When we studied history in school, the past seemed so long ago, so alien—the funny clothes, the no-electricity. It may as well have happened on another world.

But as we age, we begin to see history as a continuum, intimately connected with the present, measured not in centuries but in generations. 125 years ago, towns like Medina, ND sprouted up as railroads snaked into the wilderness. These towns did not appear in a vacuum; the land they occupied had been crossed by the army, had been seasonal Dakota hunting and travel territory, had been empty prairie, near pre-Colombian earthlodge and mound building cities. Hell, had been Pangaea.

Sometime in there, this brick building was built as a fire station. And then it changed, outliving its purpose for whatever reason—and people gradually realized they were situated by the main breeding grounds of the American White Pelican. Their lake became a national wildlife refuge, and the town adapted into a destination for birders. Pelican enthusiasts. And so the old fire engine doors were enclosed with windows, and the building acquired a new, different life as a visitor center.

So many pasts and presents coexist in the place of this one brick building, a continuous unfolding. We pass our lives mostly among ordinary, invisible buildings that change and adapt over time, not monuments that don’t. The change can feel overwhelming. To change is to lose identity; yet to change is to be alive. [1]

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Note: This entry owes its existence to the Rural Indexing Project, a wonderful photographic archive of buildings in small towns across America.

Links:

• What tiny towns in rural America can teach the cities about adaptation – NPR All Things Considered, June 21, 2022

  
  

• Rural Indexing Project

  
  

• Chase Lake National Wildlife Refuge - U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service

This post is part of The American 250, a series featuring 250 objects made by Americans, located in America, in honor of the country's 250th anniversary. 250 words on 250 works, from January 1 to December 31, 2026.

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[1] Stewart Brand, How Buildings Learn: What Happens After They're Built (New York: Viking, 1994), p. 167.