Silent Places Gallery Unique photographic art of ghost towns and pioneer sites for wall decor by award winning artist Leland Howard. Click on images for larger views. Silent Places A chain saw was a mighty handy tool to have once I finally found the correct two track road that lead to the ghost town called Boulder City deep in the Cabinet Mountains of northern Idaho. This route hadn't been traveled for years and several fallen trees blocked the path. I wondered what the original residents of Boulder City would have thought of a chain saw. A noisy machine that would have made life a bit easier for them I'm sure. A few more miles with some brush scraping the side of my vehicle and I started to see a few old buildings crumpled and fallen to a point that they seemed to almost belong to the landscape. Having explored numerous Idaho ghost towns, it was a familiar scene but it's one I never get tired of. I've always been fascinated by ghost towns and other structural remnants from western history. It's a legacy that's gradually disappearing as time takes its toll and it's a pleasure to document the unique character of this part of history in photographs. When considering western history, our popular culture focuses mainly on battles with Native Americans, wagon trains, construction of the railroads, and cattle drives. Often leaving out the monumental struggle encountered by those scratching out a living in the mountains and deserts of the west. The lure of precious metals lead pioneers to these very remote places where previously not even a trail would have been cut that could have made travel a little easier. Supplies could have easily been weeks away by horseback. First a cabin had to be built as a refuge from the elements before anything else could be done. A broad axes effectiveness against the twisted and tuff wood of the trees found at ten thousand feet must have been somewhat disconcerting at the first swing. But build them they did and if a several story structure was needed to house the ore crushers, steam engines and workers, they built them too. The nearest sawmill might be fifty miles away but if they needed lumber, they found a way to get it. Massive and extremely heavy machines like the crushers were hauled in a piece at a time by mule and then assembled on site. Injuries must have been all too common. Compared to what we have now, medical care would have been primitive at best and harmful at worst. It stands to reason that when visiting a ghost town cemetery one rarely sees a grave marked with an individual that lived over the age of fifty. Very small graves, some with headstones wiped away by snow and wind, tell a story of hardship and grief. Some graves have no headstones while others are simply marked with the word unknown. Tin cans that were sealed with solder are common among some of the oldest ruins. Lead poisoning may have been the result, although they would not have been sure about what was making them sick. Bottles that once contained "medicine" or whiskey are now purple hewed glass shards aged by the sun. They lie among the many rusted tobacco and snuff cans scattered around the old buildings. Bits of hardened leather from tiny shoes and lace up boots reveal that some brought their families along. Sometimes the rare intact bottle can be found. The tint of the glass and whether or not the seam on the side ends at the shoulder can reveal its age. If the tint is purple, the seam does end at the shoulder and it was sealed with a cork, it's a gem discarded most likely in the late 1800's. If a little "color" was discovered in the rocks and dirt, before long more people would come and something that might resemble a town would soon take shape. Historical references state that it was common for there to be as many as a dozen bars in a town that supported a nearby community of only a few hundred people. The first bars might have just been canvas tents before they set up shop in a hastily constructed building. Other additions considered necessary to make a town were the general store, hotel, blacksmith shop and sometimes a jail. Law enforcement could only be haphazard in such an environment. When giving accounts of the murders, robberies and mayhem of the day, the good historical references use terms like, "may have" "could have" "and yet another source states" and other disclaimers. Turns out it was the Wild West after all. Remnants of towns with names like Black Pine, Moose City, Stibnite, Loon Creek, Cobalt, Lost River, mudbarville, Dry Town, Deadwood City, Jerusalem and numerous other colorful descriptive titles are fading into the surrounding environment. A few have been preserved where the will and budget exist but many of the structures I photographed just twenty years ago have been lost to fire, erosion, avalanches and some times vandalism. It's an interesting conundrum when a ghost town has been preserved and the structures rebuilt, the place seems to loose something along with the gain. I hate to see history lost but there is something special about the dilapidated structures, particularly when they are discovered in the most remote areas far away from anything we would call a town today. These are silent places, unless a gust of wind catches a creaking timber, where people with big dreams and an intrepid spirit once lived. To me the photographic image of these places is more meaningful if the weeds, trees and brush haven't been cleared or groomed and the structure is leaning from years of wind or simply age. When left undisturbed it seems to allow for a closer connection with the people who built it, perhaps it’s because the hardship endured by them is glossed over with a new coat of paint on straight walls. Digging for valuable minerals was fickle and feverish and many died in the process. It seems that few would have cared much about the real politics of the day. Day to day survival and work would have taken all their energy and then some. I've spent time looking at old photographs donated by the Idaho Historical Society in many publications and books. The occasional celebration was often documented. Looking into the faces, I find myself imagining their personalities or maybe their town status based on their attire. I can imagine the sound of laughter and jokes that had to be going on in the bar where twenty men stood lined up shoulder to shoulder for a portrait of the times. A frozen portrait of a woman in what must have been her best dress; it couldn't have been everyday wear, as it would be too bulky to work in. The picture of a china man on the street pedaling garden vegetables or the horse doing its best to throw its rider on Main Street. A disturbing portrait of an emancipated man just before his trip to the gallows. It is our history, however colorful it may be. Mistakes were made, both in the human sense and in an environmental sense. Still I can't help but hold some admiration for their spirit. Leland Howard