The RV Sabbatical Journal

Friday, October 31, 2008 — near Warsaw, MO.

I heard a low rumbling… off in the distance. What was that?

It was 6:30am and I was just starting to stir from a good nights sleep. Then I heard it again. It’s thunder. But it can’t be thunder — there was no prediction for rain. What the heck?

I hopped out of bed, fired up the internet router, turned on my computer, and made coffee while everything booted up. There’s definitely lightning off to the west and there’s definitely a storm out there, regardless of what the weather service predicted.

A few minutes later, with fresh hot coffee in hand, I was on the Weather Underground website (the site I default to for weather information) and, sure enough, there’s one little line of showers, barely visible on the national map, right there in the middle of Missouri. There’s not another radar echo from another drop of rain anywhere for a thousand miles around. But we are lucky enough to be in the one little spot of sporty weather.

In this case, I sincerely mean lucky. We were treated to a most amazing show of colors, contrasts, and sounds during the next couple hours. The sun was rising in the east while the storm was approaching from the west. The area where we’re camped is covered with oak trees. Most oaks resist giving up their leaves in the fall and these are no exception. And these leaves, still on the trees, are the most amazing combination of bronze, brown, red, orange, and a bit of residual green. The color can’t be easily described and it’s all over, it surrounds you, it’s everywhere. Normally, at sunrise or sunset, the reddish low sunlight, shadows, and colored leaves produce a show that shouldn’t be missed. But throw in the dark clouds of a storm, the rolling, rumbling thunder, and the sound of rain and dislodged acorns hitting the top of the bus-house — well, it was an experience I’ll remember for a while. Who needs TV for entertainment when experiences like this are all around us?

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Yesterday, Thursday, we went into Sedalia exploring for a bike trail we’d heard about. Some years ago, the State of Missouri purchased a railroad right-of-way from the remains of the MKT Railroad. MKT stands for Missouri, Kansas, and Texas — and it became known as the Katy Line — get it, MKT –> KT –> Katy?

Anyway, the State had the tracks pulled up and a recreation trail put in. Known as the Katy Trail, it extends 225 miles from Clinton, MO to St. Charles, MO. For much of that distance it follows the Missouri River.

The trail runs right through Sedalia. We found it, mounted up, and rode about 18 miles toward the southwest. This is my preferred biking experience as I don’t enjoy the tension that accompanies sharing a roadway with cars, trucks, and motorhomes driven by old blind guys. Give me a dedicated bike trail and I can ride for hours, or at least until my leg muscles lock-up.

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Today, Friday, we might go exploring for a small town that’s just on the other side of the lake. It’s named “Tightwad”. It’ll be worth the gas to get that picture.

T

Wednesday, October 29, 2008 — near Warsaw, MO.

We’ve been lingering in the North for a long time because autumn in the Midwest is our favorite time of the year. But now that November is almost here, it’s time to start moving South. On Tuesday, yesterday, we pulled our jacks, pointed the nose of the bus-house southward, left Iowa, and ended up in another Corps. of Engineers Campground on the Harry Truman Reservoir near Warsaw in Central Missouri. It was an almost 300 mile drive… a long one for us. But we found another great COE park near Warsaw, MO.

We like the solitude and peacefulness of this place so much we may extend our stay for a few more days. We’ll see.

T

Tuesday, October 28, 2008 — Winterset, IA

On Monday, yesterday, we drove over to Indianola, IA., to meet up with one of my cousins, Kevin, a contemporary of mine, who is the grandson of a sister of my grandfather. I’ll pause here for a few seconds while that sinks in.

(Pause.)

Kevin grew up in Melcher, IA., just a few miles from Bauer, IA. where my ancestors settled in the early 1870’s. Not only has he lived here in the area all his life, he’s also done a lot of research and genealogical work of his own. He’s a walking family-tree encyclopedia; he knows where all the bodies are buried and most of the stories about them. We couldn’t have had a better tour-guide for the day.

The last time I was in this area I was 4 years old. In 1955, my Mom and Dad, Grandmother and Grandfather, my younger brother and I… we all loaded into Dad’s Plymouth and set out on the biggest trip I’d ever been on. From Beaver Dam, it was a two day ordeal on two lane roads to cover the 300 miles. These were pre-Interstate Highway days, which were only someone’s crazy idea at that point.

About mid-way, we stopped for the night at some road-side cabins. Six people in one car — two of them squirmy kids — probably had a lot to do with the decision to stop for the night after only 150 miles — I’m guessing. Cabins were common in the early days of automobile travel as budding business people could easily get into the lodging business by building one or two small cabins for a reasonable cost. Then, as demand grew, they could easily add more. It was only after the Interstate Highway System was being built that someone had the idea to nail some cabins together in a line and call it a motel.

I have vague memories of the trip, mental snapshots of staying at someone’s house in the country, next to some railroad tracks, standing in tall grass, grasshoppers jumping all over the place, a rickety-looking wooden bridge over the tracks, a summer-kitchen in the basement of the house where it was much cooler than the main floor, and a lot of happy and friendly people.

Kevin took us to that spot, which had been his grandmothers house. I stood in the grass, near the tracks, looked at the concrete bridge that long ago replaced the wooden one. I didn’t see any grasshoppers this time.

We also saw the Hoch home place where my Great-Great-Grandfather and Grandmother raised their family of 10 kids. One of those kids, my Great Grandfather, took over the farm operations and raised his family of 7 kids in the same house– one of which was my Grandfather who eventually moved to Beaver Dam.

Kevin had the connections to get us into the little de-commissioned Catholic Church that was so central to their lives — where they came into the world and where they left it. Just down the road from the Hoch home place in Bauer, it was where they were baptized, worshiped, married, had their funerals, and were buried in the cemetery out back. We could have spent a day just going through the cemetery, but thanks to the magic of digital photography, we now have dozens of headstone photos.

I also learned that coal mining was an important industry in this area for about 25 years in the early 1900’s. The opportunity for land and farming brought German immigrants, the mines brought Welsh and Croatians. But the coal didn’t last long and the farm land is so hilly, rocky, and creased with streams that it was difficult to farm efficiently. Today, I’d say the area is surviving buy not thriving. It’s a comfortable place full of friendly people who often must drive to larger towns 30 or 40 miles away for work.

Kevin also arranged to have the Mining History Museum in Melcher opened for us — it’s normally open just on the weekends. There we learned a lot more about those old mining operations as well as how people lived and the things that were important to them. The original organ from the church in Bauer is in the museum. It’s operated by crank — there was no electricity in those days so if you wanted organ music it was a two person job — one to play and one to provide the power by cranking. It still works so Kevin, who is an accomplished organist among his other talents. played a song while I, yours truly, provided the cranking power. The sounds that came from the organ were the same sounds many of my ancestors heard. It was another sensory element that made me feel closer to them.

This was an important day for me. Putting more meat on my memories from more than 50 years ago. Being in the same places these ancestors lived. Seeing the same hills, streams, gravel roads they saw. Being in the same little church that was so important to them. For a while I was in the same three dimensions they lived in, separated only by a fourth dimension — time. The images made up by my mind before that day morphed into the reality of the place. The images I gathered that day will remain with me for the rest of my life.

T

Monday, October 27, 2008 — Winterset, IA

The “exploration for the day” on Sunday was the Iowa State Capitol building in Des Moines. One of the multiple themes of our travels these days is to see as many of the statehouses as we can. They’re full of history, usually very ornate and rich with art and symbolism, and there’s an aura or feeling of importance, orderliness, and solidness — after all, it’s the place our state laws are proposed, legislated, and adjudicated.

The Iowa Statehouse is the only Capitol in the United States that has 5 domes. The main dome rises 275 feet above the first floor of the rotunda and it’s exterior is covered in gold leaf — thin sheets of pure gold. Because the gold is so thin, it must be replaced every 30 years or so. It was last done in 1998.

Interesting factoid: 250,000 sheets of gold leaf would form a stack only 1 inch high. So while you might think it’d take tens of millions of dollars to cover a dome this size with pure gold, the total cost of re-gilding in 1998 was $482,000 — and that includes labor. A mere pittance of two-bits per man, woman, and child in the State.

Over the years the building grew tired and wasn’t maintained to a high standard. In fact, layers of paint were applied on top of all kinds of things… marble columns, stenciled walls, gold-leaf detailing, etc. Maybe some governor or influential senator had a relative in the painting business?… I don’t know. But about 10 years ago, a project to revitalize the place began with the goal to restore it to it’s original grandeur. The job is nearly done and it looks magnificent — even to my untrained eye.

We joined a guided tour, with a positively delightful tour guide, who took us places the public doesn’t usually go and told us things the public doesn’t usually hear. The “high point” of the tour was a climb up hundreds (or was it thousands?) of steps to the balcony at the top of the dome.

Construction on this building began in 1871 and was completed in 1886, which makes it almost 125 years old. To me, it looks like it’ll easily make it another 125 years, and at that point it’d still be considered new in Europe.

What is it about the American psyche that, it seems by default, wants to constantly replace the old with something new?

T

Sunday, October 26, 2008 — Winterset, IA

Living in Winterset is easy and comfortable. To me it feels like a different country compared to trying to survive in a big city, as we did for so long. I know, Winterset is in the middle of Iowa, which is the middle of America, and in many ways most Americans, who live in big metroplexes and along the coasts, probably consider it a foreign country too. The great middle of the United States is often the brunt of jokes, is considered boring, and not “with it”. But as I’ve aged and have re-oriented my values, I like the simpler life of places like this. People have few pretensions, they’re friendlier, come across as more genuine, and seem to be more about enjoying what they have rather than worrying about something they don’t have. The pace of life seems more natural, at least to me.

The other day we needed a few grocery items. Winterset’s only grocery store is a nice sized Fareway Store situated, not out in a strip mall on the edge of town, but right downtown. We’ve been in grocery stores all over the country and I make it a practice to compare them, focusing on selection, prices, and the general feel of each place. This one impressed me from the moment I got out of the car. It was quite busy and they had what seemed to be a small army of people hustling every customer’s groceries out to their cars. And I mean they were hustling. Once inside, there was another army stocking shelves, checking, and bagging. They have a meat counter with real, live, meat-cutters, butchers — and I mean professionals who looked, acted, and sounded like they knew what they were talking about. The store wasn’t huge by today’s standards, but with enough room for a great selection of at least the things we normally look for. And the prices were very reasonable… as low or lower than WalMart in many cases. If you lived almost anywhere in this town of 5,000 people it’s possible to walk to the store. For a town this size, it’s much more than I expected. What a nice experience!

During our first few days in town we’ve been dodging rain showers to get out and see the local attractions. Over the course of three days we got out to see most of the famous covered bridges — five of them that are original. Built in the early 1880’s, most by Benton Jones, they are substantial wooden structures that have lasted over 120 years. In those years almost all bridges were made of wood and weather was hard on them — usually lasting about 10 years before major work or replacement was necessary. The idea of the covered bridge was that it’s less expensive to maintain a roof that protected the bridge than to replace the bridge itself. So the hard-working, frugal, people of Madison County decided to pay a little more for covered bridges that would last much longer and be a better deal in the long run. They’re about 15 feet wide — wide enough for two lane horse traffic, but probably only a single lane for farm equipment or cars. All of these bridges have been replaced by modern bridges that by-pass the original structures, which are open these days to pedestrian traffic only. There is one bridge, the Cedar Bridge, that was rebuilt in 2004 after being destroyed by arson a few years ago, that’s possible to cross with a car for the experience.

There aren’t many of these things left. See them while you can.

T