"THERE'S AN OLD PRAIRIE SCHOONER
WENDING ITS WAY...OVER THE
SANTA FE TRAIL…."
.....Words from an old song....
****************************************
The year was 1969, a cold breezy April day.
I was standing amidst the ruins of old Ft.Union,
northeast of Las Vegas, New Mexico.
Off in the distance, about 200 yards away,
to the north, were the deep grass-covered ruts
of the Santa Fe Trail, as it curved around the
fort and out to the west toward Santa Fe.
I stood there by the "officer's row"--- now only
rock floors and fireplaces left, after time,
weather, and thieves had done their work.
Doors, windows, and lumber were the first
things to go from a ruin.
All around, parts of crumbling adobe walls of
old fort buildings were still standing, seemingly
everywhere one looked, some with window
openings.
Old-fashion rusty square nails could be seen
here and there amid the scrub grass plants
on the sandy ground, still packed from having
heavy supply wagons rolling over it, a century
ago.
The Santa Fe Trail itself was not what I expected.
It was not a two-lane dirt road---it was a deep-
rutted hundred-yard-wide thoroughfare...and
viewing it, one could almost see wagons abreast
racing for the finish in Santa Fe, as if the oxen
were smelling water. Prairie grass, twelve inches
high covered the ruts, and swayed in the lonesome
winds.
It was a cold spring day, and the grass was still its
winter-time color of tan/wheat.
The fort ruins were on a plain...low hills with cedars,
pinons, and cacti were several miles away. The high
mountains with pines, firs, and aspens were much
farther away.
Being fascinated by the old square nails, which had
once been shipped out from St. Louis, and used
by soldier/carpenters to nail windows, door jambs,
and kitchens---corrals and barns and buildings, I
picked up two of them and felt history in my hand...
but soon in the interest of history, dropped them on
the ground. As mandated by law....
In the shadow of the crumbling adobe commissary
walls, I paused and my mind went back a century
to maybe a bunch of horse soldiers who sat around
in this same shade, drinking a sarsaparilla after a
patrol, and singing perhaps "O Susanna," or "Lorena."
This was a "photo-shoot" trip for me. I had my
excellent Rolleiflex 2 1/4 camera with me, and a red
filter, excellent for capturing the whiteness of the
clouds and the tan-ness of the walls.
A year ago, I had taken up photography--set up my
own darkroom, and read everything I could find in
the Bernalillo County Libraries about picture-taking.
I seemed to have an eye and a knack for it and had
won quite a few awards and some first prizes, and
had gone semi-pro, moonlighting a bit.
An old box-bed wagon stood there by the commissary
ruins, with its tongue running out at a 45 degree angle
toward me. It looked as though it had been unloaded
in a hurry and just left there, a hundred years ago---
and not moved an inch since.
What ages any more poetically than old planks, and
those of the wagon bed were gray, cracked, slightly
warped, and the hardware and nails holding it together
were rusted beyond measure...the whole scene etched
itself on my history-prone memory forever...the scene
exuded past-times of the old America of the west...
I knelt at the tip of the wagon tongue ( who knows,
maybe in a bit of reverence and awe), with the
Rollei a foot off the ground, and shot a photo right
up that tongue to the wagon...and got it all.
The Albuquerque Tribune evening newspaper,
soon after, announced a BEST OF NEW MEXICO
PHOTOGRAPH CONTEST. It was to last four
weeks. It would be statewide. There would be a
first, second and third place winner for each of
four weeks, and at the end first, second, and
third GRAND PRIZES awarded for the whole
contest.
I was lucky to win First Place for the SECOND
WEEK with "Leaning Windmill and Painted Sky,"
and SECOND PLACE GRAND PRIZE for my
"LAST STOP---FT. UNION," taken that cold,
spring day, up north on the windy plain, by the
*******30******
BY MIL
10/18/14
Sent from my iPad
