Hobby for nosy people

I took up a new hobby last year – estate sale shopping. Like my “hobby” of ghost town collecting, this new pastime does not require amassing a large collection of finds that I have to find storage for, however. Going to estate sales is, for me, simply another way to satiate my nosiness.

But I have to make myself clear; I’m not nosy about other people’s possessions. Rather, I like to go inside houses to savor, comment, critique, enjoy, and marvel at their architecture. And the older the house, the better. At the Dallas-area estate sales I frequent, I have the opportunity to visit early and mid-century homes that had been owned by one family for decades. After the last of the parental generation dies off, their possessions go on sale and the house itself is also up for grabs. Often, that means that the house will no doubt become bulldozer fodder as the new homeowners wish to transform geographically desirable addresses into fashionably designer homes with the latest accouterments. I could pretend to be understanding in their desire to tear down the older homes to build more modern ones. It’s their money, right? And everyone wants the latest conveniences, right?

lamar county log house front.jpg

Not a modern house.

But I’d be lying. I LIKE the older homes. I think pink, tiled bathrooms, with built-in toothbrush holders, are awesome. I cannot contain my enthusiasm when I encounter a vintage metal kitchen, often painted in a cheery yellow. Massive brick fireplaces with wooden mantles, built-in corner china cabinets, transoms, stained-glass windows, arched doorways, crystal door knobs, telephone nooks, linoleum, shag carpeting, scuffed wooden floors, decorative plaster… I’m a big fan.

Estate sales offer the rare opportunity for me to see these hidden gems before they’ve been demolished, and without having to employ a real estate agent, either. Visiting these sales is like capturing a small moment in time, before the future obliterates the past.

Published in: on January 13, 2016 at 6:20 pm  Comments (1)  
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An historic Death

In the US, death of history is frequent.

I’m not talking about historical events today, even though they have their own share of death and destruction. I’m referencing historic preservation, or to put it more bluntly, the complete and utter lack thereof.

I found myself driving through southwestern Arkansas just this past week, filled with the peculiar anxiety always reserved for the things I hold most dear – old, abandoned buildings that have historical significance but have been neglected and forgotten for new and shinier places. Each time I re-visit a ghost town or some abandoned place that I’ve previously chronicled, my nerves get edgy, as I am scared to discover that another piece of history may have been destroyed.

My fears were confirmed in Fulton, Hempstead County, Arkansas. I have a major soft spot for this little town, which has so much history behind it. It sits right alongside the Great Bend of the Red River, and its levees are still tall and sturdy. Since its inception, Fulton served as a major crossroads. First, it was the river crossing for people headed to Mexican Texas. Then, it was mentioned as the terminus of the first proposed transcontinental railroad (Cairo & Fulton RR). By the 1920s, the Bankhead Highway cut a path right alongside this once very important town.

The lone commercial building that still stood in Fulton, Arkansas…

There are only a handful of reminders that point to this hamlet’s history. There’s the railroad bridge, rebuilt after the flood of 1927. Then there’s the water well, now ensconced in a derelict wooden building. You can still see the steamboat docks and moorings on the eastern bank of the Red River, too. And lastly, a lone commercial building, probably built around the turn of the 20th century, stood in a dilapidated state across from the post office.

When I visited Fulton in August of 2015, I discovered that this beautiful old building had been razed. The facade, with its tin cornice, was nowhere to be seen. All foundations, bricks, wood, shingles… everything had been bulldozed. All that sits there now is an empty, gaping maw.

… is now gone.

I don’t know if anyone in Fulton cried when it went away, this last vestige of a once-important town that the interstate unceremoniously bypassed. But I did. I cried bitter, bitter tears over this death.

The building was in a horrible state, for sure. The back had caved in, and its crumbling walls – whatever was left of its walls – exposed the interior to the elements. But the front part of the building was in good order. It could have been sheered off and then braced. It could have been simply a gateway that stood to frame the levee… anything rather than just some other damned hole in the ground.

You may wonder, what if the property owner didn’t have the money to do all this? The building was a hazard and could have well exposed the owner to lawsuits if someone trespassed. These are all good arguments. But, here’s the thing – we cannot keep letting private property rights and obligations get in the way of historic preservation. This country, these states, this town need programs that allow for the reclamation of history. Let eminent domain take over, if it has to. Compensate the owner and then preserve the building, through federal and state grants. Don’t tell me this country doesn’t have the money, either. We’re the richest country on earth. We just allow our wealth – oil wealth, coal wealth, manufactured wealth – to remain in the hands of the oligarchy who provide mere snippets to the rest of us plebeians,and that’s why we think our country is bankrupt. Believe me, we’re not. If we were, we wouldn’t be able to fight all these wars over which our plebeian sons and daughters get killed.

We’re a nation that loves private property. I get that. I also get that it has been, historically, a detriment for most put-upon people. Native American tribes understand that all too well. So do African Americans, whose ancestors were forced into perpetual slavery and were not even considered fully human. Women get it, too – for centuries, they were their husband’s property and as married women, could not rightfully claim property of their own unless it was specifically bequeathed to them.

And you know what else is put upon? Our heritage. That little building in Fulton was a fantastic link to the past – our shared past, warts and all. And we simply have to stand back and watch our history get destroyed, one building at a time, because we’re not allowed to own that past. And then we scrape up all the money we can to visit Europe, so that we can marvel at their old buildings. Am I missing something here?

Published in: on August 8, 2015 at 8:31 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Antebellum Ghost Towns and the Railroads that did them in

I’ve been making several trips around the Red River Valley to discover forgotten towns for my book project this summer. However, I don’t just look for cemeteries, even though they’re the best way to find old settlements. I want to find actual ruins! I think that remains speak much louder than anything can, so I look for towns with remains.

The other day, I took a trip around Louisiana and found the antebellum town of Allen’s Settlement, which was built around intersecting roads. Because nothing remains of Allen’s Settlement,  I don’t consider it necessarily a “ghost town” that needs to be visited.

Allens Settlement

Allen’s Settlement in Claiborne Parish, Louisiana, 1863.

But it makes me wonder – why did some towns thrive and others falter? I guess it’s because most antebellum towns west of the Mississippi River did not survive the railroad boom. It’s not necessarily just because the existing towns didn’t provide enough incentive for the companies to lay tracks, though. These corporations – the original “corporate personhoods”- often had settlement, or rather town building, subsidiaries that speculated on selling land plots. They didn’t want to (or need to) compete with established towns as the state granted them charters, like the land grant companies of old, to entice settlers. They simply built new towns, and the profits of both freight hauling and land sales could be gained by the railroads exclusively.

Examples of the railroad land schemes can be found all over the Red River Valley: Hope (Hempstead County, Arkansas) and Texarkana (Miller County, Arkansas and Bowie County, Texas) were founded by the railroads, as was Denison (Grayson County, Texas).

Hope UP train

Trains made Hope, Arkansas what it is today – including the Hempstead County seat.

Luckily, some antebellum cities along the Red River still exist – Dallas, Sherman, Alexandria, Shreveport, Natchitoches, and Marksville, for example. Being a county seat helped them to survive, of course – however, Hope wrestled the county seat status away from Washington, as did Ashdown from Richmond (Little River County, Arkansas) – so political status was no guarantee. The take-away is that in the American capitalist system, money talks. Cities that were able to incentivize railroads enough for them to lay tracks were able to “weather” the corporate land take-overs.

Railroads might be romantic and all, but above all, they were corporations that changed the very nature of human settlement patterns, at least in the US. They are the true Goliaths.

Published in: on May 16, 2015 at 2:13 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Ruins Tell Stories

Lots of the pictures I post on my website, www.redriverhistorian.com, tend to be of ruins – disused buildings and such – and sometimes, I’ve been accused of worshipping “ruin porn,” as if I am some voyeuristic pervert.  I find that such an obnoxious term, and wonder if the same people who tell me this also insult people who visit and take pictures of the pyramids in Egypt, Mexico, or Guatemala.

Before I get accused of comparing cultural icons like the Sphinx to a disused gas station in Italy, Texas, hear me out.

Image

Modern American culture and history are built on commercialism, not ancestor worship (note I wrote “modern American culture” – that means I’m not talking about Cahokia or Spiro). The first European settlements in North America consisted of trading posts and plantations. Religious and governmental structures, like the missions and presidios in San Antonio, were erected to support the colonial exploitation of the continent. And while American children have been taught that the pilgrims came to Massachusetts to found a religious settlement, that intention was secondary; they were part of the Plymouth Colony, the primary goal of which was to send beaver pelts, copper, and timber back to Mother England. (** Please note that Pilgrims and Puritans are both from the Anglican Separatist tradition and only became distinctive as American history was documented in latter years).

Therefore, I argue, the demise of American capitalism is well worthy of documentation. Detroit, as well as the thousands of ghost towns dotting the United States, are all prime examples of the disintegration of a culture based on economic gains. Think about it – the eerie beauty of the abandoned Michigan Central Station in Detroit is directly related to the city’s demise as an industrial center. The same goes for the derelict storefronts in small towns like Gotebo, Oklahoma, because they serve as a very tangible reminder of how corporations have come to dominate and homogenize the cultural landscape.

ImageImage

Michigan Central Station, Detroit and Gotebo, Oklahoma

What can I say? People who derisively label photographs of American abandonments as “ruin porn” are historically illiterate.

Published in: on June 19, 2014 at 4:31 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Simply, a Vexing Question

Every time I give a presentation on ghost towns, invariably I’m asked this question: “What exactly is a Ghost Town? And why are you wearing that shirt with those pants?”

While I usually just shrug off the latter question, the first one is one of my favorites, because the answer is actually fairly obvious.

Dundee school close up

Ghost Towns come in a variety of different ways: they might have several paved roads, or they only exist as a cemetery, or they are surrounded by people’s well-kept homes, or they have a post office, or they have a city hall, or they are inside a state park. Whatever and however they represent, the constant in a ghost towns is that it no longer has a school.

Believe it or not, the United States has always been a big believer in education. A mere 30 years after the Puritans came ashore, they formed Harvard. In quick succession, several other schools opened, with an emphasis on literacy and reason… the idea being that men and women both should be able to read the bible and conduct trade in a free market economy. Their zeal to be educated led the colonists to read treasonous philosophies, print banned books, and question authority. After all, Thomas Paine would not have been well received by a people who could not exhibit critical thinking skills.

Thus, often the first public building erected by a fledgling community was not a courthouse or a church, but a school (in Texas & Oklahoma, I’ve discovered that many towns’ first building was the Masonic Lodge, which doubled as a school during the week). Having a school meant the town believed it had a future. Schools embodied optimism.

Dougherty school door
As modern economies of scale encroached on communities, centers of trade began to shift (when you want to visualize “economies of scale,” just think about a local hardware store versus Home Depot, or the small grocer versus Wal-Mart). Kids who might have stayed in their towns after graduation discovered that they had to move to larger cities to take advantage of opportunities there. Their progeny went to the larger schools, which became ever larger, and so on – until the small town schools had to close their doors.

There’s nothing sadder than a shuttered school. It’s as if the locks on the doors murdered the very soul of the community. No longer are school events like football season, the big dance, or the open house the focal point. Everyone in a town – regardless if one had a kid in school or not – invested in the school in some way. Without it, the citizens of those towns lose their commonality.

Bucher School-side

Little towns like Ravenna (Fannin County, Texas) or Dougherty (Carter County, Oklahoma) might not like having me denote them as “ghost towns.” After all, they still have town halls and post office, and maybe a gas station or two. But, without their schools, they only exist as an outpost of the bigger cities in their midst.

And that is the simple answer to a seemingly complex question.

Published in: on February 15, 2013 at 10:09 pm  Comments (1)  
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History in Ghost Towns

I think I mentioned this before, but if I haven’t, well… I hunt ghost towns. I’d like to do that for a living, but there’s not much money to be made in just driving around and collecting images from abandoned places. If I could make tracking ghost towns a job, I would.

Odell, Texas

But what is a ghost town, exactly? Is it a settlement that’s been completely abandoned? Or is it a place that used to be bigger than it is now? Should towns that have lost their post offices be considered ghost towns, or does the loss of a school signify a dying town as well? Are ghost towns only legitimate if they have remains, or can an old cemetery be considered a town’s remnant?

I’ve learned that the definition of “ghost town” reflects the person who’s documenting them. Some people are very precise in their criteria, while others, like me, just rely on the idea that we know one when we see one.

Goodlett, Texas

While I have always prided myself on my fortune to live in a state littered with failed cities, I’ve learned through the years that ghost towns are EVERYWHERE. You can find them in Japan, in India, in Germany, in Massachusetts, in the Dakotas, in Brazil, and in Australia. Heck, even the Antarctic has an abandoned station. I guess that’s just the nature of the human beast, to pick up the stakes and wander to the next place where one supposes the grass may be greener.

Banty, Oklahoma

What’s neat about our “new world” ghost towns is that, well, they’re relatively new. That means we know much more of their history, and can even track why the towns were founded and how they met their demise. The towns I’ve encountered are almost like living history books. They tell of opportunities met and lost, like Thurber, Texas, a coal mining town that was shuttered by the Texas & Pacific Railroad when they started using oil in their locomotives. You can “read” about neglect, like what happened in Picher, Oklahoma, where the prairie winds let lead-laden chat piles blow dust blow into children’s lungs. And you can trace changing economies, like Doan’s Crossing, Texas, which faded away when the cattle drives stopped coming through town.

I’m going back on the road this weekend to find some more ghost towns. Every time I discover something a new site, I feel like a secret has just been revealed to me. To me, ghost towns really make the past come alive.

Bonita, Texas

In Defense of Automobiles

I love a good road trip, and I believe that I’m not alone in sharing that sentiment. I’d wager to guess that the majority of people from all over the world like to move about and see what they haven’t  seen yet, and experience things they haven’t yet come across. To want to get up and go is probably simple human nature.

But I’m also very environmentally conscious. I like my world green and clean. I recycle, plant only native shrubs, grasses, and trees, eat hand-gathered eggs, insulate my house properly, ride my bike to shopping, never litter, and pick up after my dogs.

Thus, many of my travels always come with twangs of guilt. Just last week, I once again took a road trip. This time, I retraced the old route of US Highway 77. Having been bypassed in many places by Interstate 35, it often proved a hard road to follow, but I lucked out and found both official and forgotten remnants along the way. I also discovered right-of-ways of long-abandoned railroad lines (mainly the Missouri-Kansas-Texas Railroad). That, of course, made me think about the environmental impact of all the ways I could travel – by plane, train, or the automobile.

The Southern Pacific Sunbeam and the Sam Houston Zephyr at Dallas Union Station.

The oldest kind of major traveling option are trains, but here in Texas, they are also the most neglected. It used to be that daily trains from Dallas to Houston to Austin to San Antonio to Oklahoma City to Shreveport, et. al., were common sights. Now, those routes have been torn up, to either be used as bike paths or to simply exist as forgotten berms on the side of the road. Today, only three long-distance trains serve Texas (the Texas Eagle, Sunset Limited, and Heartland Flyer), and only one is in Oklahoma (Heartland Flyer). Hopefully, that will change soon, as talks are giving way to action in installing a high-speed rail line.

High-speed railroads are supposed to be THE answer to transportation problems like pollution and congestion. I’m all for them, because locomotives (whether at 60 mph or at 160 mph) use hybrid technology that use less diesel the faster they go, and carry more people per gallon than any other passenger carrier. So, yea for trains.

Planes offer a different experience, of course. They are far from efficient in their carbon footprint, but their speed makes up for their lack of environmental friendliness. I hate flying, though.

Remains of a gas station along US 77

Then, there’s the scourge of the earth – the personal car. When taking into account the gas used per miles driven, and the number of each needed to equal the capacity of one airplane or one train, then environmentally speaking, the car is a MAJOR loser. And I hear about it all the time, too: automobiles are major polluters, co-commuting and less driving will save the earth, etc.

And that’s all true. But I tell you what, cars have also been VERY beneficial in many ways. While I can’t dispute their negative environmental impact, I can say that of all the long-distance traveling options, cars are by far the most democratic. When I was driving along and around US 77, I saw many small mom & pop store, cafes, gas stations, and auto part stores (many still in operation) that crowd the sides of the roads. Airplanes don’t allow for that kind of infrastructure at all, of course, and train stations have limited space to accommodate small businesses. Cars are also quite affordable. Yes, I know they cost money (insurance, payments, taxes, repairs) but these costs can be stretched out over a period of time, whereas plane and train ticket costs cannot. Further, their affordability comes from their accessibility – cars can take you practically anywhere, whereas trains and planes bring you only to certain pre-designated spots. Besides, cars can be used (or not) as needs arise, meaning one can have a “beater car” and still get by.

Taking bikes rock, but driving rocks, too.

It’s not that I don’t favor alternate modes of transport… I definitely do! I take the train as much as I can. I voted for a commuter rail line that by June of this year will come through my town. I also walk to the grocery store and ride my bike to run errands. But, I have to admit – I LOVE my car, too. I love that I can drive around the Red River Valley and discover places I’ve never been to; that I can pick a place on a map and be able to visit it; that I can eat, read, and even sleep inside my car (which I’ve done on occasion, after visiting a ghost town in the middle of nowhere).  The car has provided me with more freedom than any other mode of transportation. I think everyone should feel this kind of freedom, too. Cars should become more affordable, more efficient, smaller, and more reliable. It may not be the “in” thing to say among my fellow tree-hugging friends, but I’ll say it, anyway: cars are cool.

I wouldn't mind road tripping in this.

Ghost Hunting

David (my son) and I have become very fond of the show Ghost Adventures, which airs every Friday night at 8 pm (CST) on the Travel Channel.  In this show, three film makers lock themselves inside a haunted location overnight, then use recording equipment to obtain some kind of evidence on otherworldly events. 

While the team on Ghost Adventurescan be annoying, they have inspired us to partake in our own ghost hunting. Not overnight and not in very scary places, mind you – I am way too chicken for that. I once visited the House of Torture at Scarborough Faire and was so freaked out, I clung to this strange woman, who in turn clung to me, and we both made it through only because we kept our eyes shut and our mouths screaming. Due to that terror-ific incident, I keep myself FAR away from anything too spooky, including slasher movies and unlit hallways.

No, our ghost hunting is much more mundane. Over New Year’s, David, Raymond and I visited the Fort Worth Stockyards and stayed at the Stockyards Hotel (I give this hotel 5 stars, by the way). We explored around the stockyards station, which consists of old hog and sheep pens that have been converted, for the most part, into restaurants and shops. Towards the now-defunct slaughter houses, however, the original ramps and halls remain pretty much intact. We poked around and caught these “orbs” on camera:

"Orbs" (either disembodied spirits or dust balls) at the animal loading ramp in the Fort Worth Stockyards.

"Orbs" (either disembodied spirits or dust balls) at the animal loading ramp in the Fort Worth Stockyards.

David was pretty excited to have captured what may be evidence from the other side… or evidence of bad air quality.

The next weekend or thereabouts, I took David to Boggy Depot State Park just west of Tushka, Oklahoma, and to Fort Washita, west of Durant, Oklahoma, to do some more ghost hunting. Boggy Depot is now a ghost town, but used to be the seat of the Choctaw Nation, then for a while, the Chickasaw Nation, until the town was abandoned when the railroad bypassed it and the Chickasaw Nation seat moved to Tishomingo. Fort Washita, founded in 1842, served as a supply stop,military depot, was an important camp during the Mexican American War in 1848.  

I had told David about a strange encounter I once had at the Boggy Depot cemetery, where I had smelled perfume around a headstone, and my camera had gone berserk on me. David wanted to see if he could replicate the experience, or at least find some other kind of unexplainable phenomena. I tacked on a visit to Fort Washita simply because I’ve heard a number of ghost stories about Fort Washita from different people over the years.

Nothing happened at all that day, except that it was bitterly cold, and my sunglasses broke when I played on the teeter totter (don’t ask). David did record some strange sounds on his Digital Voice Recorder, but that was it. We took some pretty interesting pictures, though. One gravesite was especially intriguing:

This child's grave at Boggy Depot is strange... the sandstone tombstone is worn down, so a new stone was placed in front of it. That in itself is not strange. Notice the broken lamp, however. Why's that there?

This child's grave at Boggy Depot is strange... the sandstone tombstone is worn down, so a new stone was placed in front of it. That in itself is not strange. Notice the broken lamp, however. Why's that there?

Just below the headstone lie shards of a fairly old, white plate. I could make out the name "Langdon" on it. The name was stenciled on the plate in blue, and then was glazed and fired, so the plate may have been a family heirloom. The deceased boy's last name was Langdon.

Just below the headstone lie shards of a fairly old, white plate. I could make out the name "Langdon" on it. The name was stenciled on the plate in blue, and then was glazed and fired, so the plate may have been a family heirloom. The deceased boy's last name was Langdon.

I don’t quite understand the artifacts.  I do respect that each family has their own unique way of mourning, and this may be remnants of their personal grief. The items are interesting and quite mysterious.

So, we didn’t find any ghosts, but that doesn’t mean we’ll stop looking. There are a few more places to seek out wandering spirits around here. ..

Published in: on January 19, 2009 at 3:56 am  Comments (5)  

Curiosity is not just killing the Cat

Lately, I have been getting what Laura Ingalls Wilder called “itchy feet:” I’m just so itching to get out of the house and explore whatever suits my fancy – and this curiosity is killing me (hence the witty – cough – title of this post). What with teaching, the preps for teaching, the grading, and the work I’m doing on my books and future classes, I haven’t had much time.  I did go hunting for some railroad relics this past weekend, and found a few, so I’m not destitute for discoveries, yet.

I encountered this ca. 1915 suspension bridge near Sherman, Texas.

But I just bought a 1934 Conoco Map of Texas from E-Bay. Good grief, does that make for some interesting reading. Ferry crossings are dotted all along the Red River, as well as old toll bridges that do not exist anymore. I went to Google Maps (thank goodness for satellite imagry) and was able to find remnants of these toll bridges, so guess what I’ll be doing in the near future?!

There is nothing in the world that comes close to finding places that time has forgotten. These small pieces of the historical puzzle just fill me with absolute wonder. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of exploring the backwaters around here. And believe me, there are some real backwaters to explore.

I guess my interest in the Red River Valley of Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, and Louisiana might seem rather mundane for people who live around really old, settled history – let’s face it, the ghost towns I encounter can’t even hold a candle to the ghosts of Pompeii, and the ruins I photograph are rather puny when compared to the cavernous insane asylums of the Northeast. Yes, consider yourselves envied, you people of the history book places. Still, I LOVE the fact that some of the places I encounter may have never been explored at all – it’s almost pioneer-like, in a way. Like woman on the moon or something.

If you happen to read any of these entries and are wondering what the heck I’m talking about, come visit my website, Red River Historian. Also, for a great way to loose yourself for a couple of hours in some fantastic photography and conversation, visit the Urban Exploration Forums. You can also find a kindred spirit in Forgotten New York, a website devoted to exploring the side of New York and its burroughs that urban redevelopment has missed (at least for the moment).

If you know of a cool place you think I’d like, or if you’d like to share what you’ve found, just post a comment!

Published in: on October 21, 2008 at 3:07 am  Comments (4)  

Don’t Brick Me In

Texas history in my lil' ol' yard!

Texas history in my lil' ol' yard!

I lucked out the other day. As I was rooting around on Craig’s List, trying to find cheap bricks to use on the backyard walkway I wanted to build, I stumbled upon this cryptic message:

“Pavers for sale, $70 for 100, these are the heavy pavers used to pave streets in Dallas and Fort Worth.”

My interest piqued, I sent a messge and told the guy I needed 300 – he said he had over a thousand. But I’d need a truck, since the bricks weighed about 8 pounds a piece. The truck was no problem, and after recruiting my husband and son, we drove out on a Monday morning to pick them up.

Was I ever surprised to see what he had for sale:

This man  had over a thousand Thurber Bricks sitting out in a pasture, apparently culled from an old courthouse and the streets surrounding it. I thought I hit the historical jackpot. What a find!

After strenous lifting, we got the bricks on the truck, which groaned under all that weight (it’s an F150, which is a great vehicle, but its bed isn’t made to haul 2,400 lbs!) At home, my son and I proceeded to move the bricks to the backyard – thank the lord for wheel barrows – and set out to make a walkway.

Here's my son David with all the bricks.

Here's my son David with all the bricks.

I have a plan to get the walkway the way I want it with only half the labor. Laugh all you want, but I just put the pavers on the ground – raked, and fairly level – then I placed landscape frames around them. When the weather gets cooler, I will take dry concrete mix (maybe quick-crete), pour it all along the bricks, sweep it into the crevices, and then add water. If all goes according to plan (and why wouldn’t it? she questioned, famous last words echoing from across time), I’ll have a walkway without having to dig into the impossibly dry ground. See, ain’t I smart?!

When it goes well, I’ll post the finished pictures. If for some reason this plan fails, I’ll still post pictures, but with funny captions or something. (Evidently, the blogging software is having some issues with posting images. I can’t post any now, but I hope to do so soon).

But I think, all in all, it’s pretty nifty that I now have a Thurber Brick path in my backyard.

Published in: on July 20, 2008 at 9:09 pm  Comments (2)