In the dead of early morning, I walked through the new massive Drake Farms. It’s already a spectacle of modernity. Enthusiasts of liminal photography should visit this place early in the morning and before its completion. It’s an unfinished world devoid of people. It is Langoliers in reverse. Time scrolls forward, adding and adding until everything becomes squares and rectangles.
Drake Farms is going to be a billion dollar place spanning 165 acres, thousands of homes, and untold businesses contained in well over a million square feet. I wonder what Noah Drake would make of it. The plan is to preserve his original grove of black walnut trees. I’ve reminded a couple of people that the area is indeed losing something difficult to define with all of this construction. But I also point out that Noah Drake himself was an avid proponent of growth and development. His footprint is everywhere if you know where to look. When the Pendegraft building went up, I loved its rustic look as I walked or drove by it multiple times a day. In the back of my mind, I knew that it was intended to be the anchor of a massive incursion into the wilderness.
I looped back on to West Drake. It’s one of the last secret places where you can stand and be equidistant from lights. About halfway between Gregg and 112, it is stunning in the dark. It provides a rare vantage point to watch the entire sky. The U of A Agri facility provides a barrier to the South. Drake Farms will eradicate the dark beauty of the night soon enough.
Two vehicles rocketed past, both of them easily going 80 mph. Although it’s rare, they are at risk of colliding with one of the infrequent deer who run along the cyclone fence of the Agri facility. Two years ago in November, the hair on the back of my neck stood up as a huge deer sprinted toward me from behind and raced past. Had I not been startled, I could have touched it. It finally found a spot on the north side from which to leap across and into the wilderness. The wilderness that will soon be concrete and conduit.
The night/early morning was breathtakingly still. Each bird call and each twig snapping carried far beyond its normal reach.
I didn’t want to leave the long lonely stretch. I saw three meteors as I stood or walked back and forth along the length of Drake.
Returning, I stopped at the huge X and took a picture of the hill and of the beautiful luminous moon that’s two days away from being full. Even the contrails from high altitude planes are gorgeous as they streak and spread, remaining behind for minutes after the plane streaks away. They’re ice crystals trapped in the upper atmosphere. That’s where contrails got their name: condensation trails.
I knew I had to walk this route again soon. Like so many other places, encroachment incrementally eradicates its deep and dark natural beauty. The walk I took this morning was a goodbye.
Those who think I’m too maudlin won’t appreciate that I was a little upset. The night world exposes and amplifies each loss of dirt and trees.
Lights, once placed, never cede control back to nature.
