Wednesday, April 15, 2020

Burnham #3 ="Searching for Lost Cities"

By David Wrolson

Jim at Frontier Partisans has post on the adventure side of Burnhams's life.

https://frontierpartisans.com/18455/burnham-haggard-on-the-imperial-frontier/

>>>"The conduit between myth and legend and real life adventure was wide open and flowing in both directions in late 19th century southern Africa. Burnham would explore the ruins of Great Zimbabwe, which at that time were believed by white explorers to be evidence of a lost white tribe’s sojourn in the African interior. “Lost cities” would become a trope of pulp fiction through the first half of the 20th Century."<<<<

Not many non-archaeologists can say this, but I have searched for lost cities. I majored in





Tuesday, April 14, 2020

Burnham #2-"The Smell of the Big Strike"

By David Wrolson

I discussed the possibility that Frederick Russell Burnham's might be one of the campfires I smell from the past in my previous post here in "The Smell of a Toddler's Urine." I found another tie in the lure of the big strike.

It is interesting that Burnham who prospected around the world found his lasting wealth later in life at the Dominguez Oil Field. This oil field was located on land that had long been familiar to him and which had been overlooked by other oil companies.

Readers will note how close it is too the heart of the Los Angeles basin.




From the Wikipedia article on the Dominguez Oil Field.

>>>"The spot where Burnham found oil was land where "as a small boy (in the 1870s) he used to graze cattle, and shoot game which he sold to the neighboring mining districts to support his widowed mother and infant brother."[5]"<<<<<

At the end of the day, one has to think of Burnham primarily as a prospector; an oilman if you will, among many other things.

Oddly enough, I too am an oilman; by inclination if not by profession. I make my living in agriculture but for reasons to lengthy to cover here, I am not able to call myself a farmer.

Neither of my ventures in college involved geology or anything related to oil, except for the second time in  my 30's when I majored in Geography and especially enjoyed a high level class on Geomorphology or landforms

Prior to first learning of Burnham in the fall.of 2009, I became fascinated with the Bakken oil field activity in North Dakota and wanted to learn everything about it. From the Bakken, I branched out into learning as much as I could about oil and oil geology and so forth,

I began to think of myself as an oilman and not as a farmer. Was this Burnham, the prospector and oilman, coming through?

Oddly enough, I have oil seeps on some of my land in Minnesota far from any known oil fields. This land is a 220-acre parcel of mostly pasture with 2 known oil seeps that are about 3/4 mile apart.

 This property is a rugged piece of land that is out of character with most of the land in the area. I call it a little bit of "Wyoming"here.

These oil seeps look like a puddle of water with waste oil spilled on top. The picture below shows the western oil seep. It is currently frozen so no oil is visible.

 The following pictures are of the landscape taken from the west side of the property and then from the east side.



There is oil there in quantity. I can smell it. With modern horizontal drilling and imaging techniques we could get to it. It is there. I feel the prospector and the wildcat oilman (the Burnham?) in me getting more excited by the day.

But, the farmer that I am now killed the possibility of getting to it. For financial reasons, I was forced to sell a conservation easement on the property to remodel some hog barns that have been a millstone around my neck for 25 years. So going after the oil is not legally possible.

My wife didn't want me to sell this easement and she was right. However, she understands that we really had no choice.

But the oilman and the prospector in me is confused and pissed. There is oil there. We own the land. Why can't we go after it?

All I can do is apologize to my true-self and say "I know. It really sucks to feel the lure of the big strike and we can't even go after it. Worse yet, I have to look at it every day."


Monday, April 13, 2020

Burnham #1-The Smell of a Toddler's Urine

By David Wrolson

Continuing the theme that while Patton saw his past lives "Through a Glass Darkly" some may sense these lives through the sense of smell.

This post is about the smell of a toddler's urine and the idea that this urine might belong to the famous scout Frederick Russell Burnham.



I first learned of Burnham when I opened his autobiography "Scouting on Two Continents" at age 43 in the fall of 2009. I had never heard of him before, but within a few pages, I was struck with the overwhelming sense that I had been him in a previous life. I have never had this sensation in any other book I read before or since.

The sensation lasted a few minutes and then went away, but I always wonder a little bit if it meant anything.

A toddler's urine is the smell that I associate with the Burnham campfire in my journey of smelling a thousand campfires.

There is one episode in his adventurous life that makes a lot more sense if he had lived lives of danger before and smelled a lot of campfires along the way.

As a young child, his family lived in Minnesota during the 1862 Dakota Sioux Uprising.



One evening, his mother saw a war party of Sioux approaching and realized she could not get away with him. She hid him in a shock of green corn as that would be too green to burn and told him to stay there and remain silent.

The Sioux burned her cabin, but Burnham remained safe and quiet in the corn all night. His mother returned the next morning with armed neighbors and found him safe. Sometimes, I can smell toddler's urine when I think of Burnham and his (my?) night in the corn shock.

How does a toddler know that danger is around him and he has to remain quiet. Given his later life, it is no surprise, but as a 15-month old he performed a feat of survival that many adults could not, simply by remaining patient.

I think prior to being Burnham; he was Jumping Bull, the father of Sitting Bull. Therefore, the danger of enemy indians was ingrained within him.

In addition to the sense I had when I opened "Scouting." I share a love of Rhodesia with him. Burnham was instrumental in the early days of Rhodesia. While Rhodesia is gone now and it is the basket case known as Zimbabwe, I was there on a hunting trip in 2013 and I felt at home there, as if I had been there before.

Sunday, April 12, 2020

The Smell of Bathsheba's Skin

By David Wrolson

Any readers may remember my riff in the first post on this blog that while Patton saw his past lives "Through a Glass Darkly," some may find scents evocative of other times and places.

One day, while going about my work alone on the farm, I smelled a woman's perfumed skin. She was not of this time or place. I think her name was Bathsheba. No, I know her name was Bathsheba.

What do I know about a woman named Bathsheba and why would I smell her skin? King David is known for his great sin with her and his betrayal of her husband, Uriah the Hittite. Uriah was one of King David's great soldiers. One of his mighty men, if you will. The first child of King David and Bathsheba, the child of his sin, died. However, a later child grew up to become King Solomon.

A short refresher of the biblical story is that King David saw Bathsheba cleansing herself according to Hebrew tradition and became entranced by her beauty and either seduced or raped her.



Bathsheba became pregnant and King David sent for Uriah, her husband, who was away at the wars to sleep with her and cover his indiscretion. Uriah refused to sleep with her as his comrades at the wars were still away from their wives.

King David then ordered his general to place Uriah in a place of great danger so he would be killed in battle.
But none of that answers the question as to why I would smell Bathsheba's skin. Does that mean I was King David? I don't think so. I think I was Uriah and I smelled the skin of my young wife.

I remember as a child asking my mother why she named me David in light of his horrible crime. What kind of kid asks that? Do I carry the wounds of King David's betrayal deep in my soul?

People forget that Uriah and Bathsheba were a married couple. We made love. When we married, she made herself ready for me and she perfumed her skin and the older women gave her advice.

I do not think of Bathsheba as the mother of King Solomon or a wife of King David. I think of her as a young bride on our wedding day preparing herself for her husband.

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