A Ghost Town Anomaly

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When we lived out at the ranch, nearly two hours from pavement, I got into the habit of not venturing into civilization more than twice a year. That inclination remains. Mind you, I never was one for venturing out 'just because', especially in winter. I never truly needed the company of others to satisfy some longing, some void. When I met Terry, we became a partnership of two with the same social needs. Not that we both didn't enjoy our time out with others immensely, it was just that neither of us felt driven to indulge on a regular basis. Now that I am on my own again, that lifestyle has not changed - to the consternation of some. But it is a pleasant state of contentment which is suitable and advantageous to anyone who wishes to relocate to the boonies. Neither of us needed outside contact to validate who we were or what we thought and felt. To find pleasure in your own thoughts and dreams and a joy in the immediate surroundings, no matter how simple and mundane, is a vital tool to succeed in your hinterland dreams. Who would you be without everyday conveniences so taken for granted? What do you really need? Would you be lost without your hairdryer or your convenient fast food stops? Who are you really if you lose your comfortable trappings and accessories to disaster? I'm not suggesting that you abandon your present niceties, just to think deeply, to consider the reality of who you really are if your comfortable world has been stripped away by tsunami of fate - your nice clothes, your lovely house, perhaps even your physical health and looks. Those who confront and make peace with these issues in advance will be better prepared to survive any future turmoil and be the ones with the more sound mind to lead their loved ones through adversity.
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I made a rare trip to the nearest podunk with a list of things and resources to procure. It was a fairly productive venture despite the near ghost town quality of the place. You can see my red Dakota on the right side of the thoroughfare, parked just down from the tallest building still standing in town. That building is the local bar and grill and I have taken a few visitors there when they wanted to go out for eats - a real cheeseburger plus fries and a beer for six bucks is hard to beat these days and the folks are all pleasant and friendly with plenty of amusing memorabilia on the walls to amuse yourself if you are eating alone, too. That's a real good thing lately.
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And this trip said it was a good time to investigate the statue which sits on the left side of the highway since I remembered to bring along the camera. I had seen this statue peripherally a few times before but it sat alone in a bare and neglected lot, largely hidden from view by stray pine trees. The form and style were hauntingly familiar.
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It was a full-sized bronze statue of a horse and rider, quite impressive. The ever industrious ants of the desert had found a small fissure in the base casting and built a large entry mound right beneath the horse's feet. Why was this magnificent bronze lost in a shabby lot with an ugly pro-panel building as a back drop?
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Remington - no wonder it looked so familiar! But who put it there, how long ago, what was the occasion? Surely the bar owners would know since they had been on that street corner forever. Well, sometimes your investigations end up in the lackluster back alley of revelation. The bar owner blandly noted "Yeah, the guy who owns the grocery store has lots of money, liked the statue, bought it, stuck it there on that empty lot." Just like that. My old inclination to get involved with restorations of things like houses, towns, critters and sometimes people just sort of evaporated on the spot. "I'll take the cheeseburger special then. Hold the green chili, sub the fries for onion rings, a cheap beer is fine." The dark-eyed waitress barely suppresses an eye roll of contempt at the green chili instructions but it is soothed by the extra buck for the onion ring substitution and the cheap beer. (this tale was drafted up shortly before the ulcer hit the fan)
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