NASA's Prolific Past....

At 35 years old, few things come as a surprise to me anymore. However, not so long ago I found a remarkable piece of NASA's prolific past in a most remarkable spot.  But for all of this, I must back up.  And start with an introduction. 

There is a seemingly dilapidated little old town in the middle of the desert.  Its buildings and structures once new and brightly painted have long since lost their love and care for them, and they now sit slowly decaying and falling apart.  This small town, at your first glance, is sinking into the desert, ever so slowly being eroded away by the harsh wind storms of pebbles and rocks prevalent to this area.  A town routinely over looked and continuously overloaded with sand, sage brush, and family ties. A place where the only store for 20 miles holds not much more then 2 gallons of milk, and few choices of soda, 5 loaves of bread, and a plethora of alcoholic beverages. A small forgotten town on the side of the highway... an off ramp to nowhere. Even car trouble in these desolate conditions might give cause for some to worry and rightfully so.  The closest gas station is 30 miles away in your choice of 2 directions only.  Hidden and remote, the little town of North Edwards, on a quiet little stretch of Highway 58, barely makes a footprint in the sand on the vast Mojave desert floor.  A town slowly dying and receding from a more productive interstate change.

It is there, ...there in that blink of an eye, on a quiet frontage road where this story takes shape and begins to unfold before us.  Like a old woolen blanket... itchy, protective, and warm.  I grapple with the words to describe what it is exactly that I found there.

A piece of America's history is lost. A mural lays hidden on a concrete wall shielded from the suns damaging rays by an awning of rotting wood. A magnificent and splendid forgotten piece of our collective history.  An artist long lost.  It sits as it has for century's on the side of a busy highway that many have past... and few ever realized were traveling on. On the corridor to sin city, Las Vegas, and on the shirt tails of Edwards Air Force Base... it sits alone.

Its only friends are the sounds of the finches from the nearby bird sanctuary, the hum of the tires rolling off the autos and big rigs racing past this stretch of yesterday's past, or the contrasting sound of an occasional thunderous sonic boom of a low flying F-18. Here is where I want to take your hand and have you walk with me.  I have a secret to show you, a story to whisper.  I found something...

It is remarkable, and moving.  It makes my heart sing, and cry all at the same time. It has engraved its image onto the tablet of my soul, and in the deepest recesses of my heart.  It is a forgotten mural in an abandoned shack.  The little Red Barn use to be a lively bar a lifetime ago.  And now it sits empty and open only to transients, and rebellious teens.  The ceiling is blackened with mold, and the linoleum has long since been pulled back, and now houses an illegal fire pit with charred up wood. The windows lay shattered just beyond boards, and the bar still stands welcoming its next customer.  It is a forgotten relic with a hidden jewel.

An artist, presumably local, drew a painting. And captured a moment of time, more perfect then a photo, more transcendental then a time machine.  It looks at first glance to be chalk, but it is not. Its colors blend so well, partly by the painters skillful hand and aided undoubtedly by the rays of time and the repeated soft gentle kiss of the setting sun.  It's amazing.  The happiness of the two little prop job planes flying with the aeronautic masterpiece of them all, the beloved shuttle.  Her safely returning to home after a mission in space. It is a story of coming home, of celebration.... a moment of greatness and accomplishment etched into eternity... a timeless snapshot of true Americana pride, and innovation.  Much like the Paleolithic art "The Crossed Bison" of the Lacaux in southwestern France, this artwork is soon to be a fossil of a promotable era in our nation's history.  A segway to the past. A virtual wrinkle in time.

As I sit here and gaze upon it, I conjure up pictures of promitable painters such as, one of my favorite of all time artists, Dr. Robert T. McCall who passed away earlier this year.  McCall's works are more precise, and detailed in color, scale, and depth... but that is precisely what I love about this painting. It is not a McCall. It is soft. It leaves me room to dream.  It is gentle and more welcoming, and I can almost imagine myself standing at the sidelines of this great day.  The painting is dated the Fourth of July, 1982.  It is the date that takes the painting to a new level of American pride, and deep seeded patriotism for me.  Independence Day.  The perfect day to welcome her home... her crew.  STS-4, Columbia's big day in the sun.  The most remembered most prolific of all the shuttles... at least to me.  Even President Ronald Regan was here himself that day to welcome her home. With a nation watching and all the pomp and circumstance Edwards Air Force Base or the restricted Air Space R-2508 had ever seen prior.  Even the space shuttle Challenger was there that day. Ferried in on the back of one of our two specially modified 747's. God Bless America rings hollow in my ears of the sounds and songs from the hearts of the American public on that day... it makes me want to sing in chorus.

God Bless America.

Land that I LOVE.

Stand Beside Her and Guide Her

Through the Night With A Light From Above.

From the Mountains to the Prairies,

To the Oceans White With Foam

God Bless America, MY HOME SWEET HOME

I can feel the heat of the summer sun, and the dry desert breeze blowing like a hair dryer across my shoulders.  Clad in red, white, and blue clothing, flimsy flip flop shoes upon my feet, sun glasses in my hair, and a camera in my hand,.  A fun and glorious day.  I wish I could have been there.  A prideful propaganda queen, and patriot... waving a flag, and singing triumphantly off key.

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And yet...  

It brings to my heart such sweet sorrow as well.  Tears of a day in her unbeknownst future.  A day of tragedy awaits her.  And standing in the midst of a feeling in her grandeur and most glorious moment... I am sadly reminded, as most Americans, of her legacy.  Columbia on a day much like this one on the fourth of July in 1982, only a few short years later... February 1st, 2003... coming home yet again from a glorious mission in space to a grateful and excited nation...But this time tragically stricken... broken up on reentry over our beloved Texas. A nation in mourning, watching in stunned disbelief.  The loss of seven hard working, talented astronauts. The shock waves of a nation, crashing down upon us. We held the burden of her pain, ourselves shattered. Our ideas, and advancements bruised, our hearts torn asunder.  A tragic loss of life, Columbia's horrific fall from grace.  How we as a nation collectively loved the Shuttle Columbia, and her crew.  How I love them still. 

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The ironic contrast of such a wondrous day with two of our nation's finest spacecrafts on that 4th of July in 1982, and how they are the same two shuttles that we later lost tragically in 1998, and 2003, is not lost on me.  Challenger on January 28,1998, and Columbia on February 1, 2003.  From terrific grandeur to tragedy. My heart feels heavy. 

The soft cool breeze of an early spring nips at my ears and nose.  Standing here in 2010, looking into a painting, transported.  The birds are still chirping. The automobiles still racing by.  The sound of gravel shifting below my weight in the sand.  I turn my eyes to the sky.  Crisp, clear, limitless...  The stories this place could tell.  The marvels this sky has seen.  I breathe it all in, slowly.  Deep into my lungs letting it fill me, and recharge my battery levels.  The sun is softly setting in the west.  The kiss of amber light leaving the sky. It is time for me to be heading home as well.

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I could stay here for hours... to play and ponder. I love this painting.  I wish there were more like it.  Like the best art in the Louvre it moves me.  It makes me think and feel in great depth.  It makes me wonder.  Maybe it is the dilapidated building? The art? The history? The story?  I can not tell you... but this place is blissfully magical, and it delights my soul.  A hidden jewel, a treasured secret, a remarkable piece of NASA's prolific past.  I just simply... love it.

Thank you Faust.  Whomever you are.