Mountain Mike
Spring on Camas Prairie
Who were these people, the ones who built this cabin? Where did they come from, where did they go? Why did they abandon their property?
Was it the unrelenting isolation? Not everyone is suited for solitude. Or was it the constant quiet? After a while the ear aches for new sounds, for other voices, for any sound other than the perpetual prairie wind.
Perhaps it was the merciless wind itself, unceasing and unabated. The winter wind seeking out every chink in the walls and windows, always seeking to suck the warmth out of you. The summer wind full of dust, tickling its way in and leaving grit in every furrow of floorboard, leaving grime in every wrinkle of clothing and every crease of skin.
These dilapidated shacks always retain an aura of despair and failure, of defeated lives. Yet they’re also a symbol of courage and hope. Not every gamble pays off, but the willingness to take the risk is admirable in itself.
Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by utata.org. All photographs used on utata.org are stored on flickr.com and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, greg fallis and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work
