Category Archives: travel

Notes from a Quiet Hill (Geography Edition)

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Saw this pop up on the internet the other day.  We always like to remind folks the founders weren’t Europeans but were the people who met them when they arrived (as Will Rogers once remarked about his ancestors).  The t-shirt is being sold on the Honoringthetribe.com, which we couldn’t reach when we looked for it.

But we appreciate the image.  Our President might not be caught wearing this t-shirt even if they had one large enough to fit him. Even if he wore it, it’s doubtful that he would give a hoot about the message.

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I used to think, “This man cannot be more absurd that this” but he quickly dissuaded me of that opinion on a daily if not hourly basis, much of it driven by childish pettiness.  In recent days he has “punished” Canada by signing an executive order renaming Lake Superior “Lake America.”  Now, most recently, he has shown a new map of New Mexico with “Mexico” crossed out and the word “America” written in.

Why don’t he end this ridiculous business and sign an all-encompassing executive order and make it “Planet Trump” and be done with it?

Would it be enough or would he want more?  You don’t need to answer that.

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From a January, 1922 Jefferson City newspaper: “It is said to be an open question whether Congress at present represents public opinion.  If not, next fall will be open season on congressmen.”

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Question for folks in Jefferson City: When was the last time our member of Congress showed up in our town? I don’t mean slipping in to say hello to the office staff, but to meet with the voters. He cannot recall any visits in recent years. Your intrepid correspondent stopped by Congressman Luetkemeyer’s office one day. The door was locked.  When somebody let me in the basic attitude was, “What are you doing here?”  I had a note for the Congressman I wanted to drop off. I doubt he ever saw it because I didn’t even get one of those “Thank your four your interest” form letters.

I think I have run into Northwest Missouri’s Sam Graves more times at the Capitol than I have heard of our own members of Congress being around except to file for election.

Our current Congressman (we think) Bob Onder is one of two GOP politicians asking the U. S.  Supreme Court to overturn our Missouri Supreme Court order reinstating non-gerrymandered district lines.

We could not do any worse by having a Congressman from Kansas City.  In fact, it’s hard not to think a longtime Methodist minister would be anything but better.

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Went to Colorado to visit the granddaughters and their parents last month. We rather like driving across Kansas because of ancestral ties that help us appreciate the Flint Hills and the Tallgrass Prairie and the rolling limestone hills that used to be the floor of the Great Inland Sea.  We even like when we get West of Hays and the upland prairie begins under a wide-open sky not obscured by billboards (there are few of them).  But once again we were reminded when we cross the state line that there still is too much Kansas in Colorado.

Your observer has often felt that a new state should be carved from the area between Hays and Burlington, Colorado, extending south to include the Oklahoma Panhandle and north to include the Nebraska Panhandle

Stopped in Bennett to fuel up. We were a little, uh, stunned.

The cheapest stuff was 15% ethanol. The Subaru is accustomed to a diet of 10% but we were sure it wouldn’t cough and sputter on the strong stuff.   12.2 gallons.  55 dollars.

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This is St. James’ Church in the English village of Ormside, near Appleby (hope that helps you understand its location).  The BBC reports this church is getting something for the first time in its long history. A £10,000 gift from a private trust will pay for an indoor loo, which the church never has had.

A loo over there is a bathroom.

For centuries, people in Ormside carried buckets of water from the village well to operate the primitive indoor plumbing. The BBC reports that the church hopes the improvements “will make the site more welcoming and hospitable, after attendees at weddings and funerals had previously had to rely on nearby residents homes for bathroom access.

The new toilet won’t be in the church itself. A disused hearse house will be modified for people who have to go while sending someone on their way

When we traveled across the pond a couple of years ago we visited the community of Looe, which is the case with many towns and cities, has public bathrooms. Admission, we think, was 25 pence.

The town of Looe is pronounced without the “e.”   I took a picture of the public bathrooms. I refer to it as Looe’s Loos.

 

The Home Time Capsule 

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Two or three houses ago, we sold the big 1904 uninsulated house that was the first home we bought (and found the heating bills in the dead of winter were double our mortgage payment)  sooner than we thought we would. We had put it on the market when the snow was so deep our realtor couldn’t get the “for sale” all the way into the ground.  We found another house quickly—-too quickly because the people who were selling it hadn’t bought THEIR new house. They did let us store our stuff in their basement and we rented a dark apartment with a terrible green shag rug and a one-window living room that looked out onto a parking lot while the bedroom windows looked onto High Street.

When we finally were able to occupy the new place a couple of months later (it might have been more; it certainly felt like it), and started bringing stuff up from the basement, a peculiar thought came to mind.  It was as if we were doing an archaeological excavation.  Here was the lamp table for the living room.  There was the frame of a bed for one of the children’s rooms. That box had 20th century bathroom supplies and another held late 20th century kitchen appliances.

It was different from usual moves where professionals with a big truck lug things out of one house and sets them up in the new one. These were things that had disappeared from our lives for a period of time and now were being rediscovered, if you will.

Kind of exciting.

Sometimes when we’ve been gone for a couple of weeks, I play a little mind game and try to imagine that we are entering Jefferson City for the first time.  What are my impressions?

From the west we get a stunning view of the Capitol framed by the Dix Road overpass.  From the east we drive past back yards and roadside businesses and offices as the traffic seems to funnel into an unimpressive area of concrete and traffic lights and ultimately an interchange if we want to take it. Sometimes don’t even notice the Capitol.  From the south we crest the Ellis Boulevard hill and there’s the dome dramatically shining above the trees and against the dark bluffs and from the north, there’s the view of the Capitol overlooking the great river.

And when we come home to a place that has been empty and silent (except for Max and Minnie and once a day a visiting cat-sitter, Mary), I briefly imagine we have entered a well-preserved early 21st century townhouse that appears to have been frozen in time by the people who once lived there.

The feeling dissipates quickly, of course, as life returns to normal within an hour or two.

But it’s kind of fun and it lets me see today’s world from a little different perspective. We’ve visited a lot of famous homes of notable figures or barracks rooms at 1870s frontier forts or other historic sites restored or recreated with period furnishings and in fifty years or so there really will be houses from our times that let our descendants see how we lived today.  Today’s possessions are tomorrow’s artifacts.  Today’s nick-nacks will be found in antique store sale cases.

The wonders of our age will have become museums or museum pieces.  The things we think are advanced technology today will seem primitive then.

We will be what our great grandparents are to us.

The experience can have a leveling effect on our pride of having the things we have. Maybe it will trigger some thinking about our attitudes and how they will be regarded generations hence by those who wonder, “How could they think like that?” or “How did they get along with just those_______,” or “It took a lot of work to live in those days,” or maybe just, “Isn’t that interesting?”

It never hurts to try to look at our life and times through pretend new eyes. You never know what you might see.

A Little Politics We’d Like to Forget 

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Saturday nights when Liz and Rob were not taller than we are, Saturday nights had kind of a ritual to them.

At 5 p.m., I’d turn on KBIA, the National Public Radio Station at the University of Missouri, and wait for A Prairie Home Companion to come on.  I had my reel-to-reel SONY recorder wired into the radio and set at the slowest recording speed to record the two-hour program based around a mythical Minnesota town called Lake Wobegone (“a little town that time forgot and the decades cannot improve, where all of the women are strong, the men are good looking, and all the children are above average”) and the stories told by one of its former residents, Garrison Keillor.

I left the speakers off because we were still doing stuff at 5.  Dinner was usually about 6.  At 7 we’d gather in the living room where I rewound the tape and we’d listen back to the recording. Popcorn was part of the evening.  While the playback was underway, I’d turn on my cassette recorder and dub the program onto the smaller format.  There also in our house were some LP recordings of old radio programs—Jack Benny, Fibber and Molly, Suspense, Mr. Kean—Tracer of Lost Persons, Gangbusters, the Shadow, the Lone Ranger, the Green Hornet, Straight Arrow, Escape, etc.—some of which I dubbed onto cassettes before we went on long trips.

SiriusXm now has a channel for those old programs (the PHC is on Keillor’s webpage) but in those days, cars had cassette players and those programs came in handy when World War III broke out in the back seat.  I’d just slide a cassette of Garrison or Jack or Fibber or Molly or one of the creepy shows into the player and peace would immediately break out behind us.

The kids’ imaginations were immediately seized by those radio shows.  The “theatre of the mind” took over and for an hour or two the miles slipped by easily and quietly.

We are not alone in thinking children today are missing that important element in their development—-imagination.  Oh, they can imagine they are great dragon fighters or world-saving soldiers on their computers.  But it’s not the same, by far.

Radio could then, and still can today if we ignore the local stations that aren’t local anymore and aren’t imaginative anymore, and are mostly forums for people whose egos are their greatest asset, expand the mind far beyond anything we can see, even on a 100=inch flat screen screwed to the wall.

(In 1965, the great radio humorist Stan Freberg did a series of public service announcements for the Radio Advertising Bureau promoting radio.  They’re all priceless but the fourth one, “Stretching the Imagination” is considered the classic:

(bing.com/search?q=Stan+freberg+who+listens+to+radio&form=ANNTH1&refig=6a8601c200594754ba45e2583e91c5c7&pc=HCTS)

The Singer is Sarah Vaughan.

Garrison Keillor is no longer doing his radio program but he does do stage shows recreating the program. He’s 84 now, writes books, lives in New York instead of Minnesota, and writes with his familiar droll humor a daily column.

A few days ago on the 17th, he offered this observation that we decided to pass along:

(7) Another modest proposal, but a good one

Yes, It is obvious that he’s a Democrat. In fact one of his books is called Home Grown Democrat. But he seems to capture the contradictory, confusing, infuriating political mess we are living through.

Saturday nights at our house aren’t so interesting anymore. The kids are all grown up and have their own families.  Sometimes, though, we do have some popcorn.  And in our cars, we can listen to Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar, Gunsmoke (with William Conrad as Matt Dillon, Boston Blackie, Tales of the Texas Rangers, the creaking door of the Inner Sanctum and many more.

And the miles just slip away.

Some Reflections on Memorial Day, Part Four:

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Hundreds of people were at the Speedway as I drove out of town last Monday morning. A few were at the start-finish line—Felix Rosenqvist, his owners and crew for the annual victor’s picture taking. The rest, armed with brooms, shovels, and other equipment, were cleaning up the 500 tons or so of trash left behind by Sunday’s huge crowds. The speedway pays volunteer groups $125 per person to do the cleanup work.

 

Several years ago, I narrated Aaron Copeland’s A LINCOLN PORTRAIT with the Jefferson City Symphony and some of the words began to come back to me as I drove through the rich, flat prairies of the two states.  “He was born in Kentucky, raised in Indiana, and grew up in Illinois….” 

The way to Indianapolis on I-70 takes people through Vandalia, once the state capital of Illinois.  The old capitol still stands, and the House of Representatives where Lincoln began his political career has been recreated.

I wanted to go on a northern route home that would take me through Springfield, where Lincoln lived and owned the only house he would ever own, where he prospered as a railroad lawyer, and from which he left to become President.  This trip, however, was to take me to the little village to the west where he grew up.

New Salem.

Lincoln struck out on his own after his brief stay in the Decatur area and spent several years in this little village as a laborer, and as an unsuccessful store owner.  It was in New Salem that he began the study of the law and began to practice as a lawyer.  It was in New Salem that Ann Rutledge entered his life and departed from it, a relationship romanticized by many through the decades.

Abe Lincoln was a quiet man; Lincoln was a quiet and a melancholy man.

However deep the Lincoln/Rutledge relationship was, it has been recorded that her death left Lincoln deeply depressed, depression being a condition he dealt with throughout his life.

One of the recreated buildings in the little village is the Rutledge Tavern where Lincoln stayed—a “tavern” being a place offering room and board for visitors and travelers (Missouri’s first official state historic site is the Arrow Rock Tavern, if you want to see what a tavern was in the early 19th Century).

The park was closed the day I stopped on the way home, “closed” meaning the visitors center, restrooms, and the village buildings were unoccupied by staff and reenactors.  But visitors could take a quiet walk among the businesses and homes, the mill and the gardens and the stores.  And I did.

Copeland’s narration and his music went with me.  The composition was created in 1942 but its passages from Lincoln’s speeches seemed appropriate that day as I walked where he had walked. I remembered pieces of the narration and when I got home I pulled the script from that performance with the symphony.

The first segment:

Fellow Citizens, we cannot escape history.  That is what he said. That is what Abraham Lincoln said.

Fellow-citizens, we cannot escape history. We of this Congress and this administration, will be remembered in spite of ourselves. No personal significance, or insignificance, can spare one or another of us. The fiery trial through which we pass, will light us down, in honor or dishonor, to the latest generation…. We — even we here– hold the power, and bear the responsibility.

The second:

He was born in Kentucky, raised in Indiana, and grew up in Illinois. And this is what he said. This is what Abe Lincoln said:

The dogmas of the quiet past, are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise — with the occasion. As our case is new, so we must think anew, and act anew. We must disenthrall ourselves, and then we shall save our country.  

Both were from his 1862 message to Congress, what we call the State of the Union today.  The third segment:

When standing erect, he was six feet four inches tall. And this is what he said:

It is the eternal struggle between these two principles — right and wrong — throughout the world. They are the two principles that have stood face to face from the beginning of time; and will ever continue to struggle. The one is the common right of humanity, and the other the divine right of kings. It is the same principle in whatever shape it develops itself. It is the same spirit that says, “You toil and work and earn bread, and I’ll eat it.” No matter in what shape it comes, whether from the mouth of a king who seeks to bestride the people of his own nation and live by the fruit of their labor, or from one race of men as an apology for enslaving another race, it is the same tyrannical principle.

Lincoln said that during his last debate with Stephen A. Douglas, in Alton, Illinois in 1858. Lincoln lost the race for the U. S. Senate that year but his debates with Douglas brought him national attention.

Segment four:

Abe Lincoln was a quiet man; Lincoln was a quiet and a melancholy man. But when he spoke of Democracy, this is what he said. He said:

As I would not be a slave, so I would not be a master. This expresses my idea of democracy. Whatever differs from this, to the extent of the difference, is no democracy.

Again, from 1858.

And the concluding segment:

Abraham Lincoln, 16th President of these United States, is everlasting in the memory of this country.  For on the battleground at Gettysburg, this is what he said:

From these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

“That cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion,” he said—-referring not to the war but to the re-commitment to the document that created the Union, that created a government “by the people, for the people,” the Declaration of Independence.

I have had a front row seat to the operation of the people’s government for many decades and as I walked the quiet streets where Abraham Lincoln walked I was reminded that the people’s government requires a people’s responsibility whenever there is a “stormy present…piled high with difficulty.’

“We must disenthrall ourselves and then we shall save our country,” Abe Lincoln said.

Today, it seems, we are locked in “the eternal struggle of these two principles—right and wrong…The one is the common right of humanity, and the other the divine right of kings.”

“Disenthrall:” —to free ourselves of the present condition, “and then we shall save our country.”

This, again, is what Abe Lincoln said to us in 1862:

The fiery trial through which we pass, will light us down, in honor or dishonor, to the latest generation…. We — even we here– hold the power, and bear the responsibility.

Tens of thousands of ours have died creating this country, creating and defending a nation that can celebrate its holidays with great noise, great drama, and frivolity while pausing for a few minutes to be grateful for their sacrifices and recommit to keep their faith—–

From these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

After about an hour or maybe an hour and a half, I resumed my drive home. I crossed the Mississippi River with my dashboard telling me I had seventeen miles worth of gas left in the tank. A hundred yards from the bridge at Louisiana Missouri, I put 15.6 gallons of cheaper Missouri gas into a tank that’s supposed to hold 15.5 gallons.

And then I came home.  I had decorated no graves on Memorial Day but I was glad that I lived in a country that those in their graves protected for us, a united nation despite our differences that  pauses for a  gaudy celebration of its existence even in a “stormy present,” knowing that we have the power to restore our nation to one that is of the people, by the people, and has the ability to be made better—-

—-for the people.

(Various prominent people are on YouTube narrating A Lincoln Portrait. I suggest you look at one, or some, of them.)

(Picture credits: City of Vandalia; Bob Priddy)

 

 

Some Reflections on Memorial Day, Part One 

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This was a Memorial Day that has taken some time for us to process.  The holiday’s origins are easily overlooked each year by the rush of noisy celebrations that seem far removed from the original intent of the day.  I was awash in those contrasting “celebrations” that have overshadowed the “observance” and “commemoration” originally intended. But I found toward the end in a closed state park a quiet reminder of why Memorial Day is and should be recalled for its origins—and why this contemporary noisy version of Memorial Day anticipates the next great holiday that this year will challenge our honesty about who we have become.

This might be written more for my benefit more than for yours and I hope you will excuse me for these ruminations.  I didn’t plan on them stretching into four chapters but a lot was going on, not the least of which was “The Greatest Spectacle in Racing.”

We’ll talk about the race but this series is not all about racing for the race is only part of the story.

The weekend had been spent in a city that observes/commemorates Memorial Day throughout the entire month of May. I know of no other city that rivals Indianapolis’s Memorial…..Month.

Indianapolis is a prototype that diminishing cities might use to reinvent themselves.s  through the course of several decades and several setbacks, Indianapolis has emerged as a dynamic, livable place of major league proportions in spirit and enterprise. And each year it throws one big party in May.

Reconciling the big party in that prototype city with the solemnity the holiday was originally created for, reconciling what men and women in the military died for in the war that created Memorial Day dwith what we are and what that the city is provided the ingredients for a lot of thinking on the long drive back to Jefferson City on Monday that took me through a lot of American history and some of my own.

I was born in Decatur Illinois, a town where Abraham Lincoln’s family briefly lived after moving from Indiana. I was raised in two small central Illinois towns, Mt. Pulaski (population about 1,500) and then Sullivan (a bigger place of about 3,300 when we moved there in fourth grade). Abraham Lincoln practiced law in both places as a circuit-riding attorney.

Lincoln scholars point to 1843 as the first time Lincoln and a couple of friends first quoted the phrase from three of the Gospels that “a house divided against itself can not stand” as they helped organize the Illinois Whig Party.

Fifteen years later, he spoke them again in accepting the nomination to run against incumbent Senator Stephen A. Douglas: “If we could first know where we are, and whither we are tending, we could then better judge what to do, and how to do it. . . .A house divided against itself cannot stand. I believe this government cannot endure, permanently half slave and half free.”  He lost that election but it paved the way to the presidency two years later and the great test that followed that determined the correctness of the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and by 1858 Abraham Lincoln.

A civil war that tested that assertion took Lincoln to Gettysburg on November 19, 1863, where more than seven-thousand soldiers from both sides had been killed and more than forty thousand had been wounded. He paid tribute to those who died defending the Declaration of Independence’s proclamation that our nation had been “conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.”

He called upon the nation that day to complete what he called the “unfinished work”  and “the great task remaining before us,” not referring to the war but to the words of the Declaration. He called for the people to recommit themselves to that cause so the nation should have a “new birth of freedom” flowing from, by, and for the people—a united people, a house NOT divided.

A 1904 newspaper article reported that in October 1864, almost a year after Gettysburg and about six months before the Civil War ended, three women in Boalsburg, Pennsylvania decorated the graves of Union soldiers.  Boalsburg, an unincorporated area of 4,600 today, makes the disputed claim that the event was the earliest documented observance of a memorial day.

On May 1, 1865, just three weeks after Lee’s surrender and two weeks after Lincoln’s death, as many at 10,000 people in deeply Confederate Charleston, South Carolina dedicated the graves of Union soldiers who had died in a Confederate Prison. Reports tell us many in the audience were Black.

Waterloo, NY claims to have held the first FORMAL annual observance of a memorial day on May 5, 1866. Local druggist Henry Welles is credited with thinking of the event.

The first national observance was on May 30, 1868 when former Illinois white supremacist John A. Logan, who had become became strong Lincoln supporter at the start of the war and abandoned his racist sentiments after fighting alongside black troops, issued a national proclamation calling for “for the purpose of strewing with flowers or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country. ” Logan, a wartime Union General, was the Commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, an organization for Union Army veterans such as my great grandfather. The day originally known as “Decoration Day” was expanded after World War I to honor all of our country’s military dead. It officially became Memorial Day in 1971 when it became a national Monday holiday that now is most often considered the unofficial beginning of summer.

Logan County, where Mt. Pulaski is, was named after Logan’s father. My great grandfather enlisted in the Union Army in Moultrie County, where Sullivan is.

My journey Monday, the now designated Memorial Day, took me back through that area of Lincoln and Logan, and Private Robert T. Priddy—who served under General Sherman at Vicksburg—where Logan was with another Union Army unit.  I had been thinking a lot about the cacophony that the holiday weekend had become as the miles of pavement disappeared beneath my car, I found myself in a quiet place that helped me put the day, the weekend, into a context.  I’ll take you from the cacophony to the quiet in succeeding chapters.

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Sister State

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I want to tell you about a special place that should be our sister state.

Most of us are familiar with sister cities and other sister states—-usually, in Jefferson City’s case, a town with similar cultural roots in Germany.  Missouri has a sister state relationship with Nagano Prefecture in Japan. Jefferson City’s sister city is Munchberg, Germany.

Missouri, a state, should have this place as a sister CITY for a reason I’ll mention later.

The scenic town is six-thousand feed up in the Himalayan foothills of India, about 180 miles north of New Delhi and is known affectionately as the “Queen of the Hills.”

It’s a Hill Station, a British phrase used to describe a popular tourist town at higher elevations where people who visit to escape the summer heat in the valleys below. Although the phrase has been used in other countries, India has more hill stations than any other country.

The city has been a popular tourist destination since a British miliary officer established it in 1825.

Seven years later, the Surveyor General of India, George Everest, wanted to make it an anchor of the Great Trigonometric Survey that provided a detailed map of the Indian subcontinent.

The what? It was a comprehensive survey that used mathematics to provide a precise map of the whole Indian subcontinent. It was started in 1802 by the East India Company in the days when the British Empire was being put together.  The company was created in 1600 as a trading company that at one time controlled the subcontinent and Hong Kong and was the largest corporation in the world—so large that it had its own army of 260,000-man army, double the size of the regular British Army at times.  The survey took almost seventy years. Its most important feature was the first measurement of the highest peaks in the Himalayas, including the one named for Surveyor General George Everest.

By the start of the Twentieth Century, the town had about 65-hundred permanent residents. But the population more than doubled in the summers. Among the prominent families to spend summers here were the Nehrus. For a time, the Dalai Lama lived there. The population in the first decade of the Twenty-first century had gone past 30-thouand.

It is said that a good set of binoculars will provide a nice view of the Himalayas

Visitors today can travel on Camel’s Back Road, named for a rocky outcrop that reminds people of a camel’s hump. It’s a popular hiking trail that includes the oldest Christian Church in the Himalaya Mountains, on a nearby road.  The snowy peaks of the big Himalayan peaks are visible through binoculars from the road.

The forty-foot high Kempty Falls, one of several waterfalls in the area, is about nine miles from the town, and Lake Mist, where the Kempty river flows, is a popular stop for hikers and other tourists. There’s a municipal garden and a lake where visitors can rent padd  boats.

The remains of Sir George Everest’s laboratory are in a park. Happy Valley includes an academy, a municipal garden and a Tibetan sanctuary. An ancient Hindu temple dedicated to the Snake God Shiva is nearby.

And then there is Cloud End, a dense forest, and Van Chetna Kendra, a bird sanctuary that was the last refuge of the now-extinct Mountain Quail.

One of the oldest and most highly-regarded colleges in India, St. George’s College, is there. It’s been run by the Patrician Brothers since 1893.

There’s a lot more to see and to do in the multinational community of Mussoorie, the “Queen of the Hills” of India.

Sounds like an interesting place.  Maybe we should get to know it better.

Save me a place on the flight, Governor.

 

I Have a New Necktie

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–and I’m going to use it to make a point (other than the one at the end of the tie).

You probably have heard the old saying about a person who wears his (or her) heart on his or her sleeve.  How about wearing some of your family heritage around your neck?

It can become a reminder of who you are, or part of you.

While we were in Scotland last summer, we went into a couple of tartan shops.  Knowing that the older I get, the older my knees look, I knew that I could not wear the kind of clan tartan my Scottish ancestors wore.

I hinted broadly that a tartan shirt or a tartan necktie would look pretty good, though, as a Christmas present. But, alas, my Lady was too distracted by starting our eventual move to a new zip code to remember my hints.

(Actually, Nancy is recognized in Scotland as a Lady, which makes me a Laird, because she owns some land there.  She has read all of the Outlander books and we watch the TV series each week, which led me a few years ago to buy her a piece of land in the auld country.  I think it is an entire square foot of land in a Scottish land preserve.)

Anyway—

A few weeks ago I took the matter into my own hands and I ordered a tartan- patterned necktie.

This is the ancient tartan of MacDonald of Clan Ranald. A more modern tartan is available, but this great grandson of Ranald McKechnie, a Scotsman who arrived in Kansas in the 1870s via Canada, wanted to wear his older roots around his neck.

We are a very old batch of folks, all the way back to the 12th Century, and we were somewhat inhospitable. In fact, we were downright hostile.  We were known as being warlike. In fact—and this might mean something to Outlander followers—my ancestors helped defeat the Clan Fraser in the 1544 battle of Kinloch Lochy, also known as the “Battle of the Field of the Shirts” because the warriors fought on such a hot day that men on both sides discarded their shirts. When this vicious battle was over, only five Frasers and eight MacDonalds were still alive.

The home of my clan was Castle Tiorim. It remains, although it is unhabitable.

The MacDonalds were on the British side during the Jacobite rebellion that was dramatized in the books and on Outlander. Scottish Prince Charlie made a bid to get his father installed on the British throne but was routed at the Battle of Culloden in 1746, fought on a field near Inverness that we visited last June.

After hearing our tour guide describe the battle, I remarked that the circumstances reminded me of the American Battle of  Bunker Hill (which was fought on Breed’s Hill). He commented that the sons and grandsons of the MacDonalds at Culloden were part of the victorious British forces that day in Boston.

So much for any hopes of being a member of the Sons of the American Revolution.

The point of this journey through a family history that probably holds little interest for you is just this:

History, your history, can be an exciting thing to explore if you look beyond dates on tombstones and, instead, at the events of the dash—the mark between the dates  of birth and death—because our ancestors did not exist in a vacuum. Learning about the events they witnessed either in person or from a distance humanizes them, brings them closer, and often explains why they wound up where they did—and an understanding of how  you wound up where you are.

The history most of us took in elementary and secondary school, the kind taught chronologically while ignoring the social and economic issues that drove the nation to be what it was, earned the reputation of being boring.

It is like Kansas, or at least the popular view of it.  Kansas, however, is NOT boring.

I-70 is boring.  But a few miles off it is where you will discover life, past and present.

So it is with genealogy. Dates are boring most of the time. But what those ancestors did and what was around them in the years of the dash is where you will find understanding of them and maybe a bit of yourself.

 

 

Erifnus Caitnop

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I spent a few minutes with an old friend at another old friend’s funeral a few days ago and we wound up talking about his car that he affectionately calls Erifnus Caitnop.  John Drake Robinson has written some books about the adventures he and Erifnus have shared through the years.  Erifnus has 313 miles on the odometer and John told me his mechanic thinks the car can hit the half-million mile mark.

John doesn’t think he can last that long, though, but he agreed with me that Erifnus is a historical automobile that deserves to be in a museum.

John is a Jefferson City native.  He and his parents attended the same church we go to. His father, B. F. (“Buford,” John fondly calls him) Robinson was a fixture in the state education department for many years and was a beloved and friendly doorkeeper for the Senate for many ears in his retirement. So I have known the Robinsons, father and son, for more than fifty years.

I always feel strange saying something like that—knowing someone for fifty years.

Erifnus is historic because it is the only car that has traveled every mile of every highway in Missouri. 

At least, we think so.  We can’t imagine anyone else being that interested in doing something such as this.  Or maybe as crazy.

But we all have goals in our lives, some more expansive than others.  Driving on every mile of every highway in Missouri became John’s goal, especially while he was the State Tourism Director and had a reason to do all of that traveling.  I suppose he could have used a car from the state motor pool, but he chose Erifnus and, I have been told by one of those who worked with him, he did not always take the most direct route.

John is one of the most personable people you could ever hope to meet. And a lot of people had a chance to meet him in his odyssey.  His biography on Amazon notes:

He penetrated beyond the edges of civilization, peeked into the real American heartland, and lived to tell about it.

His books are “on the road” adventures blending local characters and mom-and-pop food into an archipelago of tasty stories. He dives deep into the wilderness, where the nearest neighbors are coyotes, and the bullfrogs sound like banjo strings.

When an interviewer asked if he ever “heard banjo music,” John replied, “Sure, all the time. And when I do, I grab a big bass fiddle and join in.”

Through all his travels, John shows a deep respect for history, and for the environment. As a former state director of tourism, he heard the question a lot: How can we balance tourism and the environment? His answer: “If we don’t preserve our natural heritage, and put back what we take out, these attractions won’t be worth visiting.”

Called the “King of the Road” by Missouri Life Magazine, John Robinson lives in Columbia, Missouri when he isn’t sleeping in his car. His articles and columns are regularly featured in a half dozen magazines.

This is Erifnus:

It’s a Pontiac Sunfire.  Spell it backwards.

I have been thinking a museum in Jefferson City would be a great place for Erifnus to continue telling its story, and John’s.  Unfortunately, there is no such museum.  We have two historical organizations in Jefferson City but neither has a museum that can accommodate Erifnus—or other historical city and county artifacts for that matter.  I think it’s time we have such a mseum, but that’s a separate discussion.

I’ve contacted a friend at the National Museum of Transportation in Kirkwood to see if Erifnus might find a place in its collection of automobiles, trains, and airplanes.  Jefferson City’s loss could be Kirkwood’s gain.

There’s another historic vehicle in central Missouri that HAS been saved although it’s not on display.  That’s William Least Heat Moon’s Ghost Dancing, the 1975 Ford Econoline van he used in compiling the stories in his famous Blue Highways. It’s in the storage area of the Museum of Anthropology at the University of Missouri’s Academic Support Center.

Both vehicles need to be displayed where people can appreciate them, the men who drove them, and the stories they have told that enrich us all.

John lives in Columbia so maybe Erifnus could find a home there, too.  But as a Jefferson City resident, I wish we had a place for it here because this is where John grew up and where his service as Director of the Division of Tourism did so much to create the tales of Erifnus and the stories its driver has written.

Notes From a Quiet (and Boring) Road

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Just got back yesterday afternoon from visits to relatives in New Mexico and Colorado, where the dry heat was wonderful and where you could almost hear your flesh sizzle if you stood out in that dry heat too long.

It was so wonderful to drive a couple thousand miles and see few billboards. If other states operated as Missouri does, the majestic windmills of Kansas and Colorado would have been obscured by junk roadside art and I use the word “art” advisedly.

Nancy has a new car. It has adaptive cruise control that keeps you a safe distance behind a car or truck in front of you. I thought I wouldn’t like it. I do.  I set the speed at 85 and let the control run the car with the traffic while it maintained appropriate intervals between our vehicle and the ones in front. It even threw on the brakes if somebody swerved into our lane.  An interesting experience.

I did turn off the feature than keeps the car between the lines. I don’t weave but it was still irritating.  We did not try to find out how many miles we could go on the interstate without touching the steering wheel.  Cars are close to that, but we don’t trust the system yet—plus this car demands you put hands back on the wheel in a short time.  It also keeps track of what you are looking at and if you aren’t eyes-forward, you get dinged.

Ding.  And there’s a message between the speedometer and the tachometer telling you to keep your eyes on the road.  And open.  No sleeping while driving this car.

Got home and found a message in my email (hadn’t checked it today) from Amazon wanting my opinion on something I had bought before the trip—a new lens for my camera.  Both of us find these messages irritating.  Everybody wants to know if we are joyful about our purchase. I’ve ignored many such solicitations, but Amazon was persistent wanting to know how I used the item and was I happy. So yesterday I told Amazon:

I used this lens to take pictures. 

I also am tired of every Tom, Dick, and Harry company I do business with asking if I’m a happy customer.  If I am, I will express it by buying something else later.  If not, my silence will be sufficient.  Quit wasting my time by begging for a compliment.  It’s as irritating as the restaurant bill that gives me choices for tips.

After all—what the heck does one do with a camera lens?  Swat flies?  Roll out a pie crust?  Punch cookies out of the cookie dough?  Make biscuits?  It might make an ashtray with the lens hood screwed on.

Okay, I was a little cranky.  We had driven through rain from Salina to past Kansas City after a long previous day of watching I-70 disappear under the hood of our car from the Denver area to Salina.

People think Kansas is boring.  We, from two families with Kansas roots, respectfully disagree.  INTERSTATE SEVENTY is boring.  But Kansas is a pretty interesting place—as are all places if we give ourselves the chance to travel some smaller roads.

Anyway, we finished the rest of our trip from Kansas City to Jefferson City on highways—particularly I-70—that are uglified by billboards.

Now, if billboards obscured views of the advertised adult entertainment stores that also highlight our Missouri roadways, we might soften our opinion of them.

The great American poet Ogden Nash once channeled Joyce Kilmer (who was a man, in case your schooling never mentioned that) when he wrote:

I think that I shall never see

A billboard lovely as a tree

Perhaps unless the billboards fall

I’ll never see a tree at all*

It has taken more time than usual to prepare this meditation.  Minnie the cat has been extremely glad to welcome us home and has insisted on several re-acquaintance lap times. Brother Max, the mellow one of the pair, is happy to sit in a box on the table next to the desk and be quietly close.

Pets make coming home even better.

*Another of Nash’s non-Nobel Prize works of literature is:

The only thing wrong with a kitten

Is that

Eventually,

It becomes a cat. 

(we do not share that opinion. Most of the time)

 

The Difference 

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Tomorrow is Independence Day, the day the Continental Congress adopted the Declaration of Independence. Only two people definitely signed it that day, The President of the Congress, John Hancock, and Secretary Charles Thompson.   Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, and John Adams claimed they signed it then, too, but historians have disagreed for decades on whether they did and when the other signers added their signatures.

The course of human events had made it necessary to dissolve the political bands that had linked the colonies with Great Britain.

What of the people from whom we separated?  Are they different from us after almost 250 years?

We recently spent two weeks sharing streets, buildings, restaurants, and other places with them, people differing from us only in accent, the side of the road on which they drive, and dogs.

The people of the United Kingdom do love their dogs and they take them everywhere. It’s a rare restaurant that has a sign we are familiar with: “Service dogs only.”   We saw one sign that told us we could buy vegan ice cream for our dog inside.  One of our hotels had a kiosk with a dog menu.

We loved our exploration of their country.  We enjoyed meeting the many people we met. Our guides were incredible.  Every citizen was friendly and courteous and proud to show us things or explain things—-as we would be for those from England who visit our country. They, like us, are free people.  But our definitions of freedom are a little bit different—-which is why our country got its divorce in 1776.

But few citizens of this country likely would want to trade places with those good folks as far as government is concerned and as far as the citizen’s voice is heard in government.

Much of our system of government and laws is based on the centuries-old policies born in England starting with King John I’s acceptance of demands by several of his Barons at Runnymede in June, 1215 in the Magna Carta. The document placed the King and all the Sovereigns who have come after him within the rule of law, a concept we are arguing in this country more than 800 years later.

The document remains a symbol of freedom from government oppression. It’s philosophy was brought to our shores with the early English settlers and was a precedent for the Declaration of Independence.

But our founders took the concepts far beyond the Magna Carta, and we were surprised by how hard our differences in approach to rule hit home with us during our visits to two places within the last month.

This is the Tower of London:

And this is Edinburgh Castle in Scotland:

What is inside these two structures says much about our differing national concepts of government.

The Tower of London, among other things, is the home of The Crown Jewels.  Edinburgh Castle houses the much smaller Honours of Scotland, that country’s crown jewels that date from the days before Scotland became part of the United Kingdom. When a new monarch is coronated, these items are ceremonially donned to symbolize the monarchy’s rule over all of the UK.

We would like to show you pictures of this collection; it’s overwhelming. But photography is not allowed in the darkened rooms where spotlights illuminate the sparkling and glowing treasured regalia that is kept behind enclosures. Visitors can purchase a $10 guidebook, however.  Although it devotes fourteen of its eighty pages just to the various crowns in the collection, it cannot carry the impact of walking into dark rooms with illuminated display cases filled with large sparkling items of gold and jewels.

The guidebook to the collection at the Tower of London tells visitors:

Kings of England had a crown for everyday use, and the coronation crown that was worn rarey but was the ultimate symbol of their sacred and regal authority. The crowns were accompanied by other symbols of power: a sceptre indicating control over the realm and royal rights; a rod representing the responsibility to protect the people; a decorated sword for military strength; and an orb; a globe representing the world with a cross on top symbolizing Christ’s power over all creation

The Crown Jewels include more than 23,000 gemstones and more than 100 objects. The value of the collection is placed as much as six BILLION dollars, although officially they are considered priceless. One diamond, the Cullinan, has an estimated value of $430 million

The collection says everything about the difference between our system of government and the English system of government.

These jewel-encrusted items are symbols intended to make it clear that power is separate from and far above the people, and that it is blessed by an official national church. Only three people are permitted to handle these treasurers—the King, the Royal Jewler, and the Archbishop of Canterbury.

Contrast those museums with a museum in this country that shows us the symbols of OUR system. We have one room displaying, not jewels but a few pages of paper:

—Four pieces of paper in particular.

The National Archives Museum in Washington, D. C. has rules about cameras, too.  Take them in.  Use them. Photograph the Declaration, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights.  Don’t use flash or other supplemental lighting, selfie sticks, monopods or similar equipment. But otherwise, snap away.

If you want real detailed images of the documents, you can download free scans of them, buy facsimiles in the museum store or online, or download closeups of the documents and other features in the rotunda. You can have the symbols of our government in your own home or your office. You don’t have to go hundreds of miles, get tickets, and stand in lines to see them. They belong to YOU. You do not belong to them.

The words of the documents describe the gulf between this country and the home country we left in 1776:

“When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands….”

“We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union…..”

“The Conventions of a number of the States, having at the time of their adopting the Constitution, expressed a desire, in order to prevent misconstruction or abuse of its powers, that further declaratory and restrictive clauses should be added: and as extending the ground of public confidence in government, will best ensure the beneficent ends of its institution.”  

In darkened tight rooms of ancient buildings in London and Edinburgh are housed symbols that display the power of government OVER the people who are not allowed to even take photographs of those symbols

In the bright, light-filled rotunda of a public building in our country are the documents that describe the power of the PEOPLE over government.

We, the people of the United States, elect a President and two houses of a Congress that represents us. The people of the United Kingdom have little voice in picking those who will rule them.

The Constitutional Monarchy that is the United Kingdom considers the King, an inherited position, the head of state although not the head of government. Political decisions have been left to the government and Parliament since the Magna Carta but the people’s involvement is relatively minimal.

The top officer in the political system is the Prime Minister, who is not elected by the people. By tradition, the PM is a member of Parliament answerable to the House of Commons. The King has “Royal Prerogative powers” that include the power to appoint and dismiss the Prime Minister. However, it is customary that the Sovereign (King or Queen) appoints someone from the majority party in the House of Commons.

And the way those representatives of the people are elected seems by comparison to our elections to minimize the power of the voter.

The 650 members of the House of Commons are elected from districts in a “first past the post” system of voting that pits all candidates together regardless of party with the candidate getting the plurality, not necessarily the majority, winning the position.  The “first past the post” concept is likened to a horse race finish in a multiple horse field. Members of the House of Commons are called MPs, Members of Parliament.

The members of the House of Lords are not elected.  They are appointed and serve for life. The custom of people serving by inheritance was ended in 1999 but Lordships are determined by in-house elections. There is no fixed number of members and not all who are members are allowed to attend proceedings.  Last year there were 261 Conservative Party Lords, 185 Crossbench Lords, and 174 Labour Party members.  A year earlier, the total was 798 but only 755 could take part in the proceedings. As many as 26 members are bishops or archbishops of the national church.  The people have no voice in selecting members of the House of Lords..

We describe all of this, as far as we are capable of understanding it, given our background in our own form of government, to point out how distinctly different things are for us, and to underline how those dark rooms filled with billions of dollars of jewelry symbolize power that does NOT flow from the people but clearly reminds the people how superior the government is over them, how separate government power is from the consent of the governed.

Those rooms remind us that government of, by, and for the people is a concept that was stated in Philadelphia by traitor radicals who knew the personal danger they faced. Many have died to protect that traitorous system. Many have died in the country’s uniforms as well as in civilian attire on battlefields and in city streets to protect and expand that concept for everyone.

We left those darkened rooms in England and Scotland with even greater appreciation for being a citizen of a country that trusts the people to define governmental power. In doing so we are not criticizing the system that the people of our Mother Country have; we are only pointing out the differences with which both we Americans and our British cousins are comfortable having.

On this Independence Day, we need to ponder the power—and especially in this year the responsibility—we have to determine the kind of government we will allow and the kind of people we will choose to operate it on OUR behalf, not on THEIR behalf.

Symbolically, we are facing a choice between going to a dark place or staying in a place of light, of retaining the power of government that serves the people or giving it up to those who seek power to serve themselves.

We the people are the crown jewels of this country.

And this country is the crown jewel of freedom for the rest of the world.

Never, ever, forget that.

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