Nebraska’s shift to a Martian-esque Terrain

 

I was thirteen when I first heard War of the Worlds. Its impact has never left me. The radio broadcast always came to mind at a specific place in Southern California, where massive power pylons carrying high-voltage lines across the Mojave Desert loomed over Interstate 15. It didn’t require much imagination to distinguish legs, arms, torsos, and heads from the imposing lattice framework of the pylons. They looked like Transformers or Martians from Orson Wells’ tale.

 

Decades later, I brought Jimmy Choo, my van’s nickname, to a stop along US 20 near Jackson, Nebraska just as the sun was setting. Elk Creek flowed parallel to the road, flanked by dense trees and hidden insects. A chorus of crickets and katydids blended together, producing an eerie, otherworldly soundtrack. My imagination raced as I ventured on foot to a plot of land across the highway revealing an army of intriguing structures. My camera immortalized the scene as the horizon exploded in sunset hues, reminiscent of a city ablaze after a Heat-Ray attack.

 

I approached the tall, slender figures of wood, metal, and iron with curiosity. They stood as silent and unmoving as the old power pylons along I-15. Once again, my imagination conjured up legs, arms, torsos, and heads. But here, each structure bore a name on an interpretive sign: Large Spear Challenge, Fairbanks Morse Eclipse, Pipe Raymond, Dempster No. 9, Red Cross, and Bobtail Raymond.

 

Some may view these peculiar shapes simply as vintage windmills at an outdoor exhibit named “Sentinels of the Prairie,” but to me, they were Transformers and Martians stirring memories of a radio broadcast from my youth.