Coincidence

Today marks the birthday of two American artists, one recognized by almost anyone, the other an obscure introvert who remains almost unknown outside a small but growing circle of admirers. Both were filled with creative genius.

George Gershwin was born in New York in 1898. He went on to become perhaps the most beloved American composer through his many composition for the musical stage, the concert hall, and what has become known as the Great American Songbook. Gershwin's appeal comes, in part, from his colorful and lively incorporation of jazz motifs in all his music. He died in 1937 with what could only be called a wonderful career ahead of him. I often think what he could have brought to us had he lived.

The second artist, Walter Inglis Anderson, was born on September 29, 1903 in New Orleans. After training at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts in the mid-1920s, he spent most of his career associated with Shearwater Pottery, a family enterprise founded in Ocean Springs, Mississippi. Though deeply troubled with mental illness for much of his life, he produced thousands of vivid works of art searching to celebrate the unity of human existence with nature. I often describe his work as painted illustrations that play freely with figure and ground and the positives and negatives of visual perception. His realizations of nature explode in the mind's eye. Observing Anderson is a meditative experience.

If I had to choose two personal favorites among American artists, I would choose Gershwin and Anderson. My mother and father enjoyed his music and listened to his work on the radio and records, and later, on television. I discovered Anderson on my own in the 1970s during the dedication of an Ocean Springs visitor center that featured architectural elements incorporating his motifs as well as the display of several of his nature paintings. Studying these artists came much later in my life and, in the last five years, that study led to a startling revelation: I share a birthday with them.

George, Walter and OTR, a coincidence made somewhere in the stars beyond time. I don't want to attempt an explanation. And there's no delusion here; OTR will never approach their genius. Not sure I'd want to. I'll simply leave it at that and listen and observe the greatness knowing that we share a quiet and inconsequential commonality.

Later this week after the Voyage Of Discovery returns to Atlanta, I'll post a bit more about the artists and post some examples of their work.

Yellowstone Territory

The Voyage of Discovery spent two days exploring Yellowstone National Park, a glorious piece of volcanism and geomorphology. A fire in the south central section of the park thwarted our plans for an entrance at West Yellowstone, a circuit tour, easy exit at the north gate, and an early overnight in Gardner. Yes, we did enter at the west gate and overnight in Gardner, but only after a 175 mile detour that required retracing most of our route into the park. We arrived at our lodge well beyond sunset and near exhaustion. The fine accommodations revived us and we were on our way back into the park for an exploration of Yellowstone Canyon and an exit at the east gate. The smoke cloud from the West Thumb fire provided us with spectacular light and color and offered many opportunities for dramatic photography along the route. Our drive into Cody, Wyoming was through equally stunning landscapes under the protection of the U.S. Forest Service. At Cody, we dined at the Irma Hotel, built by Buffalo Bill Cody in 1902. Prime rib, oysters Rockefeller, baked cod, and superb vegetables made a perfect ending to a perfect day.

Iran's Surprise

National Review Online has Victor Davis Hanson's comments on the latest news on Iran's "other" nuclear project. As always, he is spot on analyzing this dangerous situation. Read it.

Russell Country

The Voyage of Discovery reached Great Falls, Montana, yesterday. The Lewis and Clark expedition reached this same series of forbidding obstacles to navigation in June 1805 and spent a month portaging around them. A century later, the city that grew up around the falls was the home to artist and writer, Charles M. Russell, one of the finest interpreters of the landscape of the American West, its Indian inhabitants, and the cowboy.

Russell was born in 1864 in St. Louis, Missouri, and developed a fascination with the West as a young boy. It never left him. When his parents sent him to boarding school in New Jersey to overcome his obsession, he merely filled his notebooks with sketches of cowboys and Indians until his parents relented and sent him to the frontier with a trusted friend. As a participant-observer, Russell's interpretations developed depth and detail and by 1910 he was well-known among art circles from coast to coast. When he died in 1926, he left a legacy of thousands of illustrations, paintings, sculptures, letters and other material, much of it displayed today at the Charles M. Russell Museum in Great Falls. Within the museum, visitors can see the nature of the Northern Rockies and High Plains and the full range of those who lived and worked in this beautiful and challenging place. One can see and feel the full range of Russell, the man, from serious to whimsical.

In the last century, any boy or girl who has played "cowboys and Indians," enjoyed stories, illustrations, films and televisions programs with western themes has linked to Russell. He is an illustration of the reality and mythology of a man who has lived his dream and planted the seeds for others to follow in their own way. And for citizens of the United States, he is a national treasure. For Big Sky Montana, he is a beloved favorite son.

Searching South Dakota

Charlie, my great uncle, was a serious arm chair adventurer. He was born in 1878 and grew to adulthood during the great age of American industrial and mechanical innovation. I can imagine his enthusiasm for the Wright Brothers and their flying machine, for Edison and Marconi and their tinkering in early electronics and radio. To feed his interest in the world around him, Charlie became an early member of the National Geographic Society, perhaps as early as 1895. When he died in 1961, I had already inherited his many interests in science and the surrounding world. He also left me hundreds of Society magazines, maps, and miscellaneous items.

Today, a small red dot twelve miles south of White Lake, South Dakota, took on added significance, thanks to Charlie and his sense of adventure. The dot marked the landing spot of a record setting balloon flight made by the Society and the U.S. Army on November 11, 1935. On that day, Captain O. A. Anderson and Captain A. W. Stevens lifted off in their gondola, Explorer II, ascending to an altitude of near 73,000 feet. After eight hours and 225 miles drifting to the east, they descended to a safe landing in the rolling grasslands of White Lake.

I noticed that dot about an hour before we reached the Interstate 90 exit that would take me to this sacred ground. We drove the allotted twelve miles south of town to the end of pavement, then turned east on a dirt road labelled "274th Street" and proceeded slowly west for about a mile looking for what I thought would be a suitable marker or art deco monument marking the site. There were no brown signs marking the way. All of us scanned the fields for any sign of history, but it wasn't there. We drove another mile and still no sign. I had to accept the reality that, for me, this event would be a memory today. On the landscape, it was intangible history. There would be no photograph of OTR, the aviation and space enthusiast, standing by a beloved aviation history monument.

My traveling companions were perplexed at what would drive me to this obscure site, beyond my interest and that red dot in the travel atlas. There are two reasons. First, among the miscellaneous items in my Society collection is a panoramic picture, perhaps three feet wide, taken at Explorer II's highest altitude. The picture is in perfect condition. And second, the Society shared the significance of the flight with its members by sending them a nice sample of the fabric balloon encased in plastic accompanied by a nice description of its accomplishments.

And what were those accomplishments of this piece of missing history? The flight established an altitude record that endured for more than twenty years, well into the Jet Age. It provided the first photographs showing the division between troposphere and stratosphere, as well as the curvature of the earth. In addition, the on board instrumentation and experiments contributed to the study of cosmic radiation, ozone layering, high altitude radio wave propagation, meteorology, and biology. In all, I'd say Explorer II was quite worthy of its red dot and more. Today, the gondola has an honored place in the Smithsonian Institution's National Air and Space Museum in Washington. It is a far cry from the windswept grasslands of central South Dakota.

On my return home, the picture and the fabric balloon will soon be framed and on my wall. What will be missing is my picture at the missing monument on that sacred ground. Sometimes history is like that, only a memory on a waving grassland. The search for this history will always be remembered. And there are plenty of red dots to keep me searching for a long, long time.

Sources: Wikipedia, Smithsonian Institution NASM

Heartland History 2

Today was our first day in western Iowa and under a brilliant sun. We expected to see thousands of acres of corn and soybeans. We also knew the impact of bio fuel development caused farmers to increase their acreage in these crops over the last few years. How does one measure that increase? For those confined to the highways, it is the brilliant reflections of the sun off what must be thousands of new grain storage bins on farms both big and small. The new corrugated steel bins contrast sharply with their older, drab gray neighbors. With a bit of elevation and the correct sun angle, they glitter like gems set in a quilt of tan, green and yellow spreading to the horizon.

I wonder if these new investments will return a profit over the coming years. They certainly reflect enthusiasm for the new market. If they don't work out, I did see one innovative farmer who turned an older bin into what appeared to be a guest residence, complete with windows, landscaping, and a flag flying in that prairie breeze. Farmers have always been a creative lot, given their industry's high risk.

To be continued.

Unsung Hero

It is a name virtually no one would recognize: Norman Borlaug. His science literally saved millions of lives. He has passed away. Here is his story as posted at Blue Crab Boulevard.