| As I travel around
the great Northwest and fly over this indomitable United States,
I am reminded of the wonderful strength and courage of the people who built
this nation. I see it in the sturdy barns and out-buildings on small
farms and large ranches. I marvel at towers that seem to scrape the
clouds over our superb cities. There are miles upon miles of finely wrought
railway lines, hosting chains of freight and passengers cars, fashioned
by the hand of man. Steam rises from factories turning out goods for our
own and the world's comfort.
"There are miles upon miles
of finely wrought railway lines,..."
These are the modern-day wonders that greet
one daily. However, there is another fascinating aspect to the history
of America. The old, the forgotten, the only-fondly-remembered.
Here is a rusting pick-up truck in a field, there is a barn, greyed and
abandoned. Memories of laughter, hard work, loving families, accompany
the old milk cans to the shed, to gather dust. Spiders spin their
webs around a rusting metal chair where once Gramma rocked her dear ones. |
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I grew up on a farm
in Wisconsin. Some of those things I have been describing were the
building blocks of my character. Some, such as life in a big city,
I can only imagine. I knew hardy folks who pitched in and helped
a neghbor build a barn, mend a roof, or slice trees into lumber for transport
to town to sell. I have Uncles who spent their lives in factories
assembling trucks or tools, appliances or automobiles to make life
easier for us all.
"Victorian homes appeal
to me"
Victorian homes appeal to me. Here in
Washington, Oregon and California, I have researched numerous fine examples
of this wondrous architecture. They speak of an age of elegance and
frivolity. Of gracious living and a distinct culture. Cape
cod style homes represent to me a solid, enduring manner. Of dedicated
and determined stock. Farm homes stand sure and quietly amidst groves
of sheltering trees, or crowning the rise of a hill (as if to keep its
feet from getting soaked in the multitudinous winter, or spring rains).
These are some of the things I have categorized as "Americana". These
are part of the heritage of our great country.
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