Pay attention long enough and you'll see your own patterns emerging.
This time of year tends to be among the most hectic, as we transition into fall, school, the last quarter of the year . . . everybody wants to get everything done by the holidays. My biggest problem with it seems to be in that little late August/early September lull when I start getting great ideas for projects that are inevitably killed by everything that's going on in the months that follow. Halloween costumes. Nanowrimo. New fall TV.
Cite a fall project, and I can tell you what killed it -- one of might biggest regrets was the Dark Lantern League online role-play group, killed, ironically enough, by an intensive webmastering class. And if that trend wasn't bad enough, you know what else comes when life gets hectic and the brain is churning hard when downtime comes?
Even more ideas for Sherlockian efforts.
Get a few weeks with nothing to do, and . . . nothing.
Get a month without a spare moment, and the seeming greatest of all Sherlockian inspirations appears . . . only to be old hat by the time the schedule clears up.
That's why the blog business seems to work so well for me: Spit out an idea, give it a little fleshing out, just enough to get it out of the system, and move on to the next. But it's treading water. When nothing gets fully developed, it's hard to move forward, whatever one defines as moving forward.
The obsession project, the thing that eats your whole existence for months on end, has been my best way to get the bigger things done. Not the slow and measured pace that allows some distraction alternating with the discipline to return to the work. Being able to take the long view and stick to the course.
I wouldn't be writing this rather whiney post if I wasn't starting to set my mind to gets some things done in the Sherlockian field this fall for a change. Ideas are here and some of them might actually have value. So let's just see what happens this time, and if the patterns break for a change.
Watch this space.
The ongoing investigation of Sherlock Holmes, reported from the Peoria, Illinois outpost of Baker Street's dirtiest half a dozen.
Tuesday, September 12, 2017
Sunday, September 10, 2017
Deutero-Sherlock
Many people have said that Sherlock just wasn't the same after the hiatus. Or Sherlock wasn't the same after the hiatus. Or both.
In the 1920s, it was how the post-Reichenbach Sherlock Holmes might have been fictional, as several bits of him don't match up to pre-Reichenbach Holmes (Father Ronald Knox in the essay "Studies in Sherlock Holmes"). In the 2010s, it was how seasons three and four of BBC Sherlock just didn't live up to the promises of seasons one and two to so many fans.
In that 1920s Knox essay, he referred to a "Deutero-Watson," a second biographer of Sherlock Holmes who wrote some of the tales and not the others. But to my mind, even as I first read "Deutero-Watson," I was evolving Knox's words on Sherlock not being the same to a post-Reichenbach "Deutero-Sherlock." Sherlock Holmes did die at Reichenbach Falls, and then was replaced by a second Sherlock Holmes.
Many a Sherlockian has toyed with this idea, over the years. A Vernet cousin. A twin. An actor. A clone. Such theories are of limited use when considering the original Holmes Canon as we tend to love all sixty tales at this point, even the runts of the litter, and don't want to suppose that even the Sherlock of "The Mazarin Stone" was not our Sherlock.
But as I reflected upon such theories and applied that filter to the issues of BBC Sherlock, the idea of a Deutero-Sherlock seemed much more sound.
We are never told exactly how Sherlock Holmes survived the Reichenbach Fall. We know that someone who looked just like him came to the graveyard while John mourned at his grave. We know that Mycroft pulled a shaggy spy from the field to take up Sherlock's place in London. And we know that John Watson seemed to want to punch Sherlock Holmes a lot more after his BBC hiatus, starting immediately. And Mycroft did use that phrase "the other one," which we were supposed to accept meant Eurus . . . but did Eurus ever seem like anything close to another Sherlock?
As messed-up and secretive as the Holmes family eventually was shown to be in "The Final Problem," the idea that there was an additional sibling, a twin for Sherlock is not that far fetched. Or, failing that, an MI-6 agent that Mycroft Holmes made into a replica of his brother. (That would certainly explain all the spy stuff coming in so hot and heavy.)
But, as tempting as a second Sherlock might be, there is that price that must be paid . . . a price earlier Sherlockians have always been unwilling to accept to explain a few character changes. Does one give up two seasons and a Christmas special to hold that the pure Sherlock of seasons one and two was not the man who came back post-hiatus? Both were played by Benedict Cumberbatch, 'tis true, but it tends to leave John Watson in an even messier place than he is at the end of season four, even though he may not consciously be aware of it.
Has anyone wrote a fic of post-Reichenbach Johnlock where poor John discovers Sherlock is truly not the man he remembered? Surely they must have a this point. It would seem material enough for a whole sub-genre.
As much as my mind goes back to this little theory of a Deutero-Sherlock, it never stays long. In fact, mere moments after I finish this off, I'll probably be back to a single true Sherlock in my headcanon. But it's always an interesting question to raise.
In the 1920s, it was how the post-Reichenbach Sherlock Holmes might have been fictional, as several bits of him don't match up to pre-Reichenbach Holmes (Father Ronald Knox in the essay "Studies in Sherlock Holmes"). In the 2010s, it was how seasons three and four of BBC Sherlock just didn't live up to the promises of seasons one and two to so many fans.
In that 1920s Knox essay, he referred to a "Deutero-Watson," a second biographer of Sherlock Holmes who wrote some of the tales and not the others. But to my mind, even as I first read "Deutero-Watson," I was evolving Knox's words on Sherlock not being the same to a post-Reichenbach "Deutero-Sherlock." Sherlock Holmes did die at Reichenbach Falls, and then was replaced by a second Sherlock Holmes.
Many a Sherlockian has toyed with this idea, over the years. A Vernet cousin. A twin. An actor. A clone. Such theories are of limited use when considering the original Holmes Canon as we tend to love all sixty tales at this point, even the runts of the litter, and don't want to suppose that even the Sherlock of "The Mazarin Stone" was not our Sherlock.
But as I reflected upon such theories and applied that filter to the issues of BBC Sherlock, the idea of a Deutero-Sherlock seemed much more sound.
We are never told exactly how Sherlock Holmes survived the Reichenbach Fall. We know that someone who looked just like him came to the graveyard while John mourned at his grave. We know that Mycroft pulled a shaggy spy from the field to take up Sherlock's place in London. And we know that John Watson seemed to want to punch Sherlock Holmes a lot more after his BBC hiatus, starting immediately. And Mycroft did use that phrase "the other one," which we were supposed to accept meant Eurus . . . but did Eurus ever seem like anything close to another Sherlock?
As messed-up and secretive as the Holmes family eventually was shown to be in "The Final Problem," the idea that there was an additional sibling, a twin for Sherlock is not that far fetched. Or, failing that, an MI-6 agent that Mycroft Holmes made into a replica of his brother. (That would certainly explain all the spy stuff coming in so hot and heavy.)
But, as tempting as a second Sherlock might be, there is that price that must be paid . . . a price earlier Sherlockians have always been unwilling to accept to explain a few character changes. Does one give up two seasons and a Christmas special to hold that the pure Sherlock of seasons one and two was not the man who came back post-hiatus? Both were played by Benedict Cumberbatch, 'tis true, but it tends to leave John Watson in an even messier place than he is at the end of season four, even though he may not consciously be aware of it.
Has anyone wrote a fic of post-Reichenbach Johnlock where poor John discovers Sherlock is truly not the man he remembered? Surely they must have a this point. It would seem material enough for a whole sub-genre.
As much as my mind goes back to this little theory of a Deutero-Sherlock, it never stays long. In fact, mere moments after I finish this off, I'll probably be back to a single true Sherlock in my headcanon. But it's always an interesting question to raise.
Friday, September 8, 2017
"Such work as we have been doing."
We have puzzled over a lot of things about Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson over the last hundred years. Snakes with ears. Geese with crops. Anybody with anybody else. But there is a line near the end of a seminal tale that I don't think we give enough consideration to. A line we usually just accept for its surface value and don't into dig too deeply. That line?
Sherlock makes that statement in his explanation of groaning at Watson's engagement announcement. He goes on to speak of Mary Morstan's genius, then suddenly veers into a statement that "love is an emotional thing and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things." He then quickly adds, "I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment."
Sherlock Holmes is obviously covering up something here. We know he's all about the work. Caught unsure of exactly what to say, he's going to default to talking about the detective business. And then talk about how emotions are something he doesn't do . . . right after he had a very emotional reaction. He had just audibly groaned "a most dismal groan."
Now, if you're a romantic, you can go two or three ways here. You can look at it that he himself was infatuated with Mary Morstan, John Watson, or both, and saw there marriage as an opportunity lost. That's a pretty easy route to take. And seemingly more probable than taking Holmes at his word.
Because if we take Holmes at his word, we have to figure out just how Sherlock Holmes was going to use Mary Morstan in their detective business, "such work as we have been doing," as Holmes puts it. But what work was that? He seems to be sitting around, bored and swapping out morphine and cocaine for three months when the case begins, even though he claims he's been consulted by a French detective, seemingly via the mail.
He's consulting by mail, Watson has written up their first case together, and the one thing he finds most impressive about Mary Morstan seems to be her ability to keep an important paper singled out from other papers. Was he hoping to hire Mary as a filing clerk for 221B Baker Street? And somehow Watson's proposal invalidated her from that job?
A more disturbing prospect for the role of this never-filled job comes when you consider that some Sherlockians place this case as occurring in September of 1888 . . . the month of the Jack the Ripper murders. Watson's sudden turn for making Mary Morstan a life partner certainly removed her from the possibility of Holmes using her for Ripper bait. Holmes's idea of the things that were a part of his work ranged very widely, so possibilities going from filing clerk to pretend prostitute are not so unimaginable.
But there is always the possibility that "work" was he and Watson's code name for something else, and the fact that Watson was going to make Miss Morstan his bride leaves Holmes with the immediate reaction of being "as limp as a rag for a week." I will, however, leave that one for keener minds on that sort of topic than my own.
The whole passage about the Watson-Morstan engagement and "such work as we have been doing" definitely needs more study though. And I can't help but wonder if Mary would be good for that work, were she around today.
"I think she is one of the most charming young ladies I ever met, and might have been most useful in such work as we have been doing."-- Sherlock Holmes, The Sign of Four
Sherlock makes that statement in his explanation of groaning at Watson's engagement announcement. He goes on to speak of Mary Morstan's genius, then suddenly veers into a statement that "love is an emotional thing and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things." He then quickly adds, "I should never marry myself, lest I bias my judgment."
Sherlock Holmes is obviously covering up something here. We know he's all about the work. Caught unsure of exactly what to say, he's going to default to talking about the detective business. And then talk about how emotions are something he doesn't do . . . right after he had a very emotional reaction. He had just audibly groaned "a most dismal groan."
Now, if you're a romantic, you can go two or three ways here. You can look at it that he himself was infatuated with Mary Morstan, John Watson, or both, and saw there marriage as an opportunity lost. That's a pretty easy route to take. And seemingly more probable than taking Holmes at his word.
Because if we take Holmes at his word, we have to figure out just how Sherlock Holmes was going to use Mary Morstan in their detective business, "such work as we have been doing," as Holmes puts it. But what work was that? He seems to be sitting around, bored and swapping out morphine and cocaine for three months when the case begins, even though he claims he's been consulted by a French detective, seemingly via the mail.
He's consulting by mail, Watson has written up their first case together, and the one thing he finds most impressive about Mary Morstan seems to be her ability to keep an important paper singled out from other papers. Was he hoping to hire Mary as a filing clerk for 221B Baker Street? And somehow Watson's proposal invalidated her from that job?
A more disturbing prospect for the role of this never-filled job comes when you consider that some Sherlockians place this case as occurring in September of 1888 . . . the month of the Jack the Ripper murders. Watson's sudden turn for making Mary Morstan a life partner certainly removed her from the possibility of Holmes using her for Ripper bait. Holmes's idea of the things that were a part of his work ranged very widely, so possibilities going from filing clerk to pretend prostitute are not so unimaginable.
But there is always the possibility that "work" was he and Watson's code name for something else, and the fact that Watson was going to make Miss Morstan his bride leaves Holmes with the immediate reaction of being "as limp as a rag for a week." I will, however, leave that one for keener minds on that sort of topic than my own.
The whole passage about the Watson-Morstan engagement and "such work as we have been doing" definitely needs more study though. And I can't help but wonder if Mary would be good for that work, were she around today.
Thursday, September 7, 2017
Time after time, chronology after chronology.
Spending my time on Sherlock's time again.
After the clarity a little time away from your life that a vacation brings, I've come home with some new projects and a little bit of clean-up to do. First up, getting my basic chronology from 2001 back on the web.
The old SherlockPeoria.net site finally met its demise after 15 years sometime last month. The hosting service I placed it with back in 2002 had become very complacent about their customer service, and after several attempts to move peaceably, it just became easiest to let it die of natural causes. The material all still exists, of course, well backed up, but just isn't open to the public as it was for the last decade and a half. Hopefully, most of it will find a new home at some point.
The most-visited part of the old site was the handy reference of "A Basic Timeline of Terra 221B," the chronology of Sherlock Holmes's cases that I worked out while serving as discussion leader on the Hounds of the Internet, way back when. I use it a lot myself, and already had one question as to how soon it would be coming back. After contemplating a few web options, the quickest way seemed to just blog it back out there, so you'll find it at basictimelineterra221b.blogspot.com now.
The links aren't all active yet, which you'll see immediately, as I'm adding quotes and commentary that back up the dates in reverse order, blogging from "His Last Bow" backwards to eventually get the link added for "The Gloria Scott." Within a week or so, the whole 2001 chronology should be back online for handy reference.
You may note the use of the phrase "the whole 2001 chronology," which would seem to indicate it is different from some other year's Sherlockian chronology, and that is the intended use. After fifteen years, a lot has gone on with Sherlock, John, and myself, and I think there are definite reasons for another hard look at the way the boys' time together plays out. As to what year gets attached to the Basic Timeline 2.0, we shall see.
But when the old material is in place, "A Basic Timeline of Terra 221B" is now definitely a blog, which means there is room for not only new posts, but comments on posts old and new as well, making it a little more of a living document than the old chronology.
We'll see what happens next. These days, you just never know.
After the clarity a little time away from your life that a vacation brings, I've come home with some new projects and a little bit of clean-up to do. First up, getting my basic chronology from 2001 back on the web.
The old SherlockPeoria.net site finally met its demise after 15 years sometime last month. The hosting service I placed it with back in 2002 had become very complacent about their customer service, and after several attempts to move peaceably, it just became easiest to let it die of natural causes. The material all still exists, of course, well backed up, but just isn't open to the public as it was for the last decade and a half. Hopefully, most of it will find a new home at some point.
The most-visited part of the old site was the handy reference of "A Basic Timeline of Terra 221B," the chronology of Sherlock Holmes's cases that I worked out while serving as discussion leader on the Hounds of the Internet, way back when. I use it a lot myself, and already had one question as to how soon it would be coming back. After contemplating a few web options, the quickest way seemed to just blog it back out there, so you'll find it at basictimelineterra221b.blogspot.com now.
The links aren't all active yet, which you'll see immediately, as I'm adding quotes and commentary that back up the dates in reverse order, blogging from "His Last Bow" backwards to eventually get the link added for "The Gloria Scott." Within a week or so, the whole 2001 chronology should be back online for handy reference.
You may note the use of the phrase "the whole 2001 chronology," which would seem to indicate it is different from some other year's Sherlockian chronology, and that is the intended use. After fifteen years, a lot has gone on with Sherlock, John, and myself, and I think there are definite reasons for another hard look at the way the boys' time together plays out. As to what year gets attached to the Basic Timeline 2.0, we shall see.
But when the old material is in place, "A Basic Timeline of Terra 221B" is now definitely a blog, which means there is room for not only new posts, but comments on posts old and new as well, making it a little more of a living document than the old chronology.
We'll see what happens next. These days, you just never know.
Tuesday, September 5, 2017
Back to just us?
With nothing definite ahead for BBC Sherlock or the Downey movie franchise, and even CBS's Elementary dwindling its way off-stage, Sherlock Holmes's big moment in the mainstream might be headed for hiatus again soon. It has happened before, and it will happen again, so no worries. It's just a change in gears that any fandom has to deal with over time, and Sherlockiana has that "over time" part well in hand.
Because when nobody else is talking about Sherlock Holmes, we still are. And when nobody else is making fun content about 221B Baker Street, we make our own.
Being a bit behind the curve, I have yet to ingest Mattias Bostrom's well-reviewed From Holmes to Sherlock, but it sounds like one could use it to chart all the peaks and valleys the legend of Sherlock Holmes has seen over the three separate centuries of its existence. And if one looked at that chart and pointed to the valleys, we'd all know who lives down there: Sherlockians.
When everyone else has left the theater, we'll sneak up on to that stage and do our thing in front of a house that only has a handful of diehards still in the front row. We'll know all the diehards by name very soon after that, and see very familiar faces climbing up to the stage again and again, while the general public goes about their business on the street outside until the theater of Sherlock again gets a hit during the Saturday night features.
There are other shows to wander off to, other fandoms that will take in those who need a heartier diet of fresh produce (he wrote, as he shifted metaphors), but for those that remain, living off stuff canned in earlier days, we'll get to see just how creative our chefs can be in helping keep our palates from getting too numb from the same, familiar tastes.
It's hard to say what the future will bring for Sherlock Holmes. Entertainment culture is anxious to squeeze every dime from any existing property, and Holmes's place in the public domain makes him a tempting well to go back to. We will definitely see adaptations and new attempts that fail to win over either Sherlockians or the general public -- oh, how we've seen those before, so many, many times. But we'll find our fun, and fun will be had.
And if it's back to just us, well, we've got a lot of new kids since the last drought (but do we have them, or do they have us?), and they seem like a whole lot of fun. I think we'll make it.
Monday, September 4, 2017
Labor Day means that Presbury monkey business.
One hundred and fifteen years ago this week, Sherlock Holmes was presented with one of his more ridiculous puzzles. And he's sitting like "L" from Death Note, though L probably is the one sitting like Sherlock, since Sherlock was Sherlock before L was. But I digress.
The case Sherlock Holmes took up all those years ago was one that now seems a little . . . non-case-like?
A man of sixty-one years of age gets all teenage about a girl a third of his age, takes a trip without telling his kids, and gets bit by his dog. If you lay out the facts that start off this case, in the year 2017, it really sounds like a no-go for our man Sherlock, late in his career. "What? A man behaving peculiarly in his later years, chasing younger women? Surely this must be the work of a resurrected Professor Moriarty!" Nope.
If everything in "The Adventure of the Creeping Man" had occurred without Professor Presbury having discovered a Victorian Viagra supplier, Sherlock Holmes would have had nothing to investigate here. A rich old guy and a younger woman start a relationship, she decides maybe the wealth isn't worth missing out on men her own age, and he gets a little wonky when she dumps him. Have Presbury standing outside her window with a guitar instead of pretending to be a monkey in a tree and no one even calls Sherlock Holmes.
I mean, think about it. If Presbury decided song was his key to her heart, suddenly took secret voice and guitar lessons, had his dog bite him for his painful crooning, is there a case here? Not at all. One might argue that a strange imported drug makes it a more criminal matter, but this was 1902. Injecting one's self with animal gland liquids was probably not something Scotland Yard really cared about. And your crazy old father was more of a case for a specialist in mental issues than the greatest criminal investigator of his day.
Perhaps the worst crime in this story is young Bennett refusing to have Presbury seen by a good surgeon after he is mauled by the dog and nearly killed. Or perhaps it's the fact that Professor Presbury, when turned into Mr. Monkey (yes, this tale should really be titled Professor Presbury and Mister Monkey for being the lamest possible remake of 1886's The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde) would tease the dog so much. (I guess we're supposed to believe dog-teasing is hard-wired in the DNA of Himalayan langurs?)
If there was a way to do Mystery Science Theater 3000 riffs on a short story, "The Adventure of the Creeping Men" certainly would be a candidate for it. As we enter the week it took place, all those hundred and fifteen years ago, it's worth another look to make that judgment call for yourself.
The case Sherlock Holmes took up all those years ago was one that now seems a little . . . non-case-like?
A man of sixty-one years of age gets all teenage about a girl a third of his age, takes a trip without telling his kids, and gets bit by his dog. If you lay out the facts that start off this case, in the year 2017, it really sounds like a no-go for our man Sherlock, late in his career. "What? A man behaving peculiarly in his later years, chasing younger women? Surely this must be the work of a resurrected Professor Moriarty!" Nope.
If everything in "The Adventure of the Creeping Man" had occurred without Professor Presbury having discovered a Victorian Viagra supplier, Sherlock Holmes would have had nothing to investigate here. A rich old guy and a younger woman start a relationship, she decides maybe the wealth isn't worth missing out on men her own age, and he gets a little wonky when she dumps him. Have Presbury standing outside her window with a guitar instead of pretending to be a monkey in a tree and no one even calls Sherlock Holmes.
I mean, think about it. If Presbury decided song was his key to her heart, suddenly took secret voice and guitar lessons, had his dog bite him for his painful crooning, is there a case here? Not at all. One might argue that a strange imported drug makes it a more criminal matter, but this was 1902. Injecting one's self with animal gland liquids was probably not something Scotland Yard really cared about. And your crazy old father was more of a case for a specialist in mental issues than the greatest criminal investigator of his day.
Perhaps the worst crime in this story is young Bennett refusing to have Presbury seen by a good surgeon after he is mauled by the dog and nearly killed. Or perhaps it's the fact that Professor Presbury, when turned into Mr. Monkey (yes, this tale should really be titled Professor Presbury and Mister Monkey for being the lamest possible remake of 1886's The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde) would tease the dog so much. (I guess we're supposed to believe dog-teasing is hard-wired in the DNA of Himalayan langurs?)
If there was a way to do Mystery Science Theater 3000 riffs on a short story, "The Adventure of the Creeping Men" certainly would be a candidate for it. As we enter the week it took place, all those hundred and fifteen years ago, it's worth another look to make that judgment call for yourself.
Saturday, September 2, 2017
Frank Moulton and my Rocky retreat.
I've always enjoyed Frank Moulton from "The Noble Bachelor." That title, these days, sounds like a TV show where Lord Robert St. Simon is handing out roses to the likes of Flora Millar and Hatty Doran sorting out his perfect choice of bride. But unlike those silly, silly reality shows, "The Noble Bachelor" features a married man who comes in to mess up St. Simon's quest.
Frank Moulton is a reminder of what a real challenge life in America once was, and the contrast he sets to a child of so-called nobility in posh London is part of what makes the story. Frank Moulton is a man who set a goal, a hard goal, in a hard place, and dragged himself all over creation to accomplish it. He went from a camp near the Rockies to San Francisco, to Montana, then way down to Arizona and New Mexico. He somehow missed being slaughtered when others at his location were. Then he trails his missing bride all the way to London, and once there?
He lets her tell her own story. That might even be the biggest of his achievements after all that.
I don't wonder that Frank had enough control over his ego that, unlike many men of the Canon, he didn't feel the need to dominate the telling of the tale at 221B Baker Street. He certainly could have. But Frank was a guy who had seen the Rocky Mountains.
Residents of our biggest cities like New York and London are rightly proud of the humans that build and populate such incredible anthills of humanity. But finding yourself in the deep rocky canyons of the aptly named Rockies, considering the powerful natural forces that pushed stone into structures larger and more curiously constructed than anything our biggest cities have to offer, well, it kind of puts you in your place. The thought that men like Frank Moulton made their way through this sort of terrain without a paved highway and speeding motorcar makes you realize our species is capable of so much more hardship than most of us face today. And seeing things like bighorn sheep nimbly trotting and jumping around rock walls that would be a slow climb for any human reminds you that even our fancy evolved forms aren't always top of the animal kingdom on all terrain.
Frank Moulton was a guy who came from that sort of place. And spending some time out here in the Rocky Mountains every now and then is definitely good for the soul, even though I'm not a mountain guy at heart -- I'm a river person. Peorians, like Londoners, grew up around that big river of constantly flowing water, a place built because traffic moved more quickly and easily on that water. The mountains are not that place.
Doing a little retreat "near the Rockies," as Frank Moulton began his journey, has always brought me some fresh Sherlock perspectives and challenged me to do some new things. This time is no different. My old website of fifteen years, SherlockPeoria.net, seems to have gone down due to some hosting issues while I was here, a fitting time as it was conceived here as well. While a nice repository of a by-gone, pre-Cumberbatch era material, it needed a major overhaul, and this seems like the opportunity to do that overhaul. You'll be seeing that coming along soon . . . well, that is, if I, like Frank Moulton, turn up alive after all my little adventures in the American West.
Frank Moulton is a reminder of what a real challenge life in America once was, and the contrast he sets to a child of so-called nobility in posh London is part of what makes the story. Frank Moulton is a man who set a goal, a hard goal, in a hard place, and dragged himself all over creation to accomplish it. He went from a camp near the Rockies to San Francisco, to Montana, then way down to Arizona and New Mexico. He somehow missed being slaughtered when others at his location were. Then he trails his missing bride all the way to London, and once there?
He lets her tell her own story. That might even be the biggest of his achievements after all that.
I don't wonder that Frank had enough control over his ego that, unlike many men of the Canon, he didn't feel the need to dominate the telling of the tale at 221B Baker Street. He certainly could have. But Frank was a guy who had seen the Rocky Mountains.
Residents of our biggest cities like New York and London are rightly proud of the humans that build and populate such incredible anthills of humanity. But finding yourself in the deep rocky canyons of the aptly named Rockies, considering the powerful natural forces that pushed stone into structures larger and more curiously constructed than anything our biggest cities have to offer, well, it kind of puts you in your place. The thought that men like Frank Moulton made their way through this sort of terrain without a paved highway and speeding motorcar makes you realize our species is capable of so much more hardship than most of us face today. And seeing things like bighorn sheep nimbly trotting and jumping around rock walls that would be a slow climb for any human reminds you that even our fancy evolved forms aren't always top of the animal kingdom on all terrain.
Frank Moulton was a guy who came from that sort of place. And spending some time out here in the Rocky Mountains every now and then is definitely good for the soul, even though I'm not a mountain guy at heart -- I'm a river person. Peorians, like Londoners, grew up around that big river of constantly flowing water, a place built because traffic moved more quickly and easily on that water. The mountains are not that place.
Doing a little retreat "near the Rockies," as Frank Moulton began his journey, has always brought me some fresh Sherlock perspectives and challenged me to do some new things. This time is no different. My old website of fifteen years, SherlockPeoria.net, seems to have gone down due to some hosting issues while I was here, a fitting time as it was conceived here as well. While a nice repository of a by-gone, pre-Cumberbatch era material, it needed a major overhaul, and this seems like the opportunity to do that overhaul. You'll be seeing that coming along soon . . . well, that is, if I, like Frank Moulton, turn up alive after all my little adventures in the American West.
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