Happy Home Coming--TRIP 3 (2012)

Who would have imagined six weeks ago that Retirement Trip #3 would end in such dramatic fashion!

“I’m SO glad I cancelled the night in Toledo,” said Andy, as we rolled along the Ohio Turnpike at 8:15 a.m.

And I’m SO glad I bought new tires for Little Red before we left,” he added.

The car held the slick roads as cold rain pelted us on all sides.

“Well, I’m SO glad I shifted my seat forward late yesterday so it didn’t get leaked on all night long,” I joked.

His summer patch job had given way, but only on my side.

“And I’m SO glad I have extra Kleenex to stuff in the door frame so it doesn’t drip on my shoulder."

We both laughed. It would be a long ride home.

The pictures tells it all... grey skies,
wet roads and misery ahead as travelers
are caught between a low over
 Ohio and Hurricane Sandy in the Atlantic.

After two days of weather warnings, we were more than convinced it was wise to cut our travels short by a few days. We cancelled reservations and checked Map Quest for the fastest route home. Between the miserable three days of rain coming in from the West and bringing with it near freezing temperatures, and the 900-or-more-mile-wide Hurricane Sandy that is expected to turn inland over New England, all counts were against any more exploring, touring, traveling. It was time to bed down and pull out the candles. We headed east with 510 miles of fog, mist, clouds and rain ahead of us.

At 9:12 a.m. we passed utility crews from Edwardsville, Illinois, heading east. An hour later there were more heading the same way…many, many more… some without identification as to state, some hauling huge portable generators. They obviously meant business.

New Jersey and New York trees retain colored leaves as the
threat of Hurricane Sandy mounts.

Fifty miles into Pennsylvania the rain stopped.  But it sprinkled off and on the closer we got to New Jersey.  A contingent of at least 15 Asplundh tree trimmer trucks from Indiana tooled along heading east at 65 m.p.h. on Interstate #84.  Just when we thought the skies had brightened, the windshield speckled again.

We noticed a huge difference in leaves.  The trees in most of Pennsylvania and Ohio were bare, but New Jersey retained lots of color. That’s bad for the branches with a hurricane on the way. That means bad for the residents and the power companies, as well. We heard that Connecticut trees still have leaves. No good.

Many more leaves and more extensive wood piles mark our
homecoming this trip as we arrive home in time for the storm.

We kept driving. We passed eight more utility trucks headed east. This group was from Sumter, South Carolina. A red tree trimmer truck was from Sumter too. “That’s in the western part of the state in the mountains,” said Andy. “It won’t be so affected as the coastline.” The forces were really on the move. And so were we. Much as we didn't want to travel so far in one day... much as we didn't want to end our trip prematurely, it seemed the most sensible thing to do.

Travels with Suzi was not supposed to end like this—502 miles in one day—but it’s safer to be home and settled in with history-making weather on the attack.

More Than We Hoped For--TRIP 3

"That girl's all by herself from South Dakota," said Andy, as we climbed the hill back to Little Red.
"With her dog?" I asked, catching up to him at the car.
"Yup," he answered. "Travels with Charley!"
 We had just walked two trails in the early morning, and the sun disappeared intermittently as clouds billowed in.
The first trail at Great Falls led along the deep gorge to an invisible ravine tucked beneath us. "You can't see Great Falls from this side," determined Andy. We could hear the water dropping though, and a train whistled below us as it followed the river.

Not much water feeds Bridal Veil Falls
as it tumbles among oak leaves.

Bridal Veil Falls trickled down among the fall leaves. The path in was a thick carpet of brown oak leaves, and the banks of the stream were buried in a brown blanket.
By the time we got to Tinkers Creek, the western storm moved in, and billowing grey clouds told of rain and snow on the way. That road, as well as many others, were closed to through traffic. "They must have had a lot of flooding earlier last spring," said Andy. Forecasters promised a 30-degree drop today, and when this front hits Hurricane Sandy coming in from the East Coast, the collision could produce a foot of snow. Not just yet. Not here. We continued along the Parkway, hoping to make the most of our last few rain-free hours.
The stern end of a canal boat is on exhibit at the old Boston Store Visitor Center. The restored 1836 building on the Ohio and Erie Canal Towpath at Boston Mills Road in the old town of Boston shows visitors how canal boats were constructed. Three main types were built here: passenger and freight to transport people and goods and stateroom to entertain rich tourists. The Boston Store sold every sort of goods to supply the needs of those who lived and worked on or near the Canal.
Built in 1836, the store was called the Boston Land and Manufacturing Company store. The unusual trapezoidal shape of the building results from the north and east walls paralleling the town's important transportation routes--Boston Mills Road and the Ohio and Erie Canal.  From 1836 to 1904, the building was a store and post office, specializing in Clothing, Flour and Feed, according to a business directory of 1881-1882.  In 1905, it became a private residence until it was purchased by the National Park Service in 1980.

Lock #29 still shows carving marks of identification on
some of the stone blocks. 

At Lock #29 by the old mill we could feel the temperature drop.  Here in Peninsula Depot, now a welcome center for the park, the Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad crossed the Ohio and Erie Canalway. It must have been a busy intersection in its day. Today it was quiet.
Lock #29, one of the best preserved locks of the entire canal system, was dry, but the skillfully and carefully cut and fitted sandstone blocks have stayed in place for nearly a century. The lock is part of an aqueduct system that carried canal boats over the Cuyahoga River. Foundation blocks still bear the Roman numerals of different crews that competed to cut and shape the stones from the quarry.
At the bend in the river early residents built a grist mill in 1832, that used water power to grind wheat into flour. The Canal offered easy and efficient transport of flour to market. The mill had two owners before Charles Thomas and Chandler Moody bought it in 1885, and replaced, enlarged and renamed it in 1902. On December 26, 1931, the Moody and Thomas Milling Company burned to the ground.
Nearby at Deep Lock Quarry, original site of the sandstone mining operation to build the locks, was a 1.2-mile trail from the parking area. Here crews cut, shaped and marked the huge sandstone blocks that formed the Canal and locks. We passed Lock #28 as we climbed the marked trail. "It's amazing they did that with horse-drawn wagons," said Andy.

A sandstone marker
identifies the trail to
the Lock quarry.

I read that crews marked blocks with Roman numerals here to identify their work. One large block with a triangle circumscribing a T for trail had been positioned near the entrance to the quarry.
"It's going to rain before 4:00 p.m.," said Andy, as we hiked back out.
A train whizzed by pulling passenger cars. It certainly wasn't a slow-moving "scenic railroad." Two blasts of the whistle and about 15 cars raced past the crossing.  We decided later that maybe it actually was the scenic train trip advertised around town.
At Szalay's Farm people shopped for pumpkins, gourds, corn stalks and Halloween decorations. "He could be even more expensive than Didier Farms," said Andy, fingering a giant pumpkin marked $20.00. We looked at the fruit spread, the maple syrup and the fresh apples. It's such a shame we didn't really need any.

No one except the hardy visit Everett Covered Bridge on a
day when misty rain threatened and the wind picked up.
 

Everett Covered Bridge parking lot was empty except for two horse trailers. With loud shouts at the balking animals, a man and woman loaded horses. We walked to the bridge; they were gone when we returned. But by then a very slight mist filled the air.
Exact time of construction of this bridge is unknown, but it was patterned after the 1869 Smith Truss design, and bridges like it were common in 19th century Ohio. In fact, Ohio led the nation with more than 2000 covered bridges in the 1800's, with the first one built in 1809.  Today, Everett Bridge is the only remaining covered bridge in Summit County. Besides the aesthetic value, the roof and sides protected the hard-to-replace wood bridge floor. Few were constructed after the 1880's when popularity faded with the production of more durable iron.
An exhibit by the covered bridge summarized the history of the development of the park system in the Ohio and Erie Canal land between Cleveland and Akron. It had been saved due to the initial conservation efforts of John F. Seiberling, grandson of the founder of Goodyear Tire and Rubber Company, who helped establish the Akron Metropolitan Park District.
Seiberling wrote, "We will never see the land as our ancestors did. But we can understand what made it beautiful and why they lived and died to preserve it. And in preserving it for future generations, we will preserve something of ourselves... There is no more worthwhile cause."
He believed that people who live in an urban environment need open space to maintain their relationship with the earth.

Ledge Trail circles the uplifted sandstone ledges for more
than two miles in Cuyahoga Valley National Park.

Born in 1918, Seiberling grew up on the edge of the Cuyahoga Valley at Stan Hywet Hall with father and grandfather as role models. The post World War II suburban growth concerned him, especially in the early 1960's when it threatened the pastoral character of the region. The Valley needed a champion, and Seiberling took up the cause with individual projects as a citizen dedicated to community and then as a member of a regional planning commission. Seeking an alternative to prevent development forever, he began to advocate a bigger plan--the creation of Cuyahoga Valley Park. He mustered support at all levels from citizenry to government and encouraged park studies. Elected to U.S. Congress in 1970, he introduced legislation to create a national park. But Congress ignored the first bill, claiming there was not enough community interest.  The defeat only energized Seiberling to organize more vocal support. In 1974, Congress easily passed his new bill. President Gerald Ford signed it into law after Seiberling mobilized Ohio political leaders, especially Congressman Ralph Regula, to convince him of the park idea's popularity. Today it extends over many miles with many different Cuyahoga Valley sites.

Nooks and crannies
abound in the sandstone
fracture zones.

"The Ledges Trail is supposed to be the nicest area in the park," said Andy.

Every turn brings
different views
of the sandstone ledges.

Although the barn looks deserted,
the Botzum house evidently had
tenants and an adjoining barn
housed party facilities.

Uplifted sandstone ridges form a scenic, ragged mountain a mile long. Surrounded by oak and beech forest, the uplift offers scenic hiking at every turn and bend. On a nice day, it must be a gorgeous hike in the woods. Instead, we took it at near jog pace.  We followed Ledges Trail for two miles in and around Overlook. Ice Box Cave, closed to protect the bat population from white nose syndrome, hid thousands of nooks and sandstone crannies that could have been fun to explore. No time for us, but we were lucky. We finished the trail before the rain set in.

As we round the bend just
before the rain sets in Little Red waits for us.

Across the towpath and the railroad tracks was the Conrad Botzum Homestead. We poked around the old barn. It looked like someone lived in the house, so we left well enough alone. Grey settled in. By 3:15 p.m. we were pushing our luck with the rain... NO RAIN YET!"I think that's about it for today," said Andy, but we had seen way more than he actually anticipated, and we hadn't gotten wet either.

Driving Weather--TRIP 3 (2013)

"Seventy is pretty fast," said Andy. "How can so many people be going SO fast that they get pulled over?"
We passed a third cop car on the side of the road with his lights flashing. "They must be flying... unless cops here don't allow for any leeway at all."
Maybe Andy forgot we were driving Little Red. Dependable as my car has been, it doesn't like going more than 70. It shakes and rattles. Or maybe he forgot we are retired old farts and not in any hurry!  But today is a long driving day. With rain following us from the West and a Hurricane, or combination hurricane and nor'easter, brewing in the Bahamas, we chose to skip Toledo and head farther east.

The lighthouse seems out of place at
a Michigan Welcome Center until
we considered the Michigan shoreline.

Regardless, the morning was gorgeous as we crossed into Michigan, our 40th retirement trip state, and stopped at the Welcome Center.  A flock of Canada geese took off from the pond and circled around the lighthouse. "It's decorative, right?" I asked Andy.
"Yes, but don't forget, Michigan as a state borders four of the five Great Lakes, all except Ontario. It's only got a little piece of Erie, but it has lots of coast on the other three--Michigan, Superior and Huron.  And on this side of the lakes, they get tons of snow."
I'm pretty sure he was thinking about tonight's change in the weather--a forecasted drop of 30 degrees with 20 and 30 m.p.h. winds.
Today was by far our longest driving day of the trip. We had changed plans to stay in Toledo when western weathermen said rain was moving east and eastern weathermen said Hurricane Sandy could threaten the entire East Coast in a couple days. So we pushed on toward Cuyahoga Falls for tonight.
"Don't get too comfortable," warned Andy. "I'm going to find a good long walk when we get there."
From the tollway we saw a sign for gas, $3.159 per gallon, but by the time we stopped at a station in Hudson, it was back up to 3.339, still not too bad!

Water tumbles over Brandywine Falls as the late
 afternoon shadows cast patterns from the trees.

Lots of people crowded the parking lot at Brandywine Falls and followed the steps down to the three overlooks. Everyone dressed in summer attire. Shorts and tank tops looked more like July than like October. We photographed the falls. I struggled with exposures in the late afternoon sun. "It should be easy," said Andy. "It's so bright and nice! Last year was terribly grey and overcast here, which didn't make for pretty pictures."

Brown leaves cover the trail as we hike
along Brandywine Loop near the Gorge.

We walked the Brandywine Loop Trail along the Brandywine Gorge for a mile along the Cuyahoga River.
"What's this river famous for?" asked Andy.
"Well, I'm pretty sure it's where the Erie Canal came," I guessed. "The Cuyahoga was too shallow and rocky so the Erie Canal used mules along a towpath to pull barges."

Just a trickle, Blue Hen Falls,
nestled down in the valley,
is almost buried in oak leaves. 

"That too," he answered, as we walked along the stream. "The Cuyahoga caught fire spontaneously. It was so polluted with chemicals and sewage that the hot day and bright sun was enough to start the water on fire. I think it was the most polluted river in the U.S.then and maybe one of the most in the world, at least the only one to catch on fire."
We walked the half mile trail to Blue Hen Falls. A high school senior posed for her photo shoot, lying in the dry leaves, perching on the rock ledge, balancing on the rail fence. We watched and chatted with her mom.
"Senior year involves so much," moaned the mother.
"Just wait," we warned.
"We haven't started the college stuff yet, but she should be okay. She's looking at engineering, and Virginia Tech is her first choice," explained the mom.
"Go Tech!" we cheered.

Temporarily Summer--TRIP 3 (2013)

There couldn’t be a much more glorious fall day. By noon, the temperature hovered in the high 70’s with a bright sun and blue skies to warm the landscape. We had shed our jackets by 9:30 a.m. Fleecy high clouds dotted the sky overhead, forming intricate lacy patterns.

“Five more degrees, and I’d be miserable,” remarked Andy. “We are really going to feel it on Friday when the high is a predicted 45 degrees.”

Colored leaves accent the terrain in the oak savanna.

The Bailly Homestead offers shelter today, just as it did
for the trapper Joseph Bailly and his family in 1822.

At Mnoké Prairie trailhead I read that Highland High School students had helped to restore the prairie by planting native grasses after routine National Park Service burns. We circled the prairie for .9 mile, rolling up sleeves as temperatures warmed dramatically. The steel mills rumbled in the distance like constant thunder. Every so often a thud reverberated, reminding us that the trains picked up loaded box cars for distribution across worlds. Not everyone could walk Mnoké Prairie like we did. Some people had to go to work on Wednesdays. A few colorful butterflies fluttered near us as the dried prairie flowers and buffalo grasses swayed in the breeze. Everyone should have retirement like this!

A woman in white linen sat cross-legged under a tree at the old Bailly Farm. It would have made an excellent picture—the kind artists want to paint—with yellowed leaves in the background. We didn’t disturb her meditation. “She could be an interpretive guide,” said Andy. Two coach buses of fourth graders from West Lafayette, Indiana, had settled in the parking lot near the main Visitor Center. Someone else pulled on leggings in an open doorway of the Bailly shed, and clothes strewn haphazardly on the first floor of the two-story Bailly cabin suggested someone had taken up residence. “There are coolers upstairs,” said Andy, “so someone is staying here.” Joseph Bailly was the French trapper who settled here in 1822.  He was an independent trader in the extensive fur-trading network that spread from Montreal to Louisiana and ultimately to Europe. One of the earliest settlers in northern Indiana, Bailly set up his fur trading post at the crossroads of several important trails, including the Tolleston Beach and northern branch of the Sauk Trail. He provided a meeting place for Native Americans and Euro-Americans. Except for White Pigeon, Michigan, Bailly's trading post was the only stopping place for travelers and missionaries between Chicago and Detroit.

A beautiful trail winds through oak savanna and prairie.

We continued walking the .3-mile one-way path to the family cemetery. There, deep in the woods on what was probably an old dune, was an elaborate concrete and stone enclosure. “Can you believe that they did this in the early 1800’s?” marveled Andy. A ten-foot high wall of carefully cut stone blocks was topped with decorative poured concrete pillars, a couple hundred of them to surround the entire enclosure. And in the center on the top stood a carved wooden cross. Marked gravestones set in the outside wall read:

The Bailly Family cemetery deep in the woods
surprises visitors with its size and artistic construction.

Francis Howe, 1811-1850, and Rose Bailly, Michigan Territory, 1813-1891.

Joseph Bailly, Quebec, 1774-1835 and Marie Lefevre 1834-1866.

Their quiet resting place, obviously partly restored from the looks of the cleaned grout and intermittent white blocks, was only disturbed by the distant train whistle from the steel mills. “I doubt many people come in here,” remarked Andy, “but I’m glad we did. It’s amazing and impressive.”

Another project? For a moment I imagined a peaceful resting place right in my own backyard!  But only for a moment!

At Chellberg Farm the fourth graders had taken over, listening to talks about sugar maple syrup making, playing Frisbee and having lunch. A photographer posed a one-year old near the doorway in piles of fallen leaves. The concerned mother adjusted the toddler’s bangs as a yellow leaf fluttered down on her head. It probably would have been cuter left in place in the little girl’s red hair. Funny what we worry about.  Funny how life goes on!  Andes Chellberg, a Swedish immigrant, came to the U.S. in 1864 and purchased 80 acres of farmland to settle here. In the 1850's and 1860's many Swedish immigrants left Chicago to work in the local sawmills of northern Indiana. The Augsburg Lutheran Church, established in 1858, was the heart of their social world.

We kept walking, four miles before we were back to Little Red.

The Ly-co-ki-we Trail
weaves through oak woods.

The Ly-co-ki-we Trail, with loops ranging from a mile to 6.4 miles, is marked for hiking, horseback riding and cross-country skiing.

“We’re going to do a 2.2-mile stretch, and then I’ll give you lunch,” promised Andy, as we disembarked near Furnessville Road at the Calumet Dunes Interpretive Center. Closed for the season, the Center was buried in dry, brown oak leaves. We set out on our second big walk of the day. “Only two miles or so before lunch,” reminded Andy.

“So is that a carrot?” I asked, joking. “I’m the mule?”

“NO!” He laughed. “Whatever could you mean?”
“Dangle the carrot so I’ll walk?” I joked.

“No, I’ll give you an apple for lunch. Maybe even half a cookie too.”

With leaves already down the trails
crunch with every step.

The trail looped through oak savanna.  Most of the leaves were down, forming a brown, crunchy cushion under foot. Only the trees in the protected dips had kept their coats of brown. “This should be easy,” said Andy, after we were 25 feet in.

It wasn’t.

Many voracious moles had burrowed in and out under the trail, loosening the soil and creating a lumpy footing. In addition, the sandy soil was uneven and soft. The carpet of brown shifted and sank with each step. Part of the loop was horse trail, which produced more indentations and unevenness.
“The last stop explained that there were three levels of dunes,” I told Andy. “We are crossing sand dunes.” Up and down the slopes we trudged, struggling to keep our footing in the uneven, loose sandy soil, that was capped everywhere by rustling, slippery oak leaves. “It’s the innermost layer of dunes from ages ago,” I said. “That’s why it is grey. It’s mixed with organic matter, but it is still sand.”

“The edges are more solid,” Andy noticed. But it wasn’t always easy to walk on the edges.

A blue jay called from high in one tree. He swooped down and spooked a lone robin. “Ranger Julie wanted to know if we had seen any red-headed woodpeckers on the Miller Woods Trail,” I told Andy.

He laughed.

“I just told her all was quiet.” A butterfly, probably a swallowtail, fluttered past us in silence. “I didn’t bother to explain that we had seen way more red-headed woodpeckers than we cared to, since they cost us many thousands in holes in the house.”

Even though most leaves are already down,
blue sky sets off the oak forest.

A train whistle blew in the distance. Whoooo-whoo. I had grown so accustomed to the rumble of the steel mills, the constant thunder of the trains pulling loads of steel ingots and bars over the rails, and the thuds of box cars colliding, that I had forgotten how close we were to industry in the midst of the wilderness. The repeated whistle and the clang of the freight cars chugging through an intersection in the near distance reminded us.

We grabbed our apples back at the car. Calumet Dunes Center was closed for the season.  I think just the name dunes should have warned us that our little 2.2-mile hike was no easy trail.

As we leaned against the railing of the closed interpretive center, leaves covered our feet and crunched with each shift of position. What remained of the fall foliage was still precariously attached to the more protected trees. Those leaves danced in the air currents above us. As the breeze shifted, orphaned brown oak leaves detached and dropped. Some plummeted end over end at sharp angles; others wavered back and forth like tiny ships caught on invisible waves; still others spun gently in circles like tiny brown tea cups. We munched our apples and watched the leaves pirouette in a delicate autumn ballet.

At Beverly Shores people walked the beach, spread picnic lunches and even changed for dips in Lake Michigan. It actually was that warm, above 82 degrees in the later afternoon. “But there’s no such thing as global warming,” I said to Andy.

Andy feigns exhaustion after climbing the giant,
moving Mount Baldy sand dune on Lake Michigan.

“Yeah, right!” he answered.

Mount Baldy is moving, the tallest moving sand dune along the national lakeshore. Ranger Julie told us yesterday that the back side had been closed and cordoned off, hopefully to slow down the deliberate march inland. We found it totally blocked off from the parking lot to protect the fragile grasses on the back side. Following the steep leaf-strewn trail, we climbed to the top for an amazing view of blue on blue. Lake Michigan sparkled against a blue sky. Mount Baldy shimmered in the afternoon heat as sun reflected off the white sand. Following the rope fence, we made our way across the dunes and down to the beach. Lake Michigan, probably 50 degrees cool, lapped gently against the shoreline, so different from the angry grey of yesterday. I rolled my shirt sleeve up and dabbled my fingers in the cool, refreshing water. The beach was immaculate.

Nature and heavy industry coexist side by side along the
Lake Michigan shoreline in northern Indiana.

"We’ve done at least six miles so far today,” I said to Andy, as we headed back towards Riverwalk, the stretch we had covered at sundown yesterday.

“At least,” he agreed, “and much of it was very difficult in the sand.”

For the second time we
walk the groin, admiring the
yachts along a no-wake zone.

           But Riverwalk, the Portage Lakefront and Riverwalk, was an easy mile along the inlet with a loop back inland across the dunes.  We even strolled out to the light house and back along the groin. Seven or eight yachts motored slowly past in the no-wake zone. Dune grasses waved gently as the breeze picked up, and a fisherman in rubber leggings wheeled a small kayak to the water’s edge. The scene was one of ultimate natural beauty, next door to a steel mill. As recently as the 1980’s, the park had burned with acid, the run-off and cast-out pits of a steel mill, probably one that went bankrupt. Thank goodness for environmentally conscious people who have the foresight to restore our world.

At 4:30 p.m. we headed north on Interstate #94 to Shady Creek Winery east of Michigan City, Indiana.

“We get our grapes from Michigan,” admitted Jerry, as he poured us samples. The wines were delicious, and a few minutes of chatting uncovered some amazing coincidences. Jerry and I had not only both graduated from Prospect High School, but we had both attended Lincoln Junior High. Talk about small world!  “My brother started this business three years ago,” said Jerry. “I joined him two years ago, and I love it!”

“It’s almost as good as retirement!” I added.

Play in the Sand--TRIP 3 (2012)

"Guide me to the tollway, and have the money ready," directed Andy, as we climbed back into Little Red. "You are going to need to navigate me around Chicago. I hate driving on this road."
That was evident when he missed the first toll.
"It's okay," I tried to calm him down. "We can always stop at the next one, pick up a form and mail it in.  It will be okay."
After five days with Grandma, it was tough to say good-bye. We didn't stall in the morning, but by the time the breakfast dishes were put away, the bathroom was scrubbed clean, the beds were changed, the laundry was folded and packed and the car was loaded, it was 11:30 a.m.
"No rain in the forecast," I said to Andy, as we pulled out of Grandma's driveway.  The street, still damp in patches from last night's downpour and covered with leaves, showed signs of drying. Grey clouds hung low, but it wasn't raining.

Cattails dominate the lower
terrain along Miller Woods Trail.

Many leaves, already
down in the oak
savanna, litter the paths.

"Time for exercise," Andy had announced, as we pulled into the parking lot at Paul H. Douglas Environmental Center, near the southern shore of Lake Michigan.  First, we followed the woods trail through an oak savanna habitat and over boardwalks along the Miller Woods Trail. Abundant wildlife and dramatic scenery hardly described the area on the damp and drizzly day, but that's what the trail guide promised. The cattails, dark brown and ready to seed, and a few yellow leaves made for a pleasant walk with temperatures in the low 60's. Some sun would have made for better pictures. Back at the environmental education center Ranger Kip and Ranger Julie chatted about the advantages of traveling in the off season. For us, one of those is certainly the time to chat with rangers.  I read on the sign that this national lakeshore, established in 1966, covered 15,000 acres of wetlands, prairies, sand dunes, oak savannas, forests and historic sites along Lake Michigan from Gary to Michigan City, Indiana. I thought it was interesting that Lake Michigan is 307 miles long, 118 miles wide and as much as 923 feet deep.

A light rain starts as we descend the steps to Lake Michigan.
Going down means going back up on the other wide.

At West Beach we planned our own loop walk: West Beach Trail to Long Lake Trail (.2 mile), back to West Beach Trail (.2), around to Dune Succession Trail (.7), to the water and bathhouse (.8), and back to the parking lot (.1). Our little two-mile hike took us up 247 steps, and then back down, over ankle-deep sand trails and along extensive leaf-strewn boardwalks. It would have been totally wonderful if it had not been for the occasional sprinkles that insisted on plaguing our stroll.
We certainly don't begrudge Indiana the rain. They need it badly. In fact, one beautiful pond in the Indiana Dunes, which I photographed last year was now totally dry and overgrown. And Long Lake, usually a mile from one end to the other, was a huge pit of mud. But we were sad the skies determined to cry when we wanted to walk, especially when the weathermen had promised clearing from the North.

One of many spiders waits in his web
between the railings at Riverwalk.

After a bunch of wrong turns that landed us at the security entrance to a steel plant...twice, we found the Burns Waterway. We followed Riverwalk Drive to the lakefront and river walk. Suddenly with a blast of breeze, the skies cleared and the sun went down in a blaze behind scattered clouds.
"Now, why couldn't that have happened a couple hours ago?" joked Andy.

As the sun dips low, the skies clear near the beach.

At least it gave us a chance to enjoy the path along the waterway and the Ogden Dunes.  Spiders had spun magic along the hand rails. At least ten had webs that caught the wind across the groin, and at least ten spiders waited patiently for dinner.

Heavy skies offer little contrast for
photography at Lake Michigan.

Across the railroad tracks, boats bobbed gently in an exclusive marina development. It seemed so odd to be looking just across an inlet canal at a steel mill. But Ranger Kip and Ranger Julie at Miller Woods had told us that here heavy industry and environmentalists worked together for the good of all.
Maybe that's why gas prices in Michigan City were the lowest of anywhere we have been on this trip--3.269 per gallon at all the stations in town. Something is getting manipulated somewhere!

Farming It Out--TRIP 3 (2012)

Even the entrance to Didier Farms
screams commercialism.

Halloween decorations abound.

Grandma Helen and Andy find a spot
in the Pumpkin Patch.

Beautiful weather lured us to Didier Farms, a local adventure farm for young children. Several thousand people crowded into the stalls and crammed the aisles of the main farm store. And more thousands of pumpkins and gourds covered the grounds. Tents lined the grounds with all kinds of fruit products and Halloween crafts for sale. Outside of the corn maze a couple tawny ponies waited patiently to pull a wagon for the hayride, and colorful carnival rides excited young children: the airplanes, the teacups, the circling choo choo train. For five tickets ponies circled the ring. Another five tickets bought a camel ride around the pen.
"Only three tickets to come inside and see the African tortoises," barked a concessionaire.
"I take care of Tara's African tortoises for free," I joked.  "We'll pass," I thanked him.
One trip down the 50-foot plastic slide cost four tickets.
"I'm guessing tickets are a dollar each," I told Andy and Grandma Helen.
"Probably a quarter," guessed Andy, "so a dollar for the slide."
I was right.
"That's highway robbery!" he ranted. "Four dollars to slide down once? This place is a rip off. That's awful."
I agreed. "Imagine if you had a couple or more kids."
"But they have a deal--45 tickets for $40," he answered sarcastically.

Andy reads the sign, but only after the fact.

Grandma Helen just looked at all the colors and action. It was fun to just browse... the pumpkins were huge! But 49 cents a pound meant the big guys could easily cost upwards of $30 for one. Regardless, they made for great pictures. And it wasn't until after I snapped the shots that we noticed the sign, "DON'T SIT ON THE PUMPKINS!" I guess we weren't the only ones. A young girl, probably seven or eight, hopped from one giant gourd to another giant gourd, oblivious to everyone and everything.  Then again, it wasn't pumpkins.
Oblivion.  It was that kind of day.

Heading Home to Mom--TRIP 3

Dressed in color, the Illinois Welcome Center
showed us autumn in all its glory.

We headed across Illinois, avoiding the rain drops. A cold damp sky threatened, but most of the heavy clouds billowed just behind us. We kept moving--past cut wheat fields and red barns, past small towns and dry corn stalks.
I played navigator as we approached the outskirts of Chicago on Interstate #80.

The mighty Mississippi River stretched
before us as we headed toward Chicago.

"I can't believe the tolls," said Andy. "It's gone up like a dollar since we came this way a year ago. But I'm really glad we didn't take #88 with six tolls."
"No different from the bridges in New York," I reminded him.
"True," he agreed.

Jean, Linnea, Bill, Jim, Helen and Andy

No matter.
Over the river and through the woods... we were on our way to Grandmother's house!
It wasn't Thanksgiving Day, but Little Red wove in and out of the Chicago traffic with ease, and Grandma had dinner planned for us.

Helen, Sue and Zan

Five days in the Chicago suburbs gave us time to spend with family and friends, planning dinners together, visiting and enjoying family times.

Andy. Helen, Kyle, Jean, Jim and Sue

 

Iowa Influences Lives--TRIP 3 (2012)

The skies this morning promised rain--grey, overcast with heavy clouds. But temperatures stayed in the 60's. We set out in good time, headed for the Amana Colonies, the cluster of seven villages on the Iowa River that represent an American dream come true, a thriving community founded by religious faith and community spirit--Amana, East Amana, West Amana, South Amana, High Amana, Middle Amana and Homestead.

Street decorations abound
... everywhere.

Although some shops were closed in Amana, all sported creative harvest and Halloween decorations. In spite of the grey skies, colors dominated. Pumpkins and corn stalks decorated every fence post and brilliantly colored mums in rust, yellow, red, gold and royal purple accented staircases and porches. And almost every store and house had a decorative display of hay bales and gourds and country raffia dolls. We explored and browsed: Heritage Designs Quilting and Needlework with more than 3500 different fabrics; Broom and Basket Shop with unique wooden gifts; Amana General Store with a wide variety of foods, souvenirs and gifts; Edelstein Treasures with jewelry and mineral specimens; Amana Woolen Mills with sweaters and clothing; and White Cross Cellars with wine and gourmet foods.

One local merchant offers outdoor
pieces of every shape and kind.

At Catiri's Art Oasis, salesperson Beth helped me choose Ginger Lily, a hand-crafted decorative soap made of glycerin, almond oil and essential oils. I selected it for color for the downstairs bathroom, but Beth said it soothed rough, dry skin, as well. I kept the website for future reference.
At the Bakery, Andy selected a loaf of German apple bread with maple caramel topping.  With two cups of hot coffee and our sweet treat, we had the sparrows flocking to our little table on the front porch of the bakery.
Ackerman Winery offers 24 varieties of various fruit wines. We tried blackberry, black raspberry, cherry, apricot, red raspberry and cranberry and bought three bottles.
"It's not even noon!" said Andy.
"Since when has that been a problem?" I joked.

Ackerman Winery is open for tastings.

Ackerman winery offers more than
wine with gifts, gourmet foods
and lots of hospitality.

We didn't sample at the Village Winery. We had no intention of purchasing more wine anyway. But salesperson Joyce and I shared stories about our fleece tied blankets.  She visited with Andy while I shopped for a hand-painted sun catcher.
Then we returned to Creative Colony, a "Made in Iowa" store of handcrafted products from local artisans. "I told you we'd be back," I said to the salespeople, as we returned for a wooden country wall hanging. It was our souvenir from the trip, and Andy had spotted it immediately when we first arrived in town.
Back on the road, I read to him about the story of Amana.

Leaves rustle around the courtyard
of a quaint inn on the main street.

The history of the Amana Colonies, America's longest-lived communal society, began in 1714 in Germany in the midst of a religious movement called Pietism. Eberhard L. Gruber and Johann F. Rock advocated faith renewal through reflection, prayer and Bible study. Their belief was that God, through the Holy Spirit, would inspire individuals to speak. The group that began meeting in 1714 called themselves the Community of True Inspiration.  Persecuted for their beliefs, they found refuge in central Germany in several estates, including the 13th century Ronneburg castle.  With continued persecution and then economic depression, they hoped for religious freedom in America, led by Christian Metz, and left Germany in 1843-1844. Community members pooled their resources and purchased 5000 acres near Buffalo, New York. Some 1200 people called themselves the Ebenezer Society and formalized their communal way of life with a constitution. When more farmland was needed, they found one valley on the Iowa River particularly promising. In 1855, they arrived in Iowa and chose the name Amana from the Song of Solomon 4:8. Amana means "remain true." Six villages were established a mile or two apart, across a river valley tract of some 26,000 acres. Homestead was added seven years later, giving the Colony access to the railroad.
Residents received a home, medical care, meals, all household necessities and schooling for their children. Property and resources were shared. Men and women were assigned jobs by their village council of brethren. No one received a wage.
Farming and the production of wool and calico supported the community. Well-crafted products became a hallmark of the Amanas. Up before dawn, called to work by the gentle tolling of the bell in the village tower, the unhurried routine of life in old Amana was paced very differently from today. Churches in the center of each village reflected their beliefs in simplicity and humility. Inspirationists attended worship 11 times a week, with quiet worship punctuating their days. More than 50 communal kitchens provided three daily meals, as well as mid-morning and mid-afternoon snacks to all Colonists. These kitchens were operated by the women. Children attended school six days a week, year-round until the age of 14.  A few boys were sent to college for training as teachers, doctors and dentists.

Well kept houses and shops line the
main street of Amana, Iowa.

In 1932, amidst America's Great Depression, Amana set aside the communal way of life. It was seen as a barrier to achieving individual goals, so rather than leave town or watch their children leave, they changed. They established the Amana Society, Inc., a profit-sharing corporation to manage the farmland, the mills and the larger enterprises. Private enterprise was encouraged. The Amana Church was maintained.
By visiting with a salesperson, we learned that the company was eventually purchased by Maytag, which was bought out by Whirlpool.
Today their historic brick, stone and clapboard homes, their flower and vegetable gardens, their lanterns and walkways recall the Amana of yesterday. But a vibrant community celebrates the past and the future.  We enjoyed every minute of this simple, creative and artistic environment. 

A tiny two-room cottage is the birthplace of Humanitarian
and 31st President, Herbert Hoover.

 

We headed east on Interstate #80. Clouds thickened. Rain was just hanging by the time we reached West Branch, the birthplace of Herbert Hoover, our 31st President.
At the time of Hoover's birth, West Branch was a growing community of about 350 people. By 1880, more than 500 lived in this town, dependent on farming. Even those who did not farm supported farming, like Herbert Hoover's father Jesse who was a blacksmith.
About West Branch and the surrounding area, Hoover wrote, "My grandparents and my parents came here in a covered wagon. In this community they toiled and worshipped God... The most formative years of my boyhood were spent here. My roots are in this soil."
We watched the 12- minute video in the Visitor Center and then headed out quickly for a self-guided tour of the Hoover birthplace cottage and neighborhood before the rain set in.

Inside the Hoover cottage, Kristin
tells about the early life of Herbert.

The two-room cottage, built in 1871 by Jesse Hoover and his father Eli, housed the family of five. To President Hoover, the cottage was "physical proof of the unbounded opportunity of American life."
At the blacksmith shop nearby, Jesse Hoover plied his trade and young Herbert learned the work ethic that prevailed in the community.

The school shows that the Amanas
stressed education for all children.

 

Quakers believed strongly in educating boys and girls. Herbert studied in this primary school of West Branch as a child. 
A small creek flows past the birthplace cottage and empties into the larger west branch of Wapsinmonic Creek. Here young Herbert learned the pleasures of the outdoors and developed an interest in the environment. The statue of Isis, the Egyptian goddess of life, reflects this interest and caring about life. Hoover was given the statue by the children and citizens of Belgium in gratitude for his work on their behalf during and after World War I.

The statue of Isis reminds
visitors of Hoover's great
humanitarian efforts.

Wooden benches and an iron stove furnish the Friends Meetinghouse. The Religious Society of Friends, or Quakers, held services of silent meditation here. This taught young Herbert the value of patience. He worshipped here with his family. His mother Hulda, a recorded minister, spoke often at Meeting, working for temperance and other causes.
After Jesse Hoover gave up his blacksmith business and invested in a local farm implement business in 1878, the family prospered and moved into the House of Maples on Downey Street, where they lived from 1879 to 1884. Herbert was the second of three children. Nothing remains of the house, but much of the rest of the area remains as it did when Herbert was a boy.

In the Quaker Meetinghouse, people
sat in silence and waited
for inspiration to come to them.

Herbert Hoover and his wife Lou were laid to rest on a hillside not far from the place where he was born. The grave site is simple stones of Vermont marble to reflect the Quaker ideal of simplicity. She died in 1944; he was buried by her side five days after he died on October 20, 1964.
As the rain started, we went back inside the Visitor Center to read the displays in the museum.
Herbert Hoover, a mining engineer, humanitarian, statesman and 31st President, was born on August 10, 1874. His Quaker ancestors had settled West Branch, and their principles of honesty, hard work, simplicity and generosity guided Herbert Hoover throughout his life of service to the nation and the world.

As a child Herbert spent
time at Isaac Miles Farm
at the top of Cook's Hill.

Jesse died of a heart attack in December of 1880. By taking in sewing and economizing, Hulda was able to save the money from Jesse's insurance policy for her children's education. A noted speaker in the Quaker community, Hulda was often called to nearby Meetings. On one trip in 1884, she caught cold and developed into pneumonia, then typhoid fever, which caused her death soon after. Herbert went to live with his Aunt Millie and Uncle Allan on a farm near West Branch. His older brother Theodore and younger sister Mary were sent to live with other relatives.When Herbert was 11, he was sent to live in Newberg. Oregon, with Hulda’s brother, Dr. Henry John Minthorn, superintendent of the Friends Pacific Academy, and his family. In 1888, the family moved to Salem, and Herbert worked in the Oregon Land Company office. By 1881, he entered the first class of Stanford University, graduating four years later with a degree in geology. He went to work in the California gold mines but within two years joined a British firm as a mining engineer in Australia.
On February 10, 1899, he married college sweetheart Lou Henry, and the couple left immediately for China. She was the first woman to graduate from Stanford with a geology degree. They had much in common: roots in Iowa, Stanford education, degrees in geology, love of the outdoors, and a sense of adventure.
Hoover became a partner in Bewick, Moreing and Company, and by 1901, he was known as “the doctor of sick mines.” He circled the globe several times, accompanied by his wife and their two young sons, Herbert Jr., born in 1903, and Allan, born in 1907. In 1908, he established his own international firm of engineering consultants based in London.  No wonder he was asked to serve as Secretary of Commerce.
His humanitarian efforts during World War I made him a highly respected figure, so he easily won the Presidency in 1928.

The grave site of Herbert and Lou Hoover faces the cottage
where the 31st President was born. It is marked by simplicity.

But the Stock Market collapse on October 29, 1929, triggered the Great Depression that forced Hoover to reevaluate his ideals. Individualism demanded that private institutions provide relief, but humanitarianism called for federal aid. As a result, Hoover did more than any previous President to relieve the widespread distress, paving the way for the anti-Depression New Deal measures. It was not enough. His popularity evaporated, and he lost the 1932 election.
After 1940, the Hoovers lived together at the Waldorf Towers in New York City until her death in 1944. He maintained his interest in the welfare of young people and once again worked on food relief for European countries during and after World War II. She was President of the Girl Scouts.  With Lou, he shared the belief in the equality of all people and the desire to help those in need, especially children.