Morning Thanks

Garrison Keillor once said we'd all be better off if we all started the day by giving thanks for just one thing. I'll try.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Morning Thanks--The open West


My sister sent me some wonderful 1873 Timothy O'Sullivan sepia-tone shots of the West, which thrilled my soul not simply because of the rugged grandeur they attempt to capture, but also because less than a week ago I was there.  Not there exactly. really--I mean, there were no teepees on the floor of Canyon de Chelly that I saw last week (see them on the valley floor?), and I didn't stand at this particular spot where he did in one of earth's most awesome canyons; but I'm quite sure I was there, almost 150 years later.  Close anyway--see what I mean?


Here's El Morrow as O'Sullivan found it in 1873, a sturdy promontory where centuries of travelers stopped for water (and life) and left their names carved in the sandstone (not advised today, of course).  


O'Sullivan was amazed at what he found--inscriptions from the 18th century and earlier, when Spaniards roamed through the high deserts all around, making pueblo people Catholic while searching for cities of gold and other sundry delights.  


I wish I would have snapped the same inscription, but the one that I caught in my camera, 150 years later, is similar in age and genre.  


And here's "the white house," one of the Canyon de Chelly's most famous places, the home of the Anatasi, whose lives are understood only by the museum of goods--and these cliff dwellings--they left scattered throughout the region.  Imagine what it must have been like to be the first photographer to find a spot like this.


And here the same place today--or at least as we found it in March, when we stood quite close to where Timothy O'Sullivan must have stood many years ago.


America seems to be in a stiff anti-government mood these days, it seems; but the mere fact that I can take shots not at all unlike Mr. Timothy O'Sullivan's 1873 pictures of these natural wonders is attributable mostly to people like Teddy Roosevelt, who determined that some national treasures didn't belong to the rich, but to the people.  Call him a socialist if you will, someone who stood in the way of the freedom of free enterprise.  Call him what you will, but this morning I'm thankful for the West's treasures and the mere fact that you and I can sidle up close with a Nikon or a Canon and take shots not at all unlike those taken by a man behind a tripod holding a ten-pound black and white camera nearly 150 years ago. 

You can still go.  You can still see.  You can still wonder. 
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See all of  O'Sullivan's pix here. 

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