Lighthouse Rock, Palo Duro
Make no little plans, for they have no magic to stir men's blood. (Daniel Burnham)
Is this the way to Amarillo? Because there are things to be seen there!
When you first heard Tony Christie's song - whether for the first or hundredth time (it’s still one of my favorites!) - you probably didn’t think about the stories hidden behind the name. Amarillo, Spanish for yellow, is often called the Yellow City, likely inspired by the golden wildflowers that bloom in spring and summer. Some say it’s also due to the yellow soil along the banks of Amarillo Creek and Lake. And, of course, it carries the romantic moniker of the Yellow Rose of Texas.
But there’s more:
Amarillo was once known as the Helium Capital of the World, thanks to its rich helium fields - natural gas deposits with unusually high concentrations of helium, making extraction economically viable.
It earned the nickname Rotor City, USA, due to its hybrid aircraft assembly plant.
And, perhaps most strikingly, it is sometimes called Bomb City, as it houses the only nuclear weapons assembly and disassembly facility in the country.
“Show me the way to Amarillo!” Sure! But let’s take the scenic route.
John Steinbeck called Route 66 the Mother Road, capturing both loss and hope in his novel The Grapes of Wrath. And could it really be America without a song about it? Nat King Cole immortalized the highway in 1946:
“If you ever plan to motor west, travel my way, take the highway that’s the best - get your kicks on Route 66.”
Route 66 winds through the Texas Panhandle, a region steeped in its own rich history (stories I will tell in time). But today, I want to take you to a breathtaking rock formation: The Lighthouse Rock.
Nature holds all the lessons we need. Look at the way rocks are formed - wind and water sculpt them over time, shaping them into what they are. Things do take time, yes?
Leo Tolstoy suggested that patience and the passage of time are powerful tools for overcoming challenges and achieving goals - I made patience and time my warriors a long time ago. And this piece of rock is a testament to that.
The rocks of Palo Duro Canyon, including Lighthouse Rock, are around 250 million years old, dating back to the Permian and Triassic periods. The canyon itself began forming about a million years ago as the Prairie Dog Town Fork of the Red River eroded the eastern edge of the Llano Estacado. The walls of the canyon reveal layers of rock much older still. Water erosion shaped many of its famous formations, but the Lighthouse Rock owes its existence largely to the wind.
Geologists have a saying- rocks remember. (Neil Armstrong)
Standing before Lighthouse Rock, you can see history written in its multicolored layers, each representing a different era of time. I can only imagine the way the sun sets behind it, painting the sky with colors as ancient as the rock itself, showing off the shades of red, orange, yellow, brown, and even hints of purple and lavender, due to the different sedimentary rock formations.
The word lighthouse holds a special place in my heart. I grew up in Cape Agulhas, at the southernmost tip of Africa, where every five seconds, the lighthouse beam swept through my bedroom window. Though I have not seen Lighthouse Rock with my own eyes, my heart tells me I have, and if every picture paints a thousand words, then every image of this magnificent rock reads like a book.
I cannot help comparing the two lighthouses, although the one is man-made and the other not.
The lighthouse of my childhood was meant to warn ships of the danger around the tip of Africa, where many a shipwreck lies buried. It is supposed to weather the elements, and be a beacon of light in the dark of night. I can only imagine how every sailor held on to that light; trying to stay safe on extremely stormy seas, while hoping to be alive to tell the tale.
I can see how visiting this magnificent rock can change you - if you just give yourself a minute or two to take it in fully. It might not have a guiding light, but time is the guiding factor here. I can imagine spending time in its presence, becoming quiet and still, allowing yourself to feel its energy, you might even hear a whisper or two, coming to you from beyond time and space.
Just imagine how it has endured - not just storms, but the relentless winds chipping away at it. It is the product of battering upon battering, a silent witness to history, with a million secrets to keep and stories to tell. A silent guardian for those who walk the trails.
I wonder what the rock whispers to those willing enough to listen, and quiet enough to hear?
Does it remind them, as it does me, that time shapes us all? That we all, at times in our lives, feel battered and bruised after facing a severe storm, but that we can and will survive, just as it did and still do.
Does it whisper that every journey leaves its mark, just as the wind carved its stone? But it leaves it with a new kind of beauty?
My son and his family recently stood before this ancient sentinel, their footprints joining those of countless travelers before them. I am sure they will agree, as I do, with what Barry Goldwater said,