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The Big Bend of my Spirit

Perry's Saga

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I remember riding on a hill behind the Terlingua Ghost Town and stopping to intake the view below. On the gray and forest green ripples of desert below was a strange building half in ruins. It's vast size and boxiness seemed out of place with the other structures I had seen thus far around Terlingua. There was no softness, no earthiness, no blending with its surroundings. Instead it was like a big wart that had suffered an attempt to be removed or covered over with flim-flam makeup. It didn't fit. And a sense of sadness emanated from it. Yet it was captivating.

I later discovered that it was the ruins of an old mansion built for the owner of the Chisos Mine and town of Terlingua. When harvesting quicksliver from the belly of the desert was full force in the Big Bend region, a notorious 'business pirate' staked his authority and power over the land and people around him by building a single-story structure that served as his home when he was at the mines.

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Howard Perry is classed with power industrialists as a 'business pirate': individuals of the early 1900's who pursued wealth and power through industrial expansion, usually indifferent to how they expanded their fortunes. Like many economic pirates, he was ruthless, cold and overbearing. Few that knew him, both in business and even family, had any affection for him. Descriptions typically ran the gamut of cold, selfish, boastful, sneaky..... the usual picture of a powerful business tycoon. Yet he is still a mystery except his association with Terlingua, or depending on whom you talk to, Chisos.

If anyone searches for information of his past, three cities are likely to be associated with him: Chicago, Cleveland and Portland, Maine. It was the latter reference that spiked my curiosity. Having lived in south-central Maine for 14 years, the name, and hence the mystery, kept nagging me.

The only Perry that I knew in Maine was a local 'masquerading' as a State Police officer. He was the quintessential boy in school that got picked on and beaten up too many times so that he had such a self-esteem issue, he wore it all over his State jacket. He joined the State Police so he could wear a big hat and try to cinch his overhanging gut in with the jacket and belt. And he was totally ineffectual.

In a way I felt sorry for him because his low self-confidence was so obvious, no one ever took him seriously, especially as an officer. He botched everything: nearly failed his physical fitness test, a girlfriend robbed him of his savings, his mother hit him with her umbrella in public, and he hit a moose with the state car. I remember his rusty brown-blond hair sticking out underneath that giant hat and his face erupted in pimples. And he would hide his car while on duty for any chance of stopping locals if they went even a mile over the speed limit. He had few if any friends, but he wasn't a real bully.

I doubt that this Perry was related to Howard Perry of Portland, Maine. But every time I hear the name, that's whom I picture. Maybe they are alike in some ways: despite Perry's accumulation of wealth and assumed power, he died broke in a hotel room in Florida. But they were worlds apart in demeanor and composition.

Howard Perry was born in Ohio, described as a 'difficult child' by a nephew, and worked there with his father's lumber business until he left to join a lumber firm in Chicago. While living there, he quickly rose up in the ranks as a businessman, eventually marrying the daughter of Mr. Henderson, the owner of the large successful company in which he was then an associate director. He lived in Chicago amassing his fortune until 1914 when he relocated to Portland, Maine, his favorite vacationing place while sailing around New England.

When he formed Chisos Mine he still lived in Chicago and managed it mostly from his office there. He hired an overseer to do his bidding, one lasting many years and later his neighbor in Maine. He had a home built in 1906 on the hill so that he could overlook the mine, the town and all the operations and goings-on below. Since he was smitten with Spanish and Moorish architecture from a visit to Spain, the home was designed in that fashion. Years later -1911- he had another story added to it to be a nine-bedroom mansion with a 90-foot porch. But then, he was well acquainted with mansions, and it had to be the best. (which wasn't hard to do in Big Bend)

When he and his wife moved to Portland, his domain was a 23-room mansion, three smaller homes and a greenhouse that looked over Casco Bay. It was "the best between Beverly, Massachusetts, and Bar Harbor, Maine." Along with a huge yacht with a crew of six and a year-round captain, he did pretty well.

Although Perry was short -five feet- his demeanor was overbearing, gruff, a self-appointed leader and molder of men. He liked only those that did what he wanted and when. His egomania was known far and wide, from Texas, to Chicago, to Maine. Yet he also seldom bathed and washed his body with alcohol on cotton balls, who forbade any visitor to his mansion in Maine to speak any word at all to his servants, who erupted with profanity and threats of violence if things didn't go his way, and who deemed it unnecessary to attend his sister's funeral because "there's nothing I can do for her now, she's dead."

His wife shared the same political and cultural values, but apparently was not pleased with the desert in Big Bend despite the roomy mansion. She chose to remain in Portland during Perry's reign of Big Bend where he had the open opportunity for nearly total social and economic domination. And when you look around the town now, one has to really reach into the depths to imagine nearly one thousand people living and working there.

When the quicksilver market fell under in the 1930's, the Chisos Mine Company filed for bankrupcy in 1942. Perry's losses were steep and for the first time the tall box upon which he stood was shaking apart. He died in his sleep after leaving Terlingua, troubled with shaken finances.

New Life
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When Bill Ivey bought the sleepy town of Terlingua, the mansion ruins and all of Perry's ghosts came with it. Now it is slowly under renovation with one room available for paying guests and a small apartment room for the caretaker, Casey.

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Casey took us on a tour of the mansion; the ruins and the renovations. The two finished rooms, foyer and hallway are infused with warmth and charm.

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Keeping with the traditional Southwest adobe style, crumbling walls have been replastered, painted and annotated with artwork and paint of warm desert colors. The windows are framed with long panels of soft off-white cloth hung with simple but elegant rods.

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Guest should soon be able to enjoy the kitchen which is currently being renovated to reach modern, but simple utility.

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It's not a motel, or a hotel, but an inviting place to relax and get intimate with some of the local history.

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Much of the vast building still remains the same as the years gradually wore away many of the exterior and interior.

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Yet the rooms and hallway invite living while looking at history out through the windows. And, of course, there is the magnificent view of the Chisos Mountains to sooth the soul.

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And if you peek through one of those door frames, you'll see the other mystery that has me captivated, in a long hard enduring way: Reed's Plateau. And my bike likes it, too.

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The guest room is available for rent by the day or week. If anyone wants information with contact number, send me a pm.​
 
wow... I spent many of my vacations in the early 70's and 80's in the Terlingua area riding dirt bikes and exploring the old ruins of the ghost town of Terlingua. I can still remember exploring the old Perry mansion in total awe of how it must have been years ago when the mine was in operation.
 
OUTSTANDING!!!!

I'm looking forward to the time I get to go experience Big Bend for myself.
 
History, not Frontier

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Many people refer to the Big Bend as the 'last frontier'. Well, not really. In a few ways the physical environment of the region is unique, surely unique for Texas. But not the rest of the Southwest, and especially not unique of Mexico, its neighbor. 'Frontier' is a misnomer, living largely in the mythical past of the West. It has been a word describing a process of going to a region. And throughout this country 'frontier' has been analogous to 'conquest.' In that respect, the frontier ended in the 1890's. Everywhere. And still seems to dictate a sense of place today. We are still trying to conquer this country. But should we? Need we?

If one looks at history as changes occurring within a framework of culture, race, language, economy, politics, and the environment over time, this is still cycling through; it encompasses past, present and future. It address questions of 'How did we get here?", "Who are we?", and "Where do we go from here?". It's not really a frontier story of how we got to this place and conquered it, but a state of being and a sense of place that connects us with everything and everyone around us: past, present, future and being in a region.

Big Bend region is unique to Texas in that the the physical and political environment has dictated history more than the rest of the state. It is arid with limited resources, drawn and quartered by a national political boundary: the border along Mexico. The area has been, and still is, highly influenced by many cultures: Anglo-American, Mexican-American, Indian, and even remnants of old Spanish. Economics and politics have been (and still are) influenced by state, federal, local and Mexican. All within an arid environment which, like other arid places in the US, impart a uniqueness.

History is still alive here. Ghosts from the past remain and influence the present and future. Like any region and place, myths abound and people like their myths. But the facts are easier to sort out and see here. The environment dictates that because it resists the historical trend of human domination and conquest. So the sense of place one has here is nearly the same that humans had here thousands of years ago. Thus 'frontier' here has little relevance. It is instead a sense of place and being; less romantic and many times a bit harsh, but it nurtures a connection that most people lack in urban and even many rural places. Including Texas.

One component in unique places such as Big Bend is the cross-over and overlap of cultures. Terlingua is a precious living example of western history and how the environment influenced changes in human habitation. It is also a prime example of the reverse: how human occupation changed the environment. People are attracted to Terlingua and the surrounding region because of the simplicity and connection that the region demands. Not to conquer it. (an example of the latter is the history and ongoing saga of Lijitas)

Although the typical and historical western trend of land sharks, with which land is strictly a commodity and not a 'place', are apparent in the Big Bend region, examples of settlements as connected habitats are visible. One aspect that the southern area of the Big Bend region nurtures is a sense of community; largely dictated by the environment, but also facilitated by the type of people that live there.

One manifestation in this blending of cultures includes modes of habitation: homes, buildings, construction methods and materials. People are renovating ruins of rock and adobe structures to serve as their homes. Or they are following the traditional building of small, low and unobtrusive structures using material from their surroundings: adobe, rock, sand, washed gravel, etc. Many people live off the power grids, some of necessity, some by desire.

The most precious resource in any arid environment is water. In the past, the only sources were creeks -seasonal and year-round- and dug wells. Primitive water catchment systems have been used for generations, and now modern systems are incorporated in many homes and establishments.

Although a community water system exists in Study Butte and Terlingua, it is limited. The same applies to capacity for waste disposal and treatment. With the increase in demand by more people visiting and living in these areas, community systems -both sources and services- are experiencing growing pains. The future depends on if and how people will adapt to these limitations or if they will be ignored with increased demand beyond the system capacities, which has and still occurs in more urban areas (even many rural areas) of the arid West. What many people take for granted in their home localities -water, waste treatment, utilities- are expected at the same levels in the Big Bend region. It has and can break, sometimes destroy arid local areas such as Study Butte, Terlingua, and Lajitas.

I hope that rather than try to provide for unreasonable and excess expectations of newcomers and visitors to those places, the communities will try to increase and broaden awareness of their limited resources and how to adapt to them. (example: the signs in restroom and bathrooms not to flush any paper down the drains and to conserve water usage.) I also ask fellow members here to be considerate of that when they visit the area.

To continue, a tour of Terlingua and Big Bend.
 
Homes in Big Bend: Strawbale

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Last month a tour of Terlingua architecture was held for the Big Bend Historical Society. Since neither I or any of you could attend, in some ways I've been leading you on such a tour here. But rather than just an architectural tour, it has been much more: a tour of sense of place. Because architecture is more than just about building a structure; it's designing and constructing places that incorporate the physical, psychological and spiritual needs and desires of the inhabitants within a balanced framework of the surrounding environment. A subgroup of this is called 'green' design and building.

It was my pleasure and honor to have people in Terlingua share with me how they live there. It deepened my connection with the area and the people because of my own similar experience of living simply in the woods of Maine, in some ways the polar (pun intended) opposite of the Big Bend weather and environment. I had no utilities or services except for electricity and could have done without that as well, except that solar collection was limited living under a forest canopy. Here I explored their methods of 'doing without' with so much more.

The most common building is 'adobe', a term applied to style and construction material. The adobe style is based on hundreds of years of trial and error using local resources and design maximizing use of solar energy and cooling winds. Typically adobes have been simple design: small size, few and small doors and windows placed to maximize winter sun for heat and minimize sun exposure to reduce heat in the summer, long overhangs with ramadas and sheltered courtyards for outdoor living in summer shade, low to the ground to also minimize summer exposure, and shade, shade, shade. The design now crosses over in modern buildings more for cultural and regional appearance than practical design. This can be seen more in the urban areas of other arid regions such as in NM and AZ where homes and building are multistory and of excessive size (I still can't understand why a couple or small family 'requires' homes of 2,000 square feet plus).

Adobe construction has traditionally been simple as well: local clay and sand with additional binding material, including animal dung or vegetative fibers. They require some water and were usually made on location. Several layers of stucco on the exterior provided some weather protection and different kinds of plaster on the interior provided colorful refinement. Roofing materials ran the gamut of canes from local plants, to scavenged materials: tin, aluminum, wood, even mud.

Now adobe construction is often infused with modern materials and techniques, improving weather resistance and thermal capacities. Following 'green' construction, recycled materials are added: papercrete, straw, even organic polymers (such as plastics). Most also use cement in some form or another and to varying ratios.

Adobe and rock hybrids are another approach: strawbales for walls, adobe and/or rock as thermal mass storage. One of the most successful alternative building materials -both here in the southwest and in the mid-west- is strawbales. I've seen two prior to those in Big Bend and both elicited skepticism in my framework of building in the cold frozen Northeast and the rain-penetrating Northwest. One of these had to be rebuilt because an atypical summer rainfall in western Oregon literally 'melted' a strawbale house in the making.

That skepticism has been reversed after visiting a very successful strawbale house in Terglingua. It is not only structurally and design sound, but is the most aesthetically pleasing home I've been in down there.

The primary difference between traditional adobe houses and the hybrid houses are the construction materials: strawbales or rock may replace the adobe blocks, but the stucco and plaster, externally and internally, impart the same concept. They serve as a 'skin' to provide structural support and weather resistance, and they utilize local materials. This also imparts an aesthetic quality that is highly sensory, dare I say even sensuous.

Walls are textural inside and out, imperfections in texture and line add to the overall quality rather than detract, adobe materials can be combined with others to provide interesting and intriguing combinations, and adobe allows for, even invites, individual expression. And overall, it is a more economical and environmentally conservative approach to building. Now compare that with the typical mundane modern design and construction that surrounds us in our urban environments.

In addition, they offer occupant involvement in building. Most of the places in Terlingua, and possibly elsewhere in the Big Bend region, are owner built to some extent. Many places are the handiwork of a communal effort: family, friends and other locals in the community.

Just think now: this provides input by the inhabitants and neighbors that really confers a sense of accomplishment and living. It adds to a sense of place and being. It makes your home really a part of yourself and even of the entire community. And to think that this approach was a necessity of those that lived here only a few decades ago. Everyone helped everyone else build their homes and community buildings (this is being done now in Terlingua!)

This is the type of community I lived in years ago and that I miss now. And to which I hope to return within a few years.

Now, let me introduce you to a strawbale house in southern Big Bend region.

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This house incorporates traditional and modern techniques and materials. As in the 'in-fill' construction method, strawbales are placed as the walls in between supporting materials, in this case steel posts and beams, that bear the load of the roof. The other approach is 'load-bearing' where the strawbale walls bear the load of the roof.

As my ex-husband, a building contractor, always stated: "A house is only as good as its foundation." Coming from the Northeast, this was especially true, but is also critical anywhere. Here the foundation and the floor are seamless: concrete. The perimeter provides for total loadbearing and the floor is poured as a slab, which was stained and sealed. Many slabs incorporate heat (either electrical or hot-water). No doubt, the concrete foundation, especially incorporating a slab, is probably the most expensive component of the overall cost. The advantage here is it also serves as thermal mass storage which helps with temperature control.

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Here you can see how canes were incorporated into the ceiling treatment adding a textural and earthy component in keeping with the overall aesthetics and 'green' materials. The interior is of open design: the entire living area is open without walls (except for bathroom). A strawbale interior component creates a bench for sitting and reclining while the different color plaster adds contrast and interest. It also imparts a subtle visual demarcation of living area versus working and dining area.

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A characteristic interior design component of adobes are the shelves and coveys built into the walls. Here you can also see large glass bottles incorporated into the walls near the top. They add an intriguing expression component while also offering subdued light into the interior without exposure to the harsh and hot summer sun.

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Possibilities for expressive creativity in interior plaster is endless. Here on the left side of the photo below you can see tiny glimmering spots in the wall. This is crushed gypsum or mica added to the plaster mixture. To the right of that wall section is the side jam of the door demonstrating how curves and shapes can be incorporated into the design and construction. Adobe and plaster both can be somewhat 'molded', if you will, to shapes and textures that are limited by only the imagination and ability of the builder.

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Anyone that thinks this type of construction is limiting only exposes their lack of creativity and ability, or ignorance of both. Seen in this photo is a modern kitchen with concrete counter top lacking little except for a dishwasher. Many consider that a necessity, but that is completely individual and relative. In this environment where resources are more limited, a dishwasher would be extravagant. And, afterall, is it really a necessity?

One thing this type of construction requires is thorough planning. It is much better and safer to plan for the advent of additions and details than in modern wooden stick construction. For example, hanging cabinets in not as easy as hammering nails or drilling screws into a wood wall or sheetrock. With adobe and strawbale construction, such details have to be examined and planned for by incorporating amendments and modifications to provide for.

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Sleeping arrangement and area can be incorporated in a number of ways. For a small home in which only one person or a couple live in, a loft may be adequate and preferable, such as here. For families, full bedrooms may be desirable for privacy. That entails extra structural and material details.

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One special attribute about living in this area of Big Bend (and Texas for that matter) is the opportunities to combine indoor and outdoor living space. I like it as seamless as possible since I usually spend most of my time outdoors. Most of the adobes down here incorporate outdoor living spaces as an integral part of their homes.

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This strawbale home has a large semi-covered patio with an excellent view (of my favorite mountain as well), complete with lounge chairs and fire pit. As you can see, the strawbale and adobe-type wall forms the perimeter of the patio and incorporates the load-bearing structure for the roof of woven cane. It also offers shade and shelters the house wall from extremes of the summer sun. It is a perfect example of extending the living space outdoors. Now, who woudn't want to sit here for hours with this view.

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This house is off the grid. Solar panels and batteries provide electricity for lights and other uses for electrical appliances; propane fuel for gas kitchen stove and water-heater. Three cisterns catch water from rainfalls during the year, mostly in the mid and late summer months. A gray water system handles 'gray' water (from kitchen and bathroom sinks/shower). In addition to a composting toilet an outhouse provides for leisurely trips to the 'throne' with a view.

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Those of us from urban areas are used to planned and completely man-made landscapes. Visitors and new-comers here are struck with the perceived emptiness of vegetation. But they are wrong. It is merely different from what they are used to. And even the indigenous plant life can be used to complement and enhance homes in the landscaped environment. Including my favorite: the blue-green-grays of agave.

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This house is a guest house built by the proprietor. It can be rented on a monthly, weekly, or daily basis. Access is by gravel road just east of the main part of the ghost town of Terlingua.

If anyone is interested in renting it, give me a pm and I will provide contact info.
 
Changing Skies

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Big Bend, Texas – December 2008

Warmth of the desert. Even in the middle of December the sun smiles sweetly on the desert. Driving through the mountains that curtain the north of Big Bend, the passes offered glimpses of yellow grasses spotted with green junipers on a brown background of ancient rock. Giant mountains that towered over an ancient seabed shed their softer sedimentary layers down to the harder gray rock that caps the tops today. Over time erosion sculpts the monoliths into mesas and buttes with smooth folds and skirts along their edges.

As we drove south the yellow grasses and mountain sides peppered with green dots of junipers give way to alternating layers of yellow, gray, brown and rust rock and sediments. Bare patches on the flat basin reveal black deposits that were once the tops of those ancient mountains. The road pavement lay upon pieces of rock that the mountains shed over thousands of years. A road through time.

I was overheating in my sweatpants and long-sleeved shirt. Decades of living in the cold north have ingrained in me a habit of wearing layers of warm clothing in winter months. Funny how exposure to an environment can imprint a subconscious behavior even in the presence of opposing elements. Here in the desert temperatures nearing those of my summers quickly drove me out of my usual winter attire and into less clothing.

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Now as the sun disappeared over the ridge in the west hues of pink, lavender and rose mingled with the blue-black clouds. A glowing fire sandwiched in two clouds on the western horizon was the farewell signature of the sun. Motivated to try and capture the show, I pulled out the camera and imprinted a half-dozen fleeting moments into digital records on a memory card.

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Much later, treading carefully over the rocks to my tent with the aid of a headlamp lighting the ground before me like a third eye, I glanced up to see millions of shiny twinkling dots in the black sky.

Over the last ten years living in or near cities, this once-familiar sight now elicits a sense of awe and a reminder of our place in relationship to the vast universe we orbit in. Like little specks of dust on a turning tennis ball, we are usually too absorbed in our own daily smallness to be aware of the larger picture. Here we are reminded how small we really are yet connected to something larger than we will ever really know. Here in the desert night sky, I was a speck on a big rotating ball on its infinite cycle of circling the giant fireball we call the ‘sun’.

I zipped my down sleeping bag only half-way for the night; it was too warm. But it was closed all the way hours later in the darkness as a cold wind shook the tent. A northwestern front blew in clouds and temperatures dropped 20 degrees as daylight spread over the Chisos Mountains to the east. Reluctantly I pulled on warm layers after crawling out of the down bag, adding a few more while drinking warm coffee to ward off the chill of the northern wind. Temperatures reached a low and stabilized before climbing as blue skies chased the cloud cover south and into Mexico.

Sitting in the desert with a full coffee cup in my hands, I felt as though I was Home. With Reality lurking on the edges, I wanted to soak all of this in and not let go. And for an instant, I was transported back through decades and thousands of miles to doing the same for many years under a canopy of trees in the woods of Maine. And then to a hilltop overlooking a valley watching the fog roll across the mountain tops from the Pacific Coast. I know the feeling of being Home.

And this time it is here.

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My pics and words don't even come close to equaling the skill and talent of Texas Shadow, but I do have 1 pic of her that I like a lot. To me, the smile says it all.

Texas Shadow hanging out at the Boathouse in Terlingua this past Christmas.
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Why is she trying to steal that guys beer?!
Heheh. That was a fun night. I was the sober designated Desert Mobile driver while we went barhopping in Terlingua. The..... gentleman in the photo latched onto me and wouldn't let go, trying every conceivable maneuver to get a kiss and a dance. He was soused to the brim. Richard and Roger derived much amusement from the whole thing.

One of the many fond nights during those two weeks. Many stories untold. ;-)
 
A Labor of Love

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Amongst the wonderful and interesting people I met and spent time with in Terlingua was a retired couple, the Beech's. Big Bend captured their hearts, too. Over time they built a spectacular home on a knoll that overlooks southern Terlingua Creek and Long Draw area as well as the Chisos Mountains to the east. This is the last installment of Terlingua Pieces showcasing some of the locals and their homes there.

The Beech's home is a hybrid of traditional adobe, plaster and stucco, modern stick frame, and local materials, including Mexico. Many features are examples of the Beech's creativity, such as recycled broken tile for the shower floor, an old wooden storm and screen door combination found in Mexico, and large recycled multipaned doors for the breezeway.

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Traditional symbols and icons of the southwest are well-placed combining simplicity and style. And every corner invites the eye and curiosity.

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They designed and built the house and small guest house to take advantage of summer breezes via the breezeway, which connects the two. The large doors open out to a flagstone patio and wonderful views. Here Mr. Beech happily shares stories about building their home.

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Windows are shaded by long overhangs and cane ramadas over the porches while still offering magnificent views of the desert.

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Surrounding three sides of the house are patios floored with limestone from around the house. It blends in well with the surrounding desert and the overhead ramadas extend the living space inside to outside. Mrs. Beech has lovingly established a desert garden including native and non-native species. They complement the home as well as invite visitors to walk the gardens.

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Despite the heat the patios offer a cool respite out of the sun. From here one can visit or lose themselves in the serenity of the mountains.

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Pathways marked with flagstones lead the eye and the feet away from the house to explore the desert floor.

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The house and surrounding area are a labor of love: love of the Big Bend desert. And I thank them, and Roger, for sharing that with me.

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A Tale of Two Parks

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A Tale of Two Parks


Dear Ed Abbey,

I want to introduce you to a park I think you will approve of. It is near the national park where many times you hiked, rafted, camped and navigated its rough roads. You drove through the new park several times on your way to Big Bend National Park from Presidio and Lajitis. Although your attention was always drawn to the Chisos volcanic cliffs and peaks in the distance, “like a castled fortification of Wagnerian gods,” you missed equally if lesser-known wonders on both sides of the highway you traveled.

Although I’ve been writing to you off and on over the last two years, allow me to diverge from that and tell you about an area in Big Bend that you would have enjoyed.

During your first visit to Big Bend National Park in 1952, you may recall your memorable drive along the primitive road, now called River Road, from Castolon to Rio Grande Village. It took two days in your fiancé’s new car, much to her objection, to literally crawl over the fifty miles of boulders, deep ravines, ruts, chuckholes, thorns, and sandy washes. After springing both doors, bending the tie-rod, and burning the clutch, the car barely rumbled into the village with one flat and shredded tire.

Despite wrecking the car and your engagement, the wildness of the park drew you back again and again. Many years later you drove the back country Old Ore Road with friend Jack in an old pickup truck, camping and exploring a beautiful canyon with a winding “gothically crenellated rim” and overhanging walls. The series of tanks filled with water, or tinajas, is now called Ernst Tinaja.

During that same trip with Jack, you both drove Glen Springs, Black Gap and River roads. Despite the posted warnings at the Black Gap cut-off of infrequently patrolled rough terrain, the two of you interpreted the challenge as a ‘must do’. And you did, after removing boulders, beveling cutbanks with a shovel, straddling gullies and you leading the way on foot to guide Jack with hand signals on Black Gap.

Very succinctly, and too close to home for me, your words have stayed with me all these years: “There are things in Texas worse than a mere fifty miles of rock and sand. I’d rather be broke down and lost in the wilds of Big Bend, any day, then wake up some morning in a penthouse suite high above the megalomania of Dallas or Houston.”

Camping for the night on the side of River Road, you pondered the deep gash of Santa Elena canyon and lights of Castolon in the dusk. A supper of tortillas, cheese and refried beans topped with a salute of hot cocoa spiked with Wild Turkey ceremoniously honored the scenery around you and the success of your daunting maneuvers along the back roads.

After another hike, this time the south rim of the Chisos basin, you were sorry to leave. As we all are. You wrote, “We console ourselves, as we always do, with the thought that we’ll be back, someday soon. We will return, someday, and when we do, the gritty splendor and the complicated grandeur of the Big Bend will still be here. Waiting for us. Isn’t that what we always think as we hurry on, rushing toward the inane infinity of our unnamable desires?” Yes, that is what we always think and say to ourselves.

I have been on those same roads and hiking trails, Ed. They’ve smitten me, too. Some of us are satisfied with one visit. Others, like you and I, are never satisfied unless we can spend eternity there. But I know, and you knew, we can’t.

That may have been possible many decades ago in our history, and many people did live in these places. But expanding American imperialism and a growing capitalistic world changed all that as the 20th century marched forward with technological, medical, social, ideological, and political innovations. Wilderness doesn’t exist anymore. No land remains untouched by humans.

Our national park system strives to preserve or conserve pockets of remaining ‘wilderness’ and representations of our American heritage. You have written in many forms –prose, reviews, fiction, letters, and poetry- expressing disgust and anger at turning those motives into industrial tourism -building ‘amusement parks’ and ‘Disneylands’. Development in the form of modern lodges, consumption stores, large campgrounds that have become little suburban villages, and wide ribbons of pavement are diametrically opposed to the concept of preserving wild places. They also enable isolation of visitors from that which they come to visit.

In your book Desert Solitaire you wrote, “…the chief victims of the system are the motorized tourists. They are being robbed and robbing themselves. So long as they are unwilling to crawl out of their cars they will not discover the treasures of the national parks and will never escape the stress and turmoil of the urban-suburban complexes which they had hoped, presumably, to leave behind for a while." Sadly I see this time and time again during my visits to all parks. But can this be changed?

Walking and hiking the parks offers visitors more intimate and personal contact with the environment: land forms, vegetation, weather, life and death. This enables more awareness, self-sufficiency and satisfaction from their experiences. Despite justification for your proposal presented in Desert Solitaire (and other writings) to ban all vehicles from parks, forcing people to walk as their only option inside the parks is idealistic and impractical.

As much as my deepest sentiments run parallel with yours, the reality is that this will not happen. However, these issues and the park systems do need to find a compromise. Otherwise our parks will be nothing more than NY Central Park clones.

I engage you on this topic in depth in my long letter to you and will avoid doing so in great detail here. In this short letter, I want to tell you about a state park in the Big Bend region that strives for such a compromise.

Just north of Hwy 170, which you drove to get to the national park, and in between the small towns of Presidio and Lajitis, sits the relatively new Texas Big Bend Ranch State Park. It is the largest -300,000 acres- and most wild remote park in the state.

Formerly, the park was two ranches: the Fresno and Big Bend Ranches. It includes high and low desert, two mountain ranges with extinct volcanoes, towering rocks and waterfalls, canyons and springs, ancient campsites, shelters and rock art, and 23 miles of frontage on the Rio Grande. You would especially like the slot canyon, Closed Canyon, with its sheer vertical walls of igneous rock. The jewel of the park is an ancient volcanic laccolith (with a caldera) 9 miles in diameter and rimmed by many twisted, curving rocky ridges.

Although goats, sheep and cattle once grazed the area, only a small herd of the historic Spanish Longhorn cattle remain as domestic stock. Otherwise the area is home to a variety of Chihuahuan Desert wildlife: bats, snakes, lizards, tarantulas, birds, and mammals, such as coyote, cougar, black bear, coati, mule deer, javalina, and vegetation of cacti and other desert species. This is their home more than it is our place.

Except for two visitors’ centers on the highway, there are no stores in the main park. Unlike the national park that unfortunately bulldozed almost all the ruins and remains of ranch houses, adobes and jacals where people once lived, they remain in the state park. Face it, Ed; people lived here in this harsh, arid, unforgiving desert and mountains, subsisting the best they could on what the desert would allow. This land is their legacy, too. This area is rich in cultural diversity, probably more so than your beloved Utah desert.

The complex of buildings that formed the heart of the former ranch provides two types of accommodations: the ranch house and bunkhouse. Built in 1908 and renovated in the ‘40’s, the house with three bedrooms offers most of the amenities from outside the park. The bunkhouse is just that: two quarters with bunks and a central kitchen with dining room. Far from the more modern and luxurious lodge complex in the national park’s Chisos Basin, the state park’s offers rustic and quiet charm in a less developed environment.

You would be pleased to know, Ed, that there is no pavement in the park except for the highway that runs along the river frontage. A 36-mile gravel road leads through hilly terrain into the heart of the park. It ends at the original ranch complex and ranger station. A network of trails provides access and begs exploration by foot, mountain bike and horse, and camping in the backcountry can be almost anywhere. A limited network of primitive roads enable (barely) navigation by four-wheeled drive vehicles and soon, dirt-bikes.

Now, Ed, I know how you feel about motorized vehicles in parks, and your proposal to ban them from parks. But do you remember when you drove those backcountry roads in Big Bend National Park? Do you recall the thrill of the challenge and adventure? You drove those roads despite Ranger warnings and signs. You even moved the signs that said “Road Closed” and “No Road” and went through anyway. Can you remember those nights you camped by the sides of those roads, reveling in the solitude and remoteness? Ed, do you really think that you are the only one entitled to that?

I ride a street-legal dirt-bike, Ed, on those same roads. Like you, I stop and marvel at the silence, the beauty, the raw emptiness and wish that I could stay the tide of development, encroachment, and exploitation there and in places left that still hold against our so-called 'civilized' intrusion in the name of 'progress'. Sometimes the magnificence of it all fills and chokes me marvel and awe, with a humble connection that most people in urban messes have no inkling of. Pavement and concrete can’t impart that. And sometimes, like you, I’m angry and want to keep it all to myself as if I can protect it. But I can’t. Neither could you.

Together, people like us might be able to bring awareness to those that live in the ever-expanding urban madness, show them what wilderness once was, what it means to us, and what we can do to preserve what we have left. We need you, Ed Abbey. Even in your grave, you are still with us.

I think this is happening. This new state park is a compromise between preservation of wilderness and access for people to enjoy a wilderness experience. To learn about what it means to be remote, be self-responsible and sufficient, to appreciate the dark blanket of the night spattered with twinkling stars and cherish the sound of the coyote and the hiss of the wind. They have the opportunity to learn what time, and timelessness, really is. And they also have the chance to learn about themselves.

The state park doesn’t have the mystifying giant mountains that float in the sky, or awe-inspiring badlands, or the grand madam Santa Elena canyon. But it does have it’s own unique gems. And it is more remote and primitive than the national park. It truly is a preservation of legacies of the land and those that lived and died for it. And everyone can share it.

Ed, I think that the following words you wrote in Desert Solitaire ring true for everyone as we lose more and more of our precious natural heritage around the world.

"Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit, and as vital to our lives as water and good bread. A civilization which destroys what little remains of the wild, the spare, the original, is cutting itself off from its origins and betraying the principle of civilization itself."

Yes, Ed. We need wilderness to remind us of what it is to be human.

With complete sincerity,

Elzi

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Wow....Powerful stuff.

FYI.

TPWD is currently discussing a revised use plan for BBRSP. It includes allowing street legal M/C travel on the back roads. Patience is the name of the game right now. We, the D/S community have an ally, at TPWD and we are well represented there. I'll post more as it develops.

One minor correction to your post Elzi, and I only mention it because of the irony of it. There is some pavement in the interior of the BBRSP. It is the air strip built to allow the entry of planes. How ironic that planes are welcome but some other motorized vehicles are restricted.

Thanks for sharing the Big Bend area with us all through your eyes.
 
TPWD is currently discussing a revised use plan for BBRSP. It includes allowing street legal M/C travel on the back roads. Patience is the name of the game right now. We, the D/S community have an ally, at TPWD and we are well represented there. I'll post more as it develops.
Yup, I'm aware. I've had some interesting (and enjoyable) conversations with a few of the Rangers at the Park.* I'm glad this is working out well for us, and I sincerely hope that we can respect and retain that privilege.

One minor correction to your post Elzi, and I only mention it because of the irony of it. There is some pavement in the interior of the BBRSP. It is the air strip built to allow the entry of planes. How ironic that planes are welcome but some other motorized vehicles are restricted.
In the wise words of Homer Simpson... D'oh! I did forget about the airstrip.
To extend the irony, there are MANY air landing strips in the middle of nowhere throughout the Big Bend region, including Terlingua Ranch property and the National Park. And there's interesting (and cool) history behind that.

Regardless, the airstrip was there as part of the original ranch property (it served briefly as a hunting lodge/ranch). I can understand why the state continues to maintain it since the only other options nearby are Lijitis and Presidio. I also understand Lijitis doesn't always have reliable gas supply.

To extend that even further, the best view of Solitario is by air. It's so large, a ground view severely limits a proper perspective of this unique landform. I would LOVE to be able to see it, and BBNP, from the air.**

And thanks for the kind words.

* Part of my Plan (TM) is to get a position there in the park as biologist, or grunt Ranger. I'm not too picky.

** The first time I saw the canyons of Utah was from the air. My face was smashed against the plane window like a little kid. I knew at that instant that I had to go back and see it, feel it, smell it, from the ground. Now with the Big Bend area, I want to see it from the air. Get the 'BIG' picture. ;-)
 
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Apparently my satellite system had a cyber burp, as it does every once in awhile, and uploaded the same post twice. This is one of the quirks of living in the middle of a cow pasture.
:)
 
Elzi, I've been visiting this part of Texas since 1980 on a fairly regular basis but still fail to see it as your mind, eyes, and camera do.
 
Big Bend Ranch State Park

My last post in this series is a brief look at the 'other' Big Bend Park; the state park. My exposure was brief, but sweet and exciting. It seemed as though I had it all to myself. The only people I saw were three on mountain bikes, riding the same trail I hiked on. And I must say, I was undoubtedly impressed at how they navigated the trail terrain.

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My hike began on a well-mannered jeep road: packed and 'groomed' gravel. From a dirt bike perspective, it seemed like a 'piece of cake'. For the first few miles. Then it went into and through a few steep arroyos and washes: pea gravel, sand, angle puncture-making rocks, and more small pea gravel. Some gnarly gashes in the bed rock looked like they would be candidate 'gotcha now!' tire grabbers. A well-sprung bike and alert rider could navigate these just fine, but anyone not paying attention could find themselves flying over handlebars.

Fresno Canyon is awesome. Looking over the edge with the knowledge that at one time a candeleria wax factory was down there is just amazing. More than anything, given my penchant for canyons, I wanted to explore the bottom. That will have to wait another time.

Several days during this two week stay in Big Bend I just didn't feel like pausing to dig out the camera and photograph anything. This day was one. I was too immersed in and enjoying my own solitude, the new territory, and the warm sun. For half a day, no one else existed but myself and the desert. It was grand.

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Eventually I came to a fork: left was the jeep road, right was a trail for hikers, mountain bikers and horses. The trail on the desert floor was barely a foot wide. I liked that. So I veered right.

Soon I was weaving in and out of arroyos and washes. A few times I had to stop and reconnoiter the trail: where did it go? Looking down the surface blended in with all the rest of the desert floor. Looking ahead and scanning side to side, a pile of small rocks caught my eye. Ah, the universal park 'sign' for 'The trail is over here, stupid!'. I had to do this several times because the trail literally winds in, along, out, back in, out, along, etc the washes. Keep and eye out for the small rock piles. And mountain bike tire tracks.

Rounding the hills offered glimpses of various land forms and diverse geological landmarks. I wished I had a guide with me to learn what was what, what's that rock mass? Is that an old volcano? What makes this section a dusty yellow and that a rusty brown? What do I care anyway? Because I'm curious. But the most astounding sight was yet to come.

As I wound around another low hill, to the left in the distance was a hillside that glimmered in the sun. Already I was wondering what imparted the glimmer, or if I was already dehydrated without realizing it. I stopped to slurp down half a bottle of water and the view didn't change. So I moved on, determined to discover the source of this.

As I approached, I was able to make out chunks of glimmering stone of all sizes littering -literally littering (redundant pun intended)- the hillside. Now standing amongst them, I saw that the hillside was covered with a chaotic spread of quartz: milky, opaque, clear, large, small, tiny, huge..... how in the world did this get here?

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Walking halfway around the hill I could see that the other side was absent of any quartz. Huh? This is the oddest thing I've ever seen: one side of this hill is strewn with chunks of quartz and nowhere else as far as I can see. It is as if a huge gigantic dump truck filled with quartz chunks dumped its load right here on this hillside.

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I stopped, unbuckled the camera case around my waist, ate a protein bar and drank the rest of my bottle of water. And still wondered. I'm still wondering. I have no explanation. Nor have I found any. But I was tempted to pull out the camera and capture evidence that I was not going insane or hallucinating.

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I continued on the trail which eventually converged with the jeep trail. Checking the gps, I realized I had limited amount of time to get back and keep my appointment with Ara and Spirit. So I hiked back via the jeep trail, stopping only to take one series of photos and get rid of the pot of coffee I drank previous to my hike.

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I made it back to the trail head in less time than the other direction, but I also pushed it. Perhaps a bit more than my bum right foot was ready for; it was so swollen in my boot I could barely pry it off. With relief after ripping my sock off, I wedged it into its sandal and got in the vehicle. I was glad then that I decided to drive instead of ride the bike. I never would have gotten that foot into the MX boot.

I was late getting to Ara's, but luckily David was there keeping him occupied with conversation about food. Gratefully, I accepted his offer of chicken and black-eyed pea stew; I had two bowls. Guess I was hungry. It was delicious.

Spying Spirit curled up taking a nap, I was tempted to curl up along side him and take a dog nap, too. I was fading and unable to contribute much to the conversation. I excused myself, thanking Ara for his hospitality, gave both Ara and Spirit hugs and drove back to my temporary home in the desert and took a nap.

Ah, life is grand in the desert.

BBRSP, I will be back.

Goodnight, Desert Rats.

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If this is the last installment what are we going to read while waiting for next year . SEYA
 
If this is the last installment what are we going to read while waiting for next year .
I have a few more posts in the works (A River Crawls Through It, The Big Warp), but they will probably be uploaded to my blogsite rather than here. I think readers here want to see/read about specifically riding, not history or other general essays/posts.
But I can't stop writing about BB and time spent there; I'm still back there in spirit. Only part of me is here.

Although still weeding through and cataloging the photos from those two weeks, most of them are in two galleries on smugmug:

Big Bend

Terlingua.

Here's a Good Morning shot to stir your memories. David:
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Of all the places I've been the Big Bend region has stuck with me the longest and I go back 2 or 3 times a year.:zen:
 
The Big Warp

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The air is still, hot and oppressive. Glaring sun scalds rocks, sand and exposed skin. Dry lips stick to your teeth. Plant thorns surround you and the silence is deafening. Jagged mountains rise like angry fists, arroyos gasp with thirsty seams and canyons gash the surface like gates to ****. There is no green grass, babbling brooks, or shady tree canopies. This is the desert.

A subconscious fear creeps in while driving through the desert in your comfortable and cozy vehicles. Vacant stares reflect a barren landscape and emptiness. “There’s nothing here,” you say. And move on.

Yet something –inexplicable, indefinable, and unforgettable- touches you; lingering in your subconsciousness, imprinting memories, tickling curiosities. And sometimes, it tethers you with an elastic rope which pulls you back –again and again.

Big Bend is a banquet, a buffet, where scientists, humanists, naturalists, and outdoor enthusiasts can feast on diverse curious delectables and come back to the table over and over again. You can gorge yourself and remain hungry for more.

Why? What is it about the Big Bend region that affects us so deeply? Is it the mystery, the natural history, the romance? Could it be the solitude and remoteness? Or perhaps the extremes, diversity and ghosts?


I wrote the above as a journal entry. Then decided to expand it for submission as an article. But I haven't been able to finish it. If I disengage myself spiritually from Big Bend, I would write how other people see it. Or present Big Bend so that others can relate to it. But it's that 'nature' thing. I would be establishing a virtual rendition of the nature of Big Bend. Then a ghost rises out of me and taps me on the shoulder, asking me again, as it has for so many decades: What is 'nature'?

Nature is a human contrived ideal. It is what we each perceive as being natural. But that concept -what constitutes natural, and as nature- changes at so many layers and levels, and over time. The American tendency is to see nature as Eden, the biblical equivalent of perfection and 'good'. In our modern comfortable virtual natures, we have control: everything in its place, clean, orderly, songbirds and butterflies. Yet anything can happen in the reality of nature: floods, fire, drought, freezes, hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, and fire ants. These are the Satans of Nature, the antithesis of Eden and 'good'.

I know what attracts me to Big Bend. The chaos, the unpredictable, the unknown, and the extremes; the Eden and the ****. The mountain lions, coyotes, falcons, thorny shrubs and cactus, shortage of water, heat and cold, the uneven and rocky terrain, and the silence that is not of lambs. I am not in control; I am responsible for my own welfare and life. I have to work and provide for myself: water, food, shelter, and heat. Many times it is uncomfortable and hard work. I can fail. I can lose my life. But at least I used my own hands and feet to do something for myself rather than have it all done for me or dictated how it should be.

Money and things I can buy don't give me the satisfaction in life that I want. Neither does living in cities. But being responsible to myself, others around me, and to the environment that challenges me does. Learning to derive a life from that which the environment can support. And the intense wonderment and awe of a land that refuses to be controlled.

This is natural to me. It is my nature. That is what attracts me.
 
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