Highest Point In Alabama

Cheaha State Park near Pulpit Rock

Soon after Tim and I married, he was transferred to Fort McClellan in Anniston, Alabama, for a six-month stint at the military police academy there.  It was our first introduction to living in the South where the Civil War is still called by some, The War of Northern Aggression.  Somehow in those six months, we never realized that just a short twenty miles away was Cheaha Mountain, the highest point in the state of Alabama.

When plotting our route back to the farm for fall harvest, I googled "top tourist attractions in Alabama" and Cheaha State Park popped up.  Online photos of the park were stunning.

Learning that the park had both a hotel and a restaurant, I quickly made reservations for a three-night stay.

Twice we missed turns as we made our way to the park.  To say that it is off the beaten path is a true assessment.  But it was worth it to finally reach the summit where the vista unrolls for miles and miles.

During our stay we practically had the park to ourselves.  In fact, one evening we dined alone in the restaurant with its floor-to-ceiling windows.  Questioning our young waitress, she told us in her sweet Southern accent that while business was slow now that children are back in school, the park will be flooded with leaf-peepers come fall.  Oh, how I wish we could be here then!

Ever on the prowl for waterfalls, I persuaded Tim to hike to Cheaha Falls with me.  This three-tiered cascade flows over a rock face located three miles into the Talledega Forest.  It's a beautiful place.

Another day we hiked a few miles of the Pinhoti Trail which stretches 171 miles across Alabama (and another 100 miles through the mountains of northern Georgia) before it connects to the Appalachian Trail.  The section we crossed was a narrow tract overgrown with brush, not as well maintained as I'd hoped.  Tim's reconstructed knee was aching by the time we returned to the car.

Pulpit Rock

So I left him behind at the hotel while I made the pilgrimage to Pulpit Rock.  Wow!  The vista seen from that outcropping of rock was amazing.  Well worth the effort, despite the fact that I missed the trail blaze on the way back and had to backtrack for a time to find it.

All of that, however, could not compare with the magnificent sunsets for which we had ringside seats.

On the last day of our stay we drove to Horseshoe Bend National Military Park, the scene of the end of the Creek Indian War.

Chief Menawa

There on March 27, 1814, Tennessee militia under the command of General Andrew Jackson massacred 1,000 Red Stick Creek Indians led by Chief Menawa.

The Creeks hoped the protection of the river bend on the Tallapoosa River and a log barricade across the neck of the peninsula would suffice to save them, but Jackson sent Brigadier General John Coffee and his troop of 700 infantry to surround the bend across the river from where the Creeks were camped.

White posts tell the approximate location of the barricade.

Then Jackson ordered a frontal assault on the wooden barricade.

At the end of the day, at least 800 of Chief Menawa's men were dead.  The peace treaty following the battle added 23 million acres of Creek land to the southeastern United States--roughly three-fifths of  Alabama and one-fifth the state of Georgia.

General Andrew Jackson

For Andrew Jackson, the victory at Horseshoe Bend was the first step on the road to national fame and the White House.

Likewise, Cheaha State Park was our first step on the road back to the farm for fall harvest.  I'm thankful I had a second chance to find this beautiful place.

We're Baaack!

We're baaack!  On The Great River Road, that is!  After a detour to the Winnebago Factory in Forest City, we rejoined the The Great River Road at Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin.

"Prairie of the Dog?"  That made little sense to me until I learned that early French traders named it as a tribute to Chief Alim, whose name meant Dog in the language of the area's Fox Indians.  This small town (population 5,911 at the 2010 census) was first established on the strategic triangle of land where the Mississippi and Wisconsin rivers join as a trading post by French fur voyeurers who sold goods to the Fox in exchange for pelts.

One of the jewels of this pretty town is Villa Louis, the estate begun by fur trader-turned-entrepreneur Hercules Dousman in the mid-1840s and expanded by his son, H. Louis Dousman.  When Louis inherited the property upon his father's death in 1868, he dismantled the earlier home and replaced it with this Italinate mansion built to reflect the family's wealth.  He began to breed and race horses and even built a race track on the estate.  His wife Nina was an accomplished hostess who held lavish entertainments in the elegant home.  I could almost picture the lawn and dinner parties held here.

Across the Mississippi are the Effigy Mounds now maintained by the National Park Service.

These bear-shaped mounds best seen from the air march in a line along the top of the limestone ridges in Iowa just across the Mississippi from Prairie du Chien.  Created by people now known as Woodland Indians between 800 and 1,400 years ago, they were possibly religious sites or burial grounds.

To Tim and I, they appeared as gentle rises barely discernible until we looked closely.  Then you could see them take shape.

The park also has some of the most scenic overlooks of the Mississippi we've seen.

That's also true at Pikes Peak State Park just a few miles south.  There one can easily see where the Wisconsin River flows into the Mississippi.  Tim and I enjoyed the view before hiking to Bridal Veil Falls just a short distance away.

On our back to our hotel room, we took advantage of the free wine tastings at Eagles Landing in Marquette, Iowa.  We walked out the door with two bottles of Sassy Cindy's Wild Rhubarb Wine which that sort of negated the "free" come-on placard on the sidewalk, but it was delicious.

So we're back on track with 350 miles to go before we reach Minneapolis, miles that will unroll, I'm sure, with many more Great River Road attractions.

 

Heading Home

St. Charles' historic railroad depot is adjacent to Katy Trail.

This is one last post before Tim and I land at the farm where wheat harvest is gearing up and time will be limited.  We spent the last two nights camped at St. Charles on the banks of the Missouri River just 25 miles northwest of St. Louis, Missouri.  By walking through the gate at the rear of our campground, we could saunter a quarter-mile along the Katy Trail (a hiking/bicycling trail that transects the state of Missouri) to the historic downtown of St. Charles, Missouri.  This was the first permanent European settlement on the Missouri River.  It was the final embarkation point for the Louis and Clark Expedition for it was here on May 16, 1804, that the Corps of Discovery camped at St. Charles, a traders' outpost, the last European civilization they saw until they returned from their expedition two years later.  

Bella Vino Wine Bar

The historic downtown evokes the bustle of that trading outpost with its quaint shops and trendy restaurants.  We rarely eat dinner out when it's just the two of us, but we couldn't resist a chance to try the tapas at Bella Vino Wine Bar.  Calamari on a bed of flash-fried spinach; Portobello mushrooms stuffed with spinach, feta cheese and kalamata olives; cheese fondue set alight by our waiter and accompanied by torn pieces of artisan bread left little room for us to try the restaurant's signature St. Louis Gooey Cake, but we couldn't resist.  Oh, my, was that delicious! 

We also made time to visit the Ulysses S. Grant National Historic Site in St. Louis.  We've seen Grant's Tomb in New York City and his home in Galena, Illinois where he formed a regiment of soldiers at the beginning of the Civil War, but we'd never stopped at White Haven, the farm where he met his wife, Julia Dent.  

I think White Haven is a misnomer, but the park ranger said this lime green color was very similar to the underlying paint  of the house's exterior.

Grant's roommate at West Point was Fred Dent, Julia's oldest brother.  Upon graduation, these two friends were assigned to Jefferson Barracks near St. Louis.  Fred often invited Grant to visit his home.  There Grant met Fred's sister Julia whom he courted with letters while he was away fighting in the Mexican-American War.  They married in 1848 and for a time, they lived with her family at White Haven.  

Behind the house is the slaves' domain: the kitchen and the room where laundry was done.

Grant's relationship with Julia's father, a slaveholder, was a difficult one.  While not a fervent abolitionist (Grant at one time did own a slave, William Jones, whom he freed in 1859), he was against slavery.  Yet, even Julia felt that there was nothing wrong in owning slaves.  So there was tension in Grant's familial relationships.

A lot has been written about the failures Grant experienced in his life.  Indeed, he was not able to make a profit raising horses while he lived at White Haven and he relocated his family from Hardscrabble, the unprofitable farm he once owned near his father-in-law, to find work in his brother's tannery in Galena, Illinois.  But perhaps it simply took him awhile to find his niche.  However, no one can deny that if it wasn't for Ulysses S. Grant, the Union could not have won the Civil War as soon as it did.

With our visit to this historic site of Ulysses S. Grant, we've now visited 58 National Park Service properties since we began our full-time RV life in January 2016.  Considering that there are 417 properties in total, I guess we still have a ways to go!  However, adding any more sites to our collection of memories will have to put on hold.  Duty calls!

Note:  Tim and I arrived back on the farm June 1st and it's been a whirlwind ever since.  Farmwork has sucked us into its vortex as everyone prepares for the juggernaut of wheat harvest.  This afternoon my 87-year-old father pulled the combine into the field and lowered the header almost to the ground before setting the cutting bar into motion.  The stalks of wheat are very short this year due to the ongoing drought.  In fact, the National Weather Service has reported that this was the driest winter in western Kansas since they began tracking in 1874.  So, we'll see how it shells out.

"Who plants a seed beneath the sod and waits to see, believes in God." ~ Anonymous

Gateway to the West

Tim and I have made the trip past the Gateway Arch in St. Louis, Missouri, many times on our way to the farm in Kansas, but until now we've never stopped to see it up close.  However, if we are to visit all 417 National Park Service properties which is our lifetime (perhaps impossible) goal, now seemed the time to exit the interstate for a stop at this monument to the courage of the nineteenth century pioneers.

Our visit almost coincided with the date of the Arch's dedication fifty years ago.  On May 25, 1968, Vice President Hubert Humphrey dedicated the Gateway Arch to the people of St. Louis and the nation.  In an article published the next day, The St. Louis Post-Dispatch reported that "a continuous, frequently heavy rain which began in the early daylight hours soaked the memorial grounds where the ceremony was to have been held and forced its removal to the underground Visitors Center beneath the Arch.  Several hundred persons witnessed the event, only a fraction of the thousands expected if the weather had been better."

Recognized in 1967 by the American Society of Civil Engineers as an outstanding civil engineering achievement, the Arch is a marvel, a testament to the technology of the mid-twentieth century.

Several times a day the documentary film about its construction plays in the underground theater of the visitors' center.  Did you know that the arch is taller than the Washington Monument?  Or that if the wind is very gusty, the top of the tower could sway 18 inches.  When the two towers were finally tall enough for the capstone to be set in place, it had to be done when on a cold day because the 900 tons of stainless steel expands in heat and the towers were built so precisely that it was a tight fit.  In fact, they had to cool the towers by spraying them with water so they could insert the capstone.

Once the capstone was set in place, the towers stabilized and as Leonardo da Vinci said:  "An arch consists of two weaknesses which, leaning one against the other, make a strength."

A poster from the Gateway Arch gift shop

Watching the nonchalance of the men who so casually stepped along the struts high in the sky filled me with anxiety.  I could barely watch the documentary to its end for fear someone would fall.  However, not a single life was lost during its construction.

A close look at the frieze inside the visitors' center reveals the joining of the Arch's two towers. 

Its completion was proof that the mathematical equation posited by its architect, Eero Saarien, could create the catenary curve of the Arch, a shape that if turned upside-down would appear to hang freely from two points.

There are north and south ramp entrances to the tram.   

After watching the film, I lacked the courage to ride the tram to the top.  Thoughts of how such a conveyance could even fit inside the triangular walls of the archway made me claustrophobic.  And when the ranger told me that the tram cars are called capsules, forget about it!  I'm not setting one foot inside them!  However, if you are brave, you could take a tram from either the north tower or the south all the way to the top.  There you can look out over the city through peepholes measuring 7" by 27" before climbing back into your tram for the reverse trip back down the same tower.

Instead, I preferred to admire the Arch from the ground level.

Watching it gleam in the sunlight tempted me to try to photograph its splendor from several angles.

Its graceful curve looked like a dangling jumprope turned upside down.

Yet, none of my photographs captured the sheer audacity of Eero Saarien's conception.  Tracy Campbell writes in his book, The Gateway Arch: A Biography:

"Let us hope that the Arch somehow survives--that it becomes, far in the future, a mysterious structure like the Great Pyramids or Stonehenge, that leads onlookers to wonder about the people who produced it and ask themselves what strange compulsions led to its creation."

Ha!  I think it's here to stay, Tim!

The Wright Stuff

First flight of the Flyer 1, December 17, 1903, Orville piloting, Wilbur running at wingtip / Library of Congress / Public  Domain

“What had transpired that day in 1903, in the stiff winds and cold of the Outer Banks in less than two hours time, was one of the turning points in history, the beginning of change for the world far greater than any of those present could possibly have imagined. With their homemade machine, Wilbur and Orville Wright had shown without a doubt that man could fly and if the world did not yet know it, they did. Their flights that morning were the first ever in which a piloted machine took off under its own power into the air in full flight, sailed forward with no loss of speed, and landed at a point as high as that from which it started.” ~ David McCullough, The Wright Brothers

Tim and I like to listen to audiobooks when driving long distances.  The Wright Brothers by David McCullough was one of the first we heard after we began our life on the road.  Their feat on that fateful day of December 17, 1903 changed the world forever and ushered us into the space age.  When we finished the book, we vowed that one day we'd visit the Wrights' bicycle shop in Dayton, Ohio and the dunes at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina where their efforts came to fruition.  We stopped at Kitty Hawk a year ago in April 2017; now, as we head west on Interstate 70 towards the farm in Kansas, we stopped at Dayton for two days.  That was hardly enough time to follow Dayton's Aviation Trail to the ten historical sites located in this city and nearby Wright-Patterson Air Force Base so we hit the highlights as best we could.  Our first stop was the Wright Cycle Shop near the center of Dayton.

The Wright Cycle Shop

“The bicycle was proclaimed a boon to all mankind, a thing of beauty, good for the spirits, good for health and vitality, indeed one’s whole outlook on life. Doctors enthusiastically approved. One Philadelphia physician, writing in The American Journal of Obstetrics and Diseases of Women and Children, concluded from his observations that “for physical exercise for both men and women, the bicycle is one of the greatest inventions of the nineteenth century.” ~ David McCullough, The Wright Brothers

Showroom of the Wright Cycle Shop

Wilbur and Orville had a reputation in their neighborhood for being able to fix anything.  Swept up in the cycling craze at the turn of the 20th century, neighbors sought them out to fix a broken bicycle chain or to straighten a wobbly bike tire.  The brothers decided to capitalize on their mechanical skills by moving their flourishing printing press business at number 1127 West Third Street upstairs and opening a bicycle repair shop on the ground floor.

The least expensive bicycle Wilbur and Orville sold in 1895 cost $50, an expensive purchase at a time when wages for day laborers were less than $2000 per year.   But the Wrights gave their customers every chance to own one, offering installment plans and credit for trade-ins.

“Wilbur would remark that if he were to give a young man advice on how to get ahead in life, he would say, “Pick out a good father and mother, and begin life in Ohio.” ~ David McCullough, The Wright Brothers

Perhaps it was the flying toy brought home by Bishop, their itinerate preacher father, that first sparked the boys' interest in trying to solve the age-old question of whether man could ever fly.  Whatever the impetus was, it prompted Wilbur to write to the Smithsonian to ask for any papers regarding flight which the brothers avidly studied.

As bicyclists, Wilbur and Orville knew that in order to maintain balance on a bicycle in motion, one needed to be able to control it.  Turning a bicycle, for example, one needed to turn the handlebars (yaw) and lean in the direction one wanted to go (roll).  They intuitively realized that a flying machine would have similar requirements and that insight helped them unlock the secret of flight.  Eager to try their first prototype, they boxed up their work to transport it to the Outer Banks where the winds, the soft sands and the isolation from newspaper reporters would prove to be a good location to test their flyers.  Four different times they made the trip during the winter off-season, each time with a more refined machine until finally their 1903 Flyer soared with Orville aboard.

1901 glider flown by Wilbur (left) and Orville / Library of Congress / Public Domain

"It wasn't luck that made them fly; it was hard work and common sense; they put their whole heart and soul and all their energy into an idea and they had the faith." ~ John T. Daniels, eyewitness at Kill Devil Hills

The U. S. Patent Office assigned patent No. 821,393 to the Wright brothers for their flying machine.  The Smithsonian, however, did not agree that the Wrights were the first to discover flight.  Instead, having granted $20,000 (another $50,000 was given by the War Department) to Smithsonian secretary Samuel Langley, the Smithsonian claimed that, despite two failed attempts when Langley's flying machines dropped like a rock into the Potomac, he was the father of flight, a claim that Orville Wright disputed until the Smithsonian retracted its opinion in 1942.

“Not incidentally, the Langley project had cost nearly $70,000, the greater part of it public money, whereas the brothers’ total expenses for everything from 1900 to 1903, including materials and travel to and from Kitty Hawk, came to a little less than $1,000, a sum paid entirely from the modest profits of their bicycle business.” ~ David McCullough, The Wright Brothers

Huffman Prairie

In 1904 the Wrights built the Flyer II.  Deciding to forego the costs of the lengthy trip to Kitty Hawk, they set up an airfield at Huffman Prairie eight miles northeast of Dayton (which Tim and I found after venturing down a obscure tree-canopied, single-lane dirt road) and for the first time invited reporters to view their flying machine on its trial run, a flight that was less than stellar due to engine troubles and slack winds.  So reporters turned their attention elsewhere, thus, giving the brothers the anonymity they needed to improve their machine while their competitors grabbed the spotlight.

“In no way did any of this discourage or deter Wilbur and Orville Wright, any more than the fact that they had had no college education, no formal technical training, no experience working with anyone other than themselves, no friends in high places, no financial backers, no government subsidies, and little money of their own.” ~ David McCullough, The Wright Brothers

When the brothers were finally ready to market their machine, few believed their claim that it would fly.  The U.S. War Department snubbed them.  Only the French military expressed an interest so once again, they boxed up their machine and Wilbur took it to France.  During his first public performance there, he was aloft for only one minute and 45 seconds, but his ability to make turns and circle the airfield in figure eights thrilled the crowd.

By the end of 1909 the Wright brothers were world famous and very wealthy.  Their sister Katherine who had endlessly encouraged their pursuit now recommended they build a new home where they could entertain the many notable people, including Charles Lindbergh, who came to visit them.  However, Wilbur died at age forty-five of typhoid fever only a few months before Orville, their father Bishop and Katherine moved into the home on Hawthorn Street.

“Of the immediate family of 7 Hawthorn Street, only Bishop Wright had yet to fly. Nor had anyone of his age ever flown anywhere on earth. He had been with the brothers from the start, helping in every way he could, never losing faith in them or their aspirations. Now, at eighty-two, with the crowd cheering, he walked out to the starting point, where Orville, without hesitation, asked him to climb aboard. They took off, soaring over Huffman Prairie at about 350 feet for a good six minutes, during which the Bishop’s only words were, “Higher, Orville, higher!” ~ David McCullough, The Wright Brothers

Hawthorn Hill

Hawthorn Hill became a gathering place for the Wright family.  When we visited Hawthorn Hill, our tour guide showed us family movie clips of holiday dinners and sledding occasions when nieces and nephews flew down the backyard hill.  We also learned that Orville, although shy in public, loved practical jokes and once surprised a dinner guest with a fake cockroach that he surreptitiously pulled from underneath the guest's plate across the table.  Orville suffered back pain, the result of a 1908 crash of their airplane.  The carpet underneath his desk chair is still worn from the way he shuffled his feet to relieve his sciatic pain while seated.

From upper left, clockwise: sleds, armchair with bookstand invention, central vacuum,  shower jets

He installed jets in his shower, a central vacuum throughout the house and a call system to summoned the housekeeper, all evidence of his life-long love of mechanical innovations.  He set up a laboratory near the old bicycle shop and continued to go there each day for several hours.  Some believe he carried on an affair there with his secretary Mabel Beck who is suspected of encouraging his estrangement from his sister after Katherine married in 1926.

The Wrights (Wilbur, Katherine, Orville and their parents) are buried in Dayton's Woodland Cemetery.

It was only as Katherine lay on her deathbed that Orville laid aside his feelings of abandonment and hastened to her side.

Following Orville's express wishes, the 1905 Flyer is displayed at Dayton's Carillon Historical Park so visitors may see it from above.

Meanwhile, the controversy between Orville and the Smithsonian continued to rage.  In 1925 Orville announced that he would send the 1903 Flyer to the Kensington Science Museum in England unless the Smithsonian recanted its conclusion that Langley, not the Wright brothers, was the first to master flight.  The Smithsonian did not revise its stance so Orville packed up the plane and shipped it to England where it remained until 1942 when the Smithsonian finally withdrew its claim.  Of course, by then England was fighting the Nazis making it impossible to ship the Flyer to back to the States.  When the war ended, the Flyer came home to the Smithsonian in 1948, just a few months after Orville died.

Wilbur Wright and Orville Wright seated on steps of rear porch, 7 Hawthorne St., Dayton, Ohio, 1909 / Library of Congress / Public Domain

“On July 20, 1969, when Neil Armstrong, another American born and raised in western Ohio, stepped onto the moon, he carried with him, in tribute to the Wright brothers, a small swatch of the muslin from a wing of their 1903 Flyer.” ~ David McCullough, The Wright Brothers