As often happens on my Great Plains travels, an abandoned marvel appeared out of nowhere, in this case larger than most, over a hundred feet long and half as wide, many miles down a remote dirt road . The one-hall brick, stone and stucco structure contained a magnificent auditorium and gym, along with several classrooms, presenting itself as an inviting relic, regardless of its contemporary decrepitude. Such edifices fill one’s imagination: attentive and well-dressed elementary pupils taking notes as arithmetic busily filled the chalkboard and chalk dust filled the air, or at quiet time, proctored high-school students engrossed in the classical rigor of essay testing on their comprehension of Aeschylus, all with younger versions of these trees fluttering in the prairie wind just outside. These walls once held lessons long lost and heard stories never again to be told, even as they still offer feeble hints of young lives educated and sent off to farms, factories, colleges, and wars. Alas, someday soon the masonry will simply fall in a downburst, tornado, blizzard, or prairie fire, ultimately to be absorbed by the very soil upon which it stood.