You’ll find these whitewashed pump houses at regular intervals if you cross the Texas Panhandle. This one was perched near the gravely remains of route 66, at the end of a field so large that it seemed to go on forever.
There’s a feeling of emptiness out there which can be either soothing or alarming, depending on your state of mind.
Last summer the Panhandle dealt with an historic drought, an event which truly brought the place to its knees. We were there the day it ended, on an afternoon with turbulent skies. You can see a long way in these parts. Furious bands of clouds appeared to be unfolding from thin air throughout the day. We didn’t encounter much rain but when it did fall, it fell with a vengeance.
Curiously, each of these pump houses were accompanied by an outhouse. It was hard to tell if the outhouses made an improvement to the desolation. A third companion were the telephone poles: skinny, tilting sentinels with ties to the rest of the world. To me, their black lines were strengthened when seen against the midrange gray of grass.
This isn’t a place where “three” would be considered a crowd.
Further down the road, a visit to another outhouse (for photographs) produced this earlier post:
Click on the pictures if you’re hankering for an expanded view.