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…and other times I don’t
But for all that big talk yesterday about my urban travels, here we are in Fort Davis (population 1,250).
I was in Fort Davis in August and I checked out every street in town* to see what I could see. I saw dogs. A lot of dogs. They all seemed to be unhappy that I was there, and it made me nervous. (Dogs always make me nervous. Cats? Never.) But that’s neither here nor there.
In addition to unhappy dogs, I saw this gem of a place, with its appliance graveyard, melting adobe house, and (this is for you, Ehpem) some very nice corrugated metal.
Fort Davis, Texas
photographed 8.17.2013
*It didn’t take all that long. There aren’t many streets.
The Presley place, 2
This is the Presley place. Maybe you remember it from before?
I work in a town that’s about 35 miles away from where I live. There are two ways to go – the state highway, or a farm road. Until the speed limit on the state highway was raised to 75 mph, I always took the farm road. (I like to drive fast. But I don’t like to get tickets. So, for now, the state highway is a lot more appealing.) When I first started this commute, four years ago, there was an intersection that had an abandoned house on one corner and a lived-in house on the other corner. That first winter, when it was still dark on my drive, I could see the glow from a TV in the windows of the house that still had residents. The house wasn’t kept up very well – there was a sofa in the yard for months, and various broken down cars were parked around. One day, a saw a home health worker walking up to the house.
I watched both places closely, noting signs of decline.
But even with all that, I never saw this coming: one day, the trees had been pushed over. By the next afternoon, there wasn’t anything but a pile of rubble to indicate any had ever lived there. And then: the other house was torn down, too. At that place, the building parts were pushed into the basement and set on fire. I could smell the smoke for several days.
But back to the Presley place. It’s not in any immediate danger of falling down, or being pushed over. As far as I know.
It’s long-term outlook, though, is grim. But at least it’s not alone: it can watch the house across the way meet the same fate.
Northwest Lubbock County, Texas
photographed 4.26.2013
The night garage
Anyone who’s followed my blog for very long has probably seen shots of the desolation that is downtown Lubbock. Like here, or here, or here.
The other night, I was looking for something interesting to shoot, and after the Truckers Chapel at the truck stop didn’t work for a night shot (don’t fret: I’ll go back in the daytime and try again), I ended up downtown. I took some really marginal photos (don’t fret: I won’t make you look at them) and then, right before I was about to give up and come home, I saw this abandoned parking garage, which is adjacent to Lubbock’s ill-fated Omni Building. In the daytime, the place is uninteresting, but at night? It takes on a whole new look.
Lubbock, Texas
photographed 9.13.2013
PS: Yes, I was in an abandoned parking garage on Friday the 13th. I’m pretty brave like that.
The last two things
These old houses decay in the same pattern. The people go, whatever yard there was goes to weeds, a storm peels off a few shingles, rain gets in, the roof gets a hole, then some more shingles go, more rain gets in, the front porch starts to sag, the roof sags, the porch falls off, the roof caves in.
But through it all, the satellite dish and the tress hang on..
near New Deal, Texas
photographed 1.26.2013
Some things that make me stop
An asphalt parking lot, being overtaken by weeds? A painted-over front door? A sign painted right on the concrete block wall? Ghostly evidence of previous signage? Wispy clouds? A goofy awning?
Yes, all of those things are connected. And all of them will make me stop and take a picture. Or a dozen.
Santa Rosa, New Mexico
photographed 5.4.2013
One Day | One Image 