213. Crockett, Houston County

The WPA at work again. I approve of this building, but it also looks like it needs a bit of tender loving care. It’s also reminiscent of some other places I’ve been, but I’m too lazy to go through the archives at the moment. The day is getting thin and I’m getting worn. It’s funny how you (and by “you,” I mean “I”) wind down on the last day of a trip no matter how long it is. When I was four days at GeoWoodstock and the Panhandle, I was worn out on the fourth day. When I was three days in the Permian Basin, I was worn out on the last day. Now I’m at the end of a day and a half and I’m worn out. I have just enough energy and focus to go with the plan, but after that all bets are off.

Of course, in Crockett County there are going to be things dedicated to its namesake and that is where I found a cache. Davy has a park named after him and in that park is a log cabin. Back behind and under the cabin I found the quarry. Once it was signed and returned, I started making my way to the car and noticed a small memorial to a local historian. If we’re lucky we get to leave a fingerprint on the world, whether it’s in the form of children, good deeds, friendships, or any number of other ways. Those who keep the tales and the stories and the books, however, often have a thankless job preserving what was for those who come after. It’s somewhat heartwarming to see one remembered for what is basically a war against entropy, a constant struggle against the oblivion of forgetfulness. It is said that a person doesn’t truly die until they are no longer remembered. I take it further: those who remember and guard the past, both the good and the ill, are the ones who give life to the world. But such thoughts are quicksilver at the moment. I have one more stop to make on this day, one last destination on the way home. And it was finally achieved when I set my feet down in…