Nebraska

Way back in the day, my nephew, Kevin, and I had spent a night in the town of Ogallala. After a day spent in the car driving the length of Nebraska, I had promised him a movie, and that one-screen theater in Ogallala became my introduction to the X-Men series. I think of it every time I see one of those films.

So when I needed an overnight pit stop this past spring, I went with Lake Ogallala State Recreation Area (SRA). It out to be beautiful beyond my expectations, and I was disappointed I was only staying the one night.

Now I’m kind of retracing my Spring route in reverse to get to Denver, so I got another shot at Lake Ogallala this week.

Definitely a different season this time around!

I’m loving the trees in various states of color and shedding of leaves.

Nebraska has a lot of wide open spaces, featuring corn and cattle. This is the view from the campsite opposite the lake.

Within an hour of my arrival, I heard the unmistakeable sound of sandhill cranes. Yes! They flew right over me on their way to somewhere so far away I lost sight of them. I was so happy to see them, my second favorite bird of all time (Brown pelicans are #1 in my book).

There’s a smaller dam below the big one behind the campground, and a lovely trail that goes out there. This is the start of that trail. How could I not walk it?

After sunset, the crescent moon peeks through the bare branches of the tree by my door. I wink at it before I turn in for the night. And then the sun rises the next day, as it always does.

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For those who may ask what they can do to honor Neil, we have a simple request. Honor his example of service, accomplishment and modesty, and the next time you walk outside on a clear night and see the Moon smiling down at you, think of Neil Armstrong and give him a wink.”

Family of Neil Armstrong

Time to feature a National Monument since so many of them are under fire right now. These places are our shared history as a people, and we come to them to learn and to appreciate the courage and struggle that most of them represent.

Scotts Bluff (named for Hiram Scott, who died here after being left for dead) was a major stop on the trails west: The Oregon Trail, The California Trail, the Mormon Pioneer Trail, and the Pony Express. Here’s the pass they went through on their way west.

It is the Mormon Trail that my dad’s ancestors took to get from Nauvoo to Salt Lake City to where they finally settled in eastern Arizona. From 1850, after the pass here was improved, the Gold Rush joined the constant flow of people looking for a better life in the West. Between 1841-1869, over 350,000 people moved westward, some in wagons, but most walking alongside them at an average rate of eight miles per day.

When they reached Scotts Bluff, they knew they were a third of the way through their journey. The Continental Divide, the Great Basin, and more than a few mountain ranges still stood between them and the coast, but at least they had survived the Plains.

The visitor center has a nice history of the area as well as some nature exhibits, so it’s well worth a look. That road you see in the photo below leads to the summit, which is where I took the photo.

Someday, I’d like to come back and trace more of these westward trails.

There’s something oddly mesmerizing about seeing a pile of old cars painted grey and carefully arranged into a faithful reproduction of Stonehenge. That a family did it to honor their patriarch makes it even better.

I’m pretty sure my family owned more than a few of these car models back in the day. I’m also sure that if I suggested to my family that we do this to honor my late, car-obsessed dad, the answer would be a very quick round of nays.

But the Reindars were no ordinary family. Jim Reindar, the artist and ringleader of this place, designed the installation and then, during the summer of 1987, the family came together and made it real, complete with “champagne, poetry, songs and a play written by the family” at the dedication. I salute the Reindars for making a unique and lasting memorial. It might be a little over the top, but it is beautiful in its own crazy way.

This last image is called The Fourd Seasons, and represents wheat in Nebraska: planting, growing, matured, and then the barren field in winter. An artist’s gotta do what an artist’s gotta do…

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There is a very short distance between high art and trash, and trash that contains an element of craziness is by this very quality nearer to art.