Entry 6 - May 28, 2008 - Truly, a Fair Field

Today was, for me, the highlight of our trip: we drove the 50 or so miles to Fairfield, Iowa, my mother's hometown and the place I always thought of as my own true home during all the years my family travelled from place to place (my father was in the Army).

Fairfield is a lovely town - I can remember walking everywhere during the times when I lived or visited there. This is the town square, one of my favorite destinations as a child and teenager. Most of the stores are different now, but there is still the same tree-graced central park and still a bandstand that really gets used every Friday evening:

Something else that was a favorite from my youth is still there, too, though it has changed radically:

No, not the building, the little kiosk in front of it. This used to be one of two popcorn stands that were at opposite corners of the square. For a nickle, you could get a bag of popcorn to munch while walking or while listening to the weekly summer concert. I was delighted to see that it was still in use in such a charming way.

On our way out of town, heading for the farmlands of Jefferson County that have been home to relatives and friends throughout the years, I couldn't resist a photo of the county courthouse, with its clock and bell tower. It has been a sort of anchor in the heart of Fairfield ever since I can remember. In a way, the town is oriented in relation to it, even though it physically stands to one side of the square.

We are doing a tour of "the places that have loved us and that we have loved back." The first stop on our itinerary is this: the one-room schoolhouse that my mother and her brothers and sister attended. My mother still speaks glowingly about the education she received there, and with reason. With no bells and whistles, no special programs, in a mixed-age and mixed-abilities class, with a great love for learning and a single committed teacher, she was given a more thorough and more useful education in the eight years she was there than most students receive in 12 (or even 16) years. The building has clearly not been used as a school for many, many years. A farmer once used it to store hay, but now it appears to be abandonded to the elements. We never visit Iowa but that we don't drive past the Old Schoolhouse to say thank you.

This is Antioch Church, our next stop on our thank-you visit. Some of the happiest times in my early childhood were spent here in Sunday School, Vacation Bible School or those wonderful Ice Cream Socials. About the latter: if you've never been to one, they are the most delicious sort of pot luck dessert gatherings. On hot summer Saturday evenings, the entire community arrives, each with their own ice cream churn and favorite ice cream recipes. As everyone lends a hand at turning the crank, the young children play hide-and-seek, sardines (hide-and-seek backwards - one person hides, everyone else looks and when someone finds the hider, they hide with him or her until so many are hiding that they are packed into a very small place, like sardines), tag, red rover and more. There is much laughter, much talk and, at the end of it all, some of the best ice cream ever. I still remember how it tasted, and nothing else has ever come close to its perfection.

Antioch is also the place where many of my family are laid to rest when they are finished with this world. My father, my grandparents, aunts and uncles are all here. Here, too, is my favorite English teacher whose husband also taught my parents at what was then Parsons College (no relation). The setting is friendly and pastoral and just right as a place to go to reconnect with those who've gone before and left so much goodness behind.

Just in front of the church this cabin now stands. It was originally in Illinois -- when a member of the congregation learned it was about to be torn down, he drove across the river, disassembled it, hauled it back and rebuilt it. Why? Because it had been built and originally owned by the people who later gave the land upon which Antioch was built.

Col. W. G. and Nancy Coop made the physical fact of what was to become the heart of this farm community possible. To me, it speaks volumes about a community that someone would take their gift so seriously as to go to the trouble of moving and rebuilding their original home. This is quite a group of people.

This is the headstone of their son, William and his wife. William was the first white child born in Jefferson County. At his birth, the family, still in their covered wagon, not having yet settled after their move from Illinois, were visited by Native American chiefs. They learned later that the visit was to determine whether or not the tribe would allow the baby to live. The chiefs decided to bless the birth and welcome the baby. The family then went on to create a good part of the foundation upon which I grew.

I'd like to add that although the theology of Antioch is no longer my own, I consider that fact to be mostly a difference that is more apparent than at its core real. And I thank this community for genuine open-heartedness and care of me when I was young.

From Antioch, we drove to what we all call the Family Farm:

This is where my great-grandparents and grandparents lived, and where I spent the years my father was in Korea and each summer after that with cousins and aunts and uncles. It was the one constant home throughout my entire growing up.

We arrived just as my Uncle Don, who currently owns the farm, was unloading some sheep he had just bought at a livestock auction. What great timing!

As eager as they were to get out of the trailer, they were also very curious about us. Sheep are just some of the nicest creatures.

You're right - this isn't a sheep. My Uncle never met an animal he could say 'no' to, so when he spotted this goat, even though he knows them to be rascally fellows, he couldn't resist and along it came. We are all wondering if the goat will become a better behaved sort of creature as a result of being the lone goat among a flock of sheep. No one is willing to put down money on that possibility, though. (For those of you who are unaware of the vagueries of goat behavior, let me just say that they are spunkier and more actively intelligent than sheep - which means they can get into a whole lot more trouble. Usually, it is delightful trouble, but trouble nonetheless.)

Don doesn't really raise sheep as a farmer, at this point in his life, he raises them because he likes them. He saves up acres and acres of unmowed grasslands for them to eat,

moving them from place to place as their happy nibbling warrants. The next stop will be here:

This is the pond behind the farm - my cousins and I fished and rowed here every summer morning. Now geese and ducks call it home and those lucky sheep will get to frolic nearby as they trim all the grass you see.

Don and Bob had a long chat next to a grape arbor that has been there since Don and my mother were children. Come September, this is where they headed for after school snacks.

Ever wonder what grapes look like when they are just starting out?

Now you know. I had never thought about it before, but these little baby grapes are just amazing in their smallness.

I just love this photo - two of the people I love the most, my mom and my uncle, having such a nice time together. The dog, Princess, was happy, too. They are by the kitchen porch, the place where everyone gathered on summer evenings after dinner. Often there was some watermelon or canteloupe from the garden to share, too.

And this may look like a propane tank to you, but to my 5- to 6-year-old eyes and mind, it was my horse and I would get upon it and ride across the plains, usually in pursuit of "bad guys". This was in the days when cowboys were the symbol of all that was good, or at least so I thought.

It did finally come time to head back to my mom's house. I found myself amazed by my own good fortune at being a part of this family and community. Beautiful, simply beautiful.

*****

 

Entry 5 - May 27, 2008 - City of Spires

Burlington lies in the heart of what is now called the "fly over zone" - the part of the country that those from the East and West Coast fly over on their way to seemingly more important destinations. And it's true, Burlington is no longer a major player in the national economy, nor does it have an easy-to-get-to airport (one of the motivations for our taking the train).

But it is beautiful, and reveals a history and a present ethic that I wish more people could experience.

This is the downtown, seen from one of the hills above. (Burlington has as many hills as San Francisco, they are just not quite so steep.) There is now a building between me and my favorite view, but the photo above is a close second. Even with the tree in the way you can see a stonework and brick city, graced with steeples and spires. You can also glimpse the Mississippi River to the upper right - the downtown is on the river, creating one of the most pictorial settings ever.

During the early to mid-19th Century, for reasons I haven't yet found the time/presence of mind to explore, many Italian stone masons landed on these shores and plied their craft creating some of our most beautiful buildings throughout the Midwest. Those of you who will be at TNNA (we are missing it this year) can see a spectacular example by going to the rear of the Hyatt Regency (not the Hyatt next to TNNA) and taking a look at what is now a legal office, but which used to be a courthouse - I've never seen such beautiful stonework close-up. It's like a cathedral to Justice.

In Burlington, you can find stonework and brickwork and Victorian scrollwork on every street corner. Its like being turned loose in a candy shop of architectural delights.

The old churches in particular each have their own special stone facades - just thinking about the fact that these stones were cut and laid by hand is moving.

Unfortunately, one of the churches that had the most beautiful combination of stonework and amazing stained glass windows was burned by an arsonist last year.

It was like losing a gem of priceless worth.

But, the congregation has pulled together with the firm decision to rebuild and restore - they have my thanks and good wishes. You can see that the work has already begun.

There are other treats in store in Burlington, too.

This is the Phelps House Museum, one of the many museums my mother worked in during her very active days in the Des Moines County Historical Society. Once inside, you are transported back to a lost era of Victorian finery, bad plumbing, and beautiful handmade textiles.

Next to Phelps House is one of Burlington's claims to fame: Snake Alley.

Snake Alley appeared in Ripley's Believe It Or Not as "the world's most winding street." No one I've talked to knows whether that is a "believe it" or a "not", but it did put Burlington on the map, so to speak. Now, the local art fairs are held along it and, in the years when RAGBRAI (The Register's Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa) ends in Burlington, the cyclists ride down it in a ritual celebration.

Picking up the theme from a couple of entries back - please do notice all the trees in Burlington. Like Iowa, it has become one of the greenest places in the world.

When we weren't gazing at buildings, Bob and I went to our favorite coffee shop - Digger's Rest.

I don't mean our favorite coffee shop in Burlington, I mean our favorite coffee shop, anywhere. Diggers Rest is own by Phil who hails from Australia. The shop name refers to the Australian miners who, one is given to understand, are always looking for a place to rest.

Phil has become a master coffee roaster over the years - the coffee he serves up has the most complex, most declicious flavor of any we've had. Bitter is not a word you could use about it, ever.

This is Phil at the espresso machine, but as the modest sort of guy that he is, his head is away from the camera.

Finally, after a day in downtown Burlington, we headed home for a good supper and some quiet time with mom (who is also more than a little camera shy, but I'm still trying to get a photo to share). Our evening became something of an Italian comic opera when the sink drains plugged up way, way below the accesses.

After a trip to the store and about 2 hours of fiddling, Bob got the pipes cleared!

He says that if he had known this would happen, he would have brought a more beat up tee shirt so that he could really look the part for my photo.

Plumbing isn't really the stuff that dreams are made of, so I personally went off to bed with visions of distant spires and tree-filled cities.

*****

Entry 4 - Blissful knitting on the Road

It hasn't been all majestic mountains and pastoral reveries, not by a long shot. I've also been happily knitting whenever I felt like it. Had Dante been a knitter, I know this would have been one of the rings of Paradise.

Can you guess what I'm making?

Maybe this will help:

Those of you who haven't yet guessed it will have to wait for another installment, but I can tell you a couple of things I learned along the pathway of this project.

1. It really is important to make a swatch, though in my case not so much for gauge, but so that you can get some of the major errors out of the way before it really counts.
2. Using SSK when directed in lace is really, really important as it allows some of the pattern to open up as wide as the parts of the pattern that use K2tog. I had no idea how important it was until I misread the instructions and K2tog-ed everything. Happily, this was a swatch [see note 1 above].
3. A lace swatch is, in itself, inspirational - another good reason for doing it. If you find yourself feeling bogged down, you can get it out and inspire yourself into more happy knitting.
4. Reading the whole pattern through slowly before beginning to knit is the best favor you can do for yourself - it is almost like having knit it once before and helps everything make soooo much more sense as you go along. I didn't do that before swatching, but the swatch told me in no uncertain terms that I really should give it a try.

*****

Entry 3 - May 23, 2008 - Of rosy mountain's majesty and the green, green fields of home

We slept through most of Nevada and all but a few miles of Utah - some day I hope to travel those states while awake. At breakfast, the fact that we were entering new terrain became apparent.

And then it just got better and better as we neared the Colorado River Canyon:

The Rockies really are a lot taller than the Sierras, aren't they? And these were just the foothills!

The train pulled alongside the Colorado River, and that's pretty much where it stayed until the summit. The Colorado was rushing downhill (and was very, very high due to lots of extra rain and snow melt this year) as we chugged uphill. What we saw was so awe inspiring that it's hard to find words for it.

I don't think this photo quite conveys what we saw, but those three formations in the center to me seemed to be the Canyon Guardians - friendly guardians, but protective and serious, also. I was moved by their enduring watchfulness.

Sometimes what we were passing by was so extraordinarily beautiful that I found myself almost forgetting to breathe.

Again, I'm not sure that this photo conveys, but the mountain in the center was in shadows save for the patch of sunlight at its summit that somehow found its way through the clouds. It looked the way I have imagined the Great Pyramid to look when its gold capstone was aglow in the desert sun. Sacred magic.

We came to the Summit, the actual Continental Divide - and we surmounted it in a most unexpected way:

Through the Moffet Tunnel - here at the topmost point of our journey the train dived into a 6.5 mile tunnel and cloaked our summit in blackness for about 15 minutes. When we emerged, we came out alongside another river, the Fraser, but in an experience akin to crossing the equator and flushing the toilet to witness the coriolis effect in action, this river was flowing eastward, where the Colorado had been flowing to the West. For reasons I can't explain, I found that to be a joyful fact.

Eventually, we realized that we were leaving the mountains and new landscapes were emerging.

This horse ranch looks so idyllic that I'm prepared to believe postcard publishers staged it for us.

Then, there's this one, too:

A working waterwheel! Such a surprise! I almost fumbled the camera trying to get a photo of it. I just love that the ranch owners have kept it going.

The mountains were now far behind us - if you look closely you'll see that miles in the distance snowy peaks reach up to touch the fluffy clouds.

And into the valley we came!

We pulled into Denver about the time the sun was setting, and then slept through the rest of Colorado and most of Nebraska.

In the morning, we awoke to a world so different from the Western parts of the country we'd been seeing as to make you wonder how the transition could possibly have been made.

This is the sort of landscape in which I spent the best parts of my childhood - the verdent Midwest, built upon the Prairies, nurtured with hard work and love.

I noticed something startling, that I don't think I could have seen had we not been traveling for miles and miles on the train: Iowa now has more diverse and healthy forests than Oregon! Oregon has been clearcutting and replanting single species (usually Firs) for so long, that the landscape, though green, is also monotoned. And healthy is not really how it looks most of the time.

When I grew up in Iowa, the overall impression was one of corn fields, bean fields, alfalfa fields, all dotted with farm houses and punctuated by ponds. The fields, houses and ponds are all still there, but a wonderful transformation has taken place over the past 40 or so years. The hedgerows and gulleys and unplantable rolling hills have been left alone, and the trees and shrubs planted by birds and wind have been allowed to flourish.

In fact, there are so many trees that, as you can see, taking their picture is a real challenge: you can't see the trees for the trees.

What is so wonderful is that with all the plant diversity, these woodlands are healthy in a way that I haven't seen for years. And much of the wildlife that had been threatened is coming back, also healthy with good places to live and a full ecosystem of food to eat. When we get to Burlington, I'll try to get some photos of the Golden Eagles that again fly the Mississippi Valley.

Dreams become reality as woodlands emerge alongside cornfields.

*****

Entry 2 - May 22, 2008 Part 2 - We are on our way!

We got to the Albany station about an hour early - mostly because that is our habit for plane travel. There's really nothing to do at train stations other than wait for the train. Unless you are Bob, for whom there is plenty to do at a train station.

You see that smile? It's not just for me, though he has plenty of those he shares. This smile is because he is doing one of his very favorite things: sitting on the edge of a train yard, looking at all the different cars and engines. Bob is a train buff from way, way back. Although he no longer builds model trains, he still loves them and can find an amazing number of interesting things about even a single freight car. The fact that someone had the foresight to put a bench alongside the tracks so that people like him could watch the trains go by was such a nice surprise.

Our train arrived, almost on time!

Just to prove it can happen, I took a shot of our train coming in with the clock tower reading 4:25pm. It was due at 4:10, and given the potential number of delays due to somewhat overcrowded roadbeds, we counted this as an "on time" arrival. Maybe that clock tower does work after all.

Once on the train, we settled in to our sleeping compartment. It's a little bigger than this photo suggests, but cozy is the key word. We love it, however - truly a comfy way to travel, surrounded by very nice people.

We took the Coast Starlight as far as Sacramento. The Amtrak Coast Starlight is the child of two of the greatest passenger trains ever - the Southern Pacific Coast Daylight and the Southern Pacific Owl, both from the 1930s-50s glory days of Art Deco engines and real silverware and table linens in the dining car. The folks at the Southern Pacific who designed the routes ignored engineering recommendations that would have put the rails easily along the approximate straight-line route of our current I-5. Instead, they painstakingly carved the roadbeds out of some of the most beautiful mountain scenery anywhere and along glorious coastal views. Our trip takes us through the mountain scenery of the Cascades - some day we'll stay on to watch the Pacific Ocean roll by.

However, before getting as far as the Cascades. I was struck by the hugeness of the Willamette Valley (where we live).

This is just a glimpse looking toward the Cascade's coastal range. (Our home is off the screen to your right, just where the foothills begin.) It is simply amazing to me what a huge, fertile valley the Willamette is. It supplys some of the best quality produce I have ever tasted, as well as the majority of the world's grass seed and hops, outdoing even Bavaria on that score (brew pubs, anyone?). It is also, quite simply, beautiful. embraced as it is by mountains on both sides.

Now, on to the Cascades, where I had hoped to take photo after photo to show you the waterfalls, mountains, snow, and heartstopping vistas.

Alas, the Cascades were wrapped in blankets of clouds, so I will share these photos with you along with the promise that, weather permitting, I'll take those vista shots on the return trip.

All was far from lost, however. You know how sometimes on trips magical things can happen, such as meeting people you recognize instantly as friends and fellow travellers through life. Often you meet them only one time, though occassionally the hand of destiny is more generous. I hope it will be in this case, because these two women are wonderful - I know you'll want to meet them and get to know their work, too.

This is Laura and Meredith Devendorf, a mother-daughter team who live, work and travel together with vitality and happiness. They also own Melon Bluff, 10,000 acres of wilderness and historical ground that they conserve and preserve together. Melon Bluff is located in Midway, Georgia and happens to be one of the most diverse natural treasures in the country as well as one of the historically most significant. It was at or near Melon Bluff that the very first European colony in the New World was founded; it was also to here that the first African slaves were brought.

Both these ladies are trained in history and land management, and have undertaken one of the most exhilaratingly comprehensive conservation and preservation efforts I've ever heard of. They have rebuilt a slave village that is now considered a model of its kind; they have saved their land from development and have created what has been called the most original, innovative and complete conservation plan seen to date. After about 10 years of very hard work on their own, Laura is now called upon to teach other preservationist what she knows.

Melon Bluff also features a Bed & Breakfast where nature and history lovers can stay and enjoy the very beautiful and unique surroundings. Additionally, Laura and Meredith offer wilderness education programs that have me hoping to make it to Georgia.

The really exciting news is that they have chosen to create their own foundation so that everything the land and its historical footprint needs will be done, and done well and with love. This is something we will all want to keep an eye on -- so book mark their web site, www.melonbluff.com, and check back every so often for information about their very good work. Meredith has promissed me she'll get right to work updating their site with all these new developments.

And, with that as food for our own dreams, off to bed we went.

 

May 23, 2008 - Sacramento and parts East

Five a.m. comes pretty quickly when you're rocking and rolling down the Sacramento Valley. Yawning but still happy we arrived in Sacramento an hour ahead of schedule. While that is quite an accomplishment, we were actually hopeful that the train might arrive somewhat later.

Here's Bob sitting on one of the beautiful antique benches that grace the Sacramento Amtrak Station, formerly the Southern Pacific Station. These go way back to the 1930s and feature ventilation between the back-to-back seats. I don't know why, either.

Our train arrived early by about 15 minutes - what can I say? Wow! As you can see, the California Zephyr no longer has those beautiful bright shiny Streamliner engines - this is more of a Post Modern engine, I think.

Once we were situated, we sat back for a ride down memory lane. We used to live about an hour away from Sacramento, in the Sierra Foothills. Along the way, we watched as things familiar and things new came into view and then were left behind again. We passed by the road we drove daily to and from our home:

Our home was straight down that road, then a right turn up to the top of one of the hills.

A few minutes later, we stopped at Colfax, California - about 2 miles from where we used to live.

Since our day, they have beautifully restored the railroad station. We remembered the time when we took our children up to see the Budweiser Clydesdales when they were let out of their train for exercise on their way to a show in Sacramento. I have never forgotten what magnificent animals they were. Seeing them close up was a gift.

We also noticed that a little park had been created on the east side of the station, in front of the train car that is also the Colfax Chamber of Commerce office.

I've always found that train car to be one of the most charming ideas for an office ever. With the addition of the parklette, it is even better.

Main Street in Colfax hasn't changed much, but the gazebo is new. Although it was a poignant experience to be just passers-by and no longer participants in the life of this area, it's so very nice to see things moving along happily in our old stomping grounds.

Then, came one of the most spectacular sights of the trip. Outside of Colfax is a feat of early railroad engineering that is a marvel to consider and amazing to look out from. It is Cape Horn, named after the more famous Cape Horn of Clipper Ship fame - probably because it was as risky an undertaking to build as the trip 'round the Horn was to take. It took the courage of hundreds of workers, about 50 of whom died in the effort, to create this passage so that the trains could move through this part of the country. Cape Horn is a shelf that has been carved out of the mountain - the train goes along it and offers the these breathtaking views of the American River Canyon:

From Cape Horn with its views of the American River, we moved along toward the Summit (aka, Donner Pass). Just the other side of the Summit, came this view of Donner Lake which is also the place where the Donner Party was trapped for that terrible winter. I thought of them, of the beauty I was seeing, and of the complexity of life on our dear planet as we went past.

From Donner Lake it is a hop, skip and a jump to Nevada, where the scenery is really, really different.

However, the desert changes from moment to moment - sometimes so much so that its hard to fathom.

See what I mean? If you look closely, you'll see not just a rainbow, but a double rainbow. In the dry desert where at the moment of the photo it was raining with the sun shining. And that was the gift for our dreams Friday night.
*****

Entry 1 - May 22, 2008 - Our first vacation in 15 years is about to start!

This is where it all begins - in the beautifully restored railroad station in Albany, Oregon.

I'll try to get a few more shots of the stone work and interior details, but suffice it to say that the people who did the restoration not only repaired this building, but really did put it back into the elegant condition it had when it was originally built. The clock tower is a new addition - perhaps added in the hope of encourage the trains to run on time. So far, there's not a lot of evidence that this approach is effective.

One of the things we learned in the course of preparing for our trip is that Albany, Oregon is the Westernmost Amtrak stop in the country. I'm not sure what that says about anything, but I do find it interesting to know.

Here's our destination:

Burlington, Iowa - the home town of Aldo Leopold, the place of origin of the old Burlington-Northern Railroad, the place where George Westinghouse developed the air brakes that made his fortune and increased the safety of train travel exponentially, and, most importantly, the home of Nancy's beloved mother. It is also one of the most beautiful cities along the Mississippi River.

This is the bridge that crosses the Mississippi from Burlington to Illinois. You're seeing the Illinois side from this view. When we are there, we'll try to get you some shots of the bluffs in Burlington.

And now, we are off to pack and get to the train on time. We'll post more just as soon as we get to a station that has a wifi connection or reach my mother's home, whichever comes first.