’s take a time-travelling galleon to late-sixteenth century Spain, skipping the development of Spanish sounds from Vulgar Latin through medieval Castilian (whew!). Back then,

• caza was pronounced /kas̪a/ (that little bridge underneath the /s/ means that the tongue is right up against the teeth rather than along the alveolar ridge, as it is normally; think the starting position of “ts” but don’t pronounce the “t”)
• casa was pronounced /kasa/ (as it is today)
• and caja was pronounced /kaʃa/ (phonetic English: “kasha”)

Ralph Penny (in A History of the Spanish Language) notes that in later years, “[t]he dental and prepalatal phonemes changed locus, because of the great functional load placed upon the contrast of locus which separated /s̪/, /s/, and /ʃ/” (100). Basically, these three sounds as shown in the words above were so close together that they sometimes lead to confusion; there simply wasn’t enough contrast between the words caza and casa or between casa and caja.

So, to fix this confusion, Spanish speakers (in the central-northern part of the country) shifted

• the dental /s̪/ (represented by ce before i and e, and zeta) in caza forward so that it became interdental, like the English “th” (/θ/)
• they kept the regular “s” in casa where it was
• and they shifted the “sh” sound (represented by jota) in caja to the back of the mouth for the sound it has today: /x/, similar to the English “h” but exactly like the Scottish “ch” in Loch

What is significant is that this shift did not occur elsewhere in the country, especially in Andalucía and the Canary Islands, from which many explorers and conquistadores came to colonize the Americas. In fact, the dental “s” merged with the regular “s.” Spanish speakers in the New World subsequently inherited this pronunciation, which U.S. learners of the language typically use as well.

We have come full circle now. I’ve tried to avoid overly-technical linguistic terms in this explanation, but if it doesn’t make sense, please comment below!

References

• Azevedo, Milton M. Introducción a la Lingüística Española. 3^rd ed. Upper Saddle River, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 2009. 222-223.
• Penny, Ralph. A History of the Spanish Language. 2^nd ed. New York: Cambridge UP, 2002. 98-103.

Clock Tower, Freetown, Sierra Leone, October 2009 by www.itsayshere.org

Yes, I do realize that this post is coming four months after the last one in the series, and that it completes a goal of mine for the spring semester, but it’s finished nonetheless. I think that this final post was actually the inspiration for the whole project, because last year I did a lot of reading of the global politics blog Coming Anarchy and wanted to read the article by Robert Kaplan from which it takes its name. The essay, 26 pages when printed from the internet, is quite the read, so I decided to take the time to read it and summarize it for folks who would like some familiarity with it but don’t have the attention span.

In this essay, Kaplan argues that “the political and cartographic implications of postmodernism—an epoch of themeless juxtapositions, in which the classificatory grid of nation-states is going to be replaced by a jagged-glass pattern of city-states, shanty-states, nebulous and anarchic regionalisms.” Now let’s figure out what that dense statement is all about.

Introduction

The author starts with stories from the West African country of Sierra Leone, telling of the utter lawlessness that reigns over city-dwellers struggling to reconcile their pastoral village society with an urban setting. He uses West Africa in this article as a template for what he believes the rest of the world will one day follow.

A Premonition of the Future

Following those anecdotes of anarchy, Kaplan points out that the official governments in the region have very little real power over the land within their borders—a disorder similar to Europe before the Peace of Westphalia in 1648. This has happened because of a combination of the political and environmental problems present there. He predicts first, that the current lines between (West African) countries will soon dissolve because of the impractical division of the urbanized coast into multiple nations, and second, that foreign countries will shy away from Africa at large due to malaria’s prevalence. Finally, because of said disease as well as the collapse of the environment, “a coming upheaval” of anarchy is the continent’s fate. An understanding of “environmental scarcity, cultural and racial clash, geographic destiny, and the transformation of war” will explain Kaplan’s thesis of an African, and possibly global, coming anarchy.

The Environment as a Hostile Power [environmental scarcity]

Coming to terms with scarce resources is the first key to comprehending the probably anarchic future. Population growth will put stress on such basic resources as water, land and soil where growth occurs—mainly in developing nations where lawlessness and anti-democratic forms of government will prosper.

Skinhead Cossacks, Juju Warriors [cultural and racial clash]

This imminent shortage of natural resources, Kaplan tells us, “will inflame existing hatreds and affect power relationships.” He references the civilization clash of Samuel P. Huntington’s then-recent essay, “The Clash of Civilizations?” (which I summarized here), but adds basic cultural and tribal clash to Huntington’s framework. The author points out the growing tension among the Turks and the rest of the Middle East as an example. Rather than conflicts among nation-states, Kaplan agrees with Huntington that wars among larger cultures will dominate in the next phase of world politics.

The Past is Dead [a microcosm of the argument: the Middle East]

Recounting a description of prosperous “slums” outside of cities in Turkey, the author displays the strength of a new Turkish culture. He summarizes this section, saying, “[e]verywhere in the developing world at the turn of the twenty-first century these new men and women, rushing into the cities, are remaking civilizations and redefining their identities in terms of religion and tribal ethnicity which do not coincide with the borders of existing states.”

The Lies of Mapmakers [geographic destiny]

Kaplan basically states that modern maps—and the Western notion of nation-states that they represent—preclude an understanding of the future in which borders are artificial and identity is cultural rather than national. He gives as an example the case of the Kurds, a numerous people scattered among many Middle East countries but without one of their own. In spite of Syrian, Iraqi, Iranian, and Turkish borders, a Kurdistan exists in northern Mesopotamia.

A New Kind of War [transformation of war]

In addition to pointing out that war can actually liberate people living in poverty, the author heavily cites military historian Martin van Creveld’s book The Transformation of War to show that in the future, wars won’t be between nation-states, but “will be those of communal survival, aggravated or, in many cases, caused by environmental scarcity.” Kaplan foresees the dissolution of the distinction between broad-scale war and local crime, leading to the collapse of weak states that can’t ensure security.

The Last Map

In place of the orderly, organized world map we are all familiar with, the author proposes a future map in which “centers of power” replace borders and “buffer entities” replace lines on the map. He also predicts the failure of India and Pakistan as countries, which, along with many African ones, make “no geographic or demographic sense.” Kaplan also discusses growing United States instability while nonchalantly referencing the dissolution of Canada—sans explanation! He does predict the success of an independent Québec, stable in its regional and cultural identity. The author’s ending reference to Joel Garreau’s The Nine Nations of North America is appropriate in light of this article’s subject matter.

My conclusion

I think, given the state of the world fifteen years after the article’s publication, the author’s thesis still holds weight. In fact, it even complements Huntington’s “The Clash of Civilizations?” However, even though we’re only a tenth of the way through this century, we have yet to see nation collapse on the scale predicted by Kaplan. Nevertheless, the drug war rages in Mexico while West Africa and the Indian subcontinent continue along the path highlighted in this article.

Read the original essay here.

The Colorado River and the Granite Gorge to the east, seen from Plateau Point, Grand Canyon National Park

Reflection

Yes, I realize this conclusion to a blog series on a June vacation is posted a little later than it should have been, but at least it’s written. It’s been two months since my hiking shoes touched the sandstone of the Grand Canyon, so I’ve had more than enough time to think about the trip and what it meant to me.

First, it reaffirmed my love for travel, and made me consider travel or even the National Park Service as possible job opportunities. I’m entering my junior year in college but still not sure what I’m going to “do” in terms of breadwinning after graduation, so this was some good exposure for me.

Second, it forced me to reevaluate the modern American cross-country road trip. Let me say first that I enjoyed this trip very, very much, and got to experience parts of the country different from Texas and the South. However, the American concept of seeing as much as possible of the country in a short amount of time may be flawed. Instead of flying through a small (or big) city at 70 miles per hour, staying at a hotel for a night, seeing the cliché places, getting your pictures, and dashing off, an alternative may be in order. Why can’t we drive for a few days to get to our destination and then stay there for a week or so, get to know the area, find the “best-kept” secrets, explore, chill out, and try local restaurants? It would certainly make us slow down, for one. Yellowstone certainly can’t be truly experienced in 12 hours!

Finally, the trip reminded me that this country is great. The news media and politicians scare us daily about all the bad things happening to our country, and rarely allow “good news” to surface (exception: Happy News). A week-and-a-half touring the west reminded me of a few better parts of this continent-spanning nation:

• A single currency, language, and culture
• Two maintained highway systems
• A system of national parks protecting our natural heritage

We all have our differences and regional customs, of course, but recent talk of secession by some governors aims at destroying the present unity we have worked so hard to enjoy here.

One last thing: if you, as an American, haven’t taken up former president Teddy Roosevelt’s exhortation to see the Grand Canyon yet, make it a priority. It’s definitely worth it—even more so if you hike it.

Statistics

• Continental divide crossed = 4 times
• Interstates driven on = I-40, I-25, I-15, and I-90 (4)
• Miles traveled = 4,416
• National Forests driven through = Lyndon B. Johnson (Grassland), Cibola, Coconino, Kaibab, Dixie, Caribou-Targhee, Bridger-Teton, Shoshone, Bighorn, Black Hills, Buffalo Gap (Grassland), and Roosevelt (12)
• National Monuments visited = Cedar Breaks and Devils Tower (2)
• National Parks visited = Petrified Forest, Grand Canyon, Grand Teton, Yellowstone, Wind Cave, and Rocky Mountain (6)
• Pictures taken = 275
• Provincial license plates seen = Alberta, British Columbia, Manitoba, Ontario, Saskatchewan, and Québec (6)
• State license plates seen = all except Hawaii (49); Puerto Rico also seen
• State parks visited = Palo Duro Canyon (Texas), Antelope Island (Utah), and Custer (S.D.) (3)
• States traveled through = Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, Idaho, Wyoming, Montana (accidentally for three minutes), South Dakota, and Colorado (9)

Capulin Volcano, Capulin Volcano National Monument

(June 15^th, 2010) I’m just going to be honest up front with you and say that nothing happened on this last day of the road trip. Nothing. And now I will proceed to blog about it. We left Colorado Springs, Colo., at seven in the morning and took U.S. Highway 64/87 through northeast New Mexico to get to the Texas Panhandle. Although that region was flat and boring, New Mexico did have some cool lava outcroppings near the Capulin National Monument, which itself was a VOLCANO, but also the last of the mountains I’ll be seeing for some time.

Johnson Mesa seen from Raton, N.M.

Lunch was at a Dairy Queen (“That’s what I like about Texas!”™) in the town of Dumas, Texas (not pronounced like the insult). Here I learned that DQ is headquartered in Minnesota, not far from its original location in Illinois but very far from Texas. I wonder if DQ has regional mottos like “That’s what I like about Iowa!” or “DQ put Joliet on the map!”

Anyway, a drive past Wichita Falls to Decatur that felt longer than the drive to Salt Lake City culminated in a dinner at a Cracker Barrel in Denton. My family and I had decided that we would have to eat at this country restaurant/store at least once on our trip. So with an hour left to spare, we got that requirement checked off the list. Whew!

"Welcome to Texas" sign with BNSF train

We soon arrived back to a house that did not, thankfully, burn down, flood, get demolished by a tornado, or get robbed. Thank you, Lord. Within an hour I had gotten myself unpacked, but had much to do in terms of writing and uploading pictures. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this blog series as much as I have enjoyed writing them. Look forward to a conclusion soon!

I’d like you to view my Flickr set of the day’s travels here, but I’ve already pasted on this post all three of the pictures I took that day.

Map

Fresh biscuits from the Dutch oven at Flying W Ranch

(June 14^th, 2010) A nice lazy morning at our Denver hotel invited us to wake up—at our leisure—and get ready for a day in which we had planned only to eat. Of course, we weren’t going to sit around all day just to eat at fast food restaurants; the places we were going to dine at were famous both for their food and their entertainment.

Façade of Casa Bonita restaurant

Lunch was at the Casa Bonita restaurant in a suburb west of Denver. A grandiose façade in the Spanish colonial style shot out of the shopping strip where the “Beautiful House” was standing. Within the building was a dark, but cozy interior that belied the true size of the building. First things first, so we ordered and received our food in a cafeteria-style line before getting seated—a great idea for such a huge place. The green chile platter I ordered was nothing too outstanding from the many Tex-Mex restaurants I’ve been to.

The decorated seating area and live entertainment are what we really paid for, however. Instead of orderly rows and columns of tables and booths, the founder designed an expansive, winding chamber of almost-organic table arrangements evoking revolutionary-era Mexico: some encircling a balcony, others situated on verandas, with still others cut into the walls overlooking the whole restaurant. In the center a man was jumping from the second story into a pool below—the famous “cliff jumper” show that was followed by an extremely cheesy play that centered on trite pirate/princess themes. After finishing our meals, our waiter brought out sopaipillas—scrumptious Mexican bits of fried dough upon which we drizzled honey.

Interior of Casa Bonita restaurant

Ready for a siesta following our meal, we drove south to our hotel in Colorado Springs, Colo. and chilled out for a few hours.

Dinner was at the Flying W Ranch, a historic, still-functioning cattle ranch situated minutes from some Colorado Springs suburbs. Simply stated, this is a place with good food and good music. Before suppertime we were free to wander around the ranch to see the many gift shops, as well as nibble on some Dutch oven-cooked biscuits. Later the staff served us a delightful meal which, they said, was cooked in the chuckwagon tradition: what a regular cowboy might once have eaten. This included beans, barbeque, bread, applesauce, and potatoes—a delicious combination.

Country band at Flying W Ranch

I enjoyed the musical entertainment very much. It reminded me much of country music, but it was still uniquely “cowboy,” laced with more folk instrumentation than most popular country music has. Wikipedia calls this stuff “Western music.”

Although I only realized this as we were leaving, the crowd there was composed wholly of white people, except a couple from Vietnam. It was not, however, homogeneous. A fair amount of Amish and Mennonites dined with us, with a good number of world travelers from Wales and South Africa. A large troop of veterans and their spouses had come from Michigan, and gave a hearty cry when the emcee announced their state. The Texan whoop was still the loudest (of course!).

When I walked out to the parking lot after all the fun and games were done, I knew that the trip had effectively come to an end. It couldn’t, however, have finished at a better place than this.

Day 11 will bring us home.

View my Flickr set of the day’s travels here.

Map

Herd of elk at West Horseshoe Park, Rocky Mountain National Park

(June 13^th, 2010)

East Wyoming Blues

The Black…ish Hills. Toothpicked-with-pine-trees hills. Hills flowing from crest to trough with a spray of boulders.

Just-birthed-leaf-green fields. Hamburgers and milk jugs glaring at me from their deceivingly buffalo-shaped bodies. Pronghorns prancing across the carpeted prairies.

Highways (and lowways) colored same color as that mine for train-food a few miles back. Them gilded with silver strips and golden tapes, luring us toward more towns where the mayor is the population.

Driving through Wyoming is BOOORING

Pillows of sky in grayscale unwillingly getting lower, lower, l o w e r. The Rain. Mathematical compasses clearing protractors across that piece of armor that keeps the wind and us…from kissing. Raindrops making craters and badlands on the windows—a miniature of landscapes to the north. No twisting the showerhead to change the massage of precipitation to a stream, like the hotel—just letting it all come down.

Road signs dyed as dirt, as sea, as trees, as pumpkins. Old fonts pressed on matte metals, new fonts printed on brassy boards. The sound-strokes and arrows speaking of directions without even screaming like a GPS.

A white wing-fin-fan blading past the car, a bit of tropospheric whale to forever electrically rotate through these black seas of rock and trees.

And the Cowboy State’s head-town standing closer to Kansas than that supervolcano of national park fame to the west.

Colorado

Rocky Mountain Iris wildflower at Moraine Park, Rocky Mountain National Park

Whew! Glad that’s over. Once we past the state line for Colorado (with a wooden sign welcoming us to the “colorful” state), mountains burst out from the bland prairie and stretched from horizon to horizon. Marking the fourth time my eyes had seen (the glory of) the Rockies, this road trip would sadly only let us spend half a day in the mountains’ eponymous national park.

Despite this self-imposed restriction, Trail Ridge Road (US-34) was closed anyway west of Rainbow Curve due to snow, which, in fact, fell on us while we drove as far as the park service would allow. The fog, rather than “blanketing” the valleys in obscurity, more like “mattressed” them in cloudiness. This characteristic made for some interesting pictures, but still hid the beautiful ravines from view while uphill.

Returning to private-owned land, we toured Estes Park for a bit and even drove through YMCA of the Rockies—the camp that my brother and I lodged at with our church youth group while only wee junior-highers. I had to hunt through some dark jungles of my memory to recall the campground, but that was mainly because YMCA had done so much construction on their property—which itself still looked great. On the way out a bull elk was eating dinner right next to our car, which, of course, called for frantic rubbernecker photography and weird looks from said elk.

A grand elk outside of the entrance to YMCA of the Rockies

Ambling about in downtown Estes Park led us to dinner and to many, many gift shops. Throughout the town flowed the Fall River Creek that amazed me and my family at the amount and speed of all. that. water. It just kept coming, straight from the mountains of the national park. Even though the creek was tamed at the dammed Lake Estes, the water flow through the confluent Big Thompson River was no less unbridled.

Day 10 will bring us to Colorado Springs, Colo.

View my Flickr set of the day’s travels here.

Map

Note: this is the eighth part of an eleven-part travelog on a road trip circling the American West. Read the introduction here.

Profile of Mount Rushmore National Memorial

(June 12^th, 2010) This morning we went on pilgrimage to America’s “shrine to democracy”—Mount Rushmore National Memorial. Of course I had seen pictures of the mountain, so nothing really surprised me about the sculpture, but I guess it was interesting seeing gigantic busts of two Founding Fathers and two later presidents that made this country great, carved into the Black Hills until the world is remade. The carving disappointed me, however, because it was engraved onto land originally part of the Great Sioux Reservation that encompassed all of South Dakota west of the Missorui River. An act of Congress in 1889 reduced the reservation to five smaller ones on the edges. The memorial further disillusioned me because of its original purpose to encourage tourism in the region. I’m a real sucker now, I guess.

National Park collector map at Mount Rushmore National Memorial gift shop

Anyway, after the presidential hill, we continued through Black Hills National Forest and Custer State Park to see Wind Cave National Park—a cavern famous more for its wind and length than the size of its rooms. Although any degree of spelunking is fun, I think my family was expecting something closer in expanse to Carlsbad Caverns National Park. Our trek took us through fairly tight passages through the earth that were void of much air movement. At one of the small rooms, the ranger lit a candlelight lamp before turning off the electric lights. Then she had one of the kiddos blow out the flame—leaving us spelunkers in raw darkness. When afterimages had left my eyes, I was left without any way to determine that I was in a dank chamber save for vocal, aural, and tactile means. The inevitable cellphone came out, and then a camera (to take a picture of what? No light?!), so the ranger turned the lights back on, re-illuminating the boxwork formations above our heads. These deposits originate in calcite that seeped into rock cracks before the cave’s formation. Although we didn’t get to experience the wind or feel the true extent of the cavern, the boxwork set this cave apart from all others we had descended to in the past.

Boxwork formation, Wind Cave National Park

For a “lunch” at four-o-clock, I tried my first Reuben sandwich—a yummy combination of toasted rye bread, corned beef, sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, and Thousand Island dressing. My upbringing in a mixture of Midwestern, Southern, and Tex-Mex cooking would preclude me from liking any of those ingredients on their own, but somehow I like them all together in this sandwich uncommon in much of the South.

While my brother had some “real fun” riding indoor go-karts, I went back to the hotel room and the introvert within me chilled out. I’m glad my brother enjoyed the 40-mile-an-hour karts, but I embraced some much-needed rest. The racetrack itself was one of the many tourist traps in the Keystone, S.D., area. People don’t come to South Dakota to play mini golf or pet animals, but all of those attractions are there for the millions of families going to see Mount Rushmore.

Day 9 will bring us to Denver, Colo., with Rocky Mountain National Park on the way.

View my Flickr set of the day’s travels here.

Map

Old wagon at Dirty Annie's Country Store at the foothills of Bighorn National Forest

(June 11^th, 2010) Waking up in the part of Wyoming east of the Grand Teton-Yellowstone cluster of public land, I really had no idea what to expect in terms of geography or culture. The Cowboy State hadn’t ever had much of an impression in my mind, except for the aforementioned national parks, Dick Cheney, and general emptiness. I had about the same opinion for the state as I do for Montana or North Dakota—that is, none, because I know so little about it.

I had set my expectations for the drive from Cody to I-90 very low, assuming rolling (or flat!) plains would be coming our way. I am so glad I was wrong. There weren’t mountains in the traditional, Teton-sense of the word, but the great uplifts of earth kept the drive interesting and made me realize that the Rocky Mountains extend between Colorado and the I-15 corridor in Utah. The atlas didn’t designate the initial part of US-14 east of Cody as “scenic,” but it sure was pretty. It actually did become scenic once we entered Bighorn National Forest and the ever-winding Granite Pass. The peaks smoothed out after we left the forest, but remained rolling even as we continued east on I-90 toward South Dakota.

Simple white wildflowers, Devils Tower National Monument

We all knew it was coming…we just didn’t know when. It was bound to present itself to us around midday or evening when there were no other options. Today we couldn’t find a way around it—the dreaded McDonald’s meal. Okay, okay, that was a little melodramatic, but on principle I simply don’t eat at that restaurant anymore. The Sheridan, Wyo., location, however, was clean and served me a tasty Big Mac, but I gave in and ordered a coke with my meal; water and junk fast food just don’t go well together. In reality it wasn’t that bad (and those fries are still so tasty and artery-clogging), but I hope this was our first and last visit while on the road.

More boulders at the foothills of Devils Tower National Monument

America’s first national park was yesterday; her first national monument was to be seen by us today: Devils Tower. A fair drive off of the interstate, it’s a looming pillar of basalt the origin of which geologists still haven’t concluded for certain. However it was formed, it was nevertheless spooky—this giant tower of rock sticking out of the ground with a field of boulders strewn round it. The monument was also a very stilled place; hurrying wind wound through the pine boughs while circling an otherwise silent tower. I wasn’t expecting to take twenty good pictures here; I figured just a cheesy tower mugshot would do before we would hop back in the car. A long 1.3-mile trail, however, ran the circumference of the forested foothills.

The interstate called us back, and soon the state of South Dakota welcomed us to its “Great Faces [and] Great Places.” It was just today that I realized the “faces” referred to Mount Rushmore, even though I have seen the license plate for days now. Upon entering the state I remarked, “welcome to winter!” because of the overcast skies and 50-degree temperatures, but knew that I didn’t really want what winter is like here. We passed numerous “Road Closed When Flashing” signs on the shoulders, presumably requiring motorists to exit for snowed-in roads ahead, as well as tall snow-drift fences. You just don’t see these sorts of things in Texas—but I guess the closer you get to the Great White North the more “arctic blasts” you receive (as meteorologists in Dallas like to call them).

"Welcome to South Dakota" sign

The other main difference I noticed was the regional accent. In contrast with the diphthongization rampant in the South, South Dakotans (and English speakers in neighboring states, I’m sure), used long, deep Os and Us, and often realized alveolar stops (Ts and Ds) dentally. One of my friends from North Dakota does this as well, so this is probably a pretty accurate generalization for the region’s accent.

Day 8 will bring us to far southwestern South Dakota: Mount Rushmore and Wind Cave National Park.

View my Flickr set of the day’s travels here.

Map

Two buffalo resting near a river in the rain, Yellowstone National Park

(June 10^th, 2010) Our drive through Grand Teton National Park today was much of the same we had seen yesterday, but more Jackson Lake than Jenny Lake. Thankfully, the stormclouds had cleared so we could see the Tetons in front of brilliant blue skies rather than earthy gray ones. The John D. Rockefeller Memorial Parkway connected Grand Teton with Yellowstone National Park, but with very little fanfare and no change in the landscape.

Our entry to America’s first national park was through the South Entrance via the triumvirate of U.S. highways 89, 191, and 287. It wasn’t long before we arrived at the first tourist hotspot, Lewis Falls. They were nothing too awe-inspiring, but it was water falling over rocks so we had to stop. Opposite the falls (and the supervolcano’s caldera) was a quaint marsh/valley with a mountain in the distance—a magnet for many professional photographers attempting to capture this view that I’m sure has been photographed millions of times. How they were putting an original spin on such a cliché shot, I don’t know, but at least there was one guy who climbed up the hill to get an elevated picture.

Old Faithful erupting, Yellowstone National Park

Crossing the continental divide thrice on the Grand Loop Road, we soon found ourselves at Old Faithful and its geothermal environs. This was at noon, so we had to wait 45 minutes until the eruption that was more predictable than impressive; my brother, in fact, called it “lame,” but it wasn’t necessarily a “WHOA!!!” moment either. I chose some bison chili for lunch there, but its flavor wasn’t as distinct as that of buffalo burgers. On full stomachs (urgh) we hiked the Upper Geyser Basin and endured sulfuric steam clouds—a warm welcome for me in the cold, but a smelly revulsion to my brother. At the hike’s terminus was the average-sized Morning Glory Pool, an underwhelming end to the 1.5-mile trail. We had had our fill of geysers after this, my dad saying, “once you’ve seen one you’ve seen ‘em all.”

We tried to see bubbling puddles of mud at Fountain Paint Pot, but saw only brown water and steam. The edge of the supervolcano’s caldera faintly showed in the distance, though.

Peering into Morning Glory Pool, Yellowstone National Park

We continued north on the loop through Madison and Norris Junctions, seeing plenty of sulfuric steam clouds along the way. Mammoth Hot Springs in the northernmost part of the park was disappointing; in the little we walked around, only a single spring was trickling and Minerva Terrace was dry. After supper, we accidentally drove into Montana for a few minutes before getting back on the Grand Loop east to Tower-Roosevelt Junction. This tract of the park held much more beautiful land than the southwestern quadrant: steep, green hills; active and wild bison and bears; and much fewer tourists.

Right before the junction was the Petrified Tree turnoff, which my guidebook noted for “the world’s largest concentration of petrified trees.” I, however, saw a single vertical rock of redwood inside a fenced-in patch of mountain; the geometric patterns formed seemed almost urban or electric. Maybe the rest of the petrified wood was farther east along Specimen Ridge. The loop turned south and brought us to a teaser of Tower Falls—pretty, but just a small cascade along the creek before a larger waterfall that we missed.

Top of petrified redwood tree, Yellowstone National Park

The Canyon Village Junction at the eastern edge of the figure-eight loop’s crossbar is the central area for the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. The canyon, while not as wide or colorful as the Grand Canyon, still produced equivalent “wow” moments in me, especially with its two loud waterfalls. And it was the location of my greatest photographic failure. I like to think of myself as somewhat knowledgeable when it comes to my DSLR, but I couldn’t force it not to overexpose the blue sky as a blizzard, leaving the canyon in darkness. Running from lookout point to point, I finally managed to get a mediocre shot—but only after racking up the shutter speed to a 1/4000 of a second.

Hoping to at last see some belching mud puddles, we turned off at Mud Volcano only to smell more geysers. We did see (and hear) a hot spring called “Dragon’s Breath”—aptly named for the deep grumblings and steam it emitted.

N.B. that during the course of our drive through the whole northwestern park we were seeing buffalo, bears, elk, bighorn sheep, and a few deer. Additionally, there was never a parcel of forest without charred tree trunks or limbs—a testament to the fires of 1988 and those of the past decade. The bright side is that millions of baby fir trees have sprouted in many of the burned-over districts. These two themes, the wildlife and the wildfire-affected forests—together with the rampant geothermal fonts—define, I think, this park from all others in the American West. Although I wasn’t so impressed with the park, I believe the concentration of wild animals and volcanic activity here give Yellowstone its fame.

Historic Yellow Bus, Yellowstone National Park

The park treated us to a gorgeous sunset over its eponymous Lake on our way out. The buffalos must have wanted to enjoy the sunset as well, for we both took another trio of highways (14, 16, and 20 this time) alongside the lakeshore. They ended up crossing the road for some of the grassy shoulder near the water—at their leisure. But we still got to experience the traditional bison-standing-in-the-road as advertised.

Closer to the East Entrance was the still frozen-over Sylvan Lake, near the identically-named River and Pass. The temperature here dropped to 35 degrees at dusk—contrast this with the 120-ish my brother and I tried to escape within the Grand Canyon only three days prior!

Blue gradients over the Yellowstone River, Yellowstone National Park

The land changed little after exiting the park into Shoshone National Forest, one of five national forests that encircle Yellowstone probably as a buffer zone between public and private lands. The drive through this forest to Cody, Wyo., took us through three tunnels until the highway turned onto flatter ground. Arriving in a lower elevation made it feel as if we had fallen out of Yellowstone onto a place where the mountains had smoothed out like re-rolled aluminum foil. While a live rodeo was, erm, still kickin’, we checked in to a hotel in the “rodeo capital of the world.” The West is still Wild, folks.

Day 7 will bring us to Rapid City, S.D.

View my Flickr set of the day’s travels here.

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One of the Teton Range mountains glows in the rainstorm, Grand Teton National Park

(June 9^th, 2010) Having lost a day to sleep in last Saturday, my family and I took this Wednesday to catch up on rest from the road trip thus far. A lazy morning in the hotel led to a departure from the Salt Lake City area as meandering as the Mississippi River.

Ultimately, we got to see the Great Salt Lake via Antelope Island State Park. At the north entrance station hung a paper sign that read

Attention Visitors:

The biting gnats on the Island are bad.

Please be aware.

Thanks.

Swarm of gnats (non-biting midges) on Antelope Island

I mentally brushed aside this foreboding notice but quickly realized the folly of my ways. Immediately upon embarking the causeway to Antelope Island, millions, and I am not exaggerating, millions of “gnats” were focused on either side of the road, focusing their swarm-clouds over bushes. More mosquito than gnat in size, they formed hovering pillars on both sides of the road for seven miles! It was disgustingly frightening. Thankfully the population relented after the causeway, but I was still paranoid at the “vistas.” On our way out (the salty water lent a bit of an odor to the island), my dad stopped the rental car on the shoulder so we could nab some pictures of these monster bugs. As soon as we did, a swarm migrated to us and immediately landed on the windshield and the windows. We dared not open the windows lest these ghastly gnats bite our mosquito-accustomed epidermises. After doing some research, it seems the “gnats” on the causeway were actually non-biting midges, which explains their size. I fear what the biting gnats on the Island were really like.

Idaho came after Utah on I-15, with much of the same scenery. Yet it was greener and hillier, reminding me of the Irish countryside or of Scandinavia. The nimbus clouds definitely contributed to the north European feel.

Moose snackin' on the sagebrush, Grand Teton National Park

The state road (ID-33/WY-22) that brought us into Jackson Hole was one of the most beautiful drives I’ve been on. I’m sure anticipation of the Tetons was part of it, but the conifers and mountains sure let me know I wasn’t in the desert—or the plains—any longer.

The city of Jackson proper reminded me much of the Appalachian town of Gatlinburg, Tenn., but with a distinct western feel to it. It’s definitely a tourist town, with cheesy gift shops and art galleries, but the mountain atmosphere is unbeatable. This fresh air of Jackson Hole, in fact, was the first thing I noticed—a divine mixture of campfire smoke and crisp mountain oxygen.

Grand Teton National Park is barely half an hour north of the city center. There aren’t many original adjectives left to describe them, but they still rise out of the sagebrush like beastly giants, capped with lightning bolts of snow and glaciers. We entered the park just as a storm was blowing through, so lightning actually did strike the mountains. Although I wish we could have seen them in all their splendor, the ethereal clouds made for some wonderful photographic opportunities.

Looking into storm-ridden Cascade Canyon across Jenny Lake, Grand Teton National Park

A local restaurant named Mojo’s served us dinner. The sign outside advertised “PIZZA,” but the waitresses of various European descents also had all sorts of Italian- and Swedish-style food on the menu. The warm wood interior coupled with a great selection of indie-style music from a quality speaker system created a very pleasing setting. Although my brother didn’t care for the pizza, I thought it was some of the best I’ve ever had: great, original taste flavored the tomato sauce, and the floury dough was nice and chewy. The “chicken” penne skillet I ordered had very little actual meat, though.

Day 6 will bring us from Grand Teton National Park, through Yellowstone National Park, to Cody, Wyo.

View my Flickr set of the day’s travels here.

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Horseshoe Bend

(June 8^th, 2010) On road trips there are often days of seeing things and those of actually getting there. This was one of the latter types of days. After leaving Flagstaff at a decent hour (having lodged there after hiking the Grand Canyon yesterday), we backtracked our route along US-89 that we took two days ago, but, rather than turning into the national park again, continued north. It wasn’t long until we reached canyon’s northernmost point—Horseshoe Bend. This gigantic meander in what is technically “Marble Canyon” was even larger than the pictures portray it. In fact, my 18-55mm lens couldn’t capture the entire river in one shot, meaning all those fancy pictures on Flickr that show the whole thing are either edited panoramas or shot using lenses with a wider field than 18mm.

The half-mile hike to the lookout point (within Glen Canyon National Recreation Area) was surprisingly strenuous, although it was eleven in the morning—within the danger zone of desert hiking. The whole ordeal of walking there, gaping like a good tourist, taking pictures, and walking back took half an hour, so plan accordingly if you think this is just going to be a quick stop on the side of the road.

Slanted layers of sandy rock near Horseshoe Bend

It wasn’t long before we drove past Glen Canyon Dam and saw the reason why the Colorado River is no longer colored red as its Spanish name would lead one to believe: the dam now prevents ruddy sediments from flowing through the Grand Canyon, and only lets frigid blue water from deep in Lake Powell out.

We had lunch in Kanab, Utah, and within the Subway there was a little table brochure that remarked how amazingly central the town was to all the major cities and national parks in the Colorado Plateau. I thought that was like saying it was “amazing” how central College Station, Texas, is to Dallas, Austin, San Antonio, and Houston—you still have to drive hours just to get anywhere.

A boat sailing on the Colorado River within the immense Horseshoe Bend

Our attempt to visit Zion National Park failed miserably. We arrived on the second day that the National Park Service began construction on the main park road (UT-9), which essentially precludes all visitors from seeing park from 9am to 4pm. Oh well. It sounded like Zion’s parking lots fill up by 10am anyway, and shuttles are the only way to see the good stuff farther north. So we turned back around and drove through Dixie National Forest instead. We also happened across Cedar Breaks National Monument en route to I-15. This was probably the prettiest scenery we had seen the whole trip—what with the evergreen trees, residual snow, elevation change, and even a natural amphitheater with hoodoos.

The journey was straightforward after the interstate—just due north past forests, mountains, and many homogenously-designed Mormon churches. Our dinner in Nephi at J. C. Mickelson’s was very tasty—be sure to stop if you’re ever going through there!

Day 5 will bring us to Jackson, Wyo., and Grand Teton National Park.

View my Flickr set of the day’s travels here.

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The Colorado River and the Granite Gorge to the west, seen from Plateau Point, Grand Canyon National Park

(June 7^th, 2010) I wake up at 4:31am—four minutes before the alarm clock. To the rest of the U.S., it’s the sunlight equivalent of 5:31, as Arizona doesn’t observe Daylight Savings Time. My brother and I drag ourselves out of bed at this ungodly hour only because a dayhike into the Grand Canyon awaits us only yards from our hotel room. Having cleaned ourselves up and packed our bags, we leave a still-sleeping Grand Canyon Village at 5:30am and hit the Bright Angel Trail.

It is an easy walk through the first and second tunnels. Along the way a bighorn sheep (a ram, not a ewe!) looks up from nibbling the trail shoulder and stares straight at us. We’re probably the first humans he’s seen since the sun’s been up, and I wonder if he’ll try to ram my butt. Thankfully, the worst he does is fart. In the wide berth my brother and I give him, he calmly yet deliberately walks past us.

Bighorn sheep quietly hiking up the Bright Angel Trail, Grand Canyon National Park

During this easy part of the hike we pass through immense layers of sandstone and red dirt, and see giant boulders that speak of violent pasts having tumbled from higher up or having detached themselves from the canyon walls.

We check in at the Mile-and-a-Half Resthouse at 6:10am, refresh ourselves, and keep on going until we reach the Three-Mile Resthouse at 6:56. Here we meet a guy from Malaysia working the summer up at the rim, but hiking on his day off. He tells us of his 34-hour flight (with layovers across the Pacific Rim, of course) and his two bus rides to get here. My brother and I are wary of his plans to be back up at the rim by noon, given the intense inner canyon heat. Although not noted in the trail maps, there is a bathroom at this resthouse.

Below this stop the trail gets much steeper and contains a rather annoying set of switchbacks known as “Jacob’s Ladder.” We dread how difficult this part will be on the way back. The land gradually transitions from the usual rugged scrub into an attractive tree- and wildflower-laden oasis—Indian Garden. About 4 ½ miles from the rim (and 2,100 feet below it), there are campgrounds, restrooms, picnic tables, ranger stations, and water. My brother and I stop here around 7:45 to let our feet breathe and have a second (or third?) breakfast.

Looking up at the rim from Plateau Point, Grand Canyon National Park

At 8:09 we set off from Indian Garden for Plateau Point, the very edge of the Tonto Platform upon which the latter campground is based. This offshoot trail (the Bright Angel continues to the riverbank) takes us through some pretty rough terrain: the sun’s full heat, prickly pears, and a noticeable ascent. Once reached, however, the inner Granite Gorge and the impressive Colorado River evoke awe and a quiet reverence. The windy view inside the canyon makes the whole hike, and maybe even the trip, worth it. From 8:45 to 9:05 we ooh and aah and even call our parents on the rim—and yes, there is cellphone service down there! Although not noted in the trail maps, there is a tank of water right before the lookout point. I have my own Nalgenes with me, but I don’t mind having a fountain right there.

Half an hour later we’re back at Indian Garden, a checkpoint with the most visible life in the canyon. Huge ravens soar and call all over the camp; small, hardy lizards scamper about and oddly do pushups between sprints; and evil rock squirrels both try to steal my food and spar and play king of the hill with each other.

Squirrel nibbling on some dropped food, Grand Canyon National Park

For two hours we munch on snacks, try to sleep, and explore until high noon when we decide to go see if “Victor’s Oasis” is vacant or not. Thankfully, it is, so my brother and I take off our shoes and take a dip in this wading hole for an hour. The water is as cool as the ice from the machine back at the hotel; although since it’s technically spring water, “earth-cold” might be a better term than “ice-cold.” It’s a nice reprieve from the sun’s oppression apart from the tree-shade.

Now at a comfortable temperature, we have a second lunch on our picnic tables and wonder how anyone can be hiking in the sun’s full punishment at this hour.

After a group of three older men leave at two-o-clock (!), we decide to start getting ready by stretching and making Gatorade. Forty-five minutes later we head back to Victor’s Oasis, soak our shirts and hats in the creek, and unsuccessfully attempt to use said stream as a cooler for our Nalgenes.

The Battleship butte seen from the Bright Angel Trail, Grand Canyon National Park

Even though the National Park Service vehemently recommends hikers not to endure the canyon between 10am and 4pm, we leave the paradise of Indian Garden by three—and soon realize the prudence of the warning. Before our departure the local thermometer (probably dramatically) read 118 degrees, but now it is definitely a scorcher, especially at the cruel switchbacks of Jacob’s Ladder. I think that the reference to angels going up to and coming down from heaven is kind of a cruel allusion, since hiking up feels more like hell. With many water breaks and feelings of despair, we manage to make it back to the Three-Mile Resthouse around 4-ish. I guess the shade and water here are somewhat heavenly.

When we get there, many fellow hikers greet us, including the group of three older men who had set out an hour before us. There’s a girl here who’s thrown up and has trouble keeping warm while trying to cool off, so one of the men (a police chief) calls the 911 phone and a Ranger is on the way.

A quarter of an hour is rest enough for us, so we continue up. The sun goes down not too long after—and there was much rejoicing. During one of our rests we see that the buttes and arms of the canyon now shade the first leg of the trail, but are nevertheless glad to be on higher elevation earlier than later. We run into the park ranger, who ends up being from our hometown of Plano, Texas, as she makes her way down to the three-mile marker.

Rest comes to us at 5:30 in the form of the Mile-and-a-Half Resthouse, where we sit, drink, and eat in the quiet and contemplate the now-shaded canyon. Passing a few familiar faces from the trail on the way up, we finally reach the rim after a tiring last stretch at 6:30pm. Our ascent is ultimately only 1.5 times as long as our descent, rather than the advertised twice.

Pink prickly pear blossom, Grand Canyon National Park

Before hiking I had read that trails in the Grand Canyon produce two types of people: those who can’t wait to go back in again, and those who never want to do it again. I place myself firmly in the former category, but only because I was well-prepared, drank water, ate snacks, and rested often. The canyon is an extremely interesting and unique natural formation which I would like to camp and raft in some day.

Helpful links

• “Bright Angel Trail,” Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia (accessed November 18, 2010).
• Chester, Tom. “The Bright Angel Trail.” Thomas Jay Chester’s Website, October 8, 1999 (accessed November 18, 2010).
• National Park Service. “Bright Angel Trail.” Grand Canyon National Park (NPS.gov), updated February 2008 (accessed November 18, 2010). [PDF]
• National Park Service. “Day Hike – Bright Angel Trail, Grand Canyon National Park.” Grand Canyon National Park (NPS.gov) (accessed November 18, 2010). [PDF]
• National Park Service. “Hike Smart Tips – Audio Podcasts by PSAR.” Grand Canyon National Park (NPS.gov), updated December 14, 2009 (accessed November 18, 2010).
• Ribokas, Bob. “Trail Description: Bright Angel Trail.” Grand Canyon Explorer, updated July 31, 2005 (accessed November 18, 2010).
• Wood, T. D. “The Ten Essentials.” REI Expert Advice, updated November 2009 (accessed November 18, 2010).

Day 4 will bring us to Salt Lake City, Utah.

View my Flickr set of the day’s travels here.

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Common raven flying near Desert View, Grand Canyon National Park

(June 6^th, 2010) Three hours from Albuquerque is Petrified Forest National Park, our destination for this second day of road-tripping. Just as much of northern New Mexico and Arizona is, the land on the way there was mostly scrub and juniper trees. The park itself, however, was beautiful. Like a few other National Parks (e.g., Badlands or Saguaro), it’s divided into two main parts: the Painted Desert in the north and the Petrified Forest south of I-40. Our first stop was the former section, which I felt like we spent way too much time in; the first one or two “vistas” showed pretty much all there is to see from the road. In spite of the traffic noise from the interstate, the land was remarkably still and quiet, possibly due to the midday heat.

Finished with these badland hills as layered as the sand art in the gift shop, we took the bridge over the highway and also crossed over the Puerco “River,” but wash is probably a better term for it. On our way to see some trees-turned-rocks we traversed such eerie moonscapes as “the Tepees” and the Blue Mesa Trail. The actual petrified logs in the park’s southern end gave me chills because they probably were remnants of the great antediluvian forests of old. Many logs, in fact, had bits of rock-bark clinging to the rock-wood, or growth rings still visible despite petrification.

The Blue Mesa Trail, Petrified Forest National Park

Having gotten our fill of dead trees and hills colored in nearly the same rainbow shades, we drove then to Flagstaff—a city my dad referred to as a “fun place to live.” He currently would prefer not to spend the rest of his days in Texas, by the way. While in this base camp of sorts for the gaping gorge farther north we bought some groceries for dinner and breakfast before actually driving to said canyon.

Coconino National Forest gave way before we reached the east entrance to Grand Canyon National Park. US-89 passed through the Navajo Nation on the way, in which the Little Colorado Gorge dramatically dropped into the earth. I had no idea it even existed, so it was a wonderful surprise to see a baby Grand Canyon before entering the park.

The Little Colorado Gorge

When we did arrive, we paid no fees because we were on the tail end of the National Park Service’s “Free-Free Day” for the early summer. Hooray! It wasn’t long at all until the Desert View area came into, well, view. The early evening sunlight did justice to the many miles-wide canyon that I had been anticipating for the past year. I didn’t remember much from the time I saw it in 3^rd grade, so it was like seeing it for the first time all over again. This thing was gigantic. Nearby was the Watchtower, a gift shop/rest area that looked as natural there as the rocks on the rim or some regional Indian cliff dwellings.

The semicircular drive across the rim took us (albeit slowly) to the Grand Canyon Village, where we checked in to the Bright Angel Lodge for the night. After settling in to our room without a view (but with a historical feel to it), we attempted to hitch a ride on one of the shuttle buses to Hopi Point, but the National Park Service disallowed standing on the buses. Instead, we walked the rim trail ourselves, stopping at the Trailview Overlook and Maricopa Point along the way. The trail itself was slightly empty, leaving the overlooks of the gilded canyon in a stillness more enjoyable than the Painted Desert’s. My brother and I could see our doom for the next day from the rim’s elevation: the Bright Angel Trail.

After the sun finally set long after the stated sunset time of 7:15pm, we ate our Lunchables on the rock-fence in the dark, watching flashlights dance around at the Indian Garden and farther in at Plateau Point.

Day 3 will bring us into the Grand Canyon itself via the Bright Angel Trail.

View my Flickr set of the day’s travels here.

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Orange prickly pear flower with bee in Palo Duro Canyon

(June 5^th, 2010) Beginning our adventure into the American West, my family and I set out from our Texas home at 6:32 in the morning. After a few minor pitstops, we reached US-380 and took that to US-237, which we drove on from Decatur through Wichita Falls to Amarillo. The countryside was incredibly drab: farms, ranches, and flat, rolling plains.

We lunched at The Big Texan, a steakhouse famous for its offering of a free 72-ounce steak and all the sides—but only if the brave challenger can stomach it all within an hour. Although my family and I opted for the cut of meat that is a ninth the size of the four-and-a-half-pounder, two men showed up near the end of our meal and bet the restaurant approximately $200 that they could do the deed.

Two guys attempt to eat the 72-oz. steak at The Big Texan

Rather spontaneously, instead of continuing west on I-40, we drove south through more farms, ranches, and houses to see the Palo Duro Canyon. This beautiful hole in the ground that appears out of nowhere in this part of the Great Plains was a great appetizer for the Grand Canyon, which would be our main entrée in two days. We started down a 1.5-mile hiking trail that claimed there was an amphitheater at the bottom (there was…) but didn’t let us know of the huge elevation drop. Turning back after half an hour in the 100-degree afternoon heat, we took the air-conditioned rental car into the canyon instead. Wimps, I know. And it scared me a little because my brother and I would be hiking into the Grand Canyon in two days. But this was hiking in the heat of the afternoon without water or shade.

Grand cirrus clouds above Palo Duro Canyon

Almost immediately after passing the Texas-New Mexico border, the landscape changed to juniper-covered hills and mesas, solidifying our transition from the Great Plains to the West. An accident on I-40 outside of Albuquerque set back our arrival in that town by about half an hour. But when we did arrive, it was to our lodging—which meant food and sleep.

Day 2 will bring us to Petrified Forest National Park, and our entrance in Grand Canyon National Park.

View my Flickr set of the day’s travels here.

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More scenes from an unintended road trip by jayRaz

The act of taking your car, stuffing your friends and family into it along with their luggage, food, and stuffed animals, and driving thousands of miles across the country for fun is a distinctively American pastime. The introduction of the automobile, the paving of the Interstate Highway System, and an increase in leisure time contributed to the development of road-tripping by the middle of the 20^th century. Road trips can be planned out to the minute or they can be completely spontaneous and open-ended, finished only when your gas tank and wallet are empty.

That we would be taking a road trip this summer was a foregone conclusion. As early as a year ago, my dad had been talking about making the journey from Texas to Arizona to see the Grand Canyon, and from there to South Dakota to see Mount Rushmore. As Yellowstone National Park is pretty much on the way from those two points, my suggestion that we visit America’s first national park was accepted. Over the next few months, the trip gained a few points of interest mainly situated along the main route from Texas to the Grand Canyon, from the Grand Canyon to Mount Rushmore, and from Mount Rushmore back home.

So, this June, my family and I will be undertaking such a trip, leaving our home in Plano, Texas, and making a great circle across the American West. After leaving Texas (finally!), we’ll drive through New Mexico west to Arizona, north through Utah to arrive at Wyoming, east to South Dakota, and south through Colorado to return back to Texas. Although enjoying the many hours on the road will be a large chunk of the trip, we plan to visit many national parks and a few other natural and cultural sites of note.

I plan to blog and photograph each day of the trip, but will not hold myself to posting, for instance, all my pictures and adventures from the day in the Grand Canyon, having returned to the hotel. There will probably be a lag of one or two days because the interstate does not have wifi and I would like to get my beauty sleep at the hotel rather than stay up late blogging and tagging photos on Flickr. Over the next week or so I’ll be posting from this grand region of the country rich with natural beauty.

• Day 1: Plano, Texas, to Albuquerque, N.M.
• Day 2: Albuquerque, N.M. to Flagstaff, Ariz.
• Day 3: Hiking Grand Canyon National Park
• Day 4: Flagstaff, Ariz., to Salt Lake City, Utah
• Day 5: Salt Lake City, Utah, to Jackson, Wyo.
• Day 6: Yellowstone National Park
• Day 7: Cody, Wyo., to Rapid City, S.D.
• Day 8: South Dakota
• Day 9: Rapid City, S.D., to Denver, Colo.
• Day 10: Denver, Colo., to Colorado Springs, Colo.
• Day 11: Colorado Springs, Colo., to Plano, Texas
• Conclusion

The night sky

My story

It is finals week at my college, Ouachita Baptist University. This semester has felt shorter and less, well, academically rigorous than others, but my friends and I need a break. Most of us don’t have finals the next day anyways, so we can get away with gallivanting across the county for an evening. After a frustrating amount of talking about getting ready and then deliberating about a plan, seven of my friends and I hop into two of our cars and leave campus—for Walmart, though.

We didn’t have flashlights, you see, yet our point of interest for this evening is the infamous “Gurdon Light”—a local ghost light or will-o’-the-wisp that’s got some stories and legends that lead you down the train tracks to see it. Flashlights are a must because one sees this…thing…by walking after the sun’s gone down on abandoned, unlit railroad tracks. This is Arkansas, remember, so wild game grazes to and fro across the Natural State. You wouldn’t want to be caught outside at midnight, in the dark, and face-to-face with a buck, bear, or even the Fouke Monster. Additionally, Maglites heavy with two D-cell batteries serve as a great defense.

Having done business with our local Walmart, Tyler and Evan return to the car with an LED mini Maglite that temporarily blinds us when they demonstrate it for us. Half past 11pm we take the onramp to I-30 south and depart Arkadelphia.

Over the weekend the heavens decided it was time to start flooding Arkansas once again, but by Wednesday the ground isn’t too squishy and the humidity no longer tortures us with hints of what the summer will really be like. Away from my college’s light pollution, the night sky is clear and pure, and the stars fill everyone with awe. The air is deliciously fresh and bespeaks weather that is altogether agreeable. Mosquitoes and other fly-by biting insects are thankfully either sleeping or still metamorphosizing in stagnant water and local swamps.

We take the exit for Gurdon and have a last-chance bathroom break at the truck stop just off the highway. Having learned the hard way on many road trips of old, I did my urination before sallying forth to see tonight’s attraction. While inside the Superstop convenience store, Tyler confirms directions to the light before returning with the rest of the gang to our cars. It’s just as I researched—due south on highway 53 until you get to the tracks.

Tyler illuminates the tracks

So we drive with not a little excitement on a curvy stretch of Arkansas asphalt, whispering stories about what happened here during the Depression and other spooky tales. Then it appears—the warm yellow railroad XING sign heralding the intersection of the old tracks. Supposedly they’re still in use…but Tyler reassures us that trains never come through here. Rather than parking off the side of the road, however, he takes us down this dirt road that the state would officially describe as “not maintained.” It’s a long one-way road that penetrates a frequently-logged parcel of the Piney Woods into which we’ll be walking this evening. At first I don’t believe Tyler’s actually taking us down this road, but when I see the end of the rough cul-de-sac ahead I don’t feel as worried. We still drive over a pretty nasty waterlogged section riddled with deep potholes.

Parking about ten yards to the north of the tracks, we all climb out, turn on our flashlights, and lock the cars. At 11:45pm, my feet touch the rails illuminated by no moon but the stars above. The sliver of cleared trees cuts through the forest around us, perfectly illustrating converging lines and their vanishing point. We eagerly look toward that point for a glimpse of the Gurdon Light.

Four minutes after midnight an animal, in Grace’s words, “lumbers” toward us. We initially mistake it for the Light, but a pair of eyes diverges from the singularity and then a body emerges. Soon it descends beneath the first bridge. We’re wary about crossing with this creature lurking about, but with eyes focused on the wooden beams and with our flashlights held above, we cross bridge number one and continue our journey west.

The stars seen through the treeline

A few more bridges present themselves to us on which I smell residual soot, although none of my other friends can. During this early bridge-crossing stage, we’re constantly turning around to make sure there’s nobody (or nothing) behind us. To our alarm, a bright light shines behind us in an almost Gurdon Light fashion. We shine our flashlights back there, which momentarily extinguishes the mystery light, but after a few minutes of walking it returns. The group eventually concludes that somebody is also coming to see the light, but we’re not in agreement on what sort of people are shadowing us. Tyler and Evan are suspicious they may be muggers, but Mary thinks it’s probably people like us having some fun during finals week. I’m hopeful they’re people we know. The flashlights must have disappeared no later than 12:30.

As we walk both Tyler and I are talking about the legends surrounding the Light, what people think it really is (other than a ghost, of course), as well as parallel phenomena around the world. Amanda, Evan, and Grace, walking in a row behind me, try to drown out Tyler’s recounting of the Depression-era story with LALALAs and a “NOOOO!” or two.

The true Gurdon Light shows itself after 12:20. It is a very, very faint and tiny speck of light, akin to a dim star, but also erratic in its illumination. Hot blue, dark red, and some oranges and yellows all shine from the “vanishing point” far ahead of us.

Having walked for a long time, we rest at a logged clearing in the forest. Here the night sky evokes oohs and aahs, and makes us look like tourists gawking at a wondrous sight with our necks stretched back. Setting up my camera and tripod on top of the tracks, I take thirty-second exposures of the stars with considerable success. They are a little out of focus, but my friends and I are impressed with my entry-level DSLR’s astrophotographic muscles.

While I’m making my camera look like a three-legged spaceship from War of the Worlds, I look up and see a bold limegreen light about as bright as Sirius materialize about 30˚ above the horizon that then promptly proceeds to rapidly descend and disappear beneath the trees, leaving no dust or fireball trail behind it. About half the group sees it as well. My immediate reaction is to connect this bizarre event with the Gurdon Light, but the next day I do some research and find out it’s a fairly common phenomenon that freaks a lot of people out.

With this out-of-the-ordinary experience fresh in our minds, we continue walking west across the tracks. On our way out of the clearing, the fresh spring air transmogrifies into a thick, dusty-smelling draft. The further we walk, the more we see the light. It continues to appear in brief flashes, again in light blue, red, or orange, but still very faint. In accordance with the associated folklore, Tyler knocks one of the ballast stones against the rails to “summon” the light, to no avail. It lastly appears above the tracks in the distance and then dips down quickly to disappear.

At 12:50 we decide head back having not seen very much for a while, and being ready to go to bed. When we turn around, a growing layer of fog surprises us, but soon dissipates after we pass the field poked with the vestigial trunks of once-towering pines. Grace and I agree that the air smells much like the interior of a cave, what with the temperature getting increasingly colder.

By 1:40 in the morning we make it to the “parking lot” and buckle up. We have no problem getting our cars started and moving, but a Honda Accord is stuck in a rut a couple of yards in front of the parking area, and stuck deep. Rolling down the windows we can hear the driver trying, over the phone, to get her dad to help her. They have issues, of course, so they yell and don’t make any progress. Tyler and Evan go up there to check things out and offer to push the car with passengers, but nothing ever happens. As we sit in our cars, we deduce that these are the people who were shining the lights behind us…and whom we probably scared off with our impersonations of the Light and a small bit of howling on my part.

Where the Gurdon Light would be

Since the Accord is stuck in the one-way part of the road, we weigh a couple of alternatives. First is the obvious one of driving around the car, but we aren’t too sure if we have the clearance and we also don’t want to get stuck in the process and have two cars stuck in the mud side-by-side. That would be a quagmire in both senses of the word.

Second, we seriously begin to wonder if the train tracks are drivable. At the beginning of the hike, Evan mentioned a story he was told about some loons having the Gurdon Light appear inside their car, presumably while their car was on the tracks! Evan and Grace walk east on the tracks to see if our cars can drive across it. I’m not too keen on the idea of a car scaling the tracks, especially the two sedans we’re in. They return and report their discovery of a downed tree and a bridge or two.

So we decide to wait. After an hour, the driver in front of us finally gets a hold of some friends who arrive with wooden planks and try to use them to give some leverage to the front wheels stuck in mud. This process lasts for a good two hours, with no success, until 3:36am when the car shifts forward a good yard or so. This only happens when two guys actually push the car for the first time. Go figure.

Pretty much the only thing we can do at this point is pray, which I do a lot of. I’m not too worried about getting back, as I don’t have any finals the next day (that is, when the sun comes up), and I know it will only be a matter of time until they call a tow truck. In spite of the driver’s stupidity in not only getting stuck in the first place but also in pointlessly attempting to get out for three hours, the Holy Spirit gives me peace amidst this incredibly frustrating situation.

At last the driver calls the cops, one of which comes at 4:30 in the morning. We don’t know what goes on, but he probably calls a wrecker because both the cop and the friends who came to help drive away, leaving the road in silence and darkness for the first time in hours.

In the meantime, we attempt to sleep. I can’t, so I, to borrow the Apostle James’ words, “consider it pure joy” in this unmistakable trial of patience. Surprisingly, there is actually much to be thankful for: the pine trees, the soothing crickets, the cool air, the beautiful stars, the comfort of the car, the calmness of night, the lack of oppressive summer heat or bitter winter cold, no pesky bugs. I am also grateful that those in front of us are normal, though dumb, people simply out to get a glimpse of the Gurdon Light rather than out to get us.

The tow truck arrives after they finally call him!

Staring through the moonroof I get the privilege of seeing both a slow-moving, man-made satellite and, to my delirious excitement, a shooting star traversing the celestial sphere.

Finally, at five in the morning, the tow truck arrives. When the car moves out of its rut, I am so happy that tears come to my eyes. We carefully direct our cars around the puddles and mud such that we do not repeat the disgrace of the past four hours. Before we can even reach the highway, however, the tow truck stops and blocks all traffic to and from the road so he can exact a charge from the driver that got her car stuck. Sadly, neither she nor her passengers can gather together enough money to pay him, so the wrecker has to haul her car onto his bed and then have them awkwardly ride with him to who-knows-where.

When the tow truck, having teased us with freedom for half an hour, drives away, we fly onto the highway and manage to get back to campus before the sun comes up. I crash onto my bed at six hours before noon and, with my bedroom window open, I fall asleep to good air and the chirping of dozens of cardinals far more chipper than I.

At long last on the interstate after four hours of sitting

My report

So what is this light that I saw? Read on to learn what happened during the Depression that made people notice it, as well as what it could be.

The “legend” surrounding the Gurdon Light is common knowledge to most residents of Clark County, Arkansas, and is usually told to incoming freshman at either of Arkadelphia’s two universities, Henderson State and Ouachita Baptist. In a nutshell, a man was walking on the train tracks outside of Gurdon, Arkansas, and somehow managed to get run over by a train. In the process, however, he was decapitated. His body was found and buried, but his head was never discovered. Who exactly died, and when, isn’t clear, but it’s still likely that this dreadful accident occurred many years ago. The tale goes on to explain that the light hovering above the tracks is the ghost of this man, holding a lantern, and searching for his lost head. This bit of folklore thus elevates this baffling will-o’-the-wisp to a supernatural ghost light.[1]

A murder also occurred nearby almost eighty years ago. Staci Nicole Morrow describes it:

Many trace the Gurdon Light legend to a murder that took place near the railroad tracks in December 1931. William McClain, a foreman with the Missouri-Pacific railroad, was involved in an argument with one of his employees, Louis McBride, regarding how many days McBride was being allowed to work. During the Depression, the company did not have the option of giving McBride more hours on the job. McBride became very angry, hit McClain on the head with a shovel, and beat him to death with a railroad spike maul or a spike hammer. The Gurdon Light was first sighted shortly after this murder, and many have come to believe that the light is actually McClain’s ghostly lantern glowing.[2]

It’s an interesting story, and the folkloric connection of the Light with this incident is convincing. Nevertheless, many people have tried to find a natural or material origin for this exceptional phenomenon.

Due to the Light’s similar appearance to car headlights and taillights, and its proximity to the interstate just miles west, some believe that car lights simply shine across the tracks as they drive by. Curiously, car lights and the Gurdon Light share the same spectrum when viewed through a spectrograph. There is, however, a hill that blocks sight of the interstate between it and the Light. Plus, locals have seen it since the ‘30s, long before construction of the highway.[3][4]

Others believe that the state mineral, quartz, is to cause for the Light. The piezoelectric effect, strong in it, might generate electricity from pressure on the minerals below ground due to the New Madrid fault—the seismic zone of which is centered on the other side of the state.[5][6][7]

Swamp gas is the only other major natural explanation for the Gurdon Light. If true, then this end product from the biodegradation of plant and animal matter must always be burning whenever people hunt out the Light. Nevertheless, while Morrow notes that “the light appears in all kinds of weather,” this theory might be the most plausible one.[8] W. Richard Reegan describes the area as a “swamp,” and I certainly was aware of this marshy nature when I crossed bridges spanning murky waters.[9] Writing in Biomass Magazine, Art Wiselogel states that the methane and phosphine gases present in swamp gas “can self-ignite and produce a flame with an eerie green glow”—at least in the lab; he doesn’t know of swamp gas spontaneously combusting in the woods, for example.[10] Michelle Delio of Wired tells us of a similar occurrence in the swamps of Okefenokee, in the state of Georgia. Here the locals accept that glowing orbs of light are emissions from the swamps, rather than supernatural spooks. Discussing the cycle of decomposition, Delio says,

This process of renewal also results in a quite flatulent swamp, which emits pops of gas on a semi-regular basis. Mostly the gas just hovers innocently over the swamp, appearing as a greenish-yellow fuzzy blob of light if it’s visible at all. But occasionally, according to locals, it leaves the swamp and romps around town.[11]

Furthermore, similar stories with corresponding elements (train tracks, decapitation, swamps, and lights) abound across the South. As an example, a post on, ironically, a beekeeping forum, details an experience a member’s parents had years ago in Louisiana. He concludes by saying “Later talking to them they had a bunch of scientist [sic] come out from LSU and tried to determine what it was this ‘Light’. They determined it was swamp gas burning off.”[12]

The bottom line is, nobody really knows for certain what it is. The ghostly legend makes the Gurdon Light quite the attraction for this city and adds to the exhilaration. It’s more likely that this is yet another of the many lights that have been and still are appearing at night near swamps in the Southern United States.

Location

Gurdon is a small town in southeastern Arkansas, accessible just off of exit 63 on Interstate 30. The train tracks intersect State Highway 53 south of the exit, and the Light itself can be seen a few miles to the west as shown in the embedded Google Maps below.

Notes

1. George E. Lankford, “Talking Truth in Arkansas,” An Arkansas Folklore Sourcebook, ed. W. K. McNeil and William M. Clements (Fayetteville, Ark.: University of Arkansas Press, 1992), 93-94.
2. Staci Nicole Morrow, “Gurdon Light,” The Encyclopedia of Arkansas History & Culture (accessed May 13, 2010).
3. Ibid.
4. W. Richard Reegan, “The Gurdon Light in Arkansas,” Associated Content, March 22, 2006 (accessed May 13, 2010).
5. Morrow.
6. Reegan.
7. Amanda Galiano, “The Ghosts of Arkansas – The Gurdon Light,” About.com (accessed May 13, 2010).
8. Morrow.
9. Reegan.
10. Art Wiselogel, “It’s a Gas,” Biomass Magazine 2, no. 7 (July 2008).
11. Michelle Delio, “Having a Gas in Okefenokee Swamp,” Wired, November 21, 2008 (accessed May 13, 2010).
12. Member Keith13, “Blood red swamp gas,” Beemaster.com forum, January 26, 2009 (accessed May 13, 2010).

Huntington's major world civilizations

The late political scientist Samuel P. Huntington wrote in 1993 an essay in which he tries to come to terms with the state of the world after the end of the Cold War. He concludes that in this new age, conflicts will primarily originate not from competing ideologies or countries but from civilizations that encompass many countries and people.

I. The Next Pattern of Conflict

Huntington states his thesis that in this new era of world politics, the “dominating source of conflict will be cultural”—as opposed to an ideological (see the Cold War) or an economic one (see the U.S. vs. the EU). Like Francis Fukuyama in “The End of History,” the author employs language of human social evolution, tracing the development of conflict from those among princes after the Peace of Westphalia; among nations after the French Revolution; among ideologies after World War I; to those among superpowers during the Cold War.

II. The Nature of Civilizations

Instead of grouping countries into First, Second, and Third Worlds, Huntington argues that we should organize them into civilizations. He defines one as the “highest cultural grouping of people and the broadest level of cultural identity people have.” Things like language and religion characterize civilizations but people themselves ultimately decide to which one they belong. The author notes that civilizations can include nations or people of varying numbers.

III. Why Civilizations Will Clash

In this essay Huntington lists eight civilizations, but in his book he includes a ninth, all of which are listed below:

• Western = Catholic and Protestant Europe, the United States, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Papua New Guinea, the Philippines, and the Lesser Antilles
• Slavic-Orthodox = Orthodox Europe, Russia, and Kazakhstan
• Latin America = from Mexico south to Argentina except the Guyanas (divided among African, Hindu, and Western civilizations), and the Greater Antilles except Jamaica
• Islamic = Saharan Africa, Somalia, the central east African coast, the Middle East except Israel, Iran, Central Asia except Kazakhstan, Pakistan, Indian minorities, Bangladesh, Malaysia, Brunei, and Indonesia
• African = non-Islamic/Sub-Saharan Africa
• Hindu = India and Nepal
• Buddhist = Mongolia, Tibet, Bhutan, Burma, Thailand, and Indochina except Vietnam
• Confucian = China, Korea, and Vietnam
• Japanese = Japan
• On p. 48 of his book the author discusses Israel’s status, concluding that it contains most elements of a civilization yet many of its citizens identify with nearby ones

He believes that world conflicts will occur on the “fault lines” between the aforementioned civilizations, for the following reasons:

1. There are fundamental differences among civilizations that in the past have led to violence
2. More people from various civilizations are coming into contact with each other
3. Economic and social development has demoted nationalism in favor of religion as the dominant place of identity
4. Even though the West has never been more powerful in both cultural and economic influence, non-Western civilizations have been promoting indigenization
5. It’s easier to change economic and political differences than it is to change cultural ones
6. Regional trade has increased among similar cultures and floundered among dissimilar ones

The author predicts an increase of an “us vs. them” attitude between ethnically and religiously different people. Finally, he states that micro-conflicts will occur along civilizational borders, while macro-conflicts will happen where power and ideology are in question.

IV. The Fault Lines Between Civilizations

• Western vs. Orthodox = “the eastern boundary of Western Christianity in the year 1500”
• Islamic vs. Western = North Africa, Turkey, conflicts overseas, and immigration
• Islamic vs. African = the Horn of Africa and bisected countries from Nigeria to Sudan
• Islamic vs. Orthodox = the Balkans, the Caucasus, and Central Asia
• Islamic vs. Hindu = the Indian subcontinent
• Confucian vs. Buddhist = Tibet
• Confucian vs. Western = interactions between China and the U.S.
• Japanese vs. Western = interactions between Japan and the U.S.

Huntington tells us that the nature of inter-civilizational conflicts is not always the same. He points out that rivalry between the West and Japan has centered on economics, but friction in Eurasia has resulted in genocide. He sums up Islamic conflict, saying, “Islam has bloody borders.”

V. Civilization Rallying

The author defines his term “kin-country syndrome” as a phenomenon in which states at war with states in other civilizations “rally” other countries within their civilization to their side. He offers three examples:

1. The Gulf War = Saddam Hussein transformed a conflict of his state Iraq versus the West and other Arab states into one of Islam against the West
2. Conflicts in the former Soviet Union = In the early 1990s, Armenia had been fighting Azerbaijan alone until Turkey aided the latter and Russia the former because they belonged to their respective civilizations
3. Bosnian genocide = the West aided/supported Croatia and Slovenia, Russia supported the Serbs, and the Muslim world supported the Bosnians because they all shared civilizations

Huntington notes that, despite tension between Ukraine and Russia, the conflict hasn’t turned violent because both countries belong to the Slavic-Orthodox civilization. He predicts that possible world wars will be inter- rather than intra-civilizational in nature.

VI. The West Versus the Rest

The author notes the global dominance of the West in most areas of competition, specifically its usage of its power and influence to preserve that status. He then infers that future conflicts between the West and, well “the Rest,” will center on either power or cultural differences. Reactions of non-Western countries to this dominance fall into three categories: isolation (e.g., North Korea), joining the West, or modernization (e.g., Japan).

VII. The Torn Countries

Nations are considered “torn” when they have diverse populations or when they can’t decide which civilization they belong to. He lists three:

• Turkey = the West or the Islamic world?
• Mexico = the West or Latin America?
• Russia = the West or the Slavic-Orthodox world?

For a country to leave its present civilization for another, Huntington believes that the country’s elite and its people must be willing to move but also that the new civilization must be accepting of the torn country.

VIII. The Confucian-Islamic Connection

However, rather than trying to join the West, many countries in the Confucian and Islamic civilizations would rather become militarily powerful on their own. These “Weapon States” are thus pitted against the Western ones over the question of nuclear weapons. The author bitingly describes modern arms-control treaties as the West’s attempt “to prevent the development by non-Western societies of military capabilities that could threaten Western interests.” Of course, non-Western countries see no reason why they shouldn’t have nuclear weapons, since the West does already. After mentioning Chinese military development, Huntington makes it clear that the Confucian and Islamic nations have joined together to promote each other’s military capabilities.

IX. Implications for the West

The author offers several applications for Western civilization that include internal unification, inclusion of Latin America and Eastern Europe, friendliness toward Japan and Russia, conflict prevention, slowing Confucian-Islamic military growth, and the inclusion of non-Western nations in institutions that the West supports. Because only Japan has successfully modernized without Westernizing, non-Western civilizations will each have to come to terms with this tension as they develop. Finally, the West will have to understand world civilizations to ultimately find common ground. Huntington concludes with an affirmation that coexistence will be necessary in this new world era.

My conclusion

I think that Huntington’s framework accurately explains the world we live in, having been proved by events like the 9/11 attacks and the growing rivalry between the U.S. and China. In the almost twenty years since the essay’s writing, the world has become much more globalized. Thus, an awareness of non-Western civilizations and the differences (but also the similarities) that exist between the “West and the rest” is a must in these times following the Cold War.

Read the original essay here. Be aware that there are a few copyediting mistakes on this web page that may or may not have been of the original author’s doing.

Milky Way / European Southern Observatory / Wikipedia

On March 8^th, 2010, a warm, rainy spring evening, Dr. John H. Walton came to my college, Ouachita Baptist University, to speak about the Bible’s origins narrative in Genesis 1. What made his talk unique was that he defended neither literal creationism nor theistic evolution but argued that the first chapter of Genesis doesn’t even deal with material origins at all. Below I summarize his talk.

The goal

Walton began by emphasizing that our “goal is to read Genesis in the eyes of the ancients,” rather than our modern Western ones. That is, we have to see the world the way the text sees the world. Because the Old Testament was written to the Israelites in their language, because God is an effective communicator, and because he communicated in a way the Israelites could understand, we have to translate both the words and the culture of the Bible.

In other words, we have to see the text the way the ancient Israelite saw it. This means we can’t read extra science into the text since the original readers didn’t understand those meanings.

Why didn’t God call light “light”

Since God actually called it “day,” this means the text isn’t talking about light as an object or theory, but about a period of light. Walton argued that we can’t separate light and darkness, but we can separate periods of them. He deduces from this interpretation that on Day 1 God created the basis of time (day and night); he brought order to the cosmos. Walton notes that separating (distinguishing) and naming (giving roles) are creative activities. Rather than matter, Genesis focuses on the function of creation.

He then talked about the Hebrew verb bara’, translated “create” in English. Just as our equivalent has a range of meaning (i.e., more than just material production), there is also variation in Hebrew. The word occurs 50 times in the Old Testament, and only takes “God” as a subject, implying a divine activity. However, it takes a wide variety of direct objects including functional rather than material things. Ultimately, some creative activity is functional in nature.

Formless and empty

Rather than talking about a lack of matter, this phrase means a lack of order and function. Walton points out that darkness and the sea were common elements of chaos in ancient Near Eastern literature (referred to hereafter as ANE). He returns to v. 1, calling it the introduction to the creation passage, and the first of many introductory statements in Genesis (e.g., “this is the account of Abraham’s son Isaac” in 25:19).

While we don’t believe the mythology of the ANE, the people of the time took it seriously. Thus, it’s helpful to see how people thought in the ancient world. Israelites thought much more like Babylonians than like us. Nevertheless, the Israelites did receive God’s revelation.

The Hebrew phrase used for “formless and empty” is tohu wa bohu. Tohu refers to lacking worth or purpose, a place where nothing is done, or a state without function. Bohu, used only thrice, is always used with tohu, and is hard to translate. In Egypt there was a word with a similar meaning, “nonexistent,” that is, something that had not yet been differentiated and assigned a function, but still having potential. An example of a nonexistent place or thing was the desert surrounding the Nile River.

Existence vs. nonexistence is not a material but a functional line. Thus, to create is not necessarily our Western view of creation; bringing something into existence is functional.

ANE cosmology

In ANE origins accounts, very little is said about material origins. Most of them include a functionless pre-creation state and an act of creating that gives function to the world. In Egyptian cosmology, the cosmos and a divine temple were homological. They saw the world as deified, one in which the gods were the earth, sea, sky, etc.—not a material view of things. ANE people thought who controlled the world was more important than what the world was made of and how it came to be. In slight contrast, Israelite cosmology places God in charge of everything, but not in everything.

In his lecture Walton used a graphic similar to the one on this blog post. Obviously, that way of looking at the world conflicts with our modern scientific understanding. However, the Israelites arrived there by observing what was around them and making conclusions. Walton emphasized that in Genesis 1, God doesn’t change the Israelites’ view of the material world, but works with it and communicates meaning through their albeit imperfect understanding. The most important thing is that God reveals his role.

In a side note, he talked about the logical superiority of a functional rather than material ontology. That is, (in smaller words!) how things worked was more important to ANE people than where it came from.

The firmament

“Firmament” implies that the sky was solid. Thus, we can’t specifically pin it down to, say, the stratosphere in our scientific view of the sky. Still, God uses the Israelite understanding of the heavens as a “communication hook” in Day 2. The firmament’s function is the basis of weather because it regulates precipitation. Finally, on Day 3, the natural world/dry land was the basis for food; its function is to feed us.

When God created, he set up orderly functions to frame human existence. Walton showed us Genesis 8:22 in which God affirms the eternal nature of these three functions as long as the earth is around.

Day Seven and temple texts

On the seventh day, people often get confused because there’s no material creation. Walton argued that if we view Genesis 1 as a “temple text,” it makes much more sense. He defined such a document as one describing a temple made for a deity to rest/dwell in. An ANE reader would have automatically “got it” that “rest” indicates a temple text. However, “rest” doesn’t refer to sleeping or not working, but instead doing what you’re supposed to do after resolving chaos: in his temple God rules.

Temple texts often involved proclaiming a temple’s function and installing its functionaries. Seven days was a common length of time in which ANE temples were inaugurated. Also, building temples corresponded with creation accounts. Thus, creation functions as God’s cosmic temple. If Genesis 1 is a temple text, then it is also an account of functional origin and does not talk about material origins. This also means Genesis 1 tells us nothing about the age of the earth, and that the material phase of creation was previous and separate.

Here Walton restressed that understanding the Israelite way of thinking is the most serious approach to Genesis. Then, he summarized his lecture up to that point, saying,

The text asserts that in the seven-day initial period, God brought the cosmos into operation by assigning roles and functions.

“And it was good” simply means “it” was ready to function.

Science and the Bible

In this interesting excursus Walton sought to quell fears or questions that no doubt had arisen after he presented his new way of thinking about Genesis. He started by saying that science works by methodological naturalism and doesn’t deal with plugging God into the picture. However, God is still involved in everything that’s happening. Thus, in the Old Testament, miracles are simply referred to as “signs and wonders,” that is, a demonstration of God’s power. Natural cause and effect doesn’t negate God’s action (see Psalm 139:13 for God’s work in conception), but God works through natural processes. Just because science can explain something doesn’t mean God isn’t involved in it.

In probably his most controversial statement of the evening, Walton said that because Genesis 1 isn’t about material origins, and doesn’t have scientific revelation, there is no creationist theory to defend.

An analogy he used to show the connection between God’s communication and the Israelite way of thinking was God working through the Israelite view of the heart as the “thinking” organ of the body (see Deuteronomy 6:5).

To conclude, he said that in Genesis 1, “God set up functions with a purpose, described using the language of old world cosmology.”

Answers to questions

• [On celestial objects] The sun, moon, and stars were already made before Genesis 1, but weren’t functionaries until Day 4.
• [On translation] There are two projects: translating the language and the culture.
• [On the pre-existence of creation] Before Day 1, creation was there, but God prepared it to make things ready for his people made in his image.
• [On Adam and Eve] They were a special creation (I assume he refers to material creation here).
• [On the Sabbath] It means that instead of doing your regular work, you should take your hands off of it and realize that God is in control, not us.

Resources by Dr. Walton

• Ancient Near Eastern Thought and the Old Testament: Introducing the Conceptual World of the Hebrew Bible
• “Creation” and “Ancient Near East” in Dictionary of the Old Testament: Pentateuch
• Genesis, NIV Application Commentary
• Genesis One as Ancient Cosmology (forthcoming from Eisenbraums)
• The Lost World of Genesis One: Ancient Cosmology and the Origins Debate

Conclusion

If you had asked me a few years ago my beliefs about the origins of the universe and the natural world, I would have told you I was a literal six-day creationist rather uneasy with the Intelligent Design movement. Recently I have become disillusioned with the cosmology set forth by groups such as Answers in Genesis, which, while thorough and convincing, never quite explained how everything could fit into a literal belief in a six day-long creation. Also, I would have told you that Genesis 1 was about “forming and filling” the “formless and empty” earth.

Dr. Walton’s lecture has completely transformed my way of looking at the text, leading me to loosen my hold on six-day creationism but not quite yet embrace the Big Bang time frame. It has reduced some of my qualms about believing the earth older than 10,000 years. Ultimately, I was motivated to start researching again what I believe about creation.

A world in transition toward democracy / Wikipedia

Writing in between the Soviet adoption of glasnost and perestroika and the USSR’s collapse in 1991, philosopher Francis Fukuyama proclaims the “unabashed victory of economic and political liberalism.” By this he means that Western capitalism, its free enterprise system, and liberal democracy had overcome four main challenges to their dominance in the 20^th century: absolutism, bolshevism, fascism, and communism. Fukuyama uses the phrase “end of history” to describe the end of human “ideological evolution,” that is, the search for the optimal government and economic system. He argues that Western liberal democracy will ultimately be accepted in most countries of the world. N.B. that in his article “liberal” refers to not the egalitarianism, environmentalism, and social progressivism the term is known for in the United States, but to its sense as “relating to freedom.”

Part I

The author borrows his idea of an “end” to history not from the communist ideals of Karl Marx but from the philosophy of G. W. F. Hegel. Essentially, Hegel believed that mankind gradually moved from lower, uncivilized forms of government to higher, more progressive kinds. Fukuyama underlines Hegel’s notion that history would end in an “absolute moment” where the triumphant form of government assumed its place as victor. He mentions the 20^th century Russian-French thinker Alexandre Kojève and his interpretation of Hegel. Kojève argued that Hegel correctly marked the Battle of Jena as the “end of history” because at that point the liberalization of the French Revolution had been realized. In conclusion, the final form of government is liberal—based on human freedom—and democratic—based on the governed’s consent. Kojève thus assumed history (i.e., the evolution of government) was over in 1806.

Part II

Fukuyama describes Hegel’s explanation of human conflict as one in which the ideal world—ideology and worldviews—are the foundation for the material world—people’s actions. The author takes this framework and applies it to the success of capitalism in world cultures. For instance, European Protestants found success with the economic theory because of their work ethic, while Catholics to the south did not because of their preference for leisure. Also, capitalism took root in East Asia because of the Asian work ethic, while it did not with Muslims to the west because of their Islamic morals and limits. Fukuyama sums up that “the roots of economic behavior lie in the realm of consciousness and culture” rather than material things like production or labor rates. He almost contradicts himself when he says that socialism in the Soviet Union failed because of Western liberalism’s superior productivity, but the Soviets abandoned socialism because that idea was bankrupt. Finally, he says that instead of free market economics preceding freedom in government, a prior ideology that supports both takes root in a society before both appear. Fukuyama never tells us exactly what that ideology could be.

Part III

In the 20^th century, fascism and communism posed the only two real threats to liberalism’s success. Fascism died in Europe after the defeat of its chief two sponsors, Italy and Germany, in World War II. Fukuyama, writing even before the Soviet collapse, asserts the unpopularity and eventual end of communism in the West. In Asia, Japanese fascism also died after WWII. Japan also inherited liberalism from the conquering United States. The ideology’s success in the island country has spread to the Asian continent via Japanese consumer culture. While China still remains a communist nation, communism has in recent years been sidelined in favor of economic reform, and is not even relevant to those in power. The author emphasizes that, China notwithstanding, Marxism-Leninism’s soon death in the Soviet Union lays to rest the last viable option against Western liberalism. Fukuyama discusses the Soviet economic and political reforms and the significance of the country’s internal critiques of Marxism-Leninism. He then notes two possible problems in liberalism, the first being religious fundamentalism. He quickly brushes aside Islamic theocracy, however, citing its lack of global appeal. The second is nationalism, but Fukuyama points out that its agenda is limited solely to independence and not concerned with economics.

Part IV

The author believes that, in a world where Western liberalism has triumphed, “not very much” would differ with that of 1989, but also that the primary source of conflict would be economic in nature. He disagrees with those who think a “great powers” system will soon return after the disappearance of the unifying “spectre” of communism because European nationalism is no longer relevant in the West—Europe simply wants to integrate economically into the EEC. Fukuyama does not believe that Russia will return to its czarist foreign policy after shrugging off communism, because of the Chinese example in which they ended expansionism. The post-communist Soviet Union, he says, will have to choose between the economic liberalism followed by the West and much of the Far East, and a fascism-nationalism, which the author, oddly enough, doubted the viability of in Part III.

Part V

The author concludes that, with Chinese and Russian rejections of Marxism-Leninism, no serious alternative remains to contend with Western liberalism. Thus, he says, most conflict will center on international economics rather than on the respective merits of communism or democracy. He also claims that vast world wars have come to an end. Almost prophetically, however, he notes, “terrorism and wars of national liberation will continue to be an important item on the international agenda.” Nevertheless, at the end of history, Fukuyama believes there will be no (presumably original) art or philosophy, and admits he is not sure how he feels about this prediction.

My conclusion

While Fukuyama’s writing style is smooth and educated, the information he presents is not always easy to comprehend and often appears to contradict itself. Despite this, his argument is very interesting, and especially provoking to the few devout communists that remain. From a progressive standpoint (i.e., the belief that mankind is getting better and better), this essay is wholly reasonable. And I agree that liberal democracy is the most ideal form of government in the world we live in. However, if one believes (as I do) that man is still as broken as he was the century before, one cannot blindly accept the notion that the potential for global conflict has left the planet. I look forward to reading the inevitable counterargument presented by Samuel P. Huntington in his essay “The Clash of Civilizations.”

Read the original essay here.

restored quadriga atop Brandenburg Gate by quapan

The past year effectively marked the twentieth anniversary of the end of the Cold War, that nearly half century-long conflict between the West and the communist countries of Eastern Europe. This tension, primarily between the United States and the Soviet Union, decided much in world politics for the latter half of the 20^th century. However, after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the world entered the 1990s with this defining hostility behind it, bringing to the fore existential questions that had previously been answered by the continuous state of antagonism. A “new world order” was emerging in the last decade of the second millennium A.D., but what that order exactly would be was anyone’s guess.

Great thinkers soon wrote three weighty essays dealing with this new state of global affairs: “The End of History” by Francis Fukuyama, “The Clash of Civilizations?” by Samuel P. Huntington, and “The Coming Anarchy” by Robert D. Kaplan. While each deals with a different social scientific discipline, their topics all relate to the shape of the world in the post-Cold War era. I have made it my goal to read, summarize, and analyze these three essays this semester, posting my summaries and analyses as future posts. As all three essays are rather lengthy, I hope these summaries will be helpful to anyone who has heard of the authors or essays and would like to be familiar with their arguments.

• Analysis of ‘The End of History’ by Francis Fukuyama
• Analysis of ‘The Clash of Civilizations?’ by Samuel P. Huntington
• Analysis of ‘The Coming Anarchy’ by Robert D. Kaplan

For further reading, all three essays were later expanded into book-length publications. Find them on Amazon.com below:

• The End of History and the Last Man
• The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order
• The Coming Anarchy: Shattering the Dreams of the Post Cold War

• The laptop
• The replacement keyboard
• Screwdrivers
• A tray to hold the screws

Part I: Removing the old keyboard

1. Turn off the laptop and unplug the battery.

2. Unscrew the screws that have a keyboard or a triangle icon next to them on the laptop’s underside.

3. Pry the keyboard shield off with a flathead screwdriver, but don’t remove it, because it’s attached to the laptop with a few cables.

4. Lift the keyboard out of the laptop gently because they are connected to each other with a data cable.

5. Unplug the keyboard’s data cable from the laptop. Now the keyboard is free! Set it aside for disposal.

Part II: Installing the new keyboard

1. Insert the data cable from the new keyboard into the data slot beneath the spot where the keyboard sits. Make sure you push the tiny locks forward so that the cable can easily slide into the slot. Then push them back to lock the cable in place.

2. Fasten the keyboard shield at the top by first shifting it a little to the right so the shield can fall into place where normally sits.

3. Close the keyboard shield on top of the new keyboard’s teeth after fastening that keyboard in.

4. Push down on the keyboard near the four small metal bars that stick out on the left and right sides of the laptop; these ensure the keyboard is flush with the laptop and stays in place.

5. Turn the laptop over and screw the screws back in.

6. Put the battery back in, and turn the computer on.

7. Test all of the keys. If they work, congratulations!!! If some keys don’t work, DON’T PANIC. Simply repeat this post’s process, carefully making sure that the data cable is properly and firmly attached to the data slot. This, in fact, happened to me when I was taking pictures for this post.

Following his bestselling work Blue Like Jazz, author Donald Miller wrote in 2004 Searching For God Knows What, a book much more organized under a central argument than Jazz is. Throughout this book, Miller tries to convince us that many people in modern American Christianity have substituted clean, impersonal formulas for a messy relationship with a personal God. He shows us that true Christianity is the opposite; the relational rather than the formulaic defines it.

Chapter One: “Fine Wine: The Failure of Formulas”

At a Christian writing seminar, Miller realizes that it is difficult to find formulas in the Bible for daily devotional books. He concludes that Christian “formula books” aren’t really all that useful. He compares the false hope of gambling with formulas, and notes that “[r]eality is like fine wine […] It will not appeal to children”; i.e., reality may be tough, but it is true. We like formulas because they give us control—over God. Main idea: Christianity is essentially relational, rather than formulaic.

Chapter Two: “Impostors: Santa Takes a Leak”

Miller recounts a childhood memory in which his entire notion of Santa Claus falls apart after he watches a Santa go to the bathroom and fail to wash his hands. The author compares this with imposters in the Christian faith: Catholic priests who molest children, Robert Tilton, and politically involved preachers, the kind of people who “pretend to represent Jesus.” These impostors lead him to run away from way their “simple God.” In Miller’s senior year of high school, he studies Abraham Maslow for psychology class, a thinker who proposed a “Hierarchy of Needs.” One was the necessity to have a god that gave meaning to the absurdity of life, or, a “simple God.” Miller ultimately rejects this false idea he had of God and becomes an atheist because he “didn’t have a relationship with God; [he] had a relationship with a system of simple ideas, certain prejudices, and a feeling that [he] and people who thought as [he] thought were right.” Main idea: knowing God is all about a personal relationship.

Chapter Three: “Feet of Trees: What Do We Really Want?”

Miller returns to the person of God, having rejected the idea of God. He later says that during this time, he was “trying to find an identity” by playing sports or memorizing poetry to gain approval from his peers. This experience showed him that he wanted other people to make him feel important because God was not there. Miller contrasts the “simple God” with the “God of the Bible [that] seemed to be brokenhearted over the separation in our relationship and downright obsessed with mending the tear.” Man’s depravity will only be reversed with a new identity from God, not necessarily agreeing with theological points. Ultimately, Miller realizes that this God-given identity makes Christians realize they don’t need anything else, leading to unconditional and selfless love. Main idea: people get their identity from others, and the perfect “other” is God.

Chapter Four: “Free Verse: A Whole Message to a Whole Human Being”

Miller likes the Bible so much more now that he doesn’t view it as a self-help book. He likes Paul the most because he is so personal and so passionate in his writing. He also likes John the Evangelist because he argued that Christianity is about a “constant dialogue with Jesus about whether or not we love Him” and because he emphasized the “relational dynamic of our faith.” Furthermore, he likes Moses because he used so much poetry to convey God’s truth. The use of poetry rather than charts (although charts are technically true) communicates a completely different meaning. Christianity, when removed from the Bible’s narrative and poetry, loses its meaning. Rather than hunting for application, we should read the Bible “as stories of imperfect humans having relations with a perfect God” so we can figure out God’s message. Main idea: the way in which we communicate the Gospel is as important as the message.

Chapter Five: “Naked: Why Nudity Is the Point”

Miller discusses the Genesis account of the Garden of Eden and Adam and Eve. He says that within the presence of God, it would have been virtually impossible for Adam and Eve to sin. Ultimately, Adam and Eve were naked, not ashamed, and clueless about this nudity. The author draws a very interesting connection between this and their relationship with God—it was

so strong, and God’s love is so pure, that Adam and Eve felt no insecurity at all, so much so that they walked around naked and didn’t even realize they were naked. But when that relationship was broken, they knew it instantly. All of their glory, the glory that came from God, was gone. […] All of the insecurity rises the instant you realize you are alone.

Main idea: our comparative attitudes (jealousy, envy, and lust) exist only because someone who gave man his identity is absent.

Chapter Six: “Children of Chernobyl: Why Did God Leave?”

Miller discusses the September 11^th, 2001 attacks, the American bombing of Japan, and the Vietnam War to show that we should “feel a grief at the terrible ways conflicts are negotiated in a world absent God.” He summarizes the Fall of man by saying, “Adam and Eve were not satisfied with their relationship with God, and they wanted to change the dynamic by increasing their own power.” Miller compares the way God felt after the Fall to the way one of his friends felt after overhearing his wife romantically talk to another man. He compares God walking in the Garden after Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit to Jimmy Carter landing at Mt. St. Helens after it erupted. Miller compares human souls born after the Fall with Sasha, a Ukrainian child born with mutations due to the Chernobyl nuclear meltdown. The author affirms that we’re ultimately in a spiritual, rather than physical, war, and that God protects us from the Devil’s attacks. Main idea: a war was at the heart of the Fall.

Chapter Seven: “Adam, Eve, and the Alien: How the Fall Makes You Feel”

Miller tells us of a school classmate named Pete: a poor, unkempt boy at the bottom of the junior high totem pole. Pete got beat up one afternoon for his low position, but Miller didn’t defend him because he feared for his own status. His description of the junior high social hierarchy is brutally accurate, since junior high serves as a microcosm of human society. He says near the top of the hierarchy, “people loved you and cared about you and gave you a little bit of the thing God used to give you.” The author also tells of a time when Kim, “a valuable person […] crossed the line to kiss a person of no value,” Mark. He notes that this event did not level the social hierarchy. Ultimately, he realizes the reality of life does not follow the notion that “all men are created equal.” Main idea: we are people who need “something outside” ourselves to give us our identity.

Chapter Eight: “Lifeboat Theory: How to Kill Your Neighbor”

Miller starts with an anecdote from elementary school in which his teacher asks the class which passenger out of five different people they would throw out of a lifeboat if necessary. He realizes that this scenario accurately describes human society. He writes, “we feel the desire to be loved and respected by other people instead of God, and if we don’t get that love and respect, we feel very sad or angry.” When we aren’t treated right or loved, we feel like we’re being thrown out of a lifeboat. Separation from God (the kind Adam and Eve experienced) is essentially death; we’re in the lifeboat trying to stay alive. Our “decisions are based on associations and dissociations in the lifeboat.” Miller lists slam-dunking a basketball, good looks, intelligence, wealth, and rightness as five things that might help us survive on the lifeboat. He believes that racism exists because racists feel they have a better chance of survival in the lifeboat over different people. Main idea: apart from God’s glory, we have no identity; in a life absent of God, we search for identity in other people.

Chapter Nine: “Jesus: Who Needs a Boat?”

Miller lists the following characteristics of the person of Jesus:

• He believed all people were equal: Those who hung out with Jesus were the poor and the unpopular, whereas those who opposed him were secure in the lifeboat. Jesus offered a different kind of redemption (a relationship) that countered the lifeboat system.
• He was ugly: Miller quotes Isaiah 53:2-3 to show that Jesus didn’t have any physical beauty to help him “get ahead” in the lifeboat.
• He liked to be with people: Rather than “writing in scrolls,” Jesus spent time with people and was the friend of sinners. Jesus’ basic command was to love God and love people. Although the disciples died for what they knew was true, they died for Jesus because he loved them. Christ’s love made him “want to come to earth and die so we could be healed” and “[want to] rescue us from the lifeboat.”
• He had no fear of intimacy: “The greatest desire of man is to be known and loved anyway,” despite our faults. Jesus goes past smalltalk and speaks directly to our deepest insecurities (e.g., the Samaritan woman at the well). Jesus “offers Himself to the deepest need of man, not a religion, not a formula, but Himself.”
• He was patient: Jesus “wants [us] to understand and He isn’t going to give up on [us] any time soon.” He was incredibly patient with the disciples, especially Peter.
• He was kind: Miller says “Jesus’ sincere appreciation of human beings must have been a welcome contrast” to the “religious leadership of the day.” Jesus’ kindness, rather than his anger or force, has inspired so many people to die for him.
• He was God: When Jesus was born, there were quite a few people who said that he was God. Although people had claimed to be the Messiah, all the prophecies Jesus fulfilled confirmed that he was Christ.
• He is I AM: In answering his accusers, Jesus refers to himself as the “I AM” of Moses and the burning bush (John 8:58). God’s name can mean: “I encompass, I am beyond existence, I am nothing you will understand, I have no beginning and no end, I am not like you, and yet I AM.”

Chapter Ten: “The Gospel of Jesus: It Never Was a Formula”

Miller realizes that conversion isn’t a formula but a giving up of everything to follow Jesus. He says the facts Christian tracts present are true, but not the real story. He tells us about his friend Omar who found it “hard to believe that whatever it is [Jesus] is talking about can be summed up this simply” in a pamphlet. He says that these pamphlets have reduced Christianity to beliefs with which we must agree. In a class Miller teaches about the gospel and culture, he and his students concluded that someone could believe the “facts” about Christianity but not be a Christian. He argues that a “poetic presentation of the gospel of Jesus is more accurate than a set of steps,” noting that the Bible always uses relational metaphors to describe God and man. Miller remembers a time in which he presented the gospel to Bible college students without mentioning Jesus. They didn’t notice his absence because they viewed conversion more systematically than relationally. He says that scientific language can’t express the mysterious nature of Christianity, and that after Christians approached “faith through the lens of science,” they no longer made quality art or taught Song of Songs. The following “more accurate” presentation of the Gospel is, I believe, the book’s main idea:

You are the bride to the Bridegroom, and the Bridegroom is Jesus Christ. You must eat of His flesh and drink of His blood to know Him, and your union with Him will make you one, and your oneness with Him will allow you to be identified with Him, His purity allowing God to interact with you, and because of this you will be with Him in eternity, sitting at His side and enjoying his companionship, which will be more fulfilling than an earthly husband or an earthly bride. All you must do to engage God is be willing to leave everything behind, be willing to walk away from your identity, and embrace joyfully the trials and tribulations, the torture and perhaps martyrdom that will come upon you for being a child of God in a broken world working out its own redemption in empty pursuits.

Miller says that fasting represents our mourning “the absence of Christ,” and communion represents our remembrance of Christ’s sacrifice for us.

Chapter Eleven: “A Circus of Redemption: Why a Three-Legged Man is Better Than a Bearded Woman”

Miller tells us a story of a time when he sees a circus train stop off in Oakland, Calif., and overhears a conversation between two circus employees. These people go into a long discussion about their job security, comparing themselves with the other actors. He tells another story of a book he read about the traveling sideshows of the early 20^th century. The author reads that the misfits created a “hierarchy” based on random attributes, and concludes that this always occurs wherever there is a gathering of people. Main idea: we want people to love us so that our “act[s] redeem” us in the circus of life. However, Jesus gives us a new identity so that we don’t have to find our glory from men.

Chapter Twelve: “Morality: Why I Am Better Than You”

The author begins with the claim that we all want and follow some sort of morality. Miller tells us that when he was young, his church made it seem that Christianity was all about being good, but he wanted a rationale for being good. He concludes that the “motive is love, love of god and of my fellow man,” because immorality is akin to cheating on a spouse, since the Church is Christ’s bride. He argues that we should not use morality to “redeem [ourselves] to culture” or use it in the lifeboat. Miller thinks that, instead of trying to legislate Christian morality in the U.S., we should love the sinners whose lifestyles we try to sanction away. Miller ends by arguing that “the church will flourish” once we stop fighting for the future of our country and begin fighting against the spiritual forces of darkness. Main idea: morality should freely and obediently flow from a relationship with God in order to be a loving example to non-Christians.

Chapter Thirteen: “Religion: A Public Relations Campaign for God”

Miller talks about how Christians often feel the need to be “right” in their thinking and their theology, and how they think less of other people who are “wrong.” He shows that this is an example of Christians redeeming themselves to culture—proving themselves for the lifeboat—rather than finding a true knowledge of Jesus. He also talks about the overemphasis of book-knowledge concerning Christianity to the detriment of a relationship with Christ. The author argues that the church has used formulas in her process to make herself more marketable to the world—to stay “on the lifeboat.” Nevertheless, he concludes that the church should instead love those people the world doesn’t like: the outcasts. Main idea: the church should stop redeeming herself to the world with its use of gimmicky formulas, love the world’s outcasts, and return to a relationship with her bridegroom, Jesus.

Chapter Fourteen: “The Gospel of Jesus: Why William Shakespeare Was a Prophet”

Miller opens this his final chapter with a few words on the books of Job (God, rather than explain the pain of life, gives us himself) and of Hosea (Israel & the Church are prostitutes that God nevertheless loves). The author establishes these two stories to show that they are a better way of communicating biblical truth than formulas and lists. Miller then gives us what he thinks is one of the greatest “stories” outside of the Bible that accomplishes this: Shakespeare’s play Romeo and Juliet. He spends some time analyzing the play, but moves on to show that Juliet represents Christ and Romeo the Church. This connection becomes clearer in their “unity in death”: Christ’s death and resurrection, and the Church’s death to itself in order to follow Jesus, thus becoming his body. Miller concludes by talking about how much more we will live in Christ, having died with him (Romans 6:8)—a sharp contrast to the lifeboat system. We will “be new baptiz’d” and finally gain a secure identity when we trust in God.

Is it worth reading?

Yes. Miller’s juxtaposition of a relationship with God and formulaic religion—in addition to his insights on man’s lost identity rediscovered in God—is very relevant to the modern American church. Even if you don’t agree with his writing (I didn’t necessarily when I first read the book), it will make you think. The author’s writing style is very conversational and he frequently tells stories related to each of his essay-like chapters. The book as a whole is quickly read in a few sittings, but to understand his ideas takes a few days of contemplation. You can easily pick up the book and start reading from any chapter, as each is relatively independent of another. Nevertheless, some of the ideas he develops in earlier chapters reappear in later ones, and you really ought to read the whole book before reading the final chapter.

The Honduran Flag by littlewoodenman

This past summer, a political crisis rocked the small Central American country of Honduras. It was precipitated by President Manuel Zelaya’s attempt to hold an opinion poll to see if the Honduran people were open to the option of voting on a constitutional convention in the November 2009 elections. Many opponents of Zelaya feared he would use such an assembly to abolish term limits on the presidency, allowing him to serve for longer than the four years currently allotted to Honduran heads of state. Opponents held these fears despite the fact that Zelaya would no longer hold office during the convention of a national constituent assembly. After much conflict and defiance between the president and the Supreme Court, the latter ordered the arrest of the former because of his flagrant disobedience of a judicial command not to proceed with the opinion poll.

The military carried out his arrest warrant on June 28^th, 2009, but the political crisis began when, rather than detaining President Zelaya at a military base outside Tegucigalpa, the country’s capital, army leaders took an executive decision to forcefully fly the president out of the country to Costa Rica. Not long after this, the National Congress of Honduras officially removed the president from his office and elected their legislative president, Roberto Micheletti, as an interim president, as per the constitutional line of succession. He was chosen by the Congress to serve the few months that remained in President Zelaya’s term, as the November elections would decide his successor in the executive branch.

Global condemnation of these events was both swift and unanimous. The United States, the Organization of American States, and United Nations all referred to the change in government as a coup d’état—an accusation that the interim government denied. President Micheletti claimed that a democratic government removed President Zelaya because he had defied the Supreme Court. The crux of the debate about these headline-grabbing events centers on the legality of Zelaya’s removal and its subsequent label as a coup. I argue that these summer events constitute a coup d’état, for the simple reason that they violated the constitution of Honduras and involved violence.

What is a coup?

Such an argument, however, first requires a proper definition of this controversial political term. In the Oxford Companion to World Politics, Claude Welch refers to it as “a nonconstitutional change of governmental leadership carried out with the use or threatened use of violence.” Two elements are key: unconstitutionality and violence. The Oxford English Dictionary concurs, defining a coup as “a sudden and decisive stroke of state policy; spec. a sudden and great change in the government carried out violently or illegally by the ruling power.” Again, transgression of the law and violence define such an action. In democracies, the use of the violence to effect regime change usually accompanies law breaking because the forceful nature of a coup disrupts the peaceful and popular rule of law.

It was illegal

A few decisions by Honduran leadership branded the political crisis a coup because of their illegal natures. The armed forces committed the most egregious one on the day of the coup. Taking matters into their own hands (and superseding the Supreme Court’s arrest warrant), they flew the president out of the country, against his will, and have consistently prevented him from reentering his fatherland. This was a flagrant violation of Article 102 of the Honduran Constitution, which says, “No Honduran may be expatriated or handed to the authorities of a foreign State.” The armed forces do not deny that they broke the law when they sent Zelaya on a plane with a one-way ticket to Costa Rica. However, they justify this transgression as a lesser of two evils because they feared having to shoot at angry mobs had they imprisoned the president within the country’s borders. Nevertheless, it was illegal for the army to expatriate the president.

Furthermore, the National Congress overstepped its powers when it interpreted its ability to disapprove of the president (essentially censure) to mean the ability to remove a president. After formally deposing the president despite having no legal authority to do so, members of the Congress filled the new vacancy in the executive office with the president of their deliberative body, Roberto Micheletti. As Zelaya’s vice president had left office months before, the President of Congress was next in line for presidential succession. This accession was only nominally constitutional, since Zelaya’s removal from office was itself dubious. After he had time to compose himself, the expatriated president insisted that he was still the democratically elected president of his country, even though both the military and the congress had illegally removed him from his country and his office, respectively.

These decisions amply show that many people involved in this crisis broke the law as they attempted to effect regime change—very characteristic of a coup d’état.

It was violent

The military’s choice to forcibly remove the president from the country also lends the term “coup” to this summer’s events. In the wee hours of the morning, the military descended on the president’s home in the capital, Tegucigalpa, and overpowered the presidential guard after a 20-minute skirmish. Upon securing the building, soldiers entered the bedroom of President Zelaya, who had been roused from sleep by gunshots outside. According to the military, they greeted the president by saying, “Sir, we have a judicial order to detain you,” and promptly took him into custody. The President recounts additional information, “I came out in my pajamas […] When (the soldiers) came in, they pointed their guns at me and told me they would shoot if I didn’t put down my cellphone.” Still in his pajamas, Manuel Zelaya was forcibly removed from his bedroom and taken out of his house. Against his will, the president was put on an airplane that quickly removed him from Honduran territory. Although no actual blood was shed, nor guns fired at Honduran citizens, violence was threatened in the process of expatriating the president. This feature confirms another one of the elements in the definition of a coup.

Conclusion

So, by a simple syllogism I can deduce the validity of this article’s argument. If all regimes changes that are illegal and use violence are known as “coups d’état,” and since the 2009 Honduran political crisis was a regime change that was illegal and that used violence, it logically follows that the 2009 Honduran political crisis was a coup d’état. Despite this validity, I must concede a few extraordinary characteristics about this coup.

First, contrary to all coups in postwar Honduras (and most in general), the military did not rule the country after it deposed President Zelaya. Instead, the armed forces returned to their normal status and allowed the National Congress to go about reconstituting the executive branch. Although the military’s use of violence to illegally remove Zelaya from Honduras featured highly in this summer’s crisis, its role was limited to this action.

Also, instead of making moves to preserve its power, the interim executive branch has affirmed it will only govern through the end of what would have been President Zelaya’s term—which ends in January of 2010. Rather than cancelling elections as many coup leaders in Honduras’s past have, the current government made no attempt to prevent the people from voting in November. In fact, general (and presidential) elections were successfully held on November 29^th, with the Honduran people electing Porfirio Lobo, a conservative from the National Party (as opposed to the Liberal Party to which both Zelaya and interim president Micheletti belonged).

Although I am excited to see this young democracy return to its republican nature, I still confidently call what happened on that pivotal June day a coup d’état. Thankfully, forces dealt only a minor “blow of state” by preserving both the governance of the constitution and the government that had served to that day.

Bibliography

• A photograph of Zelaya’s opinion poll
• Cassel, Doug. “Honduras: Coup d’État in Constitutional Clothing?” ASIL Insights 13:9 (2009).
• Coleman, Kevin. “A Coup is Not a Coup. A Not-Coup is a Coup.” History News Network. George Mason University. July 7, 2009.
• Dada, Carlos and José Luis Sanz. “Cometimos un delito al sacar a Zelaya, pero había que hacerlo [We committed a crime upon throwing Zelaya out, but we had to do it].” El Faro.net. July 2, 2009 [Spanish].
• Gutiérrez, Norma C. “Honduras: Constitutional Law Issues.” The Law Library of Congress, August 2009.
• Honduras articles from The New York Times
• Honduras: Constitución de 1982 [Spanish]
• Welch, Claude E., Jr. “Coup d’état.” The Oxford Companion to Politics of the World. Ed. Joel Krieger. 2nd ed. New York: Oxford UP, 2001. 181.

Auschwitz by Turbo Mi

Exactly one year ago (November 18^th, 2008), Rosa Blum, a Romanian-American survivor of the Holocaust, gave a lecture at my college, Ouachita Baptist University. From four to five in the evening she spoke about her experience in the Nazi concentration camps and also answered questions from the audience.

Students, faculty, and local Arkadelphians gathered together to hear Blum in the McBeth Recital Hall, a small, dimly-lit chamber used primarily for concerts and performances. I managed to find a seat in the crowded hall, but others had to stand during Blum’s talk. The hushed warmth from the countless attendees combined with the faint lighting set an uncanny mood in me, fitting for the discussion of one of the darkest periods of human history.

With the World War II veterans having been recognized prior to her ascending the podium, Blum searched in vain for any members of Eisenhower’s Fourth Army—the military division that liberated her from Dachau. Upon reading about the liberation of the latter, I discovered that the 7^th Army accepted the surrender of the SS. I cannot explain this disagreement of ordinals.

Romania

Regardless, Blum began by talking about Hungary’s takeover of her previously Romanian homeland, in (presumably) the Second Vienna Award. Not long after Hungarian registration of the Jews—“the beginning”—the government required that the Jews wear the yellow badge.

Blum passed around a photograph of her and her sisters in their late teens. She told us that six weeks after it was taken, the Hungarians took her and her family to the ghetto. Coming at two-o-clock in the morning, they gave her family a single hour to collect their belongings and leave. The family loaded their things into a horse-drawn cart and began the 50-km trek from their village to the montane ghetto. Partway through the journey, her mother tragically realized, “I forgot the money.”

The ghetto

After two days of walking, the Blums arrived at a village of tents that lacked toilets, washrooms, and running water. Chaos naturally ensued from these conditions which 100,000 residents endured. Amidst this squalor, diarrhea and sickness struck her family—caused, sadly, by the food they cooked themselves.

She passed 68 weeks in this manner until “they” ordered the Jews onto train cars. At this point I experienced some dramatic irony because Blum at the time wanted only to get out of the ghetto but I knew those locomotives were destined for the concentration camps. The Nazis allowed only pots and pans to be taken onto the cars, the purpose of which was waste management. The cars were packed 100- or 150-full. I had ordinarily thought the Nazis crammed people into the cars out of cruelty, but Blum said that families did not want to be separated so they tried to keep as many people as possible together—overcrowding the cars.

Journey by train

For four days and nights the train drove from Hungary to Germany without stopping. Blum told us that en route to Auschwitz, a woman gave birth to triplets. (!) Upon arrival at the concentration camp, the passengers were oblivious to the fact that it was a death camp; a brassy German band performed and Rosa was in very high spirits and happy to have arrived. The Nazis soon unlatched the car doors and were leading the Jews out of the train. Pushed out momentarily, Blum became aware of her appearance and remarked, “I can’t go out like this,” and boarded the train. Her grandmother had been combing her hair, but after Blum returned she used a scarf to tie it together. Blum referred to the day as “beautiful,” but she would soon lose her naïveté.

While still on the car with her family, Blum saw a black ambulance car approach and stop. Nazis opened the back doors which—to her shock—disclosed a pile of corpses. The moment they placed the woman with her triplets into the black car, a bizarre, disturbing sense came over her. Blum turned to find her mother, who was far from her, and screamed. She never saw her mother again.

Arrival at Auschwitz

At some point during the beginning, Blum attempted to enter the crematorium to be reunited with her family—twice. Ironically, Dr. Mengele, the “Angel of Death,” led her away from the gates, beating her head bloody in the process.

The crematories ran day and night.

A total of 7,000 people arrived at Auschwitz that day, but only 200 boys and 200 girls were selected for labor; the Nazis cremated the rest. Blum said half of those selected vanished during the war. Having been chosen, the children were forced to undress and have their hair shaved. Although they put their belongings into bags, they were never returned; instead, they gave the girls a dress, panties, Hollander shoes that were very uncomfortable, a pillow, and a blanket. In the dormitories 13-14 children slept on the bottom and the middle bunks, while 11-12 slept on top. Blum never slept on the bottom bunk because one night, the middle bunk broke, crushing and killing everyone on the bottom bunk. She never had trouble securing a place on the third level because others were afraid of it.

The camp supervisors counted the children in fives, pouring a single cup of soup for each quintet. In addition to these measly rations, each person received what I concluded was an eighth of a sixteenth of a loaf of bread.

Health problems & cure

In a wicked orientation to the dormitories, the nurse or director named Wachova talked “nonsense” to the girls about medical care; i.e., the complete opposite of healthy living. Because of the resultant unclean conditions, Blum broke out in rashes all over her body. Her rash grew so severe that she spent five days in the hospital. Thinking death imminent, Blum left her shoes behind. The medics later cleared out of that room, but Blum remained, hidden behind a bucket of water on the bottom bunk. To sterilize the room, the medics washed it in liquid chlorine, a substance that (presumably) touched Blum’s skin. The pain was so intense that she had difficulty falling asleep.

She interrupted her account of the hospital by telling us an anecdote about her grandmother, who fasted every Monday and Thursday in prayer. One week she also fasted on Tuesday because she had a horrible dream the night before in which God pulled a black curtain over the sky to hide the pain of the Jews from his eyes. Returning to her narrative, Blum remembers praying that God would poke holes in the curtain so that she could fall asleep.

Blum gained knowledge that her previous caretakers in the hospital had left, and decided to show herself to the new medics. One of the nurses saw her and quickly obtained a bowl of water, a towel, and a clean dress. That nurse rubbed lotion over Blum’s body every day for three weeks, a treatment that cured the troublesome rash.

The nurse (whom Blum never named) ordered her to leave the hospital. She advised Blum to always wear a second dress beneath her current one to be worn after the latter dirtied, and to not worry about fighting for food. Blum took her at her word and freely stood as the fifth girl to drink from the cup of soup intended for five children. The nurse also ordered her to never return, whether her circumstances were good or ill. After kissing her goodbye, Blum left her savior forever.

Life in the kitchen

In the time following her ordeal and salvation in the hospital, Blum began to look for grass to sate her hunger, but unearthed only chewy roots. Later, she found a restricted area behind a kitchen, and satisfied herself with grass.

One day a large woman discovered Blum, well, grazing behind the kitchen. She tied a rope around her and forced her to help with the cooking—a job the woman allowed her to have despite her age of 18. A bit of dark advice she gave was that “you have to be very careful in lying”; her papers claimed she was 16.

To assist this German woman with the soup, she held a 25-kg sack of “seasoning.” It tasted like onions; in reality it made people not miss their parents, caused suicide, and made people “different” from others. Once Blum discovered the seasoning’s true purpose, she never ate the camp’s soup again. She never had the chance to warn people about this harmful powder that tricked the body, however.

In addition to eating grass, she cooked potatoes on coals behind the kitchen.

War’s end

Near the end of her six month-long stay at Auschwitz, the Nazis sent more and more people to the crematorium, as well as a few hundred to “other places.” She herself left the camp for Dachau in September or October of 1944. During her time in the Bavarian camp, an outbreak of typhoid prevented her from working in the munitions.

In May of 1945, Eisenhower’s Fourth Army liberated Dachau.

Postwar

After liberation, she wanted to go to Israel; however, her divorced husband went to Israel, and she to America. (After immigrating and remarrying) she has now been married 58 years.

Life immediately afterward was hostile and difficult. She had appendicitis, and rushed to the hospital where she received three square meals a day. To continue receiving this good food, she gave the excuse “my stomach hurts.” Blum avoided consuming extra medicine by pouring it in the potted plant next to her bed, which ironically thrived on the stuff.

She was later diagnosed with lymphatic cancer on her right side, with 19 nodes infected (from which she recovered). During her bout with cancer, people asked her, “why you?” and she replied, “why not me?” She says God has kept her alive and happy. She wants to warn the youth of tomorrow.

She couldn’t have children immediately after the war because heavy lifting threw out her female organs. She later, however, gave birth to two sons.

When she put her handicapped son in counseling, she put herself in as well. The president of the Jewish Counseling Services, “a very smart man,” counseled her. She never, however, discussed the Holocaust with him.

Currently she only takes a $4-a-month high blood pressure pill and isn’t on any other medication. A regimen of Boniva completely reversed her osteoporosis. She says this indicates that somebody wants her here.

To stay active, she currently works out 45 minutes a day, swims three times a week, and does all of her own chores, cooking, and cleaning.

Responses to questions

• [On a book deal] She’s never considered writing a book because there are so many Holocaust books out there already, and hers would have nothing new. She’s still trying to figure out what “her book” would be; she doesn’t want to write a book just to have it on a shelf.
• [On concentration camp labor] She worked in the kitchen, her friend who lived to be 97 cleaned up the crematories, and everyone built their own barracks.
• [On hatred toward Germans] One time she was rude and ugly to a German customer, until she realized that she was Jewish too! She says we should treat people the way we want to be treated. She holds nothing against the Germans.
• [On her faith] She looks at everybody the way she looks at her self—with equality. She was raised Orthodox and is now still religious but less Orthodox.
• [On her survival at Auschwitz] It was not her time to die yet. She survived cancer. Ultimately, she still has things left to do.
• [On Holocaust deniers] “I won’t bother with you.”
• [On life] “Life is meant to [be] live[d] […] because we never know when we’ll be taken; every moment is precious.”
• [On mankind] She has a good opinion of mankind, because without him, we cannot live. We need each other and have to give and take. Human beings are beautiful. The youth are the most important, and are getting smarter and smarter.
• [On nightmares] Sometimes she has them, sometimes she doesn’t. She had them more often immediately after the war.
• [On returning to Auschwitz] She has never returned to Auschwitz, but would like to. Nothing is there, however, as the ashes have all blown away. If she visited, she might perform memorial services for her parents.
• [On reunion with relatives] She saw one brother after the war, and another while in the camp, but he was sent on a death march.
• [On the greatest accomplishment in her life] That she is here. God kept her for some reason.

Conclusion

I can only conclude this blog post in the same convicting manner that Rosa Blum did. She told us that there is one favor she wants us to do for her. She wants us to hug and kiss our mothers and fathers for her, because she never got to say goodbye to hers; nobody suffers and takes care of us like our parents; forgive them.

See also:

• “Holocuast survivor tells her story at Ouachita” [OBU News]
• “Holocaust survivor Rosa Blum tells her story” [The Signal]

Roosevelt on safari with elephant / Library of Congress / Wikipedia

Nearly immediately after handing over the presidency to the just-elected William Howard Taft, Theodore Roosevelt hopped on a boat to Africa for a lengthy safari in that continent’s eastern and central parts. He published an account of that adventure in his book African Game Trails. This safari was primarily a hunting trip, as he and his fellow safari-goers killed 11,397 animals for use as museum specimens in the Smithsonian and others.

Teddy’s “Pigskin Library” was a famous belonging of his. Called “pigskin” because he wrapped his books in that material, the 26^th U.S. president toted these numerous classics as well as modern literature with him in a trunk from hunt to hunt. Roosevelt notes the utility of pigskin,

Often my reading would be done while resting under a tree at noon, perhaps beside the carcass of a beast I had killed, or else waiting for camp to be pitched; and in either case it might be impossible to get water for washing. In consequence the books were stained with blood, sweat, gun oil, dust, and ashes; ordinary bindings either vanished or became loathsome, whereas pigskin merely grew to look as a well-used saddle looks.[1]

In the appendix to his Trails he discusses his selection of books and how much of what he chose was simply what he was reading at the time. He states, “Some few of them [the books] I would take with me on any trip of like length; but the majority I should of course change for others—as good and no better—were I to start on another such trip.”[2] Also, “let me insist that the books which I have taken were and could only be a tiny fraction of those for which I cared and which I continually read, and that I care for them neither more nor less than for those I left at home.”[3] He then lists various works of literature he has selected for travel reading in the past as well as the reasons for taking some books rather than others for his safari.

In concluding the Appendix to his Trails, he stresses the transient nature of his Library:

There are very many thousands of good books; some of them meet one man’s needs, some another’s; and any list of such books should simply be accepted as meeting a given individual’s needs under given conditions of time and surroundings.[4]

That, in a nutshell, is what the Pigskin Library is. Nevertheless, I have reproduced it here for all to enjoy the works of literature the former president considered worthy to read in March of 1909.

The Pigskin Library

• The Bible
• The Apocrypha
• The Bible in Spain by George Borrow
• The Zingali by George Borrow
• Lavengro by George Borrow
• Wild Wales by George Borrow
• The Romany Rye by George Borrow
• The works of William Shakespeare
• The Faerie Queene by Edmund Spenser
• The works of Christopher Marlowe
• The Influence of Sea Power Upon History, 1660-1783 by Alfred Thayer Mahan
• The History of England from the Accession of James II by Lord Macaulay (there are five volumes total)
• The essays of Lord Macaulay (there are three volumes total)
• The poems of Lord Macaulay
• The Song of Roland
• The Song of the Nibelungs
• History of Friedrich II of Prussia by Thomas Carlyle (there are 22 volumes total)
• The poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley
• The essays of Francis Bacon
• The literary essays of James Russell Lowell (there are two series total)
• The Biglow Papers by James Russell Lowell
• The poems of Ralph Waldo Emerson
• The works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
• The works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson
• The tales of Edgar Allan Poe
• The poems of Edgar Allan Poe
• The works of John Keats
• Paradise Lost (Books I & II) by John Milton
• Inferno by Dante Alighieri (trans. John Aitken Carlyle)
• Autocrat by Oliver Wendell Holmes
• Over the Teacups by Oliver Wendell Holmes
• The poems of Bret Harte
• Tales of the Argonauts by Bret Harte
• Luck of Roaring Camp by Bret Harte
• Selected works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning
• The Gentle Reader by Samuel McChord Crothers
• The Pardoner’s Wallet by Samuel McChord Crothers
• The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain (there are eight parts total)
• The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
• The Pilgrim’s Progress by John Bunyan
• Hippolytus by Euripides (trans. Gilbert Murray)
• Bacchae by Euripides (trans. Gilbert Murray)
• The Federalist
• History of Rome in the Middle Ages by Ferdinand Gregorovius (there are eight volumes total)
• A Legend of Montrose by Walter Scott
• Guy Mannering by Walter Scott
• Waverley by Walter Scott
• Rob Roy by Walter Scott
• Antiquary by Walter Scott
• The Pilot by James Fenimore Cooper
• The Two Admirals by James Fenimore Cooper
• Chronicles by Jean Froissart
• The Reliques of Ancient English Poetry by Thomas Percy (there are two volumes total)
• Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray
• Pendennis by William Makepeace Thackeray
• Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens
• Pickwick by Charles Dickens

Notes

1. Theodore Roosevelt, African Game Trails: An Account of the African Wanderings of an American Hunter-Naturalist (New York: Scribner, 1910), 570.
2. Ibid., 571.
3. Ibid., 572.
4. Ibid., 575.

Profile, old Johnson County Courthouse

The trip

On August 21^st, 2009, I began my last trip to a Texas county courthouse for the summer of 2009. I can’t say the courthouse in Johnson County was my favorite, but driving one-and-a-half hours to Cleburne was well worth it—especially since it was open to the public during that Friday. Sadly, I had to once again drive through Downtown Dallas (US-75 to Woodall Rodgers to I-35E) to get to US-67, the main route that passes through Downtown Cleburne. While enduring the Mixmaster, I caught a glimpse of Dallas’s Old Red Courthouse, a site I visited a few months ago and very much enjoyed.

The farther south I drove, the more it rained, thankfully never any greater than a drizzle. But because this drizzle persisted, I decided to initially photograph the interior to wait out the rain. This was very exciting because in all but two of my previous trips, courthouses’ doors had been locked for the weekend. Friday morning, however, the Johnson County had opened the doors and had plenty of people running around inside. There were even goings-on in the main courtroom. But to abide by Rule 53 of the Federal Rules of Criminal Procedure, I dared not enter the room with my Canon dangling from my neck. The walls of the courtroom appeared to stretch from the third to the fourth floors, creating a great airy space above the spectators and the judicial bench. The clouds outside dimmed the natural lighting the tall windows invited in.

The citizens (officials?) that were walking around the courthouse were friendly—a welcome characteristic I have taken very much for granted living down here in the South.

These facts endure…much like classical architecture

• Address = 2 North Main Street, Cleburne, TX 76033
• Architect = Otto Lang & Frank Witchell
• Architectural Style = Classical Revival with Beaux Arts & Prairie School influences
• Coordinates = 32°20’50” N, 97°23’11” W
• Dates = built 1913, restored 2007
• National Register of Historic Places = 88000439
• Size = unknown; 4 stories with five-storied bell tower
• Texas Historical Landmark = 88000439

Description

(N.B. that this section is merely a summary of the Texas Historical Commission’s “narrative” because the full text, while very informative and well written, is exhaustive.)

Prior to the construction of the present courthouse, a Second Empire-styled one stood from 1883 until a fire consumed it on the day of the Titanic’s sinking, April 15^th, 1912. Designed by W. C. Dodson, it closely resembled the Parker County Courthouse. Currently, that building’s cornerstone is displayed on the lawn in memoriam.

East face with monuments, old Johnson County Courthouse

Although technically a Classical Revival structure, in this courthouse the architects hybridized the Beaux Arts and Prairie School movements. One can see Beaux Arts elements in the Giant Order columns spanning two stories, the Roman-inspired entablature, and the arches over first-floor doors and windows. The Prairie School is evident in the wide, horizontal footprint that mimics the vastness of the prairie, detailed ornamentation seen here and here, a flat roof, and horizontal series of windows. I think the main thrust of Prairie School architecture is its horizontal emphasis reflective of the great open spaces in America, as well as the way it fits in with the natural environment. The Johnson County Courthouse accomplishes both.

On the basement level is laid Texas pink granite, much like other courthouses I visited this summer as well as the Texas Capitol herself. Elgin brick covers the courthouse above this layer of granite. Within the courthouse is a giant atrium spanning all four stories (although the NRHP claims it is six stories tall). Much of the interior is Georgia Creole marble, white stone with gray “impurities.” It is altogether very grand. Capping this giant, open-air space is a lavishly-decorated dome. This picture a Cleburne County native took really shows off the color of the stained glass and the intricacy of the ornamentation.

Dome and floors, old Johnson County Courthouse

Finishing off the courthouse is a 90-foot bell tower, upon which are the expected clocks facing north, south, east, and west. The NRHP says that the first “floor” of the tower is used for storage, something I can attest to as I saw Christmas lights/wooden reindeer stowed away up there. The rest of the tower is empty.

Various monuments and plaques are scattered across the lawn, providing a wealth of information about the county’s—and the courthouse’s—history.

Flickr

• “A Texas Classic, August 21^st, 2009” (my Flickr set on the old Johnson County Courthouse)
• Capitolshots Photography set of the old Johnson County Courthouse
• Courthouselover’s photograph of the Johnson County Courthouse

Spanish flag by Rob Inh00d

My native tongue is English—a language the letters of which use no diacritics excepting loan words. Thus, typewriters and computer keyboards, both of which originated in English-speaking countries, were originally invented with very simple layouts that do not play well with most languages that use the Latin alphabet. Said languages, limited by the alphabet, incorporate diacritics to accurately represent their sounds. For instance, the tilde (~), circumflex (^), and umlaut (¨) are used in Portuguese, French, and German, respectively. Most computer manufacturers produce custom keyboards specially customized for various countries. However, the vast majority of English-speakers living in America use the U.S. keyboard layout which, as Wikipedia words, “offers no way of inputting any sort of diacritic or accent; this makes it unsuitable for all but a handful of languages.” When these English-speakers attempt to learn a language that uses diacritics (try any language save Latin), correctly typing the language can be a tedious and time-consuming task. The most obvious method of doing so involves using Insert >> Symbol in Microsoft Word, Windows’ Character Map, or Edit >> Special Characters in Apple’s Finder.

For users of Mac OS X, there is hope. In this article I’m going to cover Spanish acentos: el acento agudo (acute accent), la diéresis (umlaut), el tilde de la ñ (tilde), las comillas angulares (guillemets), as well as upside down punctuation.

For all vowels with accents, simply hold the option key and the “e” key at the same time to create a floating accent, like this: ´. Then, without hitting space, type the vowel you desire and it will automatically shift beneath the accent, like this: á. The table below summarizes the various combinations.

There follows a similar process for Spanish’s two other accented letters, ñ and ü.

Now for punctuation!

Knowledge of these key combinations has made my Spanish homework (and communication!) much easier, faster, and more correct. I hope this post will help you to more properly write this beautiful language.

South face, old Hunt County Courthouse

The trip

On August 15^th, 2009, I took what seemed a simple course (US-75 to US-380) and turned it into something quite confusing. The bulk of the journey from my home to Greenville, the county seat of Hunt, was relatively peaceful, but I messed up my Google Maps directions by taking a wrong right turn at the point US-69 meets with 380. After a few U-turns, I decided to turn where the “Downtown” sign pointed and hope for the best. Thankfully, that sign faithfully directed me to the Hunt County Courthouse, and I had no problem parking.

This was the first courthouse I had visited in the morning, so it was a nice change to have more flattering lighting as well as much cooler temperatures.

I had to hunt for these facts

• Address = 2500 Lee Street, Greenville, TX 75401
• Architect = W. R. Ragsdale & Sons & Page Bros.
• Architectural Style = Classical Revival & Art Deco
• Coordinates = 33°08’22” N, 96°06’23” W
• Dates = built 1929
• National Register of Historic Places = 96000688
• Size = 40,000 square feet; 6 stories
• Texas Historical Landmark = 96000688

Description

Columnar bulge, old Hunt County Courthouse

(N.B. that this section is merely a summary of the Texas Historical Commission’s “narrative” because the full text, while very informative and well written, is exhaustive.)

First, a short account of the plot to explain this post’s title. Previous to the current structure, six other courthouses served Hunt County. The first was a log cabin (#1) constructed probably not long after the county’s organization in 1847. Following the cabin was another building (#2) that was superseded in 1859 by a brick one (#3), damaged by storms in 1870 but not razed until 1874 due to the financial constraints of Reconstruction. The county then bought the local Methodist Church’s building (#4) to serve until the completion of “an ornate red brick building with white stone trim” (#5) in 1883. Alas, this structure burned down only 13 months into its existence. A similar courthouse (#6) replaced the burned one in 1885. A long stretch of 38 years passed until the citizenry grew anxious for another courthouse. However, it was not until 1927 that the Commissioner’s Court approved the construction of the current edifice (#7), completed in 1928.

East face detail, old Hunt County Courthouse

The Hunt County Courthouse, while architecturally notable in its own right, stands as an epitome of the evolution of early 20^th-century American architecture. The revival of classical architecture that began in the Renaissance was nearing its end, and Modernism was replacing it as the premier design choice for buildings. This structure, however, fuses the two styles together in a pleasing synthesis. Classical Revival elements include bold, Ionic columns, complete with fluting; four nearly identical, balanced façades; and grand stairs that approach the triple-arched north and south doors. The Art Deco movement appears in the blocky and rectangular east and west wings as well as the floral ornaments against flat squares (which could belong to either style).

The THC tells us that this courthouse was built “at a time when the area, state, and country were leaving the agrarian past and entering the technological age.” Not only does the building represent a transition from Classical to Modern architecture, but an embodiment of the changes actually occurring in Hunt County and America at large. While representative of two American transitions, this courthouse emerges from the past fully functional after eighty years of service.

Flickr

• “The Seventh Courthouse, August 15^th, 2009” (my Flickr set on the old Hunt County Courthouse)
• Capitolshots Photography set of the old Hunt County Courthouse
• Courthouselover’s photograph of the Hunt County Courthouse

South face, old Wise County Courthouse

The trip

On August 8^th, 2009, after taking pictures at the old Denton County Courthouse, I got back in the car and headed due west on US-380 to Decatur, the seat of Wise County. I drove not through suburbs of McMansions or old-growth forests, but through beautiful, free, and open plains. I honestly did not feel I was in the Metroplex any longer—the land was simply not developed like it is closer to Dallas.

West face, old Wise County Courthouse

Much like the courthouse I visited in Denton, Wise’s also reminded me a lot of the old Ellis County Courthouse—only this one was nearly its twin! Designed in the Romanesque Revival style, the building also uses red granite like its counterpart in Ellis County. Downtown Decatur also showed similarities with the town square of Waxahachie, but on the whole everything seemed tighter and more cramped—due to, presumably, a more narrow grid of roads. The courthouse even had Crape Myrtles on its grounds, just like the Crape Myrtle capital of Texas.

The people downtown seemed happy—those that were there, at least. Still, they weren’t too loud about it; it was as if they were all having a good time but keeping quiet about their fun. There were plenty of citizens who came through the square driving large and loud trucks, but I’m pretty sure those drivers actually use their trucks in that county—unlike many pickup truck drivers in the urban Metroplex.

Partway through my photo shoot, a giant, dark flying insect landed on one of the hewn bricks. At first, I thought it was a large wasp, judging by its flying pattern. However, when I crept toward it, I identified it as a beetle—an “eyed click beetle.” No, it didn’t click for me. But its eyes were quite impressive.

Eyed click beetle (A. oculatus), old Wise County Courthouse

On my return trip, I stopped off at a few historical markers placed by the Texas Historical Commission. At the spot commemorating a campsite of Jesse and Frank James, the earth felt very still. I heard no cars on the highway or the distant whirr of civilization. Quietude, indeed. I’ll wager Wise County is a wonderful place to go stargazing.

These facts may leave you the wiser

• Address = 101 North Trinity Street, Decatur, TX 76234
• Architect = James Riely Gordon
• Architectural Style = Romanesque Revival (Richardsonian)
• Coordinates = 33°14’04” N, 97°35’13” W
• Dates = built 1896, debt-free 1945, modernized 1960
• National Register of Historic Places = 76002085
• Size = unknown; four or five stories with accessible bell tower
• Texas Historical Landmark = 526

History

The courthouse was completed in 1896 for a grand total of $110,000 dollars—approximately $2,810,388.90 in 2008 dollars. Much like the old Tarrant County Courthouse, voters deemed this amount far too costly and kicked the Commissioner’s Court out of office. Interestingly, this amount was only a quarter of that of Tarrant County’s extravagance.

Bell tower, old Wise County Courthouse

Built using the same granite as Denton County’s courthouse—Burnet County stuff—the courthouse also includes marble hauled all the way from the state of Vermont. The Texas Historical Commission plaque as well as the websites of both the City of Decatur and Wise County claim the courthouse has been christened “architecturally perfect”—but provide no eminent architect’s name to back up that quote. I’m not sure if this implies all the other courthouses I’ve visited have been “architecturally imperfect” in some manner.

As I stated in the list of facts, the county paid off all the bonds in 1945 and modernized the building in 1960—adding shiny glass doors to replace what must have been wooden ones. To add to the updates, the county added mercury-vapor lamps in 1968 that added an “ethereal” effect to the courthouse. In the 1980s (I believe), workers sandblasted the granite walls, removing almost a century of residue.

One feature I missed by visiting the building on a Saturday was the following:

The delight of youngsters all through the years has been to go to the top of the Courthouse, up the winding stairs, to the steep wooden steps, then around the bell, up another flight of metal steps to the very top—where it seems you can seo [sic] the whole wide world!

I’ll bet you can. Climbing the bell tower must be an amazing experience not only for the view, but also for the link to the past—a delight shared by generations stretching back a century.

Flickr

• “Big House on the Prairie, August 8^th, 2009” (my Flickr set on the old Wise County Courthouse)
• Capitolshots Photography set of the old Wise County Courthouse
• Courthouselover’s photograph of the Wise County Courthouse

West profile, old Denton County Courthouse

The trip

On August 8^th, 2009, I combined my trips to the courthouses of Denton and Wise Counties. This post will, naturally, cover only the leg of the trip from my house to Denton, Texas (the way back was uneventful). The drive was incredibly straightforward: the Dallas North Tollway to US-380, and then a left on Elm Street. While driving on 380, I passed through the 380 Greenbelt, a strip of ancient trees that connects Lake Lewisville with Lake Ray Roberts. It really is an anomaly for DFW to see such a stretch of uncultivated, essentially old-growth forest on both sides of a U.S. highway. These mighty trees cover the tiny hills around the bend from McKinney to Denton.

Grave of John B. Denton

The liveliness of the courthouse square left the greatest impression on me; it was not an empty center. People my age (i.e., teenagers) were hanging out and having a good time around the courthouse. Some were playing frisbee, others picnicking, still others cuddling or reading on the benches. I am not alone in this observation—Sam Fenstermacher tells us that “real live locals frequent the square.” Heh heh. A large, shaded lawn facilitates the courthouse’s role as a local gathering place, especially in the hot Texas summer heat. The locals were friendly and happy; one couple offered to have me stand on top of their truck to get a better picture of the building! I just laughed… Still, this characteristic was a welcome departure from most of the generally unpeopled courthouses I have visited. It gave me a taste of what courthouse squares probably were like decades ago.

South face, old Denton County Courthouse

Although the courthouse was locked when I arrived, it is actually open to the public (as a museum) on Saturdays…until 3pm. I got there around five. At the behest of a commenter, I have made it my goal to visit the Johnson County Courthouse during the day, so that I may see the interior of a courthouse again!

Don’t be square, get the facts!

• Address = 110 West Hickory Street, Denton, TX 76201
• Architect = W. C. Dodson
• Architectural Style = Romanesque Revival (Richardsonian) & Second Empire
• Coordinates = 33°12’54” N, 97°7’59” W
• Dates = built 1897, museum opened 1979, restored 1985
• National Register of Historic Places = 77001438
• Size = 5600 square feet, four floors including ground floor, possibly more in bell tower
• Texas Historical Landmark = 124

Description

The architecture reminded me much of the Ellis County Courthouse and the size of Old Red in Dallas. This county’s courthouse’s walls of limestone, however, set it apart from both structures and turn golden as the sun sets.

Northwest face and yard, old Denton County Courthouse

The building itself is very delicious to look at. Limestone and granite add a rich, warm mood to the city block, one that the setting sun intensifies. The whole feeling is very earthy and comfortable. According to the Texas Historical Commission plaque, the limestone is “native” (which could mean Denton County or Texas) and the granite is from Burnet County.

In addition to the choice of stone peculiar to Denton, W. C. Dodson employed a unique synthesis of Romanesque Revival and Second Empire styles. The bold, large bricks, thick arches, and grand pediments most obviously revive the Romanesque style from medieval Europe. The four pavilions and ogival domes (i.e., pointed like a Gothic arch) add Second Empire elements to this building. The eight-sided bell tower draws off of the pavilion roofs and their slate shingles as well as the classical pillars from the ground.

Denton County’s center of justice has been one of my favorites so far—not only for its architecture, but also for the feeling of life around it that I have not found at many courthouses thus far. Without people, towns are ghosts.

Flickr

• “Courthouse-on-the-Square, August 8^th, 2009” (my Flickr set on the old Denton County Courthouse)
• Capitolshots Photography set of the old Denton County Courthouse
• Courthouselover’s photograph of the Old Denton County Courthouse

• The laptop
• The replacement screen
• Screwdrivers
• Tray for screws

Part I: Removing the old screen

1. Turn off the laptop and unplug the battery.

2. Remove the sticky covers that are on top of the screws scattered across the bezel.

3. Unscrew those bezel screws.

4. Insert a flat-head screwdriver in between the bezel and the case to split the two apart. Then pry the bezel off by pulling toward you from the interior border. You will hear a series of snaps, but this is normal; the plastic is simply releasing itself from the case. Once removed, set the bezel aside.

5. Unscrew the inverter from the case. Remove cables from both sides of the inverter, and set it aside.

6. Remove the two screws on each side of the screen. These will release the screen from the hinges.

7. Grab a hold of the screen by the two metal pieces at the top and gently lower it on top of the keyboard. DON’T just dump the screen out of the case.

8. There may be foil covering the data input slot. Fold it back to reveal the video cable. Also remove the sticky tape attaching the video cable to the board—VERY CAREFULLY.

9. Detach the cable. It should remove easily.

10. Remove the screws attaching two metal bars to each side of the screen. Set the bars next to the bezel facing the same direction they were on the screen—you’ll need these bars later. Now the screen is free! Set it aside for disposal.

Part II: Installing the new screen

1. Remove the tape and screen protector film from the new screen.

2. Screw in the metal bars to the sides of the screen.

3. For protection, place some plastic or paper on top of the keyboard before placing the screen on top of it. Then attach the video cable to the screen. Reattaching the cable may be more difficult than removing it.

4. Situate the screen back inside the case and arrange the pieces for the hinge in this order: black (the case), gray (the screen), silver (the case).
Screw the hinges together.

5. Attach cables to the inverter, and screw it back in.

6. Put the bezel back on by attaching it in the bottom first, like a wedge. Then slowly snap the sides and the top to the case. Make sure everything locks together.

7. Screw the bezel back to the case, and replace the sticky covers.

8. Put the battery back in its housing.

9. Turn on the laptop. Hopefully you see a beautiful, new, working screen—SUCCESS!!!

Old Parker County Courthouse bounded by trees

The trip

On August 1^st, 2009, I decided I could postpone traveling to Weatherford, Texas, the county seat of Parker, no longer. I bit the bullet and headed to Downtown Dallas’ Mixmaster—the slightly confusing junction of I-35E and I-30. I arrived downtown via Central Expressway and assumed that I had to take 35 to get to 30. Therefore, near (but not at) 75’s terminus, I exited to the Woodall Rodgers Freeway, which carried me to 35. Upon entering this north-south interstate, I had to cross approximately five lanes of traffic to get on the left exit for I-30—which caused me to slow down to about 30 mph to force other drivers to pass me. Then I went my merry way across a 55-mph highway.

Once on I-30, or the “Tom Landry Highway” east of downtown, my trip was incredibly straightforward. I didn’t even notice the interstate’s terminus at I-20. This, however, is because I-20 merges with I-30’s “concrete,” or the physical road, rather than the other way around.

As I passed Downtown Fort Worth, I caught a glimpse of the Tarrant County Courthouse I had photographed two weeks prior. Good times.

Every time I drive from east to west across the Metroplex, I enjoy observing how the geography changes. Officially, I entered the Cross Timbers region of the country, which, according to Wikipedia, is

a fairly narrow strip of land in the United States that runs from southeastern Kansas across Central Oklahoma to Central Texas. Made up of a mix of prairie, savanna, and woodland, it forms part of the boundary between the more heavily forested eastern part of the country and the almost treeless Great Plains, and also marks the western habitat limit of many mammals and insects.

Although unnoticeable amidst the high concentration of development and highways around Fort Worth, the open, rolling fields dotted in scrubby trees revealed themselves after I passed the western edge of Loop 820.

A funny sign I saw driving west had emblazoned, “Watch Your Driving—We Are!” with silhouettes of a helicopter and a pursuit police cruiser. Yikes! They’re gonna bring out the chopper for Fort Worth speeders now!

Anyway, after driving the speed limit, I-20’s exit 408 (as in 408 miles to go ‘til I-10…still in Texas) took me straight into Downtown Weatherford. The city retains its grid pattern for quite a long stretch, displaying the Parker County Courthouse for a few miles around. As I approached, I was listening to the fourth movement of Ottorino Respighi’s Pini di Roma, “I pini della Via Appia”—a very emotional, grand, and brassy orchestral piece poem from the 20^th century. The white limestone courthouse glowed in the afternoon sun as it if were my prize for driving and hour and a half while Respighi’s work reached its magnificent climax just as I arrived at the courthouse square. It was a very emotional moment, to say the least. Like coming home after a long vacation, or meeting a good friend from whom you have been separated for a time.

Ominous thunderclouds with Mobil gas station sign

Upon arrival, the skies were mostly cloudy, but I could see bits of blue and the sun from time to time. Jumping from sidewalk to sidewalk, I awkwardly crossed the roundabout into the county’s nucleus, which itself was empty of people and full of traffic. Taking pictures made me feel very self-conscious; I was the only pedestrian as far as I could see in that fair town square.

Upon departure, the skies had gathered darker shades of blue and gray, and when I returned to my car, I heard a great crashing BOOM that quite surprised me. I attempted to cleverly drive a little circle in the roundabout, but was in the outside lane so I had to take a right turn and navigate the grid like normal people do.

On the return leg of the trip, I still didn’t notice the place where I-20 became I-30; this is because one has to exit to remain on I-20. In addition to the courthouse in Fort Worth, I also got to see the Old Red Courthouse in Downtown Dallas as I was trying to enter 75 from I-35—a MUCH easier trip than the reverse. Still, I now know that 75 has a junction with I-30 further east, a simpler way I could have taken. And that explains all the cars flying past me as I entered the expressway from the left side—75 doesn’t terminate at 35!

Facts (not necessarily upon what weather forecasts are based)

• Address = 1 Courthouse Square, Weatherford, TX 76086
• Architect = W. C. Dodson
• Architectural Style = Second Empire
• Coordinates = 32°45’32” N, 97°47’50” W
• Dates = built in 1886, renovated in 1956, 1994, and 2004
• National Register of Historic Places = 71000957
• Size = 4500 square feet; three floors with attic and three-storied bell tower
• Texas Historical Landmark = 399, 3939, 71000957 (I don’t know why there’s more than one listing, but they’re all informative)

History

The extremely brief Texas Historical Commission plaque included such gems as:

• “Scene of many noted trials.” I’m not sure what to make of this. Is it simply stating the obvious, as this is the only place local trials would take place? Or were there some really notable cases argued here…that the THC kindly omits?
• “Cost $55,555.55.” How odd (pun not intended). I wonder how they got it to cost just that amount? Still, palindromic numbers are cool.
• “An oak on Fort Belknap Road was court site that year [1856, when Parker County was organized].” This is what is known as the wild West, folks—when your initial house of justice is a tree. You do have to start somewhere, but it’s too bad they didn’t build a treehouse first. But I digress. Within the next thirty years three courthouses rose and burned to the ground, an all-too-common killer of these palaces of justice in the late 19^th century.

Confederate veterans monument, old Parker County Courthouse

In addition, the THC’s plaques for both Parker County (followed by “, C.S.A.”) and Weatherford both are planted on the courthouse grounds. The bit about Parker County primarily covers its involvement in the War Between the States—for which the county voted to secede 535 to 61. According to the text on the Weatherford plaque, the area was a shelter for pioneers under attack from Indians as the Civil War raged on. The county must have gained such notoriety that citizens of bordering counties fled their besieged lands to stake things out here. Local rancher and general John R. Baylor played an important part in the New Mexico Campaign of the war, so much so that he became (military) governor of Arizona. The Civil War-era courthouse perished in flames in 1874, only to be followed by the incineration of its successor ten years later.

A monument to the veterans of the War stands to the east of the building, erected by the United Daughters of the Confederacy on the 50^th anniversary of the war’s end.

Description

This square, almost cubic building is a fine example of Second Empire architecture. Its vividly red roofs typify the style with their Mansard roof slant—almost utilitarian in that it maximizes the attic’s storage area.

West face, old Parker County Courthouse, with American and Texan flags

Parker County’s courthouse arrays itself in limestone quarried from a location within the state, as many other Metroplex courthouses do. The contrast between the white rock and the red shingles is such that when the sun illuminates a face of the building, the roofs almost glow with their white borders.

The gable in the central tower introduces a motif that is repeated in the four pavilions, many of the windows, and in an actual pediment above the four entrances.

Although I could not see it due to the locked nature of the doors, it is reported that a floor decoration marks the exact center of Parker County within the walls of the courthouse itself. And this was all done before we had GPS!

While there are nominally three floors to this building, an attic adds a fourth, and the bell tower, which has three “levels,” they don’t necessarily count as floors but must be accessible in some manner.

Sam Fenstermacher points out the similarity between this courthouse and those of both Hill and Hood Counties. W. C. Dodson designed all three of them, and evidently quite enjoyed the Second Empire style. Hood and Parker Counties, in fact, share the same bell tower.

Bell tower, old Parker County Courthouse

I return to the THC once again. The researchers poetically summarize this endearing structure,

The Parker County Courthouse is an eye-catcher. Its tall central tower and four corner pavilions with handsome mansard roofs are a naive and charming version of the French Second Empire style in architecture.

This courthouse is what I envision Collin County’s used to resemble before it was renovated. For that reason, this building holds a special place in my trip journals. It is a link to the past of Weatherford, Texas, as well as a link to the former life of that courthouse in McKinney.

Flickr

• “Fording the Weather, August 1^st, 2009” (my Flickr set on the old Parker County Courthouse)
• Capitolshots Photography set of the old Parker County Courthouse
• Courthouselover’s photograph of the Parker County Courthouse

Profile of old Tarrant County Courthouse

The trip

On July 18^th, and thanks to the new Sam Rayburn Tollway (i.e., TX-121), I made the trip from Frisco, Texas to the county seat of Tarrant County, Fort Worth, in one hour. It was a straight shot at 70 mph from the Dallas North Tollway to Denton Tap Road, at which the freeway begins—and the confusion. First, 121 joins TX-114 at the entrance to the Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport, but one has to “exit” to continue on the same road. The two highways split not long after, leaving 121 to soon join with TX-183. This merged highway later fuses with Loop 820. 121 ultimately leaves I-820 immediately after 183 branches away in what is essentially the intersection of three highways. I understand there are more complicating junctions both in DFW and the world (see the hellish “Magic Roundabout” for more), but the compound effect of this same highway sharing concrete with multiple roads about drove me off the wall. Although 121 is a road without an identity after the freeway begins, once it detaches itself from Loop 820, it’s a smooth ride into downtown.

Because it was Saturday, the county offered free parking in the Tarrant County Parking Garage. How thoughtful of them—I didn’t have to risk parallel parking or shell out a few bucks for a sketchy-looking lot.

Contrast between old and new, old Tarrant County Courthouse

The courthouse itself was closed, just like Ellis County, another historic courthouse still in operation. Nevertheless, I didn’t make the trip in vain, for I took quite a few pictures and saw many things of interest. I learned that the county’s namesake, General Edward H. Tarrant, fought in the Battle of New Orleans as well as the Texas Revolution.

After I took around fifty pictures (only half made the cut, however), I drove west to the Kimbell Art Museum. To my dismay, it, along with the other two nearby art museums, closed at 5:00pm—and I arrived at 5:15. All three! I guess I’ll have to experience the cultural part of the City of Cowboys and Culture some other time. The county’s civic nature did not, however, disappoint.

Too many facts for your tax dollars

• Address = 100 East Weatherford Street, Fort Worth, TX 76196
• Architect = Gunn & Curtis (firm)
• Architectural Style = Renaissance Revival
• Coordinates = 32°23’08” N, 96°50’53” W
• Dates = built in 1895, restored 1983
• National Register of Historic Places = listed in 1970, but no number
• Size = unknown; five or six floors
• Texas Historical Landmark = 2070000762

History

The problem with these courthouses that are still in active use is that they don’t have much juicy history to retell. The Texas Historical Commission (actually the State Historical Survey Committee at the time) wrote two short paragraphs about the structure:

Designed by firm of Gunn & Curtis and built by the Probst Construction Company of Chicago, 1893-1895. This red Texas granite building, in Renaissance Revival style, closely resembles the Texas State Capitol with the exception of the clock tower.

The cost was $408,840 and citizens considered it such a public extravagance that a new county commissioners’ court was elected in 1894.

Tarrant County’s website notes that citizens still voted the whole commissioner’s court out, “even though the project had come in almost 20% under budget.” $408,840 in 2008 dollars is approximately $9,676,726.71—which means the original budgeted amount was probably $511,040, or $12,095,671.70 today.

Façade, flag, and sun, old Tarrant County Courthouse

The courthouse shares many characteristics with the Texas State Capitol in Austin. Both were designed in the Neo-Renaissance style, and, according to Capitolshots Photography, both were built using pink granite from the Granite Mountain quarry, out in the Texas Hill Country. The most obvious difference between the two is the county’s replacement of the dome with a four-sided bell tower. And I’m pretty sure only the Capitol has St. Augustine grass on its lawn. I consider the two both very grand buildings, but can understand why 19^th-century citizens of Tarrant deemed the courthouse a wasteful use of taxes for a population of 50,000.

Flickr

• “A Granite Extravagance, July 18^th, 2009” (my Flickr set on the old Tarrant County Courthouse)
• Capitolshots Photography set of the old Tarrant County Courthouse
• Courthouselover’s photograph of the Tarrant County Courthouse

Roof of old Ellis County Courthouse

The trip

On June 27^th, 2009, my brother and I braved the Texas heat and trekked south from our home of Plano to Waxahachie, the seat of Ellis County. The 27^th was an extremely hot day, even for the Lone Star State. The car registered 110 degrees at the High Five (the junction of I-635 and US-75), presumably due to the urban heat island effect. After successfully navigating the Downtown Dallas-based interchange of 75 and Interstate 35 (with my brother’s help, of course) we were on our way to the self-proclaimed Texas capital of Crape Myrtles.

It surprisingly only took an hour to drive from a town very near its county seat, through the county seat of Dallas, to the county seat of Ellis. Upon entering downtown Waxahachie, a sign greeted me and my brother hailing the town as “The Gingerbread City”—a descriptor I agreed with after I drove past the aged houses. In a word, they were “quaint.” Most of the homes are in very good condition and very attractive; the town certainly lives up to its name.

Crape Myrtle blossoms 2, old Ellis County Courthouse

Because I took this trip on a Saturday, the (functioning) courthouse was closed. Thus I was only able to photograph the exterior. I did, however, managed to take a picture of the interior via a door’s glass windows. Even though my brother and I were on the house’s grounds for a quarter of an hour, we worked up a sweat in the 103-degree heat. Thankfully the landscapers had arranged for trees (and plenty of Crape Myrtles, mind you!) to take root at the time of the site’s design.

After an uneventful survey of Ellis County’s courthouse, my brother and I decided to head back home, rather bummed about a slightly boring afternoon. On our way out, I missed a turn and went past a billboard for The Catfish Plantation—a restaurant my roommate had recommended I dine at due to its notoriety as the “Most Haunted Restaurant in Texas.”

Entrance to the old Ellis County Courthouse

Both my brother and I wanted to eat there after learning of it from said roommate’s phone call. After a few U-turns, we arrived and were seated with no wait at all. I ordered the standard catfish dinner. I am not lying when I say the Catfish Plantation served sit-down food the fastest I have ever experienced. And it was good, home-style food too! Green beans, fried okra, hushpuppies, et al. But I have to disappoint you: there were no supernatural clients that dined with us that evening. The doors to and from our eating room did a fair bit of quivering, probably because of a draft or people plowing through an opposite door, thus changing the air pressure.

I left our waitress a good tip for diligently refilling my glass of water, and returned home almost halfway done with this project you are now reading.

Trivial facts

• Address = 101 West Main Street, Waxahachie, TX 75165
• Architect = James Riely Gordon
• Architectural Style = Romanesque Revival, specifically Richardsonian
• Coordinates = 32°23’08” N, 96°50’53” W
• Dates = built in 1895, rededicated in 2002 after renovations
• National Register of Historic Places = 75001971
• Size = four (?) floors and a basement
• Texas Historical Landmark = 7092

History

The Texas Historical Commission has done an excellent write up on this site. As the courthouse was closed on Saturday, I had no way of researching further at the site itself. Also, there is not as much history to tell because this building remains a functioning courthouse and has not become a museum or been converted for other purposes.

Ellis County’s first courthouse was made of cedar logs and built here in 1850. A second courthouse was built on this square in 1853 and a third in 1874. In 1894 Virginia native and San Antonio architect James Riely Gordon was commissioned to design the fourth Ellis County courthouse to be built at this site.

The cornerstone was laid on July 4, 1895, and the courthouse completed in 1897 with each of its main entrances purposely oriented toward true north, south, east, and west compass points. [This is because the street grid of downtown Waxahachie is not aligned with the cardinal directions.] Faces which adorn the courthouse were sculpted by European stonemasons.

The “Richardsonian Romanesque” architectural style used by Gordon to design this building was created by Bostonian Henry Hobson Richardson in the 1870s and popularized in Texas by Gordon. For this structure Gordon deviated from previous Texas courthouses he had designed in the “Richardsonian Romanesque” style by placing open, two-story arcaded and colonnaded porticos on the exterior of the building and placing entrances at inside angles. Red and gray granite from central Texas and red sandstone from the Pecos River in west Texas were used to build this courthouse. Gordon’s Ellis County courthouse design set a new standard for other public buildings erected in Texas.

Monument to Texas Civil War veterans, old Ellis County Courthouse

Although it did not go through periods of disuse like Dallas and Collin County, the courthouse was restored in 2002. Sam Fenstermacher tells us that the county “matched the colors of the interior to those used when the building was originally built, and the county bought red sandstone for repairs from the same query [sic] that produced the stone used for construction in 1895.” I, like Fenstermacher in his article, recommend you visit this fine example of Romanesque Revivial architecture.

Flickr

• “Gingerbread Courthouse, June 27^th, 2009” (my Flickr set on the old Ellis County Courthouse)
• Capitolshots Photography set of the old Ellis County Courthouse
• Courthouselover’s photograph of the Ellis County Courthouse

Profile of Old Red Courthouse, Dallas

The trip

On June 20^th, 2009, I headed south to Downtown Dallas, the seat of the county of the same name. Rather than risk getting lost downtown, and have to pay for parking, I decided to take advantage of public transit and ride the DART to the West End station. Total cost: $2 for a day pass. When I entered the car, I thought it was odd that it was terminating at Pearl station rather than Westmoreland in south Dallas. When the train reached Pearl Street, everyone had to leave the car because, as a DART employee told me, they were replacing the rails from Pearl Street south into downtown—for only Saturday and Sunday. Of course. Thankfully there were buses to shuttle rail passengers to the West End.

While on the shuttle, I started talking to a fellow rider about the courthouse. In summary, he was glad I was going there during the day, because a bunch of weird stuff has happened there at night. One event he noted was some sort of witchcraft on the fourth floor. He told me this happened late at night when all the windows—save one—were turned off. I assume this was in the ‘70s or ‘80s, before renovation, because he told me that they (the occultists, I presume) had drawn pentagrams on the floor and covered them up with paint and such before anyone else could see them. This story might be an urban legend, but its truth wouldn’t surprise me.

Exxon-Mobil Pegasus, Old Red Courthouse, Dallas

Anyway, I departed the DART shuttle and walked a few blocks to the western edge of downtown. Due east of the courthouse is the John F. Kennedy Memorial, and northwest is the place our thirty-fifth president was shot—Dealey Plaza.

It was a normal Texas summer day—95 degrees and fairly humid. After working up a sweat photographing the exterior, I gratefully welcomed the air conditioning when I entered the building.

The first floor contained a tiny gift shop, concierge/counter for tickets, and a central display on the history of the courthouse, with a Mobile Pegasus crowning the center. On the other side of the building the museum exhibited the lives of Robert E. Lee and Ulysses S. Grant.

Grand Staircase, Old Red courthouse, Dallas

After climbing a few flights of stairs on the Grand Staircase, I reached the second floor, which contained the actual museum of Dallas history. I was more interested in the history of the courthouse, so I didn’t linger long upstairs. From what I saw, however, the museum did a great job with the self-paced exhibits.

Because I arrived at 4:00pm, I was two hours late for a guided tour of the third and fourth floors—which would have included a presentation of a restored courtroom. Now that I think about it, I could have ridden the elevator to access the “restricted” areas (as I did at the old Collin County courthouse), but I didn’t think of that at the time.

That afternoon there was a wedding or fancy party going on in one the upper levels. They even catered Spaghetti Warehouse to boot, the smell of which wafted down the stairs.

You weren’t REDdy for this information, were you? (bahaha)

• Address = 100 South Houston Street, Dallas, TX 75202
• Architect = M. A. Orlopp, Jr. & Casper Kusener
• Architectural Style = Romanesque Revival, specifically Richardsonian
• Coordinates = 32° 46’ 43” N, 96° 48’ 26” W
• Dates = built in 1892, superseded in 1965, became a museum in 2007
• National Register of Historic Places = 76002019
• Size = unknown, but four floors
• Texas Historical Landmark = 806

History

The history of the old Dallas County courthouse is much like that of Collin County’s—replacement, disrepair, renovation, and conversion. The Texas Historical Commission has compiled a fair history of the site, but I will go into more detail below, summarizing information displayed on the museum’s first floor.

Wyvern acroteria, Old Red Courthouse, Dallas

After a succession of burned-down courthouses, this sixth instance of county government was complete in 1892. Architects M. A. Orlopp, Jr. and Casper Kusener designed the building in the Romanesque Revival style, probably inspired by H. H. Richardson and the strain of Romanesque Revival to which he gives his namesake.

I cannot describe the building’s physical composition any better than About.com does:

Built in 1890, Old Red (as it is affectionately called) was made of huge blocks of gray granite and red sandstone from Arkansas and Pecos, Texas. The red mortar provides a striking contrast between the blocks of gray granite. Iron and brick interior walls were chosen with fireproofing in mind–since previous courthouses had burned to the ground.

Due to fears that wind would topple the original bell tower, the city removed it in 1919. Also, throughout the 20^th century, floors and porches were partitioned to create more court and office space. The opening of the George Allen Courthouse across the street was the final act that led to Old Red’s obsolete status.

In the 1980s, however, things changed. Bonds for Old Red’s restoration passed in local elections due to support generated by the Friends of Old Red organization. In 1997, the recently founded Old Red Foundation began work on renovation and collecting museum information. Finally, in 2007, the Museum of Dallas County History and Culture opened to the public.

Interesting bits

• Acroteria: These four gargoyle-like ornaments are situated at the four corners of the courthouse. Half face north, and the other south. However, the museum’s information guide states that they “are decorative only and do not include drainage spouts like gargoyles.” The ornaments represent wyvern, or two-legged dragons common in European heraldry.
• Clock tower: In 1919, a clock tower was taken down for structural concerns, and never replaced. As recent as 2007, however, a new tower was erected, returning Old Red to its original appearance. And yes, it does ring!
  

  Lunette stained glass, Old Red Courthouse, Dallas

• Lunettes: Although 100+ of these stained-glass windows once hung on the top floor, they were simply thrown away in 1967 for modernization. Since 2001, however, the museum has made great efforts at restoring these “little moon” windows. Because very few of the originals remain, there is a great project to reproduce them all—at the cost of $2,500-5000 each. (Interestingly, lunettes is also the French word for “sunglasses.”)
• Pegasus: Crafted for the 1939 World’s Fair, the illuminated Pegasus represents the now-defunct Magnolia Oil Company, which became a part of Mobil and ultimately Exxon-Mobil. After gracing the walls of a now-destroyed Mobil gas station in the Casa Linda neighborhood, it now rests here at the courthouse.

Flickr

• “Old Red, June 20^th, 2009” (my Flickr set on the old Dallas County Courthouse)
• Capitolshots Photography set of the Old Red Museum
• Courthouselover’s photograph of the Old Dallas County Courthouse

South face, old Collin County Courthouse

The trip

On Saturday, June 13^th, 2009, I drove from my hometown of Plano, Texas, to McKinney, Texas, the seat of Collin, my home county. It was not a long drive by any means, but I did have difficulty in finding a parking spot until I manned up and parallel-parked. From this nearby parking lot I walked about two blocks in Downtown McKinney to the intersection of Tennessee and Louisiana Streets. In the northwest corner of this junction sits the old Collin County Courthouse, now the McKinney Performing Arts Center. The surrounding buildings and shops give the structure a wide berth, but this is mainly because the courthouse sits on, but does not fill, an entire city block. Regardless, this adds importance and immensity to an otherwise non-dominating structure. Thankfully that Saturday was sunny and cloudless, facilitating well-lit pictures. On the other hand, by the time I had finished my photographic spree, I was sweating even in my t-shirt and gym shorts! Such is 100-degree Texas weather. Within the building itself, I believe there was a rehearsal going on, so I was unable to see the renovated courtroom without bursting in uninvited. There really wasn’t anything terribly eventful to retell here; I came, I saw, I took pictures.

Information that does not do this place justice (ba-dump-chee)

• Address = 111 North Tennessee Street, McKinney, TX 75069
• Architect = Charles Wheelock; W. A. Peters (current)
• Architectural Style = French Second Empire; Neoclassical Revival (current)
• Coordinates = 33° 11’ 51” N, 96° 36’ 55” W
• Dates = built in 1875, remodeled in 1927, superseded in 1979, restored in 2006
• National Register of Historic Places = part of the McKinney Commercial Historic District, 83003132
• Size = unknown; three stories and a basement
• Texas Historical Landmark = 86

History

The Texas Historical Commission has done a fine job in summarizing this site’s history:

Collin County was formed in 1846 and its only town, Buckner, was automatically selected as the county seat. To comply with state law, an election was held to relocate the county seat to the center of the county. Only eleven people participated due to inclement weather, and when the vote was tallied McKinney was established as the county seat in 1848.

The first courthouses in McKinney were modest wooden structures. A third courthouse was erected on this site during 1874-1875, and was opened for use in 1876. The 2-story Victorian structure was made of native limestone blocks with a steep mansard roof and a main entrance that faced east. The building’s architect, often mistakenly identified as Charles Wheeler, was Charles Wheelock of Sherman. The much-celebrated courthouse on the square became a backdrop for parades and other events.

The structure was overcrowded and in poor condition by the mid-1920s. Extensive exterior and interior renovations included the removal of the mansard roof and tower caps as well as the addition of a third story and basement. Overseen by W. A. Peters of the Paris, Texas, architectural firm of Sparger and Peters, the work resulted in a classical revival edifice completed in 1927. Original features included tripartite windows with flanking double classical columns on the north and south facades.

The new structure was commonly known as the “Temple of Justice,” and continued to be the center of activity for city and county functions. It remained in service as a courthouse until 1979. The structure remains a fine example of 20th century classical revival design and a monument to Collin County history.

LBJ campaigns at the old Collin County Courthouse

Two things worth mentioning remain. First, our thirty-sixth President, Lyndon B. Johnson, campaigned for U.S. Senator from Texas at this very spot on June 19^th, 1948. I discussed this with one of my high school history teachers recently and she jokingly remarked that he was “probably stealing votes there.” Bahaha! Regardless of the integrity of his campaign, the picture to which I have linked above shows him delivering a speech in the more southern of the two east entrances to the courthouse.

Second, in the basement/vault area, there are two doors with the titles of “COLORED” or “WHITE” next to them. These doors lead to the courthouse’s former segregated bathrooms. However, these discriminatory signs (and doors?) were discovered only as recently as 2005, when the building was renovated. As a caption beneath each sign discloses, “[t]he painting has been preserved so that we may remember the past, but the doors have been sealed forever – never to be opened again.”

This surely is a curious juxtaposition, that the President who would sign both the Civil and Voting Rights Acts into law campaigned at a courthouse that had discriminated against blacks.

"For White" bathroom sign, old Collin County Courthouse

Another comparison, though slightly more trivial, is that of this courthouse and its successor, the Collin County Government Center. In this picture, it is visible from the windows of its predecessor, built in the Neoclassical Revival style. The former, however, built after World War II in a Modern, Functionalist, or even Brutalist style, sharply contrasts with the old courthouse.

Finally, for an analysis of the propriety of the Classical style for this courthouse as well as a detailed look at the architectural details of the latter, read Guy R. Giersch’s article, “Architecture: The Embodiment of Human Endeavor.” He also provides a detailed background to the 1927 renovation of the original edifice.

Flickr

• “The Temple of Justice, June 13^th, 2009” (my Flickr set on the old Collin County Courthouse)
• Capitolshots Photography set of the McKinney Performing Arts Center
• Courthouselover’s photograph of the Old Collin County Courthouse

Old photograph of 1883 courthouse, old Johnson County Courthouse

Before I even started studying for the last finals of my freshman year of college, I had already begun pondering what to “do” this summer. I knew I was going to be staying home, taking classes at the local community college, and working. However, I wanted to do something more interesting to break up the grind. Not necessarily outlandish, like taking an expedition to Easter Island, but a local vacation in the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex. Having completed two semesters as a history major, and having visited most of the popular venues already, I looked toward attractions related to my degree: historic county courthouses. Of the twelve counties in the Dallas-Fort Worth-Arlington Metropolitan Statistical Area, seven harbor what I would consider “historic” county courthouses—those designed anywhere from the county’s incorporation until World War II. Many have been retired and repurposed, but most still harbor the official county government.

I plan to visit all seven of these courthouses in Collin, Dallas, Denton, Ellis, Parker, Tarrant, and Wise Counties. In each journey I will photograph the exterior and, if possible, the interior; write a short history of the site and structure; and record my trip there and back. I will attempt this coverage of Metroplex courthouses in circuit fashion (excuse the judicial system pun), beginning in my county of residence, Collin, heading south to Dallas and Ellis, then northwest to Tarrant, Parker, and Wise, and concluding in Denton.

Update 2009-08-02: Upon researching further, I realize that I have omitted both Johnson and Hunt Counties from this list. I will be visiting them as soon as possible before summer’s end.

1. The Temple of Justice: Collin County Courthouse
2. Old Red: Dallas County Courthouse
3. Gingerbread Courthouse: Ellis County Courthouse
4. A Granite Extravagance: Tarrant County Courthouse
5. Fording the Weather: Parker County Courthouse
6. Courthouse-on-the-Square: Denton County Courthouse
7. Big House on the Prairie: Wise County Courthouse
8. The Seventh Courthouse: Hunt County Courthouse
9. A Texas Classic: Johnson County Courthouse

View my Flickr collection of all the sets of courthouse pictures I took here.