To me, this old ghost town is like no other. It's real. At least it was real, back before every single man, woman and child high-tailed it out of there after the mining boom ended. A small community of houses, church, a school and everything else a new town had to offer back in the late 1800's. These buildings hold secrets that we can only create in our imaginations, here one day, and gone the next. Belongings left as they were...as if the occupants had just gone to church for Sunday service. There was the old wagon, sitting very likely in the same spot it had been in when we climbed up on it, 3 young girls, smiling at my dad as he snapped a photo with his old Kodak so many years ago. I found that photo a while back, the image of us, waving to my dad, and a much older me...the same worn buildings and exquisite landscape, faded with time and standing quietly behind our smiling faces.
The land is unforgiving in this high desert. Extreme heat every summer, and snow that covers already tired buildings each winter. I guess I'll be back to Bodie. It holds for me memories I occasionally bring out to linger on... of long dusty roads, running hand in hand and hearing that familiar "thud-thud" from our keds, bringing up little puffs as they hit the dirt.
...And somewhere, out there off in the distance, turning my head to the wind, I hear my dad calling out to us in the echo of this old place.
|Peering through a lonely old house, what were the chances I might capture the image of a long lost soul?...notice the image in the left corner!|
|For you Dad|