Mapping our lives
Cheryl Unruh
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
I don’t get to Larned very often and so my memories of that town still have sharp edges on them.
Sharp, as opposed to my overworked Pawnee Rock memories, which are as worn as river rocks.
I was in Larned a couple weeks ago, along with Dave, my dad and step-mom.
Dave and I had lunch with Dad and Betty in Great Bend, and then we all traveled the 12 miles west to Pawnee Rock and eight miles farther west to Larned.
This was a town I went to at least once a week for the first 18 years of my life. Larned (pop. 3,874) was where we bought groceries, went to the doctor and checked out library books.
Since the Larned visits are rare now, maybe once every five years, I like to drive past my favorite spots. I always have to circle the swimming pool in Schnack Park.
There’s still a little train in the park, but it’s been relocated and no longer runs through the familiar shaded grass. The fountain remains, still shooting up spikes of water, and presumably, colored lights still shine on the spray after dark.
As we were leaving Schnack Park, I remembered the smallest of events. One morning when I was 18, I photographed a huge cottonwood tree that had been felled by a storm. It landed on the bleachers at the park’s ball diamond.
That photo of an uprooted tree was one of many assignments for the Tiller and Toiler newspaper. I worked for The Tiller as a reporter and photographer the summer after high school graduation.
As we drove around Larned on this recent visit, other places also brought back memories, many of which were just moments in time.
A map started to form in my mind.
I pictured a map of the city of Larned. In my head I circled certain locations — the places represented by large and small memories.
Each of us could do this with any town we’ve spent time in — create a map of the buildings, our hangouts or other places that changed us in some way.
Actually, we could each create dozens of maps, showing those places and times in our lives that are rich with meaning.
While driving around Larned, the map in my mind filled in, mostly with places I had visited during my work with The Tiller. It was a map of the summer of ’77.
That was a significant time in my life. Working at the newspaper was my first job that didn’t involve a lawnmower, grass clippers or a machete.
It was a great place to work. I was blessed with wonderful mentors, each of whom had an overactive sense of humor. And I loved walking into the newsroom each morning to the intoxicating smell of printer’s ink and the clackety sound of manual typewriters.
That summer was spent documenting Larned. I photographed softball games and a rodeo. I wrote about a man who built a log cabin and a woman who received acupuncture treatments. And lying on my belly in the weeds, I took a photo of the county’s new noxious weed truck.
Some days I walked a few blocks to the Pawnee County Courthouse and copied oil and gas lease information, which consisted of tediously long property descriptions.
Standing at the courthouse in present time, the sheriff’s office nearby brought to mind another assignment. There, I took a photo of a cell bar that an inmate had cut through. And at the fire department, I had interviewed a 19-year-old guy for a feature story about his duties as an EMT.
Even though I’d spent 18 years going to Larned, it was that last summer there that had such a big impact. And those were the moments that jumped most easily onto my mental map of Larned.
Another person could draw his own map of the city and we’d not have a single thing in common. Same town, different stories.
All of our years, we are creating maps — a geography of our lives.
“Flyover People” is online at www.flyoverpeople.net.
• Cheryl Unruh can be reached at cheryl@flyoverpeople.net.