Blue Highways: Leipsic, Delaware

Unfolding the Map

A bit of a wistful post this time, as William Least Heat-Moon (LHM) passes a lonely lighthouse, far from water, on the edge of a cornfield.  What can be more lonely than a lighthouse far from water?  I guess we'll find out.  To find Leipsic, follow the ghost light of the lighthouse to the map.

Book Quote

"Although I couldn't see the bay, I could smell it and see evidence of it in an old steel lighthouse implausibly at the edge of a cornfield near Leipsic."

Blue Highways: Part 9, Chapter 12

View of the Leipsic River near Leipsic, Delaware. Photo by "jgmskm" and hosted at Panoramio. Click on photo to go host site.

Leipsic, Delaware

Though I think I might have written this once before, I once ran across a DeMotivator poster that I thought was extremely funny. The poster showed a lone tree in the midst of a vast whiteness of snow.  The caption read "If you find yourself struggling with loneliness, you aren't alone.  And yet you are alone.  So very alone."  Part of what I found funny, aside from the biting humor, is that at certain points in our lives we sometimes find ourselves alone.  Whether by choice, or by circumstances beyond our control, we may sometimes be in a place where suddenly it's only us.  There are others who are just as alone as we are, and yet we are the center of our universe so it really is only us.

I was reminded again by that feeling in LHM's quote.  By their very nature, lighthouses are lonely places.  They usually sit on the edge of points or headlands, far away from other buildings or dwellings, and their lugubrious lanterns shine in a sweeping arc out into the vast and lonely reaches of the ocean, sea or lake they sit by.  In days past, a lighthouse keeper lived out a lonely life in the lighthouse, tending the lantern in solitude, accompanied only by the sound of the gulls and the waves.

So what could be more lonely than a lighthouse left, by geology or environmental changes, sitting far inland?  And what a perfect metaphor...but for what?  Certainly for loneliness.  Perhaps for the erosion of usefulness.  Maybe the loss of meaningfulness, or the loss of purpose.

There are times when I feel like I could be such a lighthouse.

In another post, awhile back on our Blue Highways journey, I wrote about the difference between being alone and loneliness.  In that post, I spoke about how being alone is a state of being - either we are with other beings or not.  It may be by choice, as when I decide to go for a hike in the mountains to get away as much as possible from other people, or spend some time reading alone in a room in the house.  Or it may be because we just find ourselves where other people aren't, and we can either choose to stay there or go in search of people.

But loneliness is a different matter.  Loneliness is a state of mind.  One can feel lonely in a crowd.  One can feel lonely by themselves.  It's a perception, and not based on the physical reality of place.  Certainly there have been times that I've felt lonely.  It's usually when I'm troubled by something, or I've done something that has placed me in some sort of bind.  In that case, my feeling of being alone is also a symptom of my loneliness.

Of the two, I think that loneliness would be the worst.  One can easily stop being alone by finding others.  One must change a state of mind to stop feeling lonely.  From experience, that can be very hard.  And for some, it becomes chronic and depressive, and can lead to inner turmoil, pain, hurt and sometimes even tragedy.  I try to avoid feelings of loneliness as much as possible.

I think that in his long Blue Highways journey LHM struggled at times with loneliness, especially when thinking about his estranged wife.  In that way, the lighthouse serves as an apt symbol.  A working lighthouse may sit alone on a headline, but its light shines and it is working, occupied with its sole duty of keeping ships off the rocks (I realize I'm anthropomorphizing lighthouses here, but go with me for a minute).  However, a non-working lighthouse, sitting inexplicably inland has lost its purpose.  It is there alone, without a reason for being.  To me, that is the epitomy of loneliness.  As LHM gets into the last stretch of his trip, he might be able to look at that lighthouse and see a bit of his former self in it.  He started his trip in loneliness after his break up, but throughout the trip, his loneliness turned into an exercise of learning to be alone.  He was the lonely lighthouse, and now he is something else.  Perhaps he is alone, but he is not lonely.

But I ask you to think about the lonely lighthouses you have encountered in your life.  How many times have you found yourself without a purpose, vision, or ability to break out of the lonely straights you've found yourself in.  Have you ever known someone in that position?  Perhaps a loved one, or an older person at the end of their life who has lost most of the people they've known and loved?  Perhaps a friend who is going through a difficult time, and feels as if there is nobody there for them?

I think that, unfortunately, there are many lonely lighthouses in our society and world.  We may not be able to control the changes that sometimes make us temporarily alone in the world, and sometimes we simply want to be alone.  But loneliness is another matter, and when we lonely it often seems like we sit like an abandoned lighthouse, dark and lifeless, far away from the object of our purpose with no hope of ever reviving it.  When that is our state of mind, perhaps we need another lighthouse to guide us - a purpose or a person - who can pull us out of the loneliness.

Musical Interlude

The most well-known song about lighthouses is probably James Taylor's Lighthouse.  It is a very melancholy and nice song that captures a little of the loneliness of the lighthouse.

Here's another nice song, Lighthouse by The Waifs.

If you want to know more about Leipsic

Delawaretoday.com: Leipsic
Wikipedia: Leipsic

Next up: Dover, Delaware

Blue Highways: Klamath Falls, Oregon

Unfolding the Map

We cross out of California and into another state, our eighteenth if you're keeping track.  I revisit an old theme about state of mind, particularly the state of being alone.  Go to the map to see where we are, and enjoy some alone time reading this post!

Book Quote

"...then crossed into Oregon, where the Cascades to the west blocked a froth of storm clouds; but for the mountains, I would have been in rain again. A town of only fifteen thousand somehow spread across the entire bottom of a long valley; when I saw the reach of Klamath Falls, I kept going."

Blue Highways: Part 6, Chapter 1

Downtown Klamath Falls, Oregon. Photo at the Rowing and Sculling website. Click on photo to go to site.

Klamath Falls, Oregon

There is something very poignant when LHM sees the lights of a small city in Oregon and decides to keep going.  In the long, lonely drive across America that he has completed so far, where he has spent time mostly with himself in Ghost Dancing, I can imagine being a little shy of people.  After all, being alone is not a bad thing.  Alone time, especially for certain people (and I count myself one of them) is a way to recharge one's mental and emotional batteries.  For introverts, just being around a lot of people and activity is work.  It takes emotional energy that can be draining.  Those with the extraversion trait seem to get their energy around other people, and find being alone difficult.

I'm not sure what LHM is like in real life.  Perhaps he is an extravert, and therefore given the circumstance of losing his job and losing his romantic partner, he is in a time where he is simply more inclined to be by himself.  Or perhaps he is an introvert, and this is his way of recharging and healing.

As an introvert, I have been thinking about these types of questions.  I am married to an extravert.  My wife enjoys people and putting herself into the thick society and all its events.  For many, many years I thought that my duty as a husband was to go along, even when I didn't feel like it.  As a result, I found myself getting more unhappy and irritable.  We began to fight more at events as she mingled and I, tired and not happy about being there, seethed in the corner.  It became assumed that I would go to every event and happening, and I bought into the assumptions.

I also snatched at any time alone.  Hiking, driving long distances, even my year-long stint as a visiting professor in Lubbock where I lived alone during the week and then commuted back to my wife in Albuquerque on weekends, were like little oases of sanity to me.  I found myself happier after getting some time to be alone, to be with myself.

Being alone isn't all wonderful.  I must say that I have a very love-hate relationship with being alone.  One thing about being alone is that eventually it makes you reflect on your life, and makes you confront your own inner demons.  I have a few of them, some due to family circumstances in my youth I couldn't control, some due to my own choices and mostly from a negative self-image.  As an introvert, this was difficult because it forced me, even though I had fears of being alone, into social situations that in high doses was difficult for me to maintain. In other words, I had to go to events and activities to stay away from self-loathing thoughts, yet doing too many of those was not the answer for me.

Thankfully, I'm getting past this.  A commitment to a new form of therapy, somatic transformation therapy, has helped.  I am also making a commitment to say what I want and need, especially my need to take time for myself.  This includes allowing myself to be alone.  The demons?  They're still around but save for a couple that pop up regularly, their voices are getting more muted and I can ignore them better than before.  In fact, doing these little essays around Blue Highways has been part of that process.

I want to make a distinction between being alone and being lonely.  Being alone is a choice that one can make.  LHM chooses to remove himself from his circle in Missouri to travel alone around the country.  People can choose remove themselves for a while from the society of people.  However, loneliness is not a choice, it is a feeling.  One can be lonely even in the midst a crowd.  I've felt loneliness as well, and it's never a good feeling.  Loneliness is a lack of connection with others, and not necessarily by conscious choice.  While we all feel lonely sometimes, a persistent and chronic feeling of loneliness can lead to self-destructive thoughts and behaviors.  I'm never happy when I'm feeling lonely, whereas it is possible for me to be happy when alone.

I worry, however, about our ability to get away and be alone.  I think that one can become too engaged.  We may be social animals, but we also need time to ourselves, just like we need to sleep and dream.  Being by ourselves allows us to reflect upon our lives and what's important, and make the adjustments in our attitudes that we need to navigate a life that often throws us surprises.  In a world with a growing population, where more people are moving to cities and people are becoming more and more engaged socially via computers and communication, can we ever truly be alone again?  I walk around with my smart phone, which is always connected to the internet, and I am always within beck and call of someone.  It's becoming harder and harder to disconnect, and harder to find places where one can be truly alone for any length of time.  As more people seek ways to get away, national and state parks and campgrounds are becoming utilized by growing numbers of people.  Even going for a long drive to get away is getting more difficult, as our roads become more and more crowded.  Places that 20 to 30 years ago hardly had any cars now suffer traffic jams.

It's only going to get worse with population growth and as people crowd together in cities by choice or by necessity.  Hopefully, it won't result in a dysfunctional and dystopian society (though some may argue that we are at that point already).  I would like to think that as we become more crowded together, people might actually begin to appreciate their time in solitude.  I hope that such appreciation becomes a means of valuing society, not turning away from it.  Personally, when I flee the lights, I want my flight to be temporary, so that I can come back to society putting a greater value on myself and on others.

Musical Interlude

This song, from the Stephen Sondheim musical Into the Woods, is ultimately about being alone, loneliness, and the companions we sometimes don't realize we have.  The song often brings a tear to my eye when I hear it, and this is an especially poignant version sung by the incomparable Bernadette Peters.

If you want to know more about Klamath Falls

City of Klamath Falls
Discover Klamath
Klamath Falls Herald and News (newspaper)
Oregon.com: Klamath Falls
Wikipedia: Klamath Falls
Zimbio.com: Klamath Falls (blog)

Next up:  Fort Klamath, Oregon

Blue Highways: Frenchman, Nevada

Unfolding the Map

Click on Thumbnail for MapI once saw a "Demotivators" poster that had a picture of an isolated tree on an icy landscape.  The caption read "Just when you think you are not alone, you are alone.  So very alone."  In the middle of the vast desolation of the Nevada desert, one can be forgiven for feeling that way if they have to stop.  It just depends on our relationship with solitude and loneliness.  William Least Heat-Moon (LHM) stops in Frenchman, Nevada and we consider what being alone in such a place might mean.  Click on the thumbnail of the map at right to virtually share this space with us.

Book Quote

"Frenchman, Nevada, population four, sat on the edge of a U.S. Navy bombing range.  A if that weren't enough, it was also on a fault zone that still wobbled the seismographic instruments around.

"Frenchman appeared on my map as a town, and, in the desert, it probably was a town, consisting as it did of a cafe-bar-filling station, four-unit motel, trailer, and water tower all huddled on an expanse of dry lakebed mudflats cracked into a crazed jigsaw puzzle of alkali hardpan.  In a state abounding with uninhabitable places, Frenchman excelled.  Without vegetation, suffering from unrelenting wind and extremes of temperature, no source of food or supplies closer than thirty-six miles, no medical care other than Band-Aids and Mercurochrome, frequently rattled by bombs and earthquakes, Frenchman somehow survived on a single source of income: highway travelers."

Blue Highways: Part 5, Chapter 9

The desert and bombing range near Frenchman, Nevada. Photo by Devon Blunden on Panoramio. Click on photo to go to site.Frenchman, Nevada

I can't imagine living in the middle of the Nevada desert, in a town the population of four.  I'm a small-town boy, from a town of around 5,000 when I was growing up there, and over my lifetime I've had to come to grips with living in cities.  Even now, there are things that I will never get accustomed to living in populated areas.  Like ground light blocking out the stars.  When I grew up, the stars were prominent and brilliant when there was no cloud cover.  I should have paid more attention when I was a kid, but I didn't know that one day, I would live in a places where, because of ground light, the number of visible stars would be severely reduced.

I'll also never become quite accustomed to the ever-present sounds of human activity in a city.  At night, things get more quiet but never silent.  There is always traffic on the main arterial street a couple of blocks away.  There is always the distant hum of the freeway.  In the early morning, the airport wakes up and military and civilian plane, helicopter and jet engines rev up.  Of course, during the day, the activity ratchets up to a background hum that is constantly present.

In cities, people also contribute to the lack of quiet.  During the day, there are people everywhere moving and doing.  Noise accompanies their activities, whether it's building or refurbishing houses, firing up the old truck to work on the engine, driving by, talking to a neighbor, talking on a cell phone, talking to a dog, talking talking talking...  At night, though the hubbub dies down some, there is still noise.  The low murmur punctuated by laughter at a neighbor's party.  A dog that barks at a cat which then causes the other dogs of the neighborhood to rise up in a canine racket.  Late at night, gunshots that ring out in rapid succession a couple of miles away.

In other words, the city concentrates the human drama in one metropolitan setting.  Sub-dramas take place neighborhood by neighborhood, house by house, each chronicling happiness, joy, ecstasy, fear, pain, sorrow, tragedy.  In other word, the human condition on a grand scale.

Now, imagine that you are in a community of four people out in the middle of nowhere.  Of course, you will be able to see stars because there is no ground light to interfere with your enjoyment of the celestial tapestry.  The sounds of human activity will be limited to the people who are there.  In that case, it's only four people, so the sounds will be less common, and on that day or evening you want to get away, you can just walk a while and you'll be surrounded with silence that is perhaps broken only by yourself, or the breeze or perhaps a small animal.

And that's the other side of the coin.  For all of those things, you give up human community.  You give up knowing what other people think about this or that, or how they spent their day, or what they want or desire out of life.  Myself, while I like to be alone, I would think that such an existence would not only entail being alone but also leave one lonely.  Being alone is something everyone wants once in a while.  It is the physical reality of being by oneself.  Loneliness is much more of an emotional state.  It is feeling disconnected from others, even if one is near or among people.  The two states are linked.  If one is alone, one can always find others if one wants.  If one is alone for too long, however, it can lead to loneliness.

Think about it for just a minute.  Think about being under the vast sky, in the midst of the vast earth.  You feel like the only person for miles.  For a while, that might be desired.  You are not surrounded by the busy-ness of everyday human life.  But after some time, you might want to find a person, someone to talk with.  The sky and the wind and meager plants and the occasional animals are fine companions, but they cannot offer advice or opinion or just friendly voice.  People are social.  We need other people, even if it is for short bursts of time.

I don't know how the people of Frenchman, Nevada battle loneliness, unless they snatch what they need from the occasional passing cars on Highway 50.  It still seems like a pretty lonely existence to me.  Or maybe, the sounds of military aircraft utilizing the bombing range remind them that they are still a part of a human community, even if they are just a remote outpost on the edge of the human existence.  When I passed through that area in 2010, the immensity of the landscape and the realization that I was just a blot on something much bigger and larger than me was humbling.  I was, at the time, in a lonely place in my heart, even with my wife by my side.  Spending too much time in the Nevada desert would probably not have helped me, and may have exacerbated my loneliness.  I breathed a little easier when we hit larger towns and other signs of human habitation.

Perhaps I should idolize the people of Frenchman that LHM describes and interviews in Blue Highways, and others who live like them.  Much of my latest work to better myself has been to learn how to live without the clutter and the detritus that separates me from those parts of my psyche that make me uncomfortable, that are scary, and that are hard to face. If the people of Frenchman have learned to live alone, and still be comfortable in their solitude and not succumb to loneliness, perhaps they can be a model for me.  Perhaps they are like the ascetic desert monks, or those hermits of all cultures who separate themselves from people yet hold keys of wisdom for all.  Perhaps they can point me toward a place where I can be engaged with the world around me without running from the person within me.

Musical Interlude

I am not a person who knows a lot about John Lennon's music, partly because I came into my musical own during the late 70s and hadn't had the exposure to The Beatles because I had to figure out my own musical tastes.  Now that I'm older and can go back to what I've missed, I have become more appreciative of the music of Lennon.  Isolation fits the mood of this post, especially its counterpoint of being alone in a world that is "a little town."

If you want to know more about Frenchman

There's really nothing about Frenchman.  I've seen a website that says that Frenchman is not a town anymore, but has been designated a site.

Here's a kitchsy thing that was, until December of 2010, near Frenchman that I missed and dearly wished I'd seen, the Tree of Shoes.  But now, it's gone too.

The Tree of Shoes

Next up:  Sand Mountain, Nevada

Blue Highways: Ely, Nevada

Unfolding the Map

Click on Thumbnail for MapWe turn onto the Loneliest Road in America with William Least Heat-Moon (LHM) as he travels the bluest of the blue highways.  In Ely, at least when he went through, we find that the loneliness pervades his perception of the town.  My experience in Ely was of a quiet place, but not necessarily lonely.  But, we'll examine loneliness through the prism of a Nevada industry - the oldest profession in the world.  Click on the map thumbnail, to your right, and make Ely a little less lonely.

Book Quote

"Not everything that happens in Ely happens at the Hotel Nevada, but it could.  The old place is ready for it.  But that night the blackjack tables were empty, the slots nearly so, and the marbelized mirrors reflected the bartender's slump and a waitress swallowing a yawn...."

Blue Highways: Part 5, Chapter 5

"Tradition persists in Nevada.  You can see it, for example, in the whorehouses of Ely.  Prostitition is legal in White Pine County because miners, in order to work efficiently in the ground digging for this and that, traditionally require whores."

Blue Highways: Part 5, Chapter 6

Hotel Nevada in Ely, Nevada. Photo by Megan E. Kamerick.Ely, Nevada

So far along this virtual journey we have been taking with LHM, I have come across only a few places where his journey and my actual experience intersect.  Ely, Nevada is one of them.  In a previous post, I mentioned that I had persuaded my wife to drive to California to see my family.  Our route took us through Utah and then into Nevada on US Highway 50 to Ely, where we got a motel room and spent the night.  I'll include in this post some pictures we took there, including some of interesting public art murals that are sprinkled downtown.

It's interesting that LHM paints Ely as being so initially...unexciting...with his description of the Hotel Nevada and then turns around and writes about prostitution in Ely.  Prostitution is prurient, and somewhat exciting to read about, right?  However, I read this as a way of indicating the loneliness that is part of the Nevada experience.  Okay, maybe that's not LHM's intention but that's what his description brings to my mind, which is really the point of this blog.

Downtown Ely, Nevada. Photo by Megan E. Kamerick

As you drive into Nevada on Highway 50, the signs unmistakably identify that road as the Loneliest Road in America.  In addition, US Highway 6 joins Highway 50 near Ely, and my only other awareness of Highway 6 was in Jack Kerouac's On the Road, where way back in the state of New York Sal waits in the rain for a ride at the Bear Mountain Bridge over the Hudson River, intending to hitchhike Highway 6 out west, and has to take a bus back to New York City berating himself for a fool.  Standing at Bear Mountain Bridge in the rain, Sal feels a loneliness and, not being able to handle it, heads back to New York City to start his journey in another way.

I am also struck that prostitution, seemingly out of touch with a lonely hotel and the loneliest road in America, is an occupation that caters to the lonely and for the lonely, often by the lonely.  Prostitution has been labeled the oldest occupation on Earth, and has been a symbol used throughout literature.  We have a lot of archetypes of the prostitute, such as Mary Magdalene in the New Testament, or the whore with a heart of gold.  However, I am often struck by the other side of what I read about prostitution - the difficult circumstances that lead people to turn to the world's oldest profession.  Dysfunctional families, personality issues, emotional issues.  Those gateways to the dark and lonely side of the human soul that I, who suffered family dysfunction and sexual abuse, know all too well.  I'm not a prude - in fact I have a history of difficulties with sexual addiction (pornography) related to my history of sexual abuse - but it strikes me that my experience is probably similar to that many prostitutes in the commonality of loneliness.

Mural on AT&T Building in Ely, Nevada. Photo by Megan E. KamerickI was reading a book recently called The Art of Racing in the Rain.  It is a touching book about the loyalty of a dog named Enzo.  Enzo, who is the narrator, reflects upon the difference between loneliness and being alone.  Being alone is a reality.  When one is the only person in a room, he or she is alone.  However, loneliness, according to this book, is a state of mind.  One can be lonely, despite the fact that he or she is not alone.  One can be alone, yet not lonely.  Being lonely is very difficult, and I've known people, including myself, that despite the presence of those who care for them and love them, remain lonely.  People seek out aloneness at times.  Nobody seeks loneliness and prolonged loneliness can lead people to desperate things.  After all, we are all social and want human interconnection.

Miners, out in the wilderness around Ely, found themselves lonely for companionship.  They might have wanted someone to talk with, be a companion, to love them even for a short while.  Of course, that meant a business opportunity existed, one in which the providers could justify their actions as a type of public service.  Giving up one's body in prostitution is an opportunistic business transaction performing an act that should be the complete antithesis of such transactions.  The sexual act in a normal, healthy way involves putting much trust in one's partner.  As a business transaction, such sex might be the extreme version of loneliness without being alone.  Why?  Because no matter how much is paid for sex, the sex act under such conditions cannot provide the loving human contact that most of us crave.  It is simply business.  At the end, the participants, if lonely, remain so because once the transaction is over, it's finished.  There is no continuity, no promise of tomorrow unless there is payment, no chance of unconditionality because it is all about conditions.

Detail of downtown Eli mural. Photo by Michael L. Hess

That is probably why the websites of the two brothels that still exist in Ely strike me as strip clubs, where one can get extra benefits after the strip show and the lap dances are finished.  It all seems very lonely to me, with the participation of a lot of lonely people.  While Nevada regulates the prostitution industry, the exploitation of people's loneliness by appealing to their need for companionship through the most powerful feelings and instincts we have as humans seems to me to really touch on the most vulnerable parts of us and is ripe for the emergence of the dark and seamier sides of humanity.

I don't want to end this post on Ely with a downer.  Ely has more merits than LHM gives it.  It has some very nice attributes as a city, and is quiet and not at all completely driven by the prostitution industry.  We especially liked the public art, in the form of murals, spread around the downtown.  When a city makes efforts like this, it shows a pride in community and a real attempt to make a place appealing for residents and visitors alike.  The photos I've peppered through this post show some of the artwork one can find around the town.

Detail of mural image in Ely, Nevada. Photo by Megan E. Kamerick

Musical Interlude

I was going to put, for the musical interlude, Patti Labelle's Lady Marmalade, to keep in the mood of this post.  I forgot about an amazing Cole Porter song called Love for Sale.  This version is sung by the incomparable Ella Fitzgerald.  Just listen to the lyrics rendered in Ella's wonderful voice - it captures the loneliness perfectly "If you want the thrill of love / I've been through the mill of love / Old love, new love / Every love but true love."

If you want to know more about Ely

Ely, Nevada Home Page
The Ely Times (newspaper)
Hotel Nevada
NevadaWeb: Ely
Nevada Northern Railway
Wikipedia: Ely

Next up: Hickison Summit, Nevada

Blue Highways: Mason, Texas

Unfolding the Map

Click on Thumbnail for MapWe travel the unending lonely miles with William Least Heat-Moon (LHM).  His narrative self doesn't necessarily know we are riding along with him in Ghost Dancing, but as we see him tackle the vastness of Texas we reflect upon loneliness.  Click on the map thumbnail to see where Mason, Texas sits on our journey.

Book Quote

"The land was fenceposts and scrubby plants and not many of those.  It was the country of the San Saba River, a route of deserted stone cavalry forts built six generations ago to control the "Indian trouble."  In 1861, the post at Mason was under the direction of a lieutenant-colonel suddenly called to Washington by President Lincoln and offered field command of forces being readied for a civil war.  The officer declined, and Fort Mason became his last U.S. Army duty.  Robert E. Lee never forgot the isolated place."

Blue Highways: Part 4, Chapter 7

Mason, Texas. Photo on City-Data.com. Click on photo to go to site.

Mason, Texas

When you are out in the middle of nowhere, life takes on a new meaning.  I think that if you're a person like Robert E. Lee, in the years before the Civil War when Texas was a newly acquired state and you are commanding an isolated fort somewhere in the middle of nowhere to protect against Indians, your perspectives would have to change.  You would struggle with loneliness, especially in the days where "texting" meant a letter that would take weeks, if not months, to reach you by wagon train, and your reply would take just as long in return, and only if Indians or some disaster didn't intercept your correspondence and leave it forgotten and rotting by the side of the trail.  I wonder if it changed Lee?  He was a brilliant soldier and commander, but he was a reluctant warrior.  He was not eager for the nation to split, he was not eager to join the Confederate Armies but did so out of a commitment to his home state of Virginia.  He opposed Virigina's secession, saying that no greater calamity could occur than the dissolution of the Union.  I like to think that his experience in the vastness of Texas did have some impact on Robert E. Lee, especially as LHM says he never forgot Fort Mason.  I wonder if, under the unending sky, surrounded by Texas hill country giving way to the endless and vast horizon, and hearing the coyotes yip and just maybe a lone wolf howl, he felt his insignificance arrayed against forces much bigger than him, and realized that we humans and our petty concerns are really nothing more than emotional winds blowing on a speck of dust somewhere in the vastness of the cosmos. 

I've never had to put that theory to the test.  I've never lived in an isolated fort, though some might say my hometown of Fort Bragg was somewhat isolated.  I have sometimes felt like I was living in isolation.  My recent sojourn in Lubbock, Texas, where I lived for a year from 2008-2009, gave me some sense of isolation.  It wasn't that I was alone on the prairie.  In fact, I was in a city of some 200,000 people.  However, I felt isolated.  All my friends were many miles away, my wife was in a city some 5½ hours distant, and I didn't really know anybody.  As far as my mind was concerned, I might as well have been on my own in the middle of nothingness.

In thinking what Fort Mason might have been like for Robert E. Lee, I am drawn to my only experience at a place like it - a day visit to Fort Craig in New Mexico.  It was an isolated fort on the banks of the Rio Grande south of present day Socorro, and the descriptions of camp life in that arid, dusty, windswept region make it seem like the garrison was at the end of the known world. In between chasing Indian raiding parties and a battle engagement with Confederate forces in the Civil War, the soldiers at the fort would have endured long times of boredom with only the camp duties to keep them occupied.  At the time, there were few settlements in the area, so even companionship of friendly or romantic varieties would have been limited.  As I stood in the middle of the remaining foundations and the crumbling walls of the fort on a very hot summer day, I could hear the wind blowing through the desert grasses and I thought that it would be very lonely indeed for a soldier to realize, if he thought of it much, that the only thing separating him from unending silence was the human activity at the camp.

LHM, in a way, is traveling through a representation of his own inner desert, made barren by the difficult experience of the dissolution of his romantic relationship and other life troubles.  As he begins to drive through vast, lonely Texas expanses, he has to confront himself and understand what it is to be his own companion.  He occasionally is relieved of this loneliness - in this chapter he spends a good part of the drive with a hitcher name Porfirio Sanchez.  But eventually Sanchez will get out of the van and take his own road and LHM will be forced to drive hours with only himself as his companion, confronting the harsh and rugged landscape of his own loneliness and loss.

We really don't need to go find the end of the world to see how close we are to loneliness and emptiness.  We don't need to buy a van and drive around the country unless we really want to live a lonely experience that way.  We simply need to move forward in our lives and realize that sometimes, our lives' roads will take us through amazing vistas, and sometimes, we will be led through dark lonely valleys.  We might experience our loneliness in within the teeming masses, or feel connected with everyone and everything around us in the middle of an uninhabited jungle or a barren desert.  In the end, we will experience whatever we are led into, and we will be better for it.

Musical Interlude

A song by Asleep at the Wheel, a Texas band that has made two sets of very highly regarded homage recordings to Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys, really captures the loneliness of the west, from the perspective of a cowboy driving cattle.  Enjoy Dusty Skies.

If you want to know more about Mason

Hill Country Visitor Visitor Guide to Mason
Mason County News (newspaper)
TexasEscapes.com: Mason
Texas State Historical Association: Mason
Wikipedia: Mason

Next up: Grit, Texas