CAT SQUARE PARADE - VALE, NORTH CAROLINA Whenever people had asked me if I’d ever been to the Cat Square parade it’d always be followed by a chuckle and knowing look in their eye. They’d tell me about that one time they went and there were elaborate homemade floats on old cars, parade-goers tossing out cans of beer and cigarettes, and lines of horses as far as the eye could see, five for each person there. For the past several years and since I graduated from college, I’ve been wanting to attend this much talked about and surely rowdy time. The Cat Square Christmas parade has taken in place in Vale, North Carolina for the past few decades. Each December, this little census-designated community of Cat Square sees an influx of a couple thousand people turn out to line up along the side of Zur Leonard and Cat Square Road to watch the parade trot by. Each year I’ve been told the number of spectators and participants grow larger. A few high school bands join in, almost every female in Lincoln County it seems is a beauty queen of some sort and is escorted in a convertible. North Carolina is not short at all of celebrations of its culture, but the Cat Square parade seems a little bit more special to me. I know because almost everyone I know in my hometown has been at least one time and they always have a story about it along with a slight shake of the head, smile, and quick look at the ground. The parade is a big part of this area around Christmas and a tradition that’s been going strong for years with few people outside of the area taking notice. It’s uniquely ours. It’s the people of the community that keep all this afloat. The parade’s participants and its visitors are the subject of these pictures. A street preacher with a lazy eye handing out tracts, a man selling new and used knives, teenagers watching from their vehicles and younger volunteers in costume or in floats. Just a few people out of the thousands that caught my eye that day and sometimes let me talk to them a little. I’m anxious for next December to come around or the next time I’ll be able to tell my own story about the parade to someone who has never been.  * * * Aaron Canipe is a State Guide to North Carolina. He was born and raised in Hickory, North Carolina and received his BFA in photography from the Corcoran College of Art + Design in Washington, D.C. Aaron also helps operate Empty Stretch, a DIY-publisher and blog. He’s exhibited work throughout the South and has been published in the Washington Post and the Oxford American’s “Eye on the South” blog. Follow him on Tumblr at mysteriesmanners and see more work on his website, aaroncanipe.com.
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CAT SQUARE PARADE - VALE, NORTH CAROLINA Whenever people had asked me if I’d ever been to the Cat Square parade it’d always be followed by a chuckle and knowing look in their eye. They’d tell me about that one time they went and there were elaborate homemade floats on old cars, parade-goers tossing out cans of beer and cigarettes, and lines of horses as far as the eye could see, five for each person there. For the past several years and since I graduated from college, I’ve been wanting to attend this much talked about and surely rowdy time. The Cat Square Christmas parade has taken in place in Vale, North Carolina for the past few decades. Each December, this little census-designated community of Cat Square sees an influx of a couple thousand people turn out to line up along the side of Zur Leonard and Cat Square Road to watch the parade trot by. Each year I’ve been told the number of spectators and participants grow larger. A few high school bands join in, almost every female in Lincoln County it seems is a beauty queen of some sort and is escorted in a convertible. North Carolina is not short at all of celebrations of its culture, but the Cat Square parade seems a little bit more special to me. I know because almost everyone I know in my hometown has been at least one time and they always have a story about it along with a slight shake of the head, smile, and quick look at the ground. The parade is a big part of this area around Christmas and a tradition that’s been going strong for years with few people outside of the area taking notice. It’s uniquely ours. It’s the people of the community that keep all this afloat. The parade’s participants and its visitors are the subject of these pictures. A street preacher with a lazy eye handing out tracts, a man selling new and used knives, teenagers watching from their vehicles and younger volunteers in costume or in floats. Just a few people out of the thousands that caught my eye that day and sometimes let me talk to them a little. I’m anxious for next December to come around or the next time I’ll be able to tell my own story about the parade to someone who has never been.  * * * Aaron Canipe is a State Guide to North Carolina. He was born and raised in Hickory, North Carolina and received his BFA in photography from the Corcoran College of Art + Design in Washington, D.C. Aaron also helps operate Empty Stretch, a DIY-publisher and blog. He’s exhibited work throughout the South and has been published in the Washington Post and the Oxford American’s “Eye on the South” blog. Follow him on Tumblr at mysteriesmanners and see more work on his website, aaroncanipe.com.
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CAT SQUARE PARADE - VALE, NORTH CAROLINA Whenever people had asked me if I’d ever been to the Cat Square parade it’d always be followed by a chuckle and knowing look in their eye. They’d tell me about that one time they went and there were elaborate homemade floats on old cars, parade-goers tossing out cans of beer and cigarettes, and lines of horses as far as the eye could see, five for each person there. For the past several years and since I graduated from college, I’ve been wanting to attend this much talked about and surely rowdy time. The Cat Square Christmas parade has taken in place in Vale, North Carolina for the past few decades. Each December, this little census-designated community of Cat Square sees an influx of a couple thousand people turn out to line up along the side of Zur Leonard and Cat Square Road to watch the parade trot by. Each year I’ve been told the number of spectators and participants grow larger. A few high school bands join in, almost every female in Lincoln County it seems is a beauty queen of some sort and is escorted in a convertible. North Carolina is not short at all of celebrations of its culture, but the Cat Square parade seems a little bit more special to me. I know because almost everyone I know in my hometown has been at least one time and they always have a story about it along with a slight shake of the head, smile, and quick look at the ground. The parade is a big part of this area around Christmas and a tradition that’s been going strong for years with few people outside of the area taking notice. It’s uniquely ours. It’s the people of the community that keep all this afloat. The parade’s participants and its visitors are the subject of these pictures. A street preacher with a lazy eye handing out tracts, a man selling new and used knives, teenagers watching from their vehicles and younger volunteers in costume or in floats. Just a few people out of the thousands that caught my eye that day and sometimes let me talk to them a little. I’m anxious for next December to come around or the next time I’ll be able to tell my own story about the parade to someone who has never been.  * * * Aaron Canipe is a State Guide to North Carolina. He was born and raised in Hickory, North Carolina and received his BFA in photography from the Corcoran College of Art + Design in Washington, D.C. Aaron also helps operate Empty Stretch, a DIY-publisher and blog. He’s exhibited work throughout the South and has been published in the Washington Post and the Oxford American’s “Eye on the South” blog. Follow him on Tumblr at mysteriesmanners and see more work on his website, aaroncanipe.com.
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CAT SQUARE PARADE - VALE, NORTH CAROLINA Whenever people had asked me if I’d ever been to the Cat Square parade it’d always be followed by a chuckle and knowing look in their eye. They’d tell me about that one time they went and there were elaborate homemade floats on old cars, parade-goers tossing out cans of beer and cigarettes, and lines of horses as far as the eye could see, five for each person there. For the past several years and since I graduated from college, I’ve been wanting to attend this much talked about and surely rowdy time. The Cat Square Christmas parade has taken in place in Vale, North Carolina for the past few decades. Each December, this little census-designated community of Cat Square sees an influx of a couple thousand people turn out to line up along the side of Zur Leonard and Cat Square Road to watch the parade trot by. Each year I’ve been told the number of spectators and participants grow larger. A few high school bands join in, almost every female in Lincoln County it seems is a beauty queen of some sort and is escorted in a convertible. North Carolina is not short at all of celebrations of its culture, but the Cat Square parade seems a little bit more special to me. I know because almost everyone I know in my hometown has been at least one time and they always have a story about it along with a slight shake of the head, smile, and quick look at the ground. The parade is a big part of this area around Christmas and a tradition that’s been going strong for years with few people outside of the area taking notice. It’s uniquely ours. It’s the people of the community that keep all this afloat. The parade’s participants and its visitors are the subject of these pictures. A street preacher with a lazy eye handing out tracts, a man selling new and used knives, teenagers watching from their vehicles and younger volunteers in costume or in floats. Just a few people out of the thousands that caught my eye that day and sometimes let me talk to them a little. I’m anxious for next December to come around or the next time I’ll be able to tell my own story about the parade to someone who has never been.  * * * Aaron Canipe is a State Guide to North Carolina. He was born and raised in Hickory, North Carolina and received his BFA in photography from the Corcoran College of Art + Design in Washington, D.C. Aaron also helps operate Empty Stretch, a DIY-publisher and blog. He’s exhibited work throughout the South and has been published in the Washington Post and the Oxford American’s “Eye on the South” blog. Follow him on Tumblr at mysteriesmanners and see more work on his website, aaroncanipe.com.
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CAT SQUARE PARADE - VALE, NORTH CAROLINA Whenever people had asked me if I’d ever been to the Cat Square parade it’d always be followed by a chuckle and knowing look in their eye. They’d tell me about that one time they went and there were elaborate homemade floats on old cars, parade-goers tossing out cans of beer and cigarettes, and lines of horses as far as the eye could see, five for each person there. For the past several years and since I graduated from college, I’ve been wanting to attend this much talked about and surely rowdy time. The Cat Square Christmas parade has taken in place in Vale, North Carolina for the past few decades. Each December, this little census-designated community of Cat Square sees an influx of a couple thousand people turn out to line up along the side of Zur Leonard and Cat Square Road to watch the parade trot by. Each year I’ve been told the number of spectators and participants grow larger. A few high school bands join in, almost every female in Lincoln County it seems is a beauty queen of some sort and is escorted in a convertible. North Carolina is not short at all of celebrations of its culture, but the Cat Square parade seems a little bit more special to me. I know because almost everyone I know in my hometown has been at least one time and they always have a story about it along with a slight shake of the head, smile, and quick look at the ground. The parade is a big part of this area around Christmas and a tradition that’s been going strong for years with few people outside of the area taking notice. It’s uniquely ours. It’s the people of the community that keep all this afloat. The parade’s participants and its visitors are the subject of these pictures. A street preacher with a lazy eye handing out tracts, a man selling new and used knives, teenagers watching from their vehicles and younger volunteers in costume or in floats. Just a few people out of the thousands that caught my eye that day and sometimes let me talk to them a little. I’m anxious for next December to come around or the next time I’ll be able to tell my own story about the parade to someone who has never been.  * * * Aaron Canipe is a State Guide to North Carolina. He was born and raised in Hickory, North Carolina and received his BFA in photography from the Corcoran College of Art + Design in Washington, D.C. Aaron also helps operate Empty Stretch, a DIY-publisher and blog. He’s exhibited work throughout the South and has been published in the Washington Post and the Oxford American’s “Eye on the South” blog. Follow him on Tumblr at mysteriesmanners and see more work on his website, aaroncanipe.com.
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CAT SQUARE PARADE - VALE, NORTH CAROLINA Whenever people had asked me if I’d ever been to the Cat Square parade it’d always be followed by a chuckle and knowing look in their eye. They’d tell me about that one time they went and there were elaborate homemade floats on old cars, parade-goers tossing out cans of beer and cigarettes, and lines of horses as far as the eye could see, five for each person there. For the past several years and since I graduated from college, I’ve been wanting to attend this much talked about and surely rowdy time. The Cat Square Christmas parade has taken in place in Vale, North Carolina for the past few decades. Each December, this little census-designated community of Cat Square sees an influx of a couple thousand people turn out to line up along the side of Zur Leonard and Cat Square Road to watch the parade trot by. Each year I’ve been told the number of spectators and participants grow larger. A few high school bands join in, almost every female in Lincoln County it seems is a beauty queen of some sort and is escorted in a convertible. North Carolina is not short at all of celebrations of its culture, but the Cat Square parade seems a little bit more special to me. I know because almost everyone I know in my hometown has been at least one time and they always have a story about it along with a slight shake of the head, smile, and quick look at the ground. The parade is a big part of this area around Christmas and a tradition that’s been going strong for years with few people outside of the area taking notice. It’s uniquely ours. It’s the people of the community that keep all this afloat. The parade’s participants and its visitors are the subject of these pictures. A street preacher with a lazy eye handing out tracts, a man selling new and used knives, teenagers watching from their vehicles and younger volunteers in costume or in floats. Just a few people out of the thousands that caught my eye that day and sometimes let me talk to them a little. I’m anxious for next December to come around or the next time I’ll be able to tell my own story about the parade to someone who has never been.  * * * Aaron Canipe is a State Guide to North Carolina. He was born and raised in Hickory, North Carolina and received his BFA in photography from the Corcoran College of Art + Design in Washington, D.C. Aaron also helps operate Empty Stretch, a DIY-publisher and blog. He’s exhibited work throughout the South and has been published in the Washington Post and the Oxford American’s “Eye on the South” blog. Follow him on Tumblr at mysteriesmanners and see more work on his website, aaroncanipe.com.
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CAT SQUARE PARADE - VALE, NORTH CAROLINA Whenever people had asked me if I’d ever been to the Cat Square parade it’d always be followed by a chuckle and knowing look in their eye. They’d tell me about that one time they went and there were elaborate homemade floats on old cars, parade-goers tossing out cans of beer and cigarettes, and lines of horses as far as the eye could see, five for each person there. For the past several years and since I graduated from college, I’ve been wanting to attend this much talked about and surely rowdy time. The Cat Square Christmas parade has taken in place in Vale, North Carolina for the past few decades. Each December, this little census-designated community of Cat Square sees an influx of a couple thousand people turn out to line up along the side of Zur Leonard and Cat Square Road to watch the parade trot by. Each year I’ve been told the number of spectators and participants grow larger. A few high school bands join in, almost every female in Lincoln County it seems is a beauty queen of some sort and is escorted in a convertible. North Carolina is not short at all of celebrations of its culture, but the Cat Square parade seems a little bit more special to me. I know because almost everyone I know in my hometown has been at least one time and they always have a story about it along with a slight shake of the head, smile, and quick look at the ground. The parade is a big part of this area around Christmas and a tradition that’s been going strong for years with few people outside of the area taking notice. It’s uniquely ours. It’s the people of the community that keep all this afloat. The parade’s participants and its visitors are the subject of these pictures. A street preacher with a lazy eye handing out tracts, a man selling new and used knives, teenagers watching from their vehicles and younger volunteers in costume or in floats. Just a few people out of the thousands that caught my eye that day and sometimes let me talk to them a little. I’m anxious for next December to come around or the next time I’ll be able to tell my own story about the parade to someone who has never been.  * * * Aaron Canipe is a State Guide to North Carolina. He was born and raised in Hickory, North Carolina and received his BFA in photography from the Corcoran College of Art + Design in Washington, D.C. Aaron also helps operate Empty Stretch, a DIY-publisher and blog. He’s exhibited work throughout the South and has been published in the Washington Post and the Oxford American’s “Eye on the South” blog. Follow him on Tumblr at mysteriesmanners and see more work on his website, aaroncanipe.com.
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CAT SQUARE PARADE - VALE, NORTH CAROLINA Whenever people had asked me if I’d ever been to the Cat Square parade it’d always be followed by a chuckle and knowing look in their eye. They’d tell me about that one time they went and there were elaborate homemade floats on old cars, parade-goers tossing out cans of beer and cigarettes, and lines of horses as far as the eye could see, five for each person there. For the past several years and since I graduated from college, I’ve been wanting to attend this much talked about and surely rowdy time. The Cat Square Christmas parade has taken in place in Vale, North Carolina for the past few decades. Each December, this little census-designated community of Cat Square sees an influx of a couple thousand people turn out to line up along the side of Zur Leonard and Cat Square Road to watch the parade trot by. Each year I’ve been told the number of spectators and participants grow larger. A few high school bands join in, almost every female in Lincoln County it seems is a beauty queen of some sort and is escorted in a convertible. North Carolina is not short at all of celebrations of its culture, but the Cat Square parade seems a little bit more special to me. I know because almost everyone I know in my hometown has been at least one time and they always have a story about it along with a slight shake of the head, smile, and quick look at the ground. The parade is a big part of this area around Christmas and a tradition that’s been going strong for years with few people outside of the area taking notice. It’s uniquely ours. It’s the people of the community that keep all this afloat. The parade’s participants and its visitors are the subject of these pictures. A street preacher with a lazy eye handing out tracts, a man selling new and used knives, teenagers watching from their vehicles and younger volunteers in costume or in floats. Just a few people out of the thousands that caught my eye that day and sometimes let me talk to them a little. I’m anxious for next December to come around or the next time I’ll be able to tell my own story about the parade to someone who has never been.  * * * Aaron Canipe is a State Guide to North Carolina. He was born and raised in Hickory, North Carolina and received his BFA in photography from the Corcoran College of Art + Design in Washington, D.C. Aaron also helps operate Empty Stretch, a DIY-publisher and blog. He’s exhibited work throughout the South and has been published in the Washington Post and the Oxford American’s “Eye on the South” blog. Follow him on Tumblr at mysteriesmanners and see more work on his website, aaroncanipe.com.
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CAT SQUARE PARADE - VALE, NORTH CAROLINA Whenever people had asked me if I’d ever been to the Cat Square parade it’d always be followed by a chuckle and knowing look in their eye. They’d tell me about that one time they went and there were elaborate homemade floats on old cars, parade-goers tossing out cans of beer and cigarettes, and lines of horses as far as the eye could see, five for each person there. For the past several years and since I graduated from college, I’ve been wanting to attend this much talked about and surely rowdy time. The Cat Square Christmas parade has taken in place in Vale, North Carolina for the past few decades. Each December, this little census-designated community of Cat Square sees an influx of a couple thousand people turn out to line up along the side of Zur Leonard and Cat Square Road to watch the parade trot by. Each year I’ve been told the number of spectators and participants grow larger. A few high school bands join in, almost every female in Lincoln County it seems is a beauty queen of some sort and is escorted in a convertible. North Carolina is not short at all of celebrations of its culture, but the Cat Square parade seems a little bit more special to me. I know because almost everyone I know in my hometown has been at least one time and they always have a story about it along with a slight shake of the head, smile, and quick look at the ground. The parade is a big part of this area around Christmas and a tradition that’s been going strong for years with few people outside of the area taking notice. It’s uniquely ours. It’s the people of the community that keep all this afloat. The parade’s participants and its visitors are the subject of these pictures. A street preacher with a lazy eye handing out tracts, a man selling new and used knives, teenagers watching from their vehicles and younger volunteers in costume or in floats. Just a few people out of the thousands that caught my eye that day and sometimes let me talk to them a little. I’m anxious for next December to come around or the next time I’ll be able to tell my own story about the parade to someone who has never been.  * * * Aaron Canipe is a State Guide to North Carolina. He was born and raised in Hickory, North Carolina and received his BFA in photography from the Corcoran College of Art + Design in Washington, D.C. Aaron also helps operate Empty Stretch, a DIY-publisher and blog. He’s exhibited work throughout the South and has been published in the Washington Post and the Oxford American’s “Eye on the South” blog. Follow him on Tumblr at mysteriesmanners and see more work on his website, aaroncanipe.com.
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CAT SQUARE PARADE - VALE, NORTH CAROLINA

Whenever people had asked me if I’d ever been to the Cat Square parade it’d always be followed by a chuckle and knowing look in their eye. They’d tell me about that one time they went and there were elaborate homemade floats on old cars, parade-goers tossing out cans of beer and cigarettes, and lines of horses as far as the eye could see, five for each person there. For the past several years and since I graduated from college, I’ve been wanting to attend this much talked about and surely rowdy time.

The Cat Square Christmas parade has taken in place in Vale, North Carolina for the past few decades. Each December, this little census-designated community of Cat Square sees an influx of a couple thousand people turn out to line up along the side of Zur Leonard and Cat Square Road to watch the parade trot by. Each year I’ve been told the number of spectators and participants grow larger. A few high school bands join in, almost every female in Lincoln County it seems is a beauty queen of some sort and is escorted in a convertible. North Carolina is not short at all of celebrations of its culture, but the Cat Square parade seems a little bit more special to me. I know because almost everyone I know in my hometown has been at least one time and they always have a story about it along with a slight shake of the head, smile, and quick look at the ground.

The parade is a big part of this area around Christmas and a tradition that’s been going strong for years with few people outside of the area taking notice. It’s uniquely ours. It’s the people of the community that keep all this afloat. The parade’s participants and its visitors are the subject of these pictures. A street preacher with a lazy eye handing out tracts, a man selling new and used knives, teenagers watching from their vehicles and younger volunteers in costume or in floats. Just a few people out of the thousands that caught my eye that day and sometimes let me talk to them a little. I’m anxious for next December to come around or the next time I’ll be able to tell my own story about the parade to someone who has never been. 

* * *

Aaron Canipe is a State Guide to North Carolina. He was born and raised in Hickory, North Carolina and received his BFA in photography from the Corcoran College of Art + Design in Washington, D.C. Aaron also helps operate Empty Stretch, a DIY-publisher and blog. He’s exhibited work throughout the South and has been published in the Washington Post and the Oxford American’s “Eye on the South” blog. Follow him on Tumblr at mysteriesmanners and see more work on his website, aaroncanipe.com.

LAWLESS: LOVING IT AND NOT IN SOUTH FLORIDA For the traveler—and the local, too—there’s a sort of lawlessness—a coast-to-coast sensation—when you’re in South Florida, below the Lake Okeechobee shoreline. Our guide—Florida: A Guide to the Southernmost State, published by the WPA in 1939—says it in plain words: “Florida is at once a continuation of the Deep South and the beginning of a new realm.” And in that new realm, you do whatever the hell it is you want to do. You see it in the faces of those just passing through to the faces of the snowbird, the country cracker, the Miccosukee, the Cuban, the black American—anyone and everyone. But, it’s not that you’re up to no good if you’re in these parts. No, because down here you’ve either been left to yourself or abandoned outright—something you either fought for and won or fought against and lost. That’s the prettiness and the ugliness of the place. Just ask our guide: “Throughout more than four centuries, from Ponce de Leon in his caravels to the latest Pennsylvanian in his Buick”—You can throw in Walt Disney, HMO-barons, spring-break bros and hoes, and sub-prime mortgage lenders—”Florida has been invaded by seekers of gold or of sunshine. The result of all of this is a material and immaterial pattern of infinite variety, replete with contrasts, paradoxes, confusions, and inconsistencies.” “Seekers of gold or of sunshine”—that’s a damn fine line to walk: between the Freedom—with a capital F—that we all seek and the temptations and trappings of its pursuit. It’s all the “seekers of gold or of sunshine” where that lawless feeling comes from. * * * Tom McNamara is the co-editor of THE AMERICAN GUIDE. 
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LAWLESS: LOVING IT AND NOT IN SOUTH FLORIDA For the traveler—and the local, too—there’s a sort of lawlessness—a coast-to-coast sensation—when you’re in South Florida, below the Lake Okeechobee shoreline. Our guide—Florida: A Guide to the Southernmost State, published by the WPA in 1939—says it in plain words: “Florida is at once a continuation of the Deep South and the beginning of a new realm.” And in that new realm, you do whatever the hell it is you want to do. You see it in the faces of those just passing through to the faces of the snowbird, the country cracker, the Miccosukee, the Cuban, the black American—anyone and everyone. But, it’s not that you’re up to no good if you’re in these parts. No, because down here you’ve either been left to yourself or abandoned outright—something you either fought for and won or fought against and lost. That’s the prettiness and the ugliness of the place. Just ask our guide: “Throughout more than four centuries, from Ponce de Leon in his caravels to the latest Pennsylvanian in his Buick”—You can throw in Walt Disney, HMO-barons, spring-break bros and hoes, and sub-prime mortgage lenders—”Florida has been invaded by seekers of gold or of sunshine. The result of all of this is a material and immaterial pattern of infinite variety, replete with contrasts, paradoxes, confusions, and inconsistencies.” “Seekers of gold or of sunshine”—that’s a damn fine line to walk: between the Freedom—with a capital F—that we all seek and the temptations and trappings of its pursuit. It’s all the “seekers of gold or of sunshine” where that lawless feeling comes from. * * * Tom McNamara is the co-editor of THE AMERICAN GUIDE. 
Zoom Info
LAWLESS: LOVING IT AND NOT IN SOUTH FLORIDA For the traveler—and the local, too—there’s a sort of lawlessness—a coast-to-coast sensation—when you’re in South Florida, below the Lake Okeechobee shoreline. Our guide—Florida: A Guide to the Southernmost State, published by the WPA in 1939—says it in plain words: “Florida is at once a continuation of the Deep South and the beginning of a new realm.” And in that new realm, you do whatever the hell it is you want to do. You see it in the faces of those just passing through to the faces of the snowbird, the country cracker, the Miccosukee, the Cuban, the black American—anyone and everyone. But, it’s not that you’re up to no good if you’re in these parts. No, because down here you’ve either been left to yourself or abandoned outright—something you either fought for and won or fought against and lost. That’s the prettiness and the ugliness of the place. Just ask our guide: “Throughout more than four centuries, from Ponce de Leon in his caravels to the latest Pennsylvanian in his Buick”—You can throw in Walt Disney, HMO-barons, spring-break bros and hoes, and sub-prime mortgage lenders—”Florida has been invaded by seekers of gold or of sunshine. The result of all of this is a material and immaterial pattern of infinite variety, replete with contrasts, paradoxes, confusions, and inconsistencies.” “Seekers of gold or of sunshine”—that’s a damn fine line to walk: between the Freedom—with a capital F—that we all seek and the temptations and trappings of its pursuit. It’s all the “seekers of gold or of sunshine” where that lawless feeling comes from. * * * Tom McNamara is the co-editor of THE AMERICAN GUIDE. 
Zoom Info

LAWLESS: LOVING IT AND NOT IN SOUTH FLORIDA

For the traveler—and the local, too—there’s a sort of lawlessness—a coast-to-coast sensation—when you’re in South Florida, below the Lake Okeechobee shoreline.

Our guide—Florida: A Guide to the Southernmost State, published by the WPA in 1939—says it in plain words: “Florida is at once a continuation of the Deep South and the beginning of a new realm.”

And in that new realm, you do whatever the hell it is you want to do. You see it in the faces of those just passing through to the faces of the snowbird, the country cracker, the Miccosukee, the Cuban, the black American—anyone and everyone.

But, it’s not that you’re up to no good if you’re in these parts. No, because down here you’ve either been left to yourself or abandoned outright—something you either fought for and won or fought against and lost. That’s the prettiness and the ugliness of the place.

Just ask our guide: “Throughout more than four centuries, from Ponce de Leon in his caravels to the latest Pennsylvanian in his Buick”—You can throw in Walt Disney, HMO-barons, spring-break bros and hoes, and sub-prime mortgage lenders—”Florida has been invaded by seekers of gold or of sunshine. The result of all of this is a material and immaterial pattern of infinite variety, replete with contrasts, paradoxes, confusions, and inconsistencies.”

“Seekers of gold or of sunshine”—that’s a damn fine line to walk: between the Freedom—with a capital F—that we all seek and the temptations and trappings of its pursuit.

It’s all the “seekers of gold or of sunshine” where that lawless feeling comes from.

* * *

Tom McNamara is the co-editor of THE AMERICAN GUIDE. 

OURAY, COLORADO - SLUSHY SEASON or THE LONG, SLOW BREAK-UP OURAY, 37 m. (7,800 alt., 707 pop.), seat of Ouray County, named for the great Ute chief, lies pocketed in a pear-shaped valley, with WHITE HOUSE MOUNTAIN (13,493 alt.) on the west, HAYDEN MOUNTAIN (13,100 alt.) on the south, and CASCADE MOUNTAIN (12,100 alt.) to the northwest. To the east, extending upward to the crest of the range, is a great natural amphitheater, part of the Ouray State Game Refuge. Densely wooded, but with many small parks, it is easily accessible on foot. Years ago the area was stocked with elk. Many are now so tame that they often wander along the streets of the town and through back yards, occasionally getting their antlers entangled in the family wash. — Colorado, A Guide To the Highest State (WPA, 1941) Spring in the Rockies can be like a good relationship going through a long break up. At first the snow piles high and everything is transformed and clean white. It’s all beautiful, new, exciting and fresh. Eventually the romance begins to fade, new fallen snow is more of a hassle to shovel and plow than a joy to see. Then it melts off, leaving things uglier, slushier, muddier than they were to begin with. Then it snows again, like a desperate one nighter, trying to reclaim a bit of winter’s passion. But it quickly flees again, it wasn’t meant to be and it leaves another dirty, slushy mess behind. And it will happen again, another quickie snowstorm before summer officially arrives — final break-up sex if you will. If you’ve ever lived through a Western winter and spring — or a really long and tedious break up — you know what I mean. *** KC O’Connor is a Guide to Wyoming for The American Guide. He’s a writer and photographer based in Lander, Wyoming. Follow him on Tumblr and Twitter.
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OURAY, COLORADO - SLUSHY SEASON or THE LONG, SLOW BREAK-UP

OURAY, 37 m. (7,800 alt., 707 pop.), seat of Ouray County, named for the great Ute chief, lies pocketed in a pear-shaped valley, with WHITE HOUSE MOUNTAIN (13,493 alt.) on the west, HAYDEN MOUNTAIN (13,100 alt.) on the south, and CASCADE MOUNTAIN (12,100 alt.) to the northwest. To the east, extending upward to the crest of the range, is a great natural amphitheater, part of the Ouray State Game Refuge. Densely wooded, but with many small parks, it is easily accessible on foot. Years ago the area was stocked with elk. Many are now so tame that they often wander along the streets of the town and through back yards, occasionally getting their antlers entangled in the family wash.

— Colorado, A Guide To the Highest State (WPA, 1941)

Spring in the Rockies can be like a good relationship going through a long break up. At first the snow piles high and everything is transformed and clean white. It’s all beautiful, new, exciting and fresh. Eventually the romance begins to fade, new fallen snow is more of a hassle to shovel and plow than a joy to see. Then it melts off, leaving things uglier, slushier, muddier than they were to begin with. Then it snows again, like a desperate one nighter, trying to reclaim a bit of winter’s passion. But it quickly flees again, it wasn’t meant to be and it leaves another dirty, slushy mess behind. And it will happen again, another quickie snowstorm before summer officially arrives — final break-up sex if you will.

If you’ve ever lived through a Western winter and spring — or a really long and tedious break up — you know what I mean.

***

KC O’Connor is a Guide to Wyoming for The American Guide. He’s a writer and photographer based in Lander, Wyoming. Follow him on Tumblr and Twitter.

THE PINTO BEAN CAPITAL OF THE WORLD In his younger days Zane Grey, writer of western fiction, lived for a time in Dove Creek, and much of his novel Riders of the Purple Sage is said to have been written here. There are several elderly townsfolk who identify themselves with characters in the book. - Colorado, A Guide To the Highest State (WPA, 1941) Dove Creek, Colorado is the Pinto Bean Capital of the World.  The biggest landmark near the town is an enormous bean elevator that can be seen from miles around. * * * Amadee Ricketts is an At-Large Guide to the West. She’s worked as a cemetary groundskeeper, a shoeshine valet, and a bill collector. More recently, she’s been a children’s librarian in five states. She takes a lot of pictures and lives near Durango, CO. You can see her photos at textless.tumblr.com.
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THE PINTO BEAN CAPITAL OF THE WORLD In his younger days Zane Grey, writer of western fiction, lived for a time in Dove Creek, and much of his novel Riders of the Purple Sage is said to have been written here. There are several elderly townsfolk who identify themselves with characters in the book. - Colorado, A Guide To the Highest State (WPA, 1941) Dove Creek, Colorado is the Pinto Bean Capital of the World.  The biggest landmark near the town is an enormous bean elevator that can be seen from miles around. * * * Amadee Ricketts is an At-Large Guide to the West. She’s worked as a cemetary groundskeeper, a shoeshine valet, and a bill collector. More recently, she’s been a children’s librarian in five states. She takes a lot of pictures and lives near Durango, CO. You can see her photos at textless.tumblr.com.
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THE PINTO BEAN CAPITAL OF THE WORLD In his younger days Zane Grey, writer of western fiction, lived for a time in Dove Creek, and much of his novel Riders of the Purple Sage is said to have been written here. There are several elderly townsfolk who identify themselves with characters in the book. - Colorado, A Guide To the Highest State (WPA, 1941) Dove Creek, Colorado is the Pinto Bean Capital of the World.  The biggest landmark near the town is an enormous bean elevator that can be seen from miles around. * * * Amadee Ricketts is an At-Large Guide to the West. She’s worked as a cemetary groundskeeper, a shoeshine valet, and a bill collector. More recently, she’s been a children’s librarian in five states. She takes a lot of pictures and lives near Durango, CO. You can see her photos at textless.tumblr.com.
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THE PINTO BEAN CAPITAL OF THE WORLD In his younger days Zane Grey, writer of western fiction, lived for a time in Dove Creek, and much of his novel Riders of the Purple Sage is said to have been written here. There are several elderly townsfolk who identify themselves with characters in the book. - Colorado, A Guide To the Highest State (WPA, 1941) Dove Creek, Colorado is the Pinto Bean Capital of the World.  The biggest landmark near the town is an enormous bean elevator that can be seen from miles around. * * * Amadee Ricketts is an At-Large Guide to the West. She’s worked as a cemetary groundskeeper, a shoeshine valet, and a bill collector. More recently, she’s been a children’s librarian in five states. She takes a lot of pictures and lives near Durango, CO. You can see her photos at textless.tumblr.com.
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THE PINTO BEAN CAPITAL OF THE WORLD In his younger days Zane Grey, writer of western fiction, lived for a time in Dove Creek, and much of his novel Riders of the Purple Sage is said to have been written here. There are several elderly townsfolk who identify themselves with characters in the book. - Colorado, A Guide To the Highest State (WPA, 1941) Dove Creek, Colorado is the Pinto Bean Capital of the World.  The biggest landmark near the town is an enormous bean elevator that can be seen from miles around. * * * Amadee Ricketts is an At-Large Guide to the West. She’s worked as a cemetary groundskeeper, a shoeshine valet, and a bill collector. More recently, she’s been a children’s librarian in five states. She takes a lot of pictures and lives near Durango, CO. You can see her photos at textless.tumblr.com.
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THE PINTO BEAN CAPITAL OF THE WORLD In his younger days Zane Grey, writer of western fiction, lived for a time in Dove Creek, and much of his novel Riders of the Purple Sage is said to have been written here. There are several elderly townsfolk who identify themselves with characters in the book. - Colorado, A Guide To the Highest State (WPA, 1941) Dove Creek, Colorado is the Pinto Bean Capital of the World.  The biggest landmark near the town is an enormous bean elevator that can be seen from miles around. * * * Amadee Ricketts is an At-Large Guide to the West. She’s worked as a cemetary groundskeeper, a shoeshine valet, and a bill collector. More recently, she’s been a children’s librarian in five states. She takes a lot of pictures and lives near Durango, CO. You can see her photos at textless.tumblr.com.
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THE PINTO BEAN CAPITAL OF THE WORLD

In his younger days Zane Grey, writer of western fiction, lived for a time in Dove Creek, and much of his novel Riders of the Purple Sage is said to have been written here. There are several elderly townsfolk who identify themselves with characters in the book.

- Colorado, A Guide To the Highest State (WPA, 1941)

Dove Creek, Colorado is the Pinto Bean Capital of the World.  The biggest landmark near the town is an enormous bean elevator that can be seen from miles around.

* * *

Amadee Ricketts is an At-Large Guide to the West. She’s worked as a cemetary groundskeeper, a shoeshine valet, and a bill collector. More recently, she’s been a children’s librarian in five states. She takes a lot of pictures and lives near Durango, CO. You can see her photos at textless.tumblr.com.

MEDINA, OHIO An unusually attractive farming community is MEDINA, 29.7 m. (1,086 alt., 4,345 pop.), first called Mecca. … Building materials and furnaces are made here, but Medina is best known for its bee culture and honey products. It calls itself the sweetest town on earth. — The Ohio Guide (WPA, 1940) * * * Zak Long is a State Guide to California and his home state of Ohio.  Born in Cleveland, OH, and now residing in San Francisco, CA,  much of his photography and videography explore first hand accounts of American rail travel. You can follow him on his personal Tumblr, zaklong.tumblr.com, and also on UC Research.
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MEDINA, OHIO

An unusually attractive farming community is MEDINA, 29.7 m. (1,086 alt., 4,345 pop.), first called Mecca. … Building materials and furnaces are made here, but Medina is best known for its bee culture and honey products. It calls itself the sweetest town on earth.

— The Ohio Guide (WPA, 1940)

* * *

Zak Long is a State Guide to California and his home state of Ohio.  Born in Cleveland, OH, and now residing in San Francisco, CA,  much of his photography and videography explore first hand accounts of American rail travel. You can follow him on his personal Tumblr, zaklong.tumblr.com, and also on UC Research.

PENN HILLS, PENNSYLVANIA  Penn Hills, Pennsylvania is a community in transition. As a first-ring suburb, it currently faces issues of population loss and aging infrastructure. And how innovative its municipal government can be with its limited resources will greatly determine how Penn Hills will move forward. The neighborhood of Lincoln Park’s place in Penn Hills is even more precarious. Most recently, for example, the residents of Lincoln Park defeated a redistricting measure that would have taken their neighborhood out of Penn Hills and moved it into a poorer, adjacent district. Despite these challenges, what remains special about Penn Hills is its vibrant community, and residents who have a strong sense of civic pride. - Into the Wild: Santiago Street -  When I parked my car at the end of Santiago Street in Lincoln Park, I half expected to find a cul-de-sac devoid of houses. That’s because days earlier, during a conversation with Chris Blackwell, principal planner from the Penn Hills Department of Planning and Economic Development, he told me how his department had demolished nearly all the street’s blighted properties in recent years. “There’s almost nothing left down there,” he said. “Almost” was the key word. Once a quiet suburban cul-de-sac that boasted upwards of 20 or more homes, the housing stock on Santiago has dwindled to almost nothing in the last two decades. Today only four houses remain on the street. Two are vacant, with broken windows and kicked-in garage doors, weeds sprouting from gutters and trash bags lying heaped in the driveways. Two are not. In one of the homes that appeared to be inhabited, I heard a TV set blaring and could see the dull glow of its screen. There were no signs of people, however. Allegheny County assessment records show that a man named Martin Lloyd owns the home. I would have walked the steep staircase leading to the front door, knocked and introduced myself explaining that I was a journalist working on a story, but for whatever reason, my fear won out. Maybe it was my knowledge of Lincoln Park’s sordid history that gave me pause, or knowing that people who live in isolated areas sometimes do so for a reason. However unfounded my fear may have been, I listened to instinct. Instead I walked the empty street taking photographs, waiting to see some signs of life. When I returned to my car, I opened my notepad and jotted down house numbers. The legacy of Santiago Street and its near-death is most likely tied to foreclosures or owner abandonment that took place sometime back in the 1990s, Blackwell said. He assured me it had nothing to do with the recent string of mortgage foreclosures that have plagued the Pennsylvania suburb in the wake of the Great Recession. Regardless of how it came to be, the municipality of Penn Hills — where Santiago Street is located — now owns much of the vacant property. Santiago Street is located off Mount Carmel Road and dead-ended on one side by a massive property housing a demolition and excavation company. That essentially makes Santiago Street, and its surrounding streets and alleyways, their own micro-province. That day the tall weeds lining the hillside at the end of Santiago swayed like prairie grass, moved by the warm August breeze. Wild rabbits darted back and forth between overgrown hedges. In the near distance, beyond a sign that discouraged dumping trash or parking your car, I heard two dogs howl, followed by a man’s voice that occasionally yelled to quiet them. But still I saw no one. * * * Matthew Newton is a writer, journalist and editor from Western Pennsylvania. His writing has appeared in The Atlantic, Esquire, Forbes and Guernica, among other publications. He’s currently at work on No Place For Disgrace, a series of nonfiction stories about the life and death of the suburban dream. You can find him on his website blog.matthewnewton.us, or at the journal he founded, Annals of Americus.
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PENN HILLS, PENNSYLVANIA  Penn Hills, Pennsylvania is a community in transition. As a first-ring suburb, it currently faces issues of population loss and aging infrastructure. And how innovative its municipal government can be with its limited resources will greatly determine how Penn Hills will move forward. The neighborhood of Lincoln Park’s place in Penn Hills is even more precarious. Most recently, for example, the residents of Lincoln Park defeated a redistricting measure that would have taken their neighborhood out of Penn Hills and moved it into a poorer, adjacent district. Despite these challenges, what remains special about Penn Hills is its vibrant community, and residents who have a strong sense of civic pride. - Into the Wild: Santiago Street -  When I parked my car at the end of Santiago Street in Lincoln Park, I half expected to find a cul-de-sac devoid of houses. That’s because days earlier, during a conversation with Chris Blackwell, principal planner from the Penn Hills Department of Planning and Economic Development, he told me how his department had demolished nearly all the street’s blighted properties in recent years. “There’s almost nothing left down there,” he said. “Almost” was the key word. Once a quiet suburban cul-de-sac that boasted upwards of 20 or more homes, the housing stock on Santiago has dwindled to almost nothing in the last two decades. Today only four houses remain on the street. Two are vacant, with broken windows and kicked-in garage doors, weeds sprouting from gutters and trash bags lying heaped in the driveways. Two are not. In one of the homes that appeared to be inhabited, I heard a TV set blaring and could see the dull glow of its screen. There were no signs of people, however. Allegheny County assessment records show that a man named Martin Lloyd owns the home. I would have walked the steep staircase leading to the front door, knocked and introduced myself explaining that I was a journalist working on a story, but for whatever reason, my fear won out. Maybe it was my knowledge of Lincoln Park’s sordid history that gave me pause, or knowing that people who live in isolated areas sometimes do so for a reason. However unfounded my fear may have been, I listened to instinct. Instead I walked the empty street taking photographs, waiting to see some signs of life. When I returned to my car, I opened my notepad and jotted down house numbers. The legacy of Santiago Street and its near-death is most likely tied to foreclosures or owner abandonment that took place sometime back in the 1990s, Blackwell said. He assured me it had nothing to do with the recent string of mortgage foreclosures that have plagued the Pennsylvania suburb in the wake of the Great Recession. Regardless of how it came to be, the municipality of Penn Hills — where Santiago Street is located — now owns much of the vacant property. Santiago Street is located off Mount Carmel Road and dead-ended on one side by a massive property housing a demolition and excavation company. That essentially makes Santiago Street, and its surrounding streets and alleyways, their own micro-province. That day the tall weeds lining the hillside at the end of Santiago swayed like prairie grass, moved by the warm August breeze. Wild rabbits darted back and forth between overgrown hedges. In the near distance, beyond a sign that discouraged dumping trash or parking your car, I heard two dogs howl, followed by a man’s voice that occasionally yelled to quiet them. But still I saw no one. * * * Matthew Newton is a writer, journalist and editor from Western Pennsylvania. His writing has appeared in The Atlantic, Esquire, Forbes and Guernica, among other publications. He’s currently at work on No Place For Disgrace, a series of nonfiction stories about the life and death of the suburban dream. You can find him on his website blog.matthewnewton.us, or at the journal he founded, Annals of Americus.
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PENN HILLS, PENNSYLVANIA  Penn Hills, Pennsylvania is a community in transition. As a first-ring suburb, it currently faces issues of population loss and aging infrastructure. And how innovative its municipal government can be with its limited resources will greatly determine how Penn Hills will move forward. The neighborhood of Lincoln Park’s place in Penn Hills is even more precarious. Most recently, for example, the residents of Lincoln Park defeated a redistricting measure that would have taken their neighborhood out of Penn Hills and moved it into a poorer, adjacent district. Despite these challenges, what remains special about Penn Hills is its vibrant community, and residents who have a strong sense of civic pride. - Into the Wild: Santiago Street -  When I parked my car at the end of Santiago Street in Lincoln Park, I half expected to find a cul-de-sac devoid of houses. That’s because days earlier, during a conversation with Chris Blackwell, principal planner from the Penn Hills Department of Planning and Economic Development, he told me how his department had demolished nearly all the street’s blighted properties in recent years. “There’s almost nothing left down there,” he said. “Almost” was the key word. Once a quiet suburban cul-de-sac that boasted upwards of 20 or more homes, the housing stock on Santiago has dwindled to almost nothing in the last two decades. Today only four houses remain on the street. Two are vacant, with broken windows and kicked-in garage doors, weeds sprouting from gutters and trash bags lying heaped in the driveways. Two are not. In one of the homes that appeared to be inhabited, I heard a TV set blaring and could see the dull glow of its screen. There were no signs of people, however. Allegheny County assessment records show that a man named Martin Lloyd owns the home. I would have walked the steep staircase leading to the front door, knocked and introduced myself explaining that I was a journalist working on a story, but for whatever reason, my fear won out. Maybe it was my knowledge of Lincoln Park’s sordid history that gave me pause, or knowing that people who live in isolated areas sometimes do so for a reason. However unfounded my fear may have been, I listened to instinct. Instead I walked the empty street taking photographs, waiting to see some signs of life. When I returned to my car, I opened my notepad and jotted down house numbers. The legacy of Santiago Street and its near-death is most likely tied to foreclosures or owner abandonment that took place sometime back in the 1990s, Blackwell said. He assured me it had nothing to do with the recent string of mortgage foreclosures that have plagued the Pennsylvania suburb in the wake of the Great Recession. Regardless of how it came to be, the municipality of Penn Hills — where Santiago Street is located — now owns much of the vacant property. Santiago Street is located off Mount Carmel Road and dead-ended on one side by a massive property housing a demolition and excavation company. That essentially makes Santiago Street, and its surrounding streets and alleyways, their own micro-province. That day the tall weeds lining the hillside at the end of Santiago swayed like prairie grass, moved by the warm August breeze. Wild rabbits darted back and forth between overgrown hedges. In the near distance, beyond a sign that discouraged dumping trash or parking your car, I heard two dogs howl, followed by a man’s voice that occasionally yelled to quiet them. But still I saw no one. * * * Matthew Newton is a writer, journalist and editor from Western Pennsylvania. His writing has appeared in The Atlantic, Esquire, Forbes and Guernica, among other publications. He’s currently at work on No Place For Disgrace, a series of nonfiction stories about the life and death of the suburban dream. You can find him on his website blog.matthewnewton.us, or at the journal he founded, Annals of Americus.
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PENN HILLS, PENNSYLVANIA  Penn Hills, Pennsylvania is a community in transition. As a first-ring suburb, it currently faces issues of population loss and aging infrastructure. And how innovative its municipal government can be with its limited resources will greatly determine how Penn Hills will move forward. The neighborhood of Lincoln Park’s place in Penn Hills is even more precarious. Most recently, for example, the residents of Lincoln Park defeated a redistricting measure that would have taken their neighborhood out of Penn Hills and moved it into a poorer, adjacent district. Despite these challenges, what remains special about Penn Hills is its vibrant community, and residents who have a strong sense of civic pride. - Into the Wild: Santiago Street -  When I parked my car at the end of Santiago Street in Lincoln Park, I half expected to find a cul-de-sac devoid of houses. That’s because days earlier, during a conversation with Chris Blackwell, principal planner from the Penn Hills Department of Planning and Economic Development, he told me how his department had demolished nearly all the street’s blighted properties in recent years. “There’s almost nothing left down there,” he said. “Almost” was the key word. Once a quiet suburban cul-de-sac that boasted upwards of 20 or more homes, the housing stock on Santiago has dwindled to almost nothing in the last two decades. Today only four houses remain on the street. Two are vacant, with broken windows and kicked-in garage doors, weeds sprouting from gutters and trash bags lying heaped in the driveways. Two are not. In one of the homes that appeared to be inhabited, I heard a TV set blaring and could see the dull glow of its screen. There were no signs of people, however. Allegheny County assessment records show that a man named Martin Lloyd owns the home. I would have walked the steep staircase leading to the front door, knocked and introduced myself explaining that I was a journalist working on a story, but for whatever reason, my fear won out. Maybe it was my knowledge of Lincoln Park’s sordid history that gave me pause, or knowing that people who live in isolated areas sometimes do so for a reason. However unfounded my fear may have been, I listened to instinct. Instead I walked the empty street taking photographs, waiting to see some signs of life. When I returned to my car, I opened my notepad and jotted down house numbers. The legacy of Santiago Street and its near-death is most likely tied to foreclosures or owner abandonment that took place sometime back in the 1990s, Blackwell said. He assured me it had nothing to do with the recent string of mortgage foreclosures that have plagued the Pennsylvania suburb in the wake of the Great Recession. Regardless of how it came to be, the municipality of Penn Hills — where Santiago Street is located — now owns much of the vacant property. Santiago Street is located off Mount Carmel Road and dead-ended on one side by a massive property housing a demolition and excavation company. That essentially makes Santiago Street, and its surrounding streets and alleyways, their own micro-province. That day the tall weeds lining the hillside at the end of Santiago swayed like prairie grass, moved by the warm August breeze. Wild rabbits darted back and forth between overgrown hedges. In the near distance, beyond a sign that discouraged dumping trash or parking your car, I heard two dogs howl, followed by a man’s voice that occasionally yelled to quiet them. But still I saw no one. * * * Matthew Newton is a writer, journalist and editor from Western Pennsylvania. His writing has appeared in The Atlantic, Esquire, Forbes and Guernica, among other publications. He’s currently at work on No Place For Disgrace, a series of nonfiction stories about the life and death of the suburban dream. You can find him on his website blog.matthewnewton.us, or at the journal he founded, Annals of Americus.
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PENN HILLS, PENNSYLVANIA 

Penn Hills, Pennsylvania is a community in transition. As a first-ring suburb, it currently faces issues of population loss and aging infrastructure. And how innovative its municipal government can be with its limited resources will greatly determine how Penn Hills will move forward. The neighborhood of Lincoln Park’s place in Penn Hills is even more precarious. Most recently, for example, the residents of Lincoln Park defeated a redistricting measure that would have taken their neighborhood out of Penn Hills and moved it into a poorer, adjacent district. Despite these challenges, what remains special about Penn Hills is its vibrant community, and residents who have a strong sense of civic pride.

- Into the Wild: Santiago Street - 

When I parked my car at the end of Santiago Street in Lincoln Park, I half expected to find a cul-de-sac devoid of houses. That’s because days earlier, during a conversation with Chris Blackwell, principal planner from the Penn Hills Department of Planning and Economic Development, he told me how his department had demolished nearly all the street’s blighted properties in recent years. “There’s almost nothing left down there,” he said. “Almost” was the key word.

Once a quiet suburban cul-de-sac that boasted upwards of 20 or more homes, the housing stock on Santiago has dwindled to almost nothing in the last two decades. Today only four houses remain on the street. Two are vacant, with broken windows and kicked-in garage doors, weeds sprouting from gutters and trash bags lying heaped in the driveways. Two are not.

In one of the homes that appeared to be inhabited, I heard a TV set blaring and could see the dull glow of its screen. There were no signs of people, however. Allegheny County assessment records show that a man named Martin Lloyd owns the home. I would have walked the steep staircase leading to the front door, knocked and introduced myself explaining that I was a journalist working on a story, but for whatever reason, my fear won out. Maybe it was my knowledge of Lincoln Park’s sordid history that gave me pause, or knowing that people who live in isolated areas sometimes do so for a reason. However unfounded my fear may have been, I listened to instinct. Instead I walked the empty street taking photographs, waiting to see some signs of life. When I returned to my car, I opened my notepad and jotted down house numbers.

The legacy of Santiago Street and its near-death is most likely tied to foreclosures or owner abandonment that took place sometime back in the 1990s, Blackwell said. He assured me it had nothing to do with the recent string of mortgage foreclosures that have plagued the Pennsylvania suburb in the wake of the Great Recession. Regardless of how it came to be, the municipality of Penn Hills — where Santiago Street is located — now owns much of the vacant property.

Santiago Street is located off Mount Carmel Road and dead-ended on one side by a massive property housing a demolition and excavation company. That essentially makes Santiago Street, and its surrounding streets and alleyways, their own micro-province. That day the tall weeds lining the hillside at the end of Santiago swayed like prairie grass, moved by the warm August breeze. Wild rabbits darted back and forth between overgrown hedges. In the near distance, beyond a sign that discouraged dumping trash or parking your car, I heard two dogs howl, followed by a man’s voice that occasionally yelled to quiet them. But still I saw no one.

* * *

Matthew Newton is a writer, journalist and editor from Western Pennsylvania. His writing has appeared in The Atlantic, Esquire, Forbes and Guernica, among other publications. He’s currently at work on No Place For Disgrace, a series of nonfiction stories about the life and death of the suburban dream. You can find him on his website blog.matthewnewton.us, or at the journal he founded, Annals of Americus.

ABROAD If Alexis de Tocqueville was born about 175 years later, chronicled his American travels with a camera rather than a pen, and focused more on motel signage than the nation’s equality of social condition, he might well be reincarnated in photographer Stéphane Goin. Stéphane visits the States year after year, taking pictures of our fast-disappearing, neon-slashed, tail-finned, two-lane-blacktop’ed panorama. For this special dispatch from France he shares some snaps from his travels and his thoughts on what draws him to our long stretches of land.  15,000 miles on the road … stopping off 11, 12, 13 times, heading off again as many times. Crossing 36, 37, 38 States, fingers trigger-happy, exhilarated at the idea of capturing the American dream…  It is here, overwhelmed by the vastness of it all and, above all, mesmerised by the road so vividly conveyed by Kerouac, that colour, space, a sense of infinity, really came home to me. My subsequent chance encounters with the work of Stephen Shore, Jim Dow, William Eggleston, Robert Franck and countless others, inspired me to go off and follow in their footsteps. I wanted to see, after so many years, whether the places in their work still existed. I wanted to see for myself that particular light, experience that mood.  Cinema was naturally a huge influence, with Wim Wenders’ “Paris Texas” and “Don’t Come Knocking” leading the way.  Gradually, my project took shape under the working title “Mad(e) in USA”. It matured over several years as the people and smiling faces I encountered allowed me to put my finger on the charm of this continent, to grasp the reasons for its legendary attraction.  From the Lorraine Motel in Memphis to the hot rod races on the Great Salt Lake, I developed a fascination with these wild open spaces, this intensity and these distances… There are, without doubt, a few cultural differences, but for a European brought up to the sound of rock ‘n roll and fed on sitcoms such as “Happy Days”, touching down on American soil is far from being a cultural shock. For me, it was more of a revelation.  My next trip, next August, will take me to the Midwest and, if all goes to plan, I should bring back a few great souvenir photos … we’ll just have to wait and see. * * * Stéphane Goin may soon drop by your town. Buy him a cup of coffee if you see him. Until then, follow him on tumblr at  Mad(e) in USA  and 15000 Miles. 
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ABROAD If Alexis de Tocqueville was born about 175 years later, chronicled his American travels with a camera rather than a pen, and focused more on motel signage than the nation’s equality of social condition, he might well be reincarnated in photographer Stéphane Goin. Stéphane visits the States year after year, taking pictures of our fast-disappearing, neon-slashed, tail-finned, two-lane-blacktop’ed panorama. For this special dispatch from France he shares some snaps from his travels and his thoughts on what draws him to our long stretches of land.  15,000 miles on the road … stopping off 11, 12, 13 times, heading off again as many times. Crossing 36, 37, 38 States, fingers trigger-happy, exhilarated at the idea of capturing the American dream…  It is here, overwhelmed by the vastness of it all and, above all, mesmerised by the road so vividly conveyed by Kerouac, that colour, space, a sense of infinity, really came home to me. My subsequent chance encounters with the work of Stephen Shore, Jim Dow, William Eggleston, Robert Franck and countless others, inspired me to go off and follow in their footsteps. I wanted to see, after so many years, whether the places in their work still existed. I wanted to see for myself that particular light, experience that mood.  Cinema was naturally a huge influence, with Wim Wenders’ “Paris Texas” and “Don’t Come Knocking” leading the way.  Gradually, my project took shape under the working title “Mad(e) in USA”. It matured over several years as the people and smiling faces I encountered allowed me to put my finger on the charm of this continent, to grasp the reasons for its legendary attraction.  From the Lorraine Motel in Memphis to the hot rod races on the Great Salt Lake, I developed a fascination with these wild open spaces, this intensity and these distances… There are, without doubt, a few cultural differences, but for a European brought up to the sound of rock ‘n roll and fed on sitcoms such as “Happy Days”, touching down on American soil is far from being a cultural shock. For me, it was more of a revelation.  My next trip, next August, will take me to the Midwest and, if all goes to plan, I should bring back a few great souvenir photos … we’ll just have to wait and see. * * * Stéphane Goin may soon drop by your town. Buy him a cup of coffee if you see him. Until then, follow him on tumblr at  Mad(e) in USA  and 15000 Miles. 
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ABROAD

If Alexis de Tocqueville was born about 175 years later, chronicled his American travels with a camera rather than a pen, and focused more on motel signage than the nation’s equality of social condition, he might well be reincarnated in photographer Stéphane Goin. Stéphane visits the States year after year, taking pictures of our fast-disappearing, neon-slashed, tail-finned, two-lane-blacktop’ed panorama. For this special dispatch from France he shares some snaps from his travels and his thoughts on what draws him to our long stretches of land. 

15,000 miles on the road … stopping off 11, 12, 13 times, heading off again as many times. Crossing 36, 37, 38 States, fingers trigger-happy, exhilarated at the idea of capturing the American dream… 

It is here, overwhelmed by the vastness of it all and, above all, mesmerised by the road so vividly conveyed by Kerouac, that colour, space, a sense of infinity, really came home to me. My subsequent chance encounters with the work of Stephen Shore, Jim Dow, William Eggleston, Robert Franck and countless others, inspired me to go off and follow in their footsteps. I wanted to see, after so many years, whether the places in their work still existed. I wanted to see for myself that particular light, experience that mood. 

Cinema was naturally a huge influence, with Wim Wenders’ “Paris Texas” and “Don’t Come Knocking” leading the way. 

Gradually, my project took shape under the working title “Mad(e) in USA”. It matured over several years as the people and smiling faces I encountered allowed me to put my finger on the charm of this continent, to grasp the reasons for its legendary attraction. 

From the Lorraine Motel in Memphis to the hot rod races on the Great Salt Lake, I developed a fascination with these wild open spaces, this intensity and these distances… There are, without doubt, a few cultural differences, but for a European brought up to the sound of rock ‘n roll and fed on sitcoms such as “Happy Days”, touching down on American soil is far from being a cultural shock. For me, it was more of a revelation. 

My next trip, next August, will take me to the Midwest and, if all goes to plan, I should bring back a few great souvenir photos … we’ll just have to wait and see.

* * *

Stéphane Goin may soon drop by your town. Buy him a cup of coffee if you see him. Until then, follow him on tumblr at  Mad(e) in USA  and 15000 Miles. 

WEMINUCHE WILDERNESS  “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity….”-John Muir Tucked away in the mountains of the San Juan and Rio Grande national forests in southwest Colorado is the Weminuche Wilderness, the state’s largest wilderness area. The Weminuche was officially designated as a protected wilderness in 1975, under the 1964 Wilderness Act’s National Wilderness Preservation System.  It was added to in 1980 and again in 1993. At just under 500,000 acres (the entire state of Rhode Island is 776,957 acres by comparison) the Weminuche Wilderness is a rugged and nearly roadless expanse of untamed mountains and forest crisscrossed by nearly 500 miles of trails and 63 cirque lakes. The Colorado Trail crosses for 21 miles on its way to Denver, and the world famous Continental Divide Trail runs through the Weminuche for almost 80 miles of its 3,100 mile run between Mexico and Canada. Of the 53 ‘fourteeners’ (mountains 14,000 feet or above) in Colorado, three of them reside within the Weminuche Wilderness.  The average elevation for the area runs about 10,000 feet, making this area as difficult as it is scenic. Link: NWPS map   * * * At-Large Guide to the West JAMES ORNDORF was born in Minnesota, but knew at a very young age that the future lay out west. He is currently photographing and illustrating outside of Durango, Colorado. You can see what he’s up to at inlandwest.tumblr.com and roughshelter.com.
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WEMINUCHE WILDERNESS  “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity….”-John Muir Tucked away in the mountains of the San Juan and Rio Grande national forests in southwest Colorado is the Weminuche Wilderness, the state’s largest wilderness area. The Weminuche was officially designated as a protected wilderness in 1975, under the 1964 Wilderness Act’s National Wilderness Preservation System.  It was added to in 1980 and again in 1993. At just under 500,000 acres (the entire state of Rhode Island is 776,957 acres by comparison) the Weminuche Wilderness is a rugged and nearly roadless expanse of untamed mountains and forest crisscrossed by nearly 500 miles of trails and 63 cirque lakes. The Colorado Trail crosses for 21 miles on its way to Denver, and the world famous Continental Divide Trail runs through the Weminuche for almost 80 miles of its 3,100 mile run between Mexico and Canada. Of the 53 ‘fourteeners’ (mountains 14,000 feet or above) in Colorado, three of them reside within the Weminuche Wilderness.  The average elevation for the area runs about 10,000 feet, making this area as difficult as it is scenic. Link: NWPS map   * * * At-Large Guide to the West JAMES ORNDORF was born in Minnesota, but knew at a very young age that the future lay out west. He is currently photographing and illustrating outside of Durango, Colorado. You can see what he’s up to at inlandwest.tumblr.com and roughshelter.com.
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WEMINUCHE WILDERNESS  “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity….”-John Muir Tucked away in the mountains of the San Juan and Rio Grande national forests in southwest Colorado is the Weminuche Wilderness, the state’s largest wilderness area. The Weminuche was officially designated as a protected wilderness in 1975, under the 1964 Wilderness Act’s National Wilderness Preservation System.  It was added to in 1980 and again in 1993. At just under 500,000 acres (the entire state of Rhode Island is 776,957 acres by comparison) the Weminuche Wilderness is a rugged and nearly roadless expanse of untamed mountains and forest crisscrossed by nearly 500 miles of trails and 63 cirque lakes. The Colorado Trail crosses for 21 miles on its way to Denver, and the world famous Continental Divide Trail runs through the Weminuche for almost 80 miles of its 3,100 mile run between Mexico and Canada. Of the 53 ‘fourteeners’ (mountains 14,000 feet or above) in Colorado, three of them reside within the Weminuche Wilderness.  The average elevation for the area runs about 10,000 feet, making this area as difficult as it is scenic. Link: NWPS map   * * * At-Large Guide to the West JAMES ORNDORF was born in Minnesota, but knew at a very young age that the future lay out west. He is currently photographing and illustrating outside of Durango, Colorado. You can see what he’s up to at inlandwest.tumblr.com and roughshelter.com.
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WEMINUCHE WILDERNESS  “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity….”-John Muir Tucked away in the mountains of the San Juan and Rio Grande national forests in southwest Colorado is the Weminuche Wilderness, the state’s largest wilderness area. The Weminuche was officially designated as a protected wilderness in 1975, under the 1964 Wilderness Act’s National Wilderness Preservation System.  It was added to in 1980 and again in 1993. At just under 500,000 acres (the entire state of Rhode Island is 776,957 acres by comparison) the Weminuche Wilderness is a rugged and nearly roadless expanse of untamed mountains and forest crisscrossed by nearly 500 miles of trails and 63 cirque lakes. The Colorado Trail crosses for 21 miles on its way to Denver, and the world famous Continental Divide Trail runs through the Weminuche for almost 80 miles of its 3,100 mile run between Mexico and Canada. Of the 53 ‘fourteeners’ (mountains 14,000 feet or above) in Colorado, three of them reside within the Weminuche Wilderness.  The average elevation for the area runs about 10,000 feet, making this area as difficult as it is scenic. Link: NWPS map   * * * At-Large Guide to the West JAMES ORNDORF was born in Minnesota, but knew at a very young age that the future lay out west. He is currently photographing and illustrating outside of Durango, Colorado. You can see what he’s up to at inlandwest.tumblr.com and roughshelter.com.
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WEMINUCHE WILDERNESS  “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity….”-John Muir Tucked away in the mountains of the San Juan and Rio Grande national forests in southwest Colorado is the Weminuche Wilderness, the state’s largest wilderness area. The Weminuche was officially designated as a protected wilderness in 1975, under the 1964 Wilderness Act’s National Wilderness Preservation System.  It was added to in 1980 and again in 1993. At just under 500,000 acres (the entire state of Rhode Island is 776,957 acres by comparison) the Weminuche Wilderness is a rugged and nearly roadless expanse of untamed mountains and forest crisscrossed by nearly 500 miles of trails and 63 cirque lakes. The Colorado Trail crosses for 21 miles on its way to Denver, and the world famous Continental Divide Trail runs through the Weminuche for almost 80 miles of its 3,100 mile run between Mexico and Canada. Of the 53 ‘fourteeners’ (mountains 14,000 feet or above) in Colorado, three of them reside within the Weminuche Wilderness.  The average elevation for the area runs about 10,000 feet, making this area as difficult as it is scenic. Link: NWPS map   * * * At-Large Guide to the West JAMES ORNDORF was born in Minnesota, but knew at a very young age that the future lay out west. He is currently photographing and illustrating outside of Durango, Colorado. You can see what he’s up to at inlandwest.tumblr.com and roughshelter.com.
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WEMINUCHE WILDERNESS  “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity….”-John Muir Tucked away in the mountains of the San Juan and Rio Grande national forests in southwest Colorado is the Weminuche Wilderness, the state’s largest wilderness area. The Weminuche was officially designated as a protected wilderness in 1975, under the 1964 Wilderness Act’s National Wilderness Preservation System.  It was added to in 1980 and again in 1993. At just under 500,000 acres (the entire state of Rhode Island is 776,957 acres by comparison) the Weminuche Wilderness is a rugged and nearly roadless expanse of untamed mountains and forest crisscrossed by nearly 500 miles of trails and 63 cirque lakes. The Colorado Trail crosses for 21 miles on its way to Denver, and the world famous Continental Divide Trail runs through the Weminuche for almost 80 miles of its 3,100 mile run between Mexico and Canada. Of the 53 ‘fourteeners’ (mountains 14,000 feet or above) in Colorado, three of them reside within the Weminuche Wilderness.  The average elevation for the area runs about 10,000 feet, making this area as difficult as it is scenic. Link: NWPS map   * * * At-Large Guide to the West JAMES ORNDORF was born in Minnesota, but knew at a very young age that the future lay out west. He is currently photographing and illustrating outside of Durango, Colorado. You can see what he’s up to at inlandwest.tumblr.com and roughshelter.com.
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WEMINUCHE WILDERNESS  “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity….”-John Muir Tucked away in the mountains of the San Juan and Rio Grande national forests in southwest Colorado is the Weminuche Wilderness, the state’s largest wilderness area. The Weminuche was officially designated as a protected wilderness in 1975, under the 1964 Wilderness Act’s National Wilderness Preservation System.  It was added to in 1980 and again in 1993. At just under 500,000 acres (the entire state of Rhode Island is 776,957 acres by comparison) the Weminuche Wilderness is a rugged and nearly roadless expanse of untamed mountains and forest crisscrossed by nearly 500 miles of trails and 63 cirque lakes. The Colorado Trail crosses for 21 miles on its way to Denver, and the world famous Continental Divide Trail runs through the Weminuche for almost 80 miles of its 3,100 mile run between Mexico and Canada. Of the 53 ‘fourteeners’ (mountains 14,000 feet or above) in Colorado, three of them reside within the Weminuche Wilderness.  The average elevation for the area runs about 10,000 feet, making this area as difficult as it is scenic. Link: NWPS map   * * * At-Large Guide to the West JAMES ORNDORF was born in Minnesota, but knew at a very young age that the future lay out west. He is currently photographing and illustrating outside of Durango, Colorado. You can see what he’s up to at inlandwest.tumblr.com and roughshelter.com.
Zoom Info
WEMINUCHE WILDERNESS  “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity….”-John Muir Tucked away in the mountains of the San Juan and Rio Grande national forests in southwest Colorado is the Weminuche Wilderness, the state’s largest wilderness area. The Weminuche was officially designated as a protected wilderness in 1975, under the 1964 Wilderness Act’s National Wilderness Preservation System.  It was added to in 1980 and again in 1993. At just under 500,000 acres (the entire state of Rhode Island is 776,957 acres by comparison) the Weminuche Wilderness is a rugged and nearly roadless expanse of untamed mountains and forest crisscrossed by nearly 500 miles of trails and 63 cirque lakes. The Colorado Trail crosses for 21 miles on its way to Denver, and the world famous Continental Divide Trail runs through the Weminuche for almost 80 miles of its 3,100 mile run between Mexico and Canada. Of the 53 ‘fourteeners’ (mountains 14,000 feet or above) in Colorado, three of them reside within the Weminuche Wilderness.  The average elevation for the area runs about 10,000 feet, making this area as difficult as it is scenic. Link: NWPS map   * * * At-Large Guide to the West JAMES ORNDORF was born in Minnesota, but knew at a very young age that the future lay out west. He is currently photographing and illustrating outside of Durango, Colorado. You can see what he’s up to at inlandwest.tumblr.com and roughshelter.com.
Zoom Info
WEMINUCHE WILDERNESS  “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity….”-John Muir Tucked away in the mountains of the San Juan and Rio Grande national forests in southwest Colorado is the Weminuche Wilderness, the state’s largest wilderness area. The Weminuche was officially designated as a protected wilderness in 1975, under the 1964 Wilderness Act’s National Wilderness Preservation System.  It was added to in 1980 and again in 1993. At just under 500,000 acres (the entire state of Rhode Island is 776,957 acres by comparison) the Weminuche Wilderness is a rugged and nearly roadless expanse of untamed mountains and forest crisscrossed by nearly 500 miles of trails and 63 cirque lakes. The Colorado Trail crosses for 21 miles on its way to Denver, and the world famous Continental Divide Trail runs through the Weminuche for almost 80 miles of its 3,100 mile run between Mexico and Canada. Of the 53 ‘fourteeners’ (mountains 14,000 feet or above) in Colorado, three of them reside within the Weminuche Wilderness.  The average elevation for the area runs about 10,000 feet, making this area as difficult as it is scenic. Link: NWPS map   * * * At-Large Guide to the West JAMES ORNDORF was born in Minnesota, but knew at a very young age that the future lay out west. He is currently photographing and illustrating outside of Durango, Colorado. You can see what he’s up to at inlandwest.tumblr.com and roughshelter.com.
Zoom Info
WEMINUCHE WILDERNESS  “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity….”-John Muir Tucked away in the mountains of the San Juan and Rio Grande national forests in southwest Colorado is the Weminuche Wilderness, the state’s largest wilderness area. The Weminuche was officially designated as a protected wilderness in 1975, under the 1964 Wilderness Act’s National Wilderness Preservation System.  It was added to in 1980 and again in 1993. At just under 500,000 acres (the entire state of Rhode Island is 776,957 acres by comparison) the Weminuche Wilderness is a rugged and nearly roadless expanse of untamed mountains and forest crisscrossed by nearly 500 miles of trails and 63 cirque lakes. The Colorado Trail crosses for 21 miles on its way to Denver, and the world famous Continental Divide Trail runs through the Weminuche for almost 80 miles of its 3,100 mile run between Mexico and Canada. Of the 53 ‘fourteeners’ (mountains 14,000 feet or above) in Colorado, three of them reside within the Weminuche Wilderness.  The average elevation for the area runs about 10,000 feet, making this area as difficult as it is scenic. Link: NWPS map   * * * At-Large Guide to the West JAMES ORNDORF was born in Minnesota, but knew at a very young age that the future lay out west. He is currently photographing and illustrating outside of Durango, Colorado. You can see what he’s up to at inlandwest.tumblr.com and roughshelter.com.
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WEMINUCHE WILDERNESS 

“Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity….”-John Muir

Tucked away in the mountains of the San Juan and Rio Grande national forests in southwest Colorado is the Weminuche Wilderness, the state’s largest wilderness area.

The Weminuche was officially designated as a protected wilderness in 1975, under the 1964 Wilderness Act’s National Wilderness Preservation System.  It was added to in 1980 and again in 1993.

At just under 500,000 acres (the entire state of Rhode Island is 776,957 acres by comparison) the Weminuche Wilderness is a rugged and nearly roadless expanse of untamed mountains and forest crisscrossed by nearly 500 miles of trails and 63 cirque lakes.

The Colorado Trail crosses for 21 miles on its way to Denver, and the world famous Continental Divide Trail runs through the Weminuche for almost 80 miles of its 3,100 mile run between Mexico and Canada.

Of the 53 ‘fourteeners’ (mountains 14,000 feet or above) in Colorado, three of them reside within the Weminuche Wilderness.  The average elevation for the area runs about 10,000 feet, making this area as difficult as it is scenic.

Link: NWPS map  

* * *

At-Large Guide to the West JAMES ORNDORF was born in Minnesota, but knew at a very young age that the future lay out west. He is currently photographing and illustrating outside of Durango, Colorado.

You can see what he’s up to at inlandwest.tumblr.com and roughshelter.com.

MT. DIABLO  On a hazy day in central California, Mt. Diablo can be viewed from Interstate 5 as a faint watercolor splotch on the horizon line. During the right sunset, it’s silhouetted inky black against a backdrop of pastels. If the shoulder is wide enough, feel free to pull over and marvel. Though the view on a crystal clear day can’t be beat, make an effort to visit during foggy seasons. When visibility is a mere four feet and you’re at the very edge of a vista it is pure, wonderful solitude. You can convince yourself that you’re floating, if you really try. * * * Brandon Getty is a State Guide to California, specifically the Central Valley region and his home city of Stockton. Follow on Tumblr at Maps to Stockton, on blogspot at Shooting Daggers, or on his Carbonmade Portfolio.
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MT. DIABLO  On a hazy day in central California, Mt. Diablo can be viewed from Interstate 5 as a faint watercolor splotch on the horizon line. During the right sunset, it’s silhouetted inky black against a backdrop of pastels. If the shoulder is wide enough, feel free to pull over and marvel. Though the view on a crystal clear day can’t be beat, make an effort to visit during foggy seasons. When visibility is a mere four feet and you’re at the very edge of a vista it is pure, wonderful solitude. You can convince yourself that you’re floating, if you really try. * * * Brandon Getty is a State Guide to California, specifically the Central Valley region and his home city of Stockton. Follow on Tumblr at Maps to Stockton, on blogspot at Shooting Daggers, or on his Carbonmade Portfolio.
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MT. DIABLO  On a hazy day in central California, Mt. Diablo can be viewed from Interstate 5 as a faint watercolor splotch on the horizon line. During the right sunset, it’s silhouetted inky black against a backdrop of pastels. If the shoulder is wide enough, feel free to pull over and marvel. Though the view on a crystal clear day can’t be beat, make an effort to visit during foggy seasons. When visibility is a mere four feet and you’re at the very edge of a vista it is pure, wonderful solitude. You can convince yourself that you’re floating, if you really try. * * * Brandon Getty is a State Guide to California, specifically the Central Valley region and his home city of Stockton. Follow on Tumblr at Maps to Stockton, on blogspot at Shooting Daggers, or on his Carbonmade Portfolio.
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MT. DIABLO  On a hazy day in central California, Mt. Diablo can be viewed from Interstate 5 as a faint watercolor splotch on the horizon line. During the right sunset, it’s silhouetted inky black against a backdrop of pastels. If the shoulder is wide enough, feel free to pull over and marvel. Though the view on a crystal clear day can’t be beat, make an effort to visit during foggy seasons. When visibility is a mere four feet and you’re at the very edge of a vista it is pure, wonderful solitude. You can convince yourself that you’re floating, if you really try. * * * Brandon Getty is a State Guide to California, specifically the Central Valley region and his home city of Stockton. Follow on Tumblr at Maps to Stockton, on blogspot at Shooting Daggers, or on his Carbonmade Portfolio.
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MT. DIABLO  On a hazy day in central California, Mt. Diablo can be viewed from Interstate 5 as a faint watercolor splotch on the horizon line. During the right sunset, it’s silhouetted inky black against a backdrop of pastels. If the shoulder is wide enough, feel free to pull over and marvel. Though the view on a crystal clear day can’t be beat, make an effort to visit during foggy seasons. When visibility is a mere four feet and you’re at the very edge of a vista it is pure, wonderful solitude. You can convince yourself that you’re floating, if you really try. * * * Brandon Getty is a State Guide to California, specifically the Central Valley region and his home city of Stockton. Follow on Tumblr at Maps to Stockton, on blogspot at Shooting Daggers, or on his Carbonmade Portfolio.
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MT. DIABLO 

On a hazy day in central California, Mt. Diablo can be viewed from Interstate 5 as a faint watercolor splotch on the horizon line. During the right sunset, it’s silhouetted inky black against a backdrop of pastels. If the shoulder is wide enough, feel free to pull over and marvel.

Though the view on a crystal clear day can’t be beat, make an effort to visit during foggy seasons. When visibility is a mere four feet and you’re at the very edge of a vista it is pure, wonderful solitude.

You can convince yourself that you’re floating, if you really try.

* * *

Brandon Getty is a State Guide to California, specifically the Central Valley region and his home city of Stockton. Follow on Tumblr at Maps to Stockton, on blogspot at Shooting Daggers, or on his Carbonmade Portfolio.

MOONTOWER If you’re standing in the right spot and look skyward in the capital of Texas, you will see the unlikely legacy of the Servant Girl Annihilator. In late 1884, the body of Mollie Smith, a black 25-year-old cook for a wealthy Austin family, was found mutilated outside the home of her employers. She was the first of seven people slain and eight more wounded over the next year by a killer dubbed the “Servant Girl Annihilator” in contemporary reports. At first, the killer targeted domestic workers like Smith at night, often dragging them from their beds. But eventually even members of Austin’s most prominent families would become victims of America’s first suspected serial killer. On Christmas Eve in 1885, two wealthy white women — Sue Hancock and Eula Phillips — were each found dead outside their homes. Police launched a search. “The baying of blood hounds frantically seeking the killer’s scent broke into the usual chorus of Yuletide merriment, chilling holiday spirits,” wrote the Austin Daily Statesman. The next day on Christmas, 500 baffled and angry city leaders met to take action against the menace. One proposal called for the construction of giant lamps to illuminate the city at night. Though the Servant Girl Annihilator was never identified or apprehended, the murders abruptly stopped. Still, ten years later, Austin finished erecting its now famous “Moonlight towers,” described here by Texas: A Guide to the Lone Star State (WPA, 1940): At night a system of skylights, in each of its 29 towers 165 feet above the streets, sheds a bluish radiance over the city, like an eerie moonlight, contrasting with the brilliant white and neon lighting of Congress Avenue and the red glow of the statehouse dome. The towers were briefly taken down and refurbished in the 1990s, but 17 still stand tall and bright in Austin today. * * * Michael Marchio is a State Guide to Texas. 
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MOONTOWER

If you’re standing in the right spot and look skyward in the capital of Texas, you will see the unlikely legacy of the Servant Girl Annihilator.

In late 1884, the body of Mollie Smith, a black 25-year-old cook for a wealthy Austin family, was found mutilated outside the home of her employers. She was the first of seven people slain and eight more wounded over the next year by a killer dubbed the “Servant Girl Annihilator” in contemporary reports.

At first, the killer targeted domestic workers like Smith at night, often dragging them from their beds. But eventually even members of Austin’s most prominent families would become victims of America’s first suspected serial killer. On Christmas Eve in 1885, two wealthy white women — Sue Hancock and Eula Phillips — were each found dead outside their homes. Police launched a search. “The baying of blood hounds frantically seeking the killer’s scent broke into the usual chorus of Yuletide merriment, chilling holiday spirits,” wrote the Austin Daily Statesman.

The next day on Christmas, 500 baffled and angry city leaders met to take action against the menace. One proposal called for the construction of giant lamps to illuminate the city at night. Though the Servant Girl Annihilator was never identified or apprehended, the murders abruptly stopped.

Still, ten years later, Austin finished erecting its now famous “Moonlight towers,” described here by Texas: A Guide to the Lone Star State (WPA, 1940):

At night a system of skylights, in each of its 29 towers 165 feet above the streets, sheds a bluish radiance over the city, like an eerie moonlight, contrasting with the brilliant white and neon lighting of Congress Avenue and the red glow of the statehouse dome.

The towers were briefly taken down and refurbished in the 1990s, but 17 still stand tall and bright in Austin today.

* * *

Michael Marchio is a State Guide to Texas. 

MAPS TO STOCKTON HOLMES On the morning of June 27, 2012, Stocktonians each paid a dollar to buy a copy of The Record, the city’s daily newspaper. Though the headline leapt off the page with typographic urgency, it surprised no one: “BANKRUPT!” It was bad news piled on top of more bad news for Stockton, an inland port city of roughly 290,000 people in the California Central Valley. A rash of summer murders had just raised the city’s total homicide count to 33. Five months later, that number has doubled. It’s Stockton’s most violent year on record. The city is broke for reasons that are too many to count. California recently topped RealtyTrac’s list of the nation’s highest foreclosure rates and Stockton took the state’s top spot with one in 38 homes in foreclosure. Stockton was named by Forbes last year as America’s #1 Most Miserable City. Throughout it all Stockton has had time to simmer in the clouded broth of its reputation. Two years ago when I first began walking around downtown and the outer residential areas, people would ask, “What’s with the camera?” I would explain my interest in documenting daily life and, more often than not, I’d get a smile and a few kind remarks. Occasionally, I’d get a puzzled frown, a look of dismissal, or an angry remark about privacy. Today, when the same question is asked, I feel I must defend my desire to photograph the city and its people. Hearing Stockton’s own residents say things like “Why would you want to take pictures of this place?” or “Hoping to catch a murder in action?” is always troubling. It’s assumed that I am out to perpetuate the headlines—to capture the worst in the worst place to live. There’s this passive acceptance of the terms used to describe Stockton—a mash-up of “most miserable,” “America’s worst,” and “eventual ghost town” that comes bursting onto the screen after a Google search of the city. These words are tossed around with such frequency, are uttered with such lack of surprise that they’ve become the truth. They reflect what the city expects of itself. If there is pride in Stockton, it’s been buried beneath damning statistics. If there is hope in Stockton, it’s been stifled by toxic, contagious apathy. Things can change, but people have to want them to. * * * Brandon Getty lives and works in his hometown of Stockton, California. More of this work can be found at Maps to Stockton Holmes on Tumblr, Shooting Daggers or on his Carbonmade Portfolio. Maps to Stockton Holmes is a photo-documentary series of residential and urban space in Stockton. Years in the future, Brandon hopes that “Maps” will describe Stockton during a brief phase—however painful and challenging—in its progression as a city.
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MAPS TO STOCKTON HOLMES On the morning of June 27, 2012, Stocktonians each paid a dollar to buy a copy of The Record, the city’s daily newspaper. Though the headline leapt off the page with typographic urgency, it surprised no one: “BANKRUPT!” It was bad news piled on top of more bad news for Stockton, an inland port city of roughly 290,000 people in the California Central Valley. A rash of summer murders had just raised the city’s total homicide count to 33. Five months later, that number has doubled. It’s Stockton’s most violent year on record. The city is broke for reasons that are too many to count. California recently topped RealtyTrac’s list of the nation’s highest foreclosure rates and Stockton took the state’s top spot with one in 38 homes in foreclosure. Stockton was named by Forbes last year as America’s #1 Most Miserable City. Throughout it all Stockton has had time to simmer in the clouded broth of its reputation. Two years ago when I first began walking around downtown and the outer residential areas, people would ask, “What’s with the camera?” I would explain my interest in documenting daily life and, more often than not, I’d get a smile and a few kind remarks. Occasionally, I’d get a puzzled frown, a look of dismissal, or an angry remark about privacy. Today, when the same question is asked, I feel I must defend my desire to photograph the city and its people. Hearing Stockton’s own residents say things like “Why would you want to take pictures of this place?” or “Hoping to catch a murder in action?” is always troubling. It’s assumed that I am out to perpetuate the headlines—to capture the worst in the worst place to live. There’s this passive acceptance of the terms used to describe Stockton—a mash-up of “most miserable,” “America’s worst,” and “eventual ghost town” that comes bursting onto the screen after a Google search of the city. These words are tossed around with such frequency, are uttered with such lack of surprise that they’ve become the truth. They reflect what the city expects of itself. If there is pride in Stockton, it’s been buried beneath damning statistics. If there is hope in Stockton, it’s been stifled by toxic, contagious apathy. Things can change, but people have to want them to. * * * Brandon Getty lives and works in his hometown of Stockton, California. More of this work can be found at Maps to Stockton Holmes on Tumblr, Shooting Daggers or on his Carbonmade Portfolio. Maps to Stockton Holmes is a photo-documentary series of residential and urban space in Stockton. Years in the future, Brandon hopes that “Maps” will describe Stockton during a brief phase—however painful and challenging—in its progression as a city.
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MAPS TO STOCKTON HOLMES On the morning of June 27, 2012, Stocktonians each paid a dollar to buy a copy of The Record, the city’s daily newspaper. Though the headline leapt off the page with typographic urgency, it surprised no one: “BANKRUPT!” It was bad news piled on top of more bad news for Stockton, an inland port city of roughly 290,000 people in the California Central Valley. A rash of summer murders had just raised the city’s total homicide count to 33. Five months later, that number has doubled. It’s Stockton’s most violent year on record. The city is broke for reasons that are too many to count. California recently topped RealtyTrac’s list of the nation’s highest foreclosure rates and Stockton took the state’s top spot with one in 38 homes in foreclosure. Stockton was named by Forbes last year as America’s #1 Most Miserable City. Throughout it all Stockton has had time to simmer in the clouded broth of its reputation. Two years ago when I first began walking around downtown and the outer residential areas, people would ask, “What’s with the camera?” I would explain my interest in documenting daily life and, more often than not, I’d get a smile and a few kind remarks. Occasionally, I’d get a puzzled frown, a look of dismissal, or an angry remark about privacy. Today, when the same question is asked, I feel I must defend my desire to photograph the city and its people. Hearing Stockton’s own residents say things like “Why would you want to take pictures of this place?” or “Hoping to catch a murder in action?” is always troubling. It’s assumed that I am out to perpetuate the headlines—to capture the worst in the worst place to live. There’s this passive acceptance of the terms used to describe Stockton—a mash-up of “most miserable,” “America’s worst,” and “eventual ghost town” that comes bursting onto the screen after a Google search of the city. These words are tossed around with such frequency, are uttered with such lack of surprise that they’ve become the truth. They reflect what the city expects of itself. If there is pride in Stockton, it’s been buried beneath damning statistics. If there is hope in Stockton, it’s been stifled by toxic, contagious apathy. Things can change, but people have to want them to. * * * Brandon Getty lives and works in his hometown of Stockton, California. More of this work can be found at Maps to Stockton Holmes on Tumblr, Shooting Daggers or on his Carbonmade Portfolio. Maps to Stockton Holmes is a photo-documentary series of residential and urban space in Stockton. Years in the future, Brandon hopes that “Maps” will describe Stockton during a brief phase—however painful and challenging—in its progression as a city.
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MAPS TO STOCKTON HOLMES On the morning of June 27, 2012, Stocktonians each paid a dollar to buy a copy of The Record, the city’s daily newspaper. Though the headline leapt off the page with typographic urgency, it surprised no one: “BANKRUPT!” It was bad news piled on top of more bad news for Stockton, an inland port city of roughly 290,000 people in the California Central Valley. A rash of summer murders had just raised the city’s total homicide count to 33. Five months later, that number has doubled. It’s Stockton’s most violent year on record. The city is broke for reasons that are too many to count. California recently topped RealtyTrac’s list of the nation’s highest foreclosure rates and Stockton took the state’s top spot with one in 38 homes in foreclosure. Stockton was named by Forbes last year as America’s #1 Most Miserable City. Throughout it all Stockton has had time to simmer in the clouded broth of its reputation. Two years ago when I first began walking around downtown and the outer residential areas, people would ask, “What’s with the camera?” I would explain my interest in documenting daily life and, more often than not, I’d get a smile and a few kind remarks. Occasionally, I’d get a puzzled frown, a look of dismissal, or an angry remark about privacy. Today, when the same question is asked, I feel I must defend my desire to photograph the city and its people. Hearing Stockton’s own residents say things like “Why would you want to take pictures of this place?” or “Hoping to catch a murder in action?” is always troubling. It’s assumed that I am out to perpetuate the headlines—to capture the worst in the worst place to live. There’s this passive acceptance of the terms used to describe Stockton—a mash-up of “most miserable,” “America’s worst,” and “eventual ghost town” that comes bursting onto the screen after a Google search of the city. These words are tossed around with such frequency, are uttered with such lack of surprise that they’ve become the truth. They reflect what the city expects of itself. If there is pride in Stockton, it’s been buried beneath damning statistics. If there is hope in Stockton, it’s been stifled by toxic, contagious apathy. Things can change, but people have to want them to. * * * Brandon Getty lives and works in his hometown of Stockton, California. More of this work can be found at Maps to Stockton Holmes on Tumblr, Shooting Daggers or on his Carbonmade Portfolio. Maps to Stockton Holmes is a photo-documentary series of residential and urban space in Stockton. Years in the future, Brandon hopes that “Maps” will describe Stockton during a brief phase—however painful and challenging—in its progression as a city.
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MAPS TO STOCKTON HOLMES On the morning of June 27, 2012, Stocktonians each paid a dollar to buy a copy of The Record, the city’s daily newspaper. Though the headline leapt off the page with typographic urgency, it surprised no one: “BANKRUPT!” It was bad news piled on top of more bad news for Stockton, an inland port city of roughly 290,000 people in the California Central Valley. A rash of summer murders had just raised the city’s total homicide count to 33. Five months later, that number has doubled. It’s Stockton’s most violent year on record. The city is broke for reasons that are too many to count. California recently topped RealtyTrac’s list of the nation’s highest foreclosure rates and Stockton took the state’s top spot with one in 38 homes in foreclosure. Stockton was named by Forbes last year as America’s #1 Most Miserable City. Throughout it all Stockton has had time to simmer in the clouded broth of its reputation. Two years ago when I first began walking around downtown and the outer residential areas, people would ask, “What’s with the camera?” I would explain my interest in documenting daily life and, more often than not, I’d get a smile and a few kind remarks. Occasionally, I’d get a puzzled frown, a look of dismissal, or an angry remark about privacy. Today, when the same question is asked, I feel I must defend my desire to photograph the city and its people. Hearing Stockton’s own residents say things like “Why would you want to take pictures of this place?” or “Hoping to catch a murder in action?” is always troubling. It’s assumed that I am out to perpetuate the headlines—to capture the worst in the worst place to live. There’s this passive acceptance of the terms used to describe Stockton—a mash-up of “most miserable,” “America’s worst,” and “eventual ghost town” that comes bursting onto the screen after a Google search of the city. These words are tossed around with such frequency, are uttered with such lack of surprise that they’ve become the truth. They reflect what the city expects of itself. If there is pride in Stockton, it’s been buried beneath damning statistics. If there is hope in Stockton, it’s been stifled by toxic, contagious apathy. Things can change, but people have to want them to. * * * Brandon Getty lives and works in his hometown of Stockton, California. More of this work can be found at Maps to Stockton Holmes on Tumblr, Shooting Daggers or on his Carbonmade Portfolio. Maps to Stockton Holmes is a photo-documentary series of residential and urban space in Stockton. Years in the future, Brandon hopes that “Maps” will describe Stockton during a brief phase—however painful and challenging—in its progression as a city.
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MAPS TO STOCKTON HOLMES On the morning of June 27, 2012, Stocktonians each paid a dollar to buy a copy of The Record, the city’s daily newspaper. Though the headline leapt off the page with typographic urgency, it surprised no one: “BANKRUPT!” It was bad news piled on top of more bad news for Stockton, an inland port city of roughly 290,000 people in the California Central Valley. A rash of summer murders had just raised the city’s total homicide count to 33. Five months later, that number has doubled. It’s Stockton’s most violent year on record. The city is broke for reasons that are too many to count. California recently topped RealtyTrac’s list of the nation’s highest foreclosure rates and Stockton took the state’s top spot with one in 38 homes in foreclosure. Stockton was named by Forbes last year as America’s #1 Most Miserable City. Throughout it all Stockton has had time to simmer in the clouded broth of its reputation. Two years ago when I first began walking around downtown and the outer residential areas, people would ask, “What’s with the camera?” I would explain my interest in documenting daily life and, more often than not, I’d get a smile and a few kind remarks. Occasionally, I’d get a puzzled frown, a look of dismissal, or an angry remark about privacy. Today, when the same question is asked, I feel I must defend my desire to photograph the city and its people. Hearing Stockton’s own residents say things like “Why would you want to take pictures of this place?” or “Hoping to catch a murder in action?” is always troubling. It’s assumed that I am out to perpetuate the headlines—to capture the worst in the worst place to live. There’s this passive acceptance of the terms used to describe Stockton—a mash-up of “most miserable,” “America’s worst,” and “eventual ghost town” that comes bursting onto the screen after a Google search of the city. These words are tossed around with such frequency, are uttered with such lack of surprise that they’ve become the truth. They reflect what the city expects of itself. If there is pride in Stockton, it’s been buried beneath damning statistics. If there is hope in Stockton, it’s been stifled by toxic, contagious apathy. Things can change, but people have to want them to. * * * Brandon Getty lives and works in his hometown of Stockton, California. More of this work can be found at Maps to Stockton Holmes on Tumblr, Shooting Daggers or on his Carbonmade Portfolio. Maps to Stockton Holmes is a photo-documentary series of residential and urban space in Stockton. Years in the future, Brandon hopes that “Maps” will describe Stockton during a brief phase—however painful and challenging—in its progression as a city.
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MAPS TO STOCKTON HOLMES On the morning of June 27, 2012, Stocktonians each paid a dollar to buy a copy of The Record, the city’s daily newspaper. Though the headline leapt off the page with typographic urgency, it surprised no one: “BANKRUPT!” It was bad news piled on top of more bad news for Stockton, an inland port city of roughly 290,000 people in the California Central Valley. A rash of summer murders had just raised the city’s total homicide count to 33. Five months later, that number has doubled. It’s Stockton’s most violent year on record. The city is broke for reasons that are too many to count. California recently topped RealtyTrac’s list of the nation’s highest foreclosure rates and Stockton took the state’s top spot with one in 38 homes in foreclosure. Stockton was named by Forbes last year as America’s #1 Most Miserable City. Throughout it all Stockton has had time to simmer in the clouded broth of its reputation. Two years ago when I first began walking around downtown and the outer residential areas, people would ask, “What’s with the camera?” I would explain my interest in documenting daily life and, more often than not, I’d get a smile and a few kind remarks. Occasionally, I’d get a puzzled frown, a look of dismissal, or an angry remark about privacy. Today, when the same question is asked, I feel I must defend my desire to photograph the city and its people. Hearing Stockton’s own residents say things like “Why would you want to take pictures of this place?” or “Hoping to catch a murder in action?” is always troubling. It’s assumed that I am out to perpetuate the headlines—to capture the worst in the worst place to live. There’s this passive acceptance of the terms used to describe Stockton—a mash-up of “most miserable,” “America’s worst,” and “eventual ghost town” that comes bursting onto the screen after a Google search of the city. These words are tossed around with such frequency, are uttered with such lack of surprise that they’ve become the truth. They reflect what the city expects of itself. If there is pride in Stockton, it’s been buried beneath damning statistics. If there is hope in Stockton, it’s been stifled by toxic, contagious apathy. Things can change, but people have to want them to. * * * Brandon Getty lives and works in his hometown of Stockton, California. More of this work can be found at Maps to Stockton Holmes on Tumblr, Shooting Daggers or on his Carbonmade Portfolio. Maps to Stockton Holmes is a photo-documentary series of residential and urban space in Stockton. Years in the future, Brandon hopes that “Maps” will describe Stockton during a brief phase—however painful and challenging—in its progression as a city.
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MAPS TO STOCKTON HOLMES

On the morning of June 27, 2012, Stocktonians each paid a dollar to buy a copy of The Record, the city’s daily newspaper. Though the headline leapt off the page with typographic urgency, it surprised no one: “BANKRUPT!”

It was bad news piled on top of more bad news for Stockton, an inland port city of roughly 290,000 people in the California Central Valley. A rash of summer murders had just raised the city’s total homicide count to 33. Five months later, that number has doubled. It’s Stockton’s most violent year on record.

The city is broke for reasons that are too many to count. California recently topped RealtyTrac’s list of the nation’s highest foreclosure rates and Stockton took the state’s top spot with one in 38 homes in foreclosure.

Stockton was named by Forbes last year as America’s #1 Most Miserable City.

Throughout it all Stockton has had time to simmer in the clouded broth of its reputation.

Two years ago when I first began walking around downtown and the outer residential areas, people would ask, “What’s with the camera?” I would explain my interest in documenting daily life and, more often than not, I’d get a smile and a few kind remarks. Occasionally, I’d get a puzzled frown, a look of dismissal, or an angry remark about privacy.

Today, when the same question is asked, I feel I must defend my desire to photograph the city and its people. Hearing Stockton’s own residents say things like “Why would you want to take pictures of this place?” or “Hoping to catch a murder in action?” is always troubling. It’s assumed that I am out to perpetuate the headlines—to capture the worst in the worst place to live.

There’s this passive acceptance of the terms used to describe Stockton—a mash-up of “most miserable,” “America’s worst,” and “eventual ghost town” that comes bursting onto the screen after a Google search of the city. These words are tossed around with such frequency, are uttered with such lack of surprise that they’ve become the truth. They reflect what the city expects of itself.

If there is pride in Stockton, it’s been buried beneath damning statistics. If there is hope in Stockton, it’s been stifled by toxic, contagious apathy. Things can change, but people have to want them to.

* * *

Brandon Getty lives and works in his hometown of Stockton, California. More of this work can be found at Maps to Stockton Holmes on Tumblr, Shooting Daggers or on his Carbonmade Portfolio.

Maps to Stockton Holmes is a photo-documentary series of residential and urban space in Stockton. Years in the future, Brandon hopes that “Maps” will describe Stockton during a brief phase—however painful and challenging—in its progression as a city.

ST. CHARLES, MISSOURI Back in 1941, Missouri, A Guide To the Show Me State called St. Charles “a city of precipitous streets, attractive terraces, and shaded lawns.” From the city that Lewis and Clark saw as “the last out-post of civilization,” Brit Eldon sends an updated dispatch: People wave to you. People that you don’t even know. You see your neighbor in the grocery store, and catch up on life while you’re picking out vegetables. There are no fences in the backyards, just decks and bonfires.  Big skies, brick streets, power lines, burning sunsets, golden trees, trains and old homes. I’ll take it all. It still sounds pretty civilized. Read Brit’s full post here and follow her on Tumblr at briturtlecannon.tumblr.com. 
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ST. CHARLES, MISSOURI Back in 1941, Missouri, A Guide To the Show Me State called St. Charles “a city of precipitous streets, attractive terraces, and shaded lawns.” From the city that Lewis and Clark saw as “the last out-post of civilization,” Brit Eldon sends an updated dispatch: People wave to you. People that you don’t even know. You see your neighbor in the grocery store, and catch up on life while you’re picking out vegetables. There are no fences in the backyards, just decks and bonfires.  Big skies, brick streets, power lines, burning sunsets, golden trees, trains and old homes. I’ll take it all. It still sounds pretty civilized. Read Brit’s full post here and follow her on Tumblr at briturtlecannon.tumblr.com. 
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ST. CHARLES, MISSOURI Back in 1941, Missouri, A Guide To the Show Me State called St. Charles “a city of precipitous streets, attractive terraces, and shaded lawns.” From the city that Lewis and Clark saw as “the last out-post of civilization,” Brit Eldon sends an updated dispatch: People wave to you. People that you don’t even know. You see your neighbor in the grocery store, and catch up on life while you’re picking out vegetables. There are no fences in the backyards, just decks and bonfires.  Big skies, brick streets, power lines, burning sunsets, golden trees, trains and old homes. I’ll take it all. It still sounds pretty civilized. Read Brit’s full post here and follow her on Tumblr at briturtlecannon.tumblr.com. 
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ST. CHARLES, MISSOURI Back in 1941, Missouri, A Guide To the Show Me State called St. Charles “a city of precipitous streets, attractive terraces, and shaded lawns.” From the city that Lewis and Clark saw as “the last out-post of civilization,” Brit Eldon sends an updated dispatch: People wave to you. People that you don’t even know. You see your neighbor in the grocery store, and catch up on life while you’re picking out vegetables. There are no fences in the backyards, just decks and bonfires.  Big skies, brick streets, power lines, burning sunsets, golden trees, trains and old homes. I’ll take it all. It still sounds pretty civilized. Read Brit’s full post here and follow her on Tumblr at briturtlecannon.tumblr.com. 
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ST. CHARLES, MISSOURI

Back in 1941, Missouri, A Guide To the Show Me State called St. Charles “a city of precipitous streets, attractive terraces, and shaded lawns.”

From the city that Lewis and Clark saw as “the last out-post of civilization,” Brit Eldon sends an updated dispatch:

People wave to you. People that you don’t even know. You see your neighbor in the grocery store, and catch up on life while you’re picking out vegetables. There are no fences in the backyards, just decks and bonfires. 

Big skies, brick streets, power lines, burning sunsets, golden trees, trains and old homes. I’ll take it all.

It still sounds pretty civilized. Read Brit’s full post here and follow her on Tumblr at briturtlecannon.tumblr.com. 

VERMONTERS Everybody in Vermont is still in a situation close enough to the primitive and natural to be not wholly conditioned by the amount of cash in his pockets. —Vermont: A Guide to the Green Mountain State (WPA, 1937) Dispatch from Vermont State Guide Tara Wray: Domestic scenes, Windsor County, Vermont, November 28, 2012. * * * Follow on Tumblr at Tara Wray Photography.
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VERMONTERS Everybody in Vermont is still in a situation close enough to the primitive and natural to be not wholly conditioned by the amount of cash in his pockets. —Vermont: A Guide to the Green Mountain State (WPA, 1937) Dispatch from Vermont State Guide Tara Wray: Domestic scenes, Windsor County, Vermont, November 28, 2012. * * * Follow on Tumblr at Tara Wray Photography.
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VERMONTERS Everybody in Vermont is still in a situation close enough to the primitive and natural to be not wholly conditioned by the amount of cash in his pockets. —Vermont: A Guide to the Green Mountain State (WPA, 1937) Dispatch from Vermont State Guide Tara Wray: Domestic scenes, Windsor County, Vermont, November 28, 2012. * * * Follow on Tumblr at Tara Wray Photography.
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VERMONTERS Everybody in Vermont is still in a situation close enough to the primitive and natural to be not wholly conditioned by the amount of cash in his pockets. —Vermont: A Guide to the Green Mountain State (WPA, 1937) Dispatch from Vermont State Guide Tara Wray: Domestic scenes, Windsor County, Vermont, November 28, 2012. * * * Follow on Tumblr at Tara Wray Photography.
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VERMONTERS Everybody in Vermont is still in a situation close enough to the primitive and natural to be not wholly conditioned by the amount of cash in his pockets. —Vermont: A Guide to the Green Mountain State (WPA, 1937) Dispatch from Vermont State Guide Tara Wray: Domestic scenes, Windsor County, Vermont, November 28, 2012. * * * Follow on Tumblr at Tara Wray Photography.
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VERMONTERS Everybody in Vermont is still in a situation close enough to the primitive and natural to be not wholly conditioned by the amount of cash in his pockets. —Vermont: A Guide to the Green Mountain State (WPA, 1937) Dispatch from Vermont State Guide Tara Wray: Domestic scenes, Windsor County, Vermont, November 28, 2012. * * * Follow on Tumblr at Tara Wray Photography.
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VERMONTERS

Everybody in Vermont is still in a situation close enough to the primitive and natural to be not wholly conditioned by the amount of cash in his pockets.

—Vermont: A Guide to the Green Mountain State (WPA, 1937)

Dispatch from Vermont State Guide Tara Wray:

Domestic scenes, Windsor County, Vermont, November 28, 2012.

* * *

Follow on Tumblr at Tara Wray Photography.

For the west bound traveler, Togwotee (toe-go-tee) Pass in northwest Wyoming is the final obstacle before reaching Jackson Hole and Yellowstone Country. At an altitude of 9,600 ft, the pass crosses the Absaroka Mountains, home of big game and even bigger weather. This drive should not be taken lightly anytime of year. Fortunately for the modern day passenger, unlike in the days of the early pioneers who first made the trek, an unsung hero of the west, the fearless snow-plow driver risks life and limb to keep the mountain road clear year round. * * *  KC O’Connor is a Guide to Wyoming for The American Guide. He’s a writer and photographer based in Lander, Wyoming. Follow him on Tumblr and Twitter.
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For the west bound traveler, Togwotee (toe-go-tee) Pass in northwest Wyoming is the final obstacle before reaching Jackson Hole and Yellowstone Country. At an altitude of 9,600 ft, the pass crosses the Absaroka Mountains, home of big game and even bigger weather. This drive should not be taken lightly anytime of year. Fortunately for the modern day passenger, unlike in the days of the early pioneers who first made the trek, an unsung hero of the west, the fearless snow-plow driver risks life and limb to keep the mountain road clear year round.

* * * 

KC O’Connor is a Guide to Wyoming for The American Guide. He’s a writer and photographer based in Lander, Wyoming. Follow him on Tumblr and Twitter.

DRINKING IN TENNESSEE  #AmericanGuideWeek dispatch from Tennessee State Guide, Tammy Mercure. tammymercure:  Dr. Enuf was invented in 1949 and is still bottled in Johnson City, TN. The original energy drink was made by the same people who invented Mountain Dew (later sold to Pepsi). It goes down easy without the syrupy taste of soda. (I prefer the herbal flavored with cherry.) Yes, RC Cola is made in Georgia, but you don’t get the full effect of the drink unless you have a Moon Pie (made in Chattanooga) with it. In the 1950’s the combo was called “the working man’s lunch”. In regards to the Moon Pie, I recommend the banana flavor. I don’t know where exactly moonshine started, but I would say people in Tennessee have perfected it. It has an interesting history, often cited as the start of NASCAR, and is making a big splash with new legal distilleries, like Ole Smoky made in Gatlinburg. * * * Tammy Mercure is a State Guide to Tennessee for The American Guide project. A photographer living in Bristol, Tennessee, she enjoys photographing just about any event that includes loud noises and fast moving things. She was recently named one of the “100 under 100: The New Superstars of Southern Art” by Oxford American magazine. Follow on Tumblr or on her website, TammyMercure.com.
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DRINKING IN TENNESSEE  #AmericanGuideWeek dispatch from Tennessee State Guide, Tammy Mercure. tammymercure:  Dr. Enuf was invented in 1949 and is still bottled in Johnson City, TN. The original energy drink was made by the same people who invented Mountain Dew (later sold to Pepsi). It goes down easy without the syrupy taste of soda. (I prefer the herbal flavored with cherry.) Yes, RC Cola is made in Georgia, but you don’t get the full effect of the drink unless you have a Moon Pie (made in Chattanooga) with it. In the 1950’s the combo was called “the working man’s lunch”. In regards to the Moon Pie, I recommend the banana flavor. I don’t know where exactly moonshine started, but I would say people in Tennessee have perfected it. It has an interesting history, often cited as the start of NASCAR, and is making a big splash with new legal distilleries, like Ole Smoky made in Gatlinburg. * * * Tammy Mercure is a State Guide to Tennessee for The American Guide project. A photographer living in Bristol, Tennessee, she enjoys photographing just about any event that includes loud noises and fast moving things. She was recently named one of the “100 under 100: The New Superstars of Southern Art” by Oxford American magazine. Follow on Tumblr or on her website, TammyMercure.com.
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DRINKING IN TENNESSEE  #AmericanGuideWeek dispatch from Tennessee State Guide, Tammy Mercure. tammymercure:  Dr. Enuf was invented in 1949 and is still bottled in Johnson City, TN. The original energy drink was made by the same people who invented Mountain Dew (later sold to Pepsi). It goes down easy without the syrupy taste of soda. (I prefer the herbal flavored with cherry.) Yes, RC Cola is made in Georgia, but you don’t get the full effect of the drink unless you have a Moon Pie (made in Chattanooga) with it. In the 1950’s the combo was called “the working man’s lunch”. In regards to the Moon Pie, I recommend the banana flavor. I don’t know where exactly moonshine started, but I would say people in Tennessee have perfected it. It has an interesting history, often cited as the start of NASCAR, and is making a big splash with new legal distilleries, like Ole Smoky made in Gatlinburg. * * * Tammy Mercure is a State Guide to Tennessee for The American Guide project. A photographer living in Bristol, Tennessee, she enjoys photographing just about any event that includes loud noises and fast moving things. She was recently named one of the “100 under 100: The New Superstars of Southern Art” by Oxford American magazine. Follow on Tumblr or on her website, TammyMercure.com.
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DRINKING IN TENNESSEE 

#AmericanGuideWeek dispatch from Tennessee State Guide, Tammy Mercure.

tammymercure: 

Dr. Enuf was invented in 1949 and is still bottled in Johnson City, TN. The original energy drink was made by the same people who invented Mountain Dew (later sold to Pepsi). It goes down easy without the syrupy taste of soda. (I prefer the herbal flavored with cherry.)

Yes, RC Cola is made in Georgia, but you don’t get the full effect of the drink unless you have a Moon Pie (made in Chattanooga) with it. In the 1950’s the combo was called “the working man’s lunch”. In regards to the Moon Pie, I recommend the banana flavor.

I don’t know where exactly moonshine started, but I would say people in Tennessee have perfected it. It has an interesting history, often cited as the start of NASCAR, and is making a big splash with new legal distilleries, like Ole Smoky made in Gatlinburg.

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Tammy Mercure is a State Guide to Tennessee for The American Guide project. A photographer living in Bristol, Tennessee, she enjoys photographing just about any event that includes loud noises and fast moving things. She was recently named one of the “100 under 100: The New Superstars of Southern Art” by Oxford American magazine.

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