Roots and Wings

All across the country the landscape is dotted with abandoned farmsteads and buildings whose walls are filled with stories of heartache and happiness.  On a recent trip back through the Kansas Flint Hills to take photographs for the cover of my book, I was once again transported through time as we captured images of the past.  We photographed abandoned hotels and schools with their roofs open and gaping toward the sky and trees poking through the windows seeking the world outside. We peeked through the windows of abandoned schoolhouses to see blackboards still lining the front wall and a pot-bellied stove still standing guard in the center of the room. It seemed that at any moment the teacher would appear in the doorway to call the children in from recess.  One could almost hear the children’s laughter from the swing set that creaked sadly in the Kansas wind.  The cattle grazing on the hills and the tall prairie grass bent low against the wind lent a timeless quality to the surroundings.  There had been wind and cattle grazing here for centuries.

We were enveloped in a silence so vast that one dared not speak above a whisper. Only the sound of the wind through the prairie grass and the gentle lowing of the cattle prevailed. Clusters of trees followed the creeks and rivers as they meandered through the lowlands. They were protected from the wind here and the comforting sound of rustling leaves softened the harshness of the surroundings.  But on the open range a lone tree struggled to stay upright against the constant wind.

Stacked stone fences lined the roadways, laid by hand over a century ago to mark the boundaries of one’s land against encroachment. Ancient barbed wire fences strung between stone fence posts built when the railroad age ended the era of the open range, kept the herds separate.  It was as if the ghosts of the past were still there...watching and protecting what they had devoted their lives to creating.

Most of the early pioneers to the area used whatever materials were available to them to create their dwellings.  The most basic structure was the dugout.  It was usually dug into a dirt bank with a sod roof. Sod houses required little expenditure because they were built from native grasses and their roots held the dirt together to form building blocks for the house. Very few of these dwellings exist today, because they were subject to water damage and infestation by vermin and were only used as temporary housing.

When settlers to Kansas found that the area was destitute of timber, they turned to a layer of limestone rock close to the surface that they soon found could be used for fencing as well as building. Besides being durable and fire resistant, limestone had several other advantages.  It could be obtained easily with the proper tools and techniques and it was uniform in thickness.  When freshly quarried, it was soft enough to shape with simple tools and hardened after being exposed to air.

Since the lowlands were prone to flooding, many schools and homes were built on the crest of a hill where the endless horizon provided a clear view of approaching storms and marauders. Although this location provided little protection from the wind and weather, it provided an unobstructed view of the Kansas sunset.  As the sun sank below the horizon, it set the entire sky ablaze in shades of bright orange and red against the golden backdrop of the prairie grass.

Gazing out at the abandoned farmhouses, one feels a sense of melancholy co-mingled with joy.  If the building had a voice, it would say, “Don’t mourn for me.  I have had a good life.   While it’s true that I have seen sadness and withered hopes, I have also watched children grow to adulthood and seen dreams realized.  I am here now only as a reminder of the sacrifices made to create this life for you. Embrace me and move on, but don’t forget me. I am the roots; you are the wings."

      

Stone Schoolhouse: Flint Hills National Preserve

District 22 Schoolhouse, c.1890

       

Stone Farmhouse: Flint Hills National Preserve

Snokomo Schoolhouse c. 1882

Bushong School, c. 1918

          

Volland Hotel

The Allure of the Flint Hills

"Matfield sits on the western side of the South Fork, against the brow where the uplands drop to the river terraces and then rise again a half mile eastward to run brokenly to the Flint Hills escarpment.  The hamlet is snugged in enough to make me believe that with a terrific heave, I could throw a rock up and out of the valley onto the the uplands; it is this compression of river and trees and simple dwellings, hidden from the prairie sweep, that give the village its unornamented, if decrepit, charm and keeps its name from being a hoax."

-William Least Heat Moon, Prairy Erth.

At least five generations of my family have been drawn to the allure of the Flint Hills.  In my search for the root of this attraction I am indebted to the work of Joseph V. Hickey, Jim Hoy and William Least Heat Moon.  Their vivid descriptions of the land and the people who inhabited it have provided me with a rich backdrop for understanding the people and places that are my heritage.

I have come to think of the Flint Hills in feminine terms much like a sailor thinks of his ship as a “she”.  Her gentle breezes through the tall grasses tempt men like the ruffle of a woman’s skirt or a soft kiss.  Her perfume lingers over the prairie beckoning you to follow.  She is a temptress whose soft voice seems to whisper, “Come to me. Like the red tailed hawk souring above, I will set you free”. 

Yet she is a fickle mistress.  Her soft breezes can suddenly  become tornadic winds that destroy men’s lives. Without warning, her warmth turns frigid leaving men stranded and alone in the icy cold of a winter blizzard. As if on a whim, she moves from drought to flood without a care or concern for the lives she destroys in the process.

But she will not set you free. Like the Sirens of mythology, she calls men back with sweet promises. “Come back to me,” she whispers.  “It will be better next time.”  Women cannot compete with the power she holds over their men.  Like the wives and lovers of the sea captains of long ago, they wait and hope.

  

Pioneer women followed their men into the Flint Hills in search of the dream.  Often times it was not a dream of riches or wealth, but of a paradise on earth where one could derive sustenance from the land itself. The Flint Hills promised bountiful wildlife and fertile valleys.  If a man had a strong wife and many children, the land would provide the rest.  For most, it was an empty promise.  Families withered and died from starvation or the harshness and unpredictability of the climate.  Those who survived, remain loyal to the land and the dream.  They are rooted to the soil in ways others cannot understand. It is against this rich background that I begin to piece together the tapestry that is the beginning of this legacy.  

x