The place can make us feel deeply at home. Yet it is not our 'own' . Its significance does not originate in an order created by us. What the place means to us does not depend on our activities - and their meanings. This fact strikes us when we attempt to define the meaning of the place by words - and these words escape us. When we feel that the place is near – it withdraws. The place rests in its own withdrawal. Dag T. Andersson 
High Lakes lava lands of eastern Lake County. East of the Warner Valley, west of Guano Valley, south of Poker Jim Ridge, north of the Sheldon Antelope Refuge on the Nevada line. And here I stand and walk in a space that runs to horizons. Near places resting in withdrawal. Late September 2015.
The makers of petroglyphs found rims, boulders, smooth surfaces often facing morning sun. Carved, pecked, abraded, or scratched images as a single act or layered over uncountable centuries interplay within the hard basalt, the earth. Perhaps functional or practical, yet more often appearing imbued with spirit world.
Beginning a few decades ago ranchers and federal agencies brought laborers and their tools -- bulldozers and backhoes -- to carve rough tracks, dig waterholes, push up berms for reservoirs.
In common, these human activities circle near water, attentive to seasons. Meaning expressed in and through materials, the altered rocks, dust, dirt, wet and dry. Meaning now melding with the cycles and wrappings of nature.
Album: Lake County East [Link]
 Dag T. Andersson. Ontology of a space left over. In Ruin Memories: Materialities, Aesthetics and the Archaeology of the Recent Past. Bjørnar Olsen and Þóra Pétursdóttir, editors. Routledge, 2014.
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