This year, the newsletter contains only the high points….for the full story, see Mom's new blog -- www.kshicks.blogspot.com. Feel free to bookmark it for semi-regular updates.
Family Vacation
This year we drove to the North Carolina side of the Great Smokey Mountain National Park. My husband and I were sworn in as two of the first ever “Not So Junior Rangers” in the United States. Sam learned how to make a real, live arrowhead out of a piece of stone. Isaac discovered the fascinating and organized world of the MP3 self-guided museum tour. The whole family trekked several trails including a total of ½ mile on the Appalachian Trail. (For a daily journal of the trip, see the months July/August on the blog.)
The Husband
Dad finally caved this year and allowed us to adopt a dog this November. Tobey (a female, Pointer-Beagle mix from the pound), is a fantastic addition to the family. This year, he celebrated 16 years as an employee of Ferguson. He enjoys watching “Life on Mars” on ABC – currently suffering withdraws as we wait until the new season starts in several months. The rest of the time he has spent vigilantly monitoring the physical and mental health as well as sanitary conditions of the house.
Me
Mom has spent the year learning the pending changes created by this year’s reauthorization of Federal Student Aid. She was chosen as one of the national trainers for financial aid officers in the Rocky Mountain Region and assisted her state association as a trainer of high school counselors in Southeast Kansas. She still volunteers as a member of the church choir, chair of the Campus Ministry Team and this year took on the role of Whittier Elementary PTO President.
Our 10-Year-Old
A man of numerous interests, our oldest continues to enjoy sports – football, soccer and swimming topping the list. He favors defensive positions contributing to the team by making several important tackles and one interception in football and scoring two soccer goals while playing defender/midfield. He made it to Regional 4-H Days with a demonstration about How to Draw a Hedgehog and received a purple on one of his photos at the fair. A Lego junkie, he has enrolled in the self-determined 4-H project next year to share his love of Lego’s with the world. He exercised his right brain by beginning guitar lessons and by playing Rev. Hopkins in the school play. His favorite computer game is Age of the Empires III and he designed and built a pulley-driven, bucket, delivery system to his loft bed using some string and a plastic container.
The 7-Year-Old
Our youngest completed his years as a 4-H Cloverbud by making a replacement blankie for the one that was lost at Disney World. He “officially” joined 4-H this November and has enrolled in Shooting Sports as his project. (A Red Rider BB Gun is on his Christmas list – Lord help us.) He continues his piano lessons, reads up a storm, and loves art. He is spending this winter playing basketball and told me that his favorite school event this year was Body Venture – a traveling, walk-through exhibit on the Human Body. He misses his Kindergarten teacher to the point that he occasionally runs by her room to tell her hello, but thinks his new, first-grade teacher is really nice. He was a ninja for Halloween and enjoys playing Animal Crossings on his Nintendo DS where he has created a sweet bachelor pad.
Family Events
This was a quite a year of family events. We ended 2007 by hosting my Aunt and Uncle’s 50th wedding anniversary in November. We were saddened by the sudden passing of my husband's Aunt early in the year. Then it was on to celebrate Grandma and Grandpa’s 75th wedding anniversary in May. After that, there was the family reunion and Grandma and Grandpa’s sale during the months of June and July (they moved into assisted living early in 2008). We squeezed in the nephew's confirmation in Junction City. And finally, my Grandpa passed away on October 25, 2008, a few days after he celebrated his 96th birthday. (For the eulogy, see October on the blog.)
Wishing you and yours a very, happy Christmas and New Year.
December 22, 2008
December 18, 2008
It's a GIRL!
There is now more than one female in the household! Just before Thanksgiving, we drove to the Cowley County Humane Society and adopted ourselves a Beagle mix with floppy ears that we have named Tobey.
Tobey is white with liver colored spots and looks a little more like a miniature Pointer than a Beagle. She’s all heart, tons of energy and very, very smart.
We spent about two hours picking her out. We walked the cages and narrowed our choices to two dogs that we looked at a bit further. Tobey and a Rottweiler mix named Riley.
Riley was a beautiful sable color and perfectly behaved in her cage. When the employees brought her out to play with us, we quickly discovered that though Riley was really cool and could play catch really well, she was a little too much dog for our couch time loving family.
So we moved on to the other very well behaved selection – Tobey. Prior to arriving at the Humane Society, Tobey was a stray. She immediately stole our hearts by giving each of us, in turn, a hug. It was all downhill after that.
Tobey (which means Gift of God), is now a regular member of the household. We are nursing her through a few anxiety issues and had to take care of a slight flea and stomach problem right after we got her. But otherwise, she is a happy, healthy dog. She likes her chew toys, enjoys tug-of-war and already knows how to “Sit.”
She’s got tons of personality and can escape from a crate that has been fastened shut with a key ring. She chews nearly everything in sight and has already destroyed part of an end table, a corner of a rug, several pencils, and a wooden baby Jesus. She’s helping us keep the rooms of our house picked up.
In short, we love her very much. She’s a perfect fifth family member and we are glad that God brought her into our life.
Tobey is white with liver colored spots and looks a little more like a miniature Pointer than a Beagle. She’s all heart, tons of energy and very, very smart.
We spent about two hours picking her out. We walked the cages and narrowed our choices to two dogs that we looked at a bit further. Tobey and a Rottweiler mix named Riley.
Riley was a beautiful sable color and perfectly behaved in her cage. When the employees brought her out to play with us, we quickly discovered that though Riley was really cool and could play catch really well, she was a little too much dog for our couch time loving family.
So we moved on to the other very well behaved selection – Tobey. Prior to arriving at the Humane Society, Tobey was a stray. She immediately stole our hearts by giving each of us, in turn, a hug. It was all downhill after that.
Tobey (which means Gift of God), is now a regular member of the household. We are nursing her through a few anxiety issues and had to take care of a slight flea and stomach problem right after we got her. But otherwise, she is a happy, healthy dog. She likes her chew toys, enjoys tug-of-war and already knows how to “Sit.”
She’s got tons of personality and can escape from a crate that has been fastened shut with a key ring. She chews nearly everything in sight and has already destroyed part of an end table, a corner of a rug, several pencils, and a wooden baby Jesus. She’s helping us keep the rooms of our house picked up.
In short, we love her very much. She’s a perfect fifth family member and we are glad that God brought her into our life.
Politics
The following story is as related by my husband who overheard the conversations while mom was out of town.
During the months of October and November, the grade schools were full of discussions on the Presidential candidates. On the way home from school one day, the boys were apparently discussing the pros and cons of both.
Sam: “McCain is going to have lower taxes so that we can have more money.”
Isaac: “You know what I heard? I heard that if Obama gets elected he is going to take away all of our toy guns.”
Sam: “Yeah, but he’s OK. Did you hear that he likes Harry Potter?”
A few days later, my husband was watching TV prior to going to bed. The boys were quietly and intensely working together near the toy closet. When the bedtime hour struck, my husband stood up and walked to where the boys were playing.
He observed Isaac holding a piece of scrap wood to which he was applying nails and electrical tape.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m making a gun,” our youngest said. “If Obama is elected, he’s not going to get any of my toy guns!”
President Elect Barack Obama is now elected. I am happy to report that, so far, all of our Nerf guns are still where they were before the election. Last I checked, it appeared that they were still on Walmart shelves as well.
During the months of October and November, the grade schools were full of discussions on the Presidential candidates. On the way home from school one day, the boys were apparently discussing the pros and cons of both.
Sam: “McCain is going to have lower taxes so that we can have more money.”
Isaac: “You know what I heard? I heard that if Obama gets elected he is going to take away all of our toy guns.”
Sam: “Yeah, but he’s OK. Did you hear that he likes Harry Potter?”
A few days later, my husband was watching TV prior to going to bed. The boys were quietly and intensely working together near the toy closet. When the bedtime hour struck, my husband stood up and walked to where the boys were playing.
He observed Isaac holding a piece of scrap wood to which he was applying nails and electrical tape.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m making a gun,” our youngest said. “If Obama is elected, he’s not going to get any of my toy guns!”
President Elect Barack Obama is now elected. I am happy to report that, so far, all of our Nerf guns are still where they were before the election. Last I checked, it appeared that they were still on Walmart shelves as well.
Following the Rules
There are times in life when a person would like to just pick up and move out to the country. On the other hand, life lessons learned when living “among humans” can be priceless.
Last Saturday, I was catching up on some work in the basement and the husband was upstairs napping to gain a little ground on an illness that has been running through the house. The boys were happily playing outside.
After a couple of hours, the youngest appeared at the top of the basement stairs. “Mom, you need to come outside.”
“Right now?” I asked.
“Um, yeah,” he replied.
So, deciding to take a little break from the report I was working on, I meandered up the stairs. I was thinking that the boys had built a fort, or possibly had a very intricate chalk drawing on the driveway that they wanted to show off.
I put on my shoes and headed out the garage door, the youngest son in front of me. At the top of the garage steps I peered out into the neighborhood and froze. There in the middle of the cul-de-sac was an emergency fire vehicle, a police car and what looked like six emergency service professionals standing with my oldest son, the neighbor boy and his parents.
It was about this time that the youngest decided to say, “Um, yeah, mom, you’re probably not going to be too happy with us.”
“What happened.” I heard myself say through clenched teeth.
“They want to talk to you,” he said.
So we walked out to the little group standing in the grass. The first person to acknowledge my presence was a policeman.
“Ma’am, your boys were apparently lighting fireworks, a neighbor saw the smoke and called the fire department.”
He proceeded to explain that fireworks were illegal within the city limits, normally this offense is a $100 fine (which he explained he would not be charging us this time), and did he need to confiscate any other fireworks that we might have in our house?
I politely said thank you, explained that we do not have fireworks in our home, asked the boys to apologize to the nice emergency service personnel and then asked both boys to turn around and return to the garage where we would have a little “family discussion.”
The public areas of the house are now free from toys, the boys room is cleaner than it’s ever been and the garage sparkles. After one month of good behavior, MAYBE we’ll allow them to see the blades of grass in the front yard.
After about a two hour discussion of the ins and outs of the events surrounding what is now going down in history as “the smoke bomb incident,” they have hopefully learned that it does not matter who brought the fireworks to the party, supplying and using carry the same punishment in the real world. It is our job to weigh the options and do what is right.
Last Saturday, I was catching up on some work in the basement and the husband was upstairs napping to gain a little ground on an illness that has been running through the house. The boys were happily playing outside.
After a couple of hours, the youngest appeared at the top of the basement stairs. “Mom, you need to come outside.”
“Right now?” I asked.
“Um, yeah,” he replied.
So, deciding to take a little break from the report I was working on, I meandered up the stairs. I was thinking that the boys had built a fort, or possibly had a very intricate chalk drawing on the driveway that they wanted to show off.
I put on my shoes and headed out the garage door, the youngest son in front of me. At the top of the garage steps I peered out into the neighborhood and froze. There in the middle of the cul-de-sac was an emergency fire vehicle, a police car and what looked like six emergency service professionals standing with my oldest son, the neighbor boy and his parents.
It was about this time that the youngest decided to say, “Um, yeah, mom, you’re probably not going to be too happy with us.”
“What happened.” I heard myself say through clenched teeth.
“They want to talk to you,” he said.
So we walked out to the little group standing in the grass. The first person to acknowledge my presence was a policeman.
“Ma’am, your boys were apparently lighting fireworks, a neighbor saw the smoke and called the fire department.”
He proceeded to explain that fireworks were illegal within the city limits, normally this offense is a $100 fine (which he explained he would not be charging us this time), and did he need to confiscate any other fireworks that we might have in our house?
I politely said thank you, explained that we do not have fireworks in our home, asked the boys to apologize to the nice emergency service personnel and then asked both boys to turn around and return to the garage where we would have a little “family discussion.”
The public areas of the house are now free from toys, the boys room is cleaner than it’s ever been and the garage sparkles. After one month of good behavior, MAYBE we’ll allow them to see the blades of grass in the front yard.
After about a two hour discussion of the ins and outs of the events surrounding what is now going down in history as “the smoke bomb incident,” they have hopefully learned that it does not matter who brought the fireworks to the party, supplying and using carry the same punishment in the real world. It is our job to weigh the options and do what is right.
October 31, 2008
Grandpa Cress
(Eulogy delivered this Thursday at Grandpa's funeral -- October 21, 1912 - October 25, 2008)
I am speaking today because I think that Grandpa would want me to. I was also pretty sure that if I didn’t, Grandpa would be annoyed with me if I didn't. What Grandpa kept forgetting is that I am a creative writer – which means that I write what I feel and not necessarily what I see. But upon further reflection, maybe that’s exactly why he’s always wanted me tell his story.
I am speaking today as my Grandpa’s favorite granddaughter, as he used to call me. I had to share that title and place of honor in later years with my neice Kolbyn, but there it was, just the same. For my entire childhood I was Grandpa’s buddy, and he was my pal.
My fondest memories of Grandpa are of spending summers and after school sitting with him and Uncle Paul in the door of Grandpa’s backyard woodshop and garage. We would sit there, Uncle Paul and Grandpa on lawn chairs and me on a white, upside-down 5-gallon bucket, and we would play 4-point pitch. Our card table was usually some small table that Grandpa had made out of scrap wood and old cabinet doors. We were there for hours, dealing, bidding, shooting the moon, laughing and taking turns impressing each other with our mutual skill, wit, and turns of phrase.
Now, here is the funny thing about memories. I’m pretty sure that I made up the part about the bucket. I’m also pretty sure that they graciously let me win several times. And realistically, we probably only played for an actual 30 minutes or so. But what I am positive about is how much I loved hanging out with my Grandpa on those afternoons and how much I loved soaking in his laughter, his spirit and his energy whenever I was around him.
Grandpa laughed with his eyes and his shoulders. His spirit was too big for indoors. It belonged outdoors – fishing, playing cards, working horses, camping and trading. And I was lucky enough to be allowed inside – lucky enough to share with that sparkle in his eyes. And it was the sparkle that told you more about who he was and what he was about than his mouth ever did.
Not that he kept his mouth idle by any means. He was a man who loved a good discussion. There is a saying that when two or more people agree on something, one of them is not necessary. Well, Grandpa was definitely necessary. He loved taking the other side of things. In fact, sometimes I think that he said he was a Democrat because the majority of Kansans are Republicans.
Discussing is what Grandpa and I did the most. He had plenty of opinions and often shared them. But, for me, the good thing about Grandpa was that he allowed me to have my opinions too – without judgment. I knew somehow that we were sharing opinions as equals. I also knew that he respected and listened to mine just as much as I respected and listened to his. He was my sounding board. He was my example.
Grandpa valued hard work, strength of character, and intelligence tempered with common sense. He admired those qualities when he saw them in others. He loved strong, capable women who are maybe just a little saucy. Take a look at who he married! When we were talking to Pastor Debbie, I told Grandma that Grandpa thought the world of her. Without blinking an eye, she leaned over to Pastor Debbie and said, “Well, he should have!”
My family likes to tell me that I take after Grandpa. I think when they tell me that, they are trying to tell me in a nice way that I’m just a little bit stubborn. And, the fact that I’m standing here talking right now sort of proves that. But the thing about being stubborn is learning when to give and when to stick. My Grandpa never gave about the place that God had in his life. My Grandpa never gave when it came to the importance of family. My Grandpa never gave when it came to the worth and dignity of people.
Some call it stubborn – I call it conviction. Grandpa didn’t do anything because that’s the way everyone was doing it. He preferred a handshake and a promise to lawyers and paper. He made up his own mind about what was right or wrong to do and then he did it. He wasn’t one to wait around for consensus. He was self-made and fiercely independent to the last.
I didn’t get to say goodbye to Grandpa face to face. But, you know, I’m not too bothered by that. Because with Grandpa and I, it wasn’t about “Hello” and “Goodbye.” With Grandpa, it was about “I Love You”, continuing a conversation, and “See You Later.”
I am speaking today because I think that Grandpa would want me to. I was also pretty sure that if I didn’t, Grandpa would be annoyed with me if I didn't. What Grandpa kept forgetting is that I am a creative writer – which means that I write what I feel and not necessarily what I see. But upon further reflection, maybe that’s exactly why he’s always wanted me tell his story.
I am speaking today as my Grandpa’s favorite granddaughter, as he used to call me. I had to share that title and place of honor in later years with my neice Kolbyn, but there it was, just the same. For my entire childhood I was Grandpa’s buddy, and he was my pal.
My fondest memories of Grandpa are of spending summers and after school sitting with him and Uncle Paul in the door of Grandpa’s backyard woodshop and garage. We would sit there, Uncle Paul and Grandpa on lawn chairs and me on a white, upside-down 5-gallon bucket, and we would play 4-point pitch. Our card table was usually some small table that Grandpa had made out of scrap wood and old cabinet doors. We were there for hours, dealing, bidding, shooting the moon, laughing and taking turns impressing each other with our mutual skill, wit, and turns of phrase.
Now, here is the funny thing about memories. I’m pretty sure that I made up the part about the bucket. I’m also pretty sure that they graciously let me win several times. And realistically, we probably only played for an actual 30 minutes or so. But what I am positive about is how much I loved hanging out with my Grandpa on those afternoons and how much I loved soaking in his laughter, his spirit and his energy whenever I was around him.
Grandpa laughed with his eyes and his shoulders. His spirit was too big for indoors. It belonged outdoors – fishing, playing cards, working horses, camping and trading. And I was lucky enough to be allowed inside – lucky enough to share with that sparkle in his eyes. And it was the sparkle that told you more about who he was and what he was about than his mouth ever did.
Not that he kept his mouth idle by any means. He was a man who loved a good discussion. There is a saying that when two or more people agree on something, one of them is not necessary. Well, Grandpa was definitely necessary. He loved taking the other side of things. In fact, sometimes I think that he said he was a Democrat because the majority of Kansans are Republicans.
Discussing is what Grandpa and I did the most. He had plenty of opinions and often shared them. But, for me, the good thing about Grandpa was that he allowed me to have my opinions too – without judgment. I knew somehow that we were sharing opinions as equals. I also knew that he respected and listened to mine just as much as I respected and listened to his. He was my sounding board. He was my example.
Grandpa valued hard work, strength of character, and intelligence tempered with common sense. He admired those qualities when he saw them in others. He loved strong, capable women who are maybe just a little saucy. Take a look at who he married! When we were talking to Pastor Debbie, I told Grandma that Grandpa thought the world of her. Without blinking an eye, she leaned over to Pastor Debbie and said, “Well, he should have!”
My family likes to tell me that I take after Grandpa. I think when they tell me that, they are trying to tell me in a nice way that I’m just a little bit stubborn. And, the fact that I’m standing here talking right now sort of proves that. But the thing about being stubborn is learning when to give and when to stick. My Grandpa never gave about the place that God had in his life. My Grandpa never gave when it came to the importance of family. My Grandpa never gave when it came to the worth and dignity of people.
Some call it stubborn – I call it conviction. Grandpa didn’t do anything because that’s the way everyone was doing it. He preferred a handshake and a promise to lawyers and paper. He made up his own mind about what was right or wrong to do and then he did it. He wasn’t one to wait around for consensus. He was self-made and fiercely independent to the last.
I didn’t get to say goodbye to Grandpa face to face. But, you know, I’m not too bothered by that. Because with Grandpa and I, it wasn’t about “Hello” and “Goodbye.” With Grandpa, it was about “I Love You”, continuing a conversation, and “See You Later.”
October 13, 2008
It’s All In the Genes
Fall. More than the changing of the leaves, Fall is the season of the changing of the clothes. This weekend, I dug into my sons’ closet and drawers to see what I could see.
I have found that poking around in your son’s anything is an adventure similar in size and scope of an archeological dig the size of say – Machu Pichu. But this weekend I was struck by something even more fascinating. What I discovered was just how different two boys in the very same family can be from one another.
My discovery is not new. Parents everywhere have pondered this particular curiosity since, well, since the beginning of time.
I started with my youngest son. I began by weeding out his shirts into color piles and from there sorting out the shirts that he never wore. “Why don’t you ever wear this?” I asked him holding up a perfectly nice, red, striped hand-me-down from the Gap. I already knew part of the answer as the red shirt pile was third to the last in his ranking of favorite to least favorite color. “It has stripes,” he said as if everyone but me knew this and I should have figured it out way before now.
OK. So the young son is anti-stripe. This poses a serious problem because the oldest just happens to be pro-stripe. Problem noted – must infuse more stripeless shirts into youngest son’s future wardrobe. And, why didn’t I figure this out before? My youngest is the one who on picture day this year wanted to wear a bright yellow Hawaiian button-down. He also goes to get his hair-cut saying, “I don’t know how I want it cut. I think I’ll look in the book first.” Situation noted.
This job didn’t take long. My youngest keeps his drawers and section of the closet neatly organized. Everything is in its proper place. I don’t have to step over anything or shove anything out of the way to get there. My oldest, on the other hand…..
After I kicked enough stuff aside so that I could actually see both of his drawers, I opened them. Inside was a jumbled mass of blue, orange, brown and green. I’ve given up long ago trying to keep the insides of these drawers neat. I fix them twice a year when it is time to change out his clothes and get ready for a new season. Other than that, I avoid this area of the room entirely.
After pulling everything out – including a few Legos, a football and several bouncy balls – I peered into the bottom of the drawers to make sure that every corner had been emptied. I looked closer. And then I pulled both drawers completely out and turned them upside down on the floor. “How did the hamster food get into your drawers?” I asked, knowing the answer. “I don’t know,” he said – eyes riveted to his DS. I rolled mine. I can only pray that he marries an organized woman.
I have found that poking around in your son’s anything is an adventure similar in size and scope of an archeological dig the size of say – Machu Pichu. But this weekend I was struck by something even more fascinating. What I discovered was just how different two boys in the very same family can be from one another.
My discovery is not new. Parents everywhere have pondered this particular curiosity since, well, since the beginning of time.
I started with my youngest son. I began by weeding out his shirts into color piles and from there sorting out the shirts that he never wore. “Why don’t you ever wear this?” I asked him holding up a perfectly nice, red, striped hand-me-down from the Gap. I already knew part of the answer as the red shirt pile was third to the last in his ranking of favorite to least favorite color. “It has stripes,” he said as if everyone but me knew this and I should have figured it out way before now.
OK. So the young son is anti-stripe. This poses a serious problem because the oldest just happens to be pro-stripe. Problem noted – must infuse more stripeless shirts into youngest son’s future wardrobe. And, why didn’t I figure this out before? My youngest is the one who on picture day this year wanted to wear a bright yellow Hawaiian button-down. He also goes to get his hair-cut saying, “I don’t know how I want it cut. I think I’ll look in the book first.” Situation noted.
This job didn’t take long. My youngest keeps his drawers and section of the closet neatly organized. Everything is in its proper place. I don’t have to step over anything or shove anything out of the way to get there. My oldest, on the other hand…..
After I kicked enough stuff aside so that I could actually see both of his drawers, I opened them. Inside was a jumbled mass of blue, orange, brown and green. I’ve given up long ago trying to keep the insides of these drawers neat. I fix them twice a year when it is time to change out his clothes and get ready for a new season. Other than that, I avoid this area of the room entirely.
After pulling everything out – including a few Legos, a football and several bouncy balls – I peered into the bottom of the drawers to make sure that every corner had been emptied. I looked closer. And then I pulled both drawers completely out and turned them upside down on the floor. “How did the hamster food get into your drawers?” I asked, knowing the answer. “I don’t know,” he said – eyes riveted to his DS. I rolled mine. I can only pray that he marries an organized woman.
October 5, 2008
The Healing Power of a Child
On Friday morning I was awakened by a buzzing cell phone on the bedside table of the hotel that I was sleeping in. I was attending a conference in Junction City and had spent the previous evening enjoying the event’s final evening entertainment. All that was left was a Federal update and the drive home.
And so, when I heard the phone buzz, I simply thought it was my alarm waking me to the coming day. But it was so much better.
Sitting up, I patted the table beside me searching for the thin, rectangular object that had awakened me. Finding it, I picked it up and peered at the small square window on the front of the phone. I glanced at the time – it was 10 minutes before my alarm was supposed to go off. I looked closer, there was a name showing on display. Immediately, it dawned on me – this was a phone call!
Instantly I was wide awake. There was only one phone call that I was expecting – and there was her name on my phone! I flipped it open and had one of the best mornings of recent experience.
A baby girl. I listened to my co-worker as she related the particulars – sex, length, weight, time, details about the delivery. I asked questions, and listened more with a huge grin on my face. For behind the words was an effusion of joy that could not help but escape into the electronic phone in my ear.
I hung up the phone and cried. I cried and I thanked God. I cried because this was my co-worker’s second child. The first was born more than two years ago and is now buried in a small graveyard near my home. He had lived for a brief, and very brave three months.
As I wrote the announcement for the rest of the campus, tears were still streaming down my face. God is truly good, I wrote. God is truly, truly good.
“Joyful, joyful we adore thee, God of glory, Lord of love; hearts unfold like flowers before thee, opening to the sun above. Melt the clouds of sin and sadness; drive the dark of doubt away. Giver of immortal gladness, fill us with the light of day!” Henry Van Dyke
And so, when I heard the phone buzz, I simply thought it was my alarm waking me to the coming day. But it was so much better.
Sitting up, I patted the table beside me searching for the thin, rectangular object that had awakened me. Finding it, I picked it up and peered at the small square window on the front of the phone. I glanced at the time – it was 10 minutes before my alarm was supposed to go off. I looked closer, there was a name showing on display. Immediately, it dawned on me – this was a phone call!
Instantly I was wide awake. There was only one phone call that I was expecting – and there was her name on my phone! I flipped it open and had one of the best mornings of recent experience.
A baby girl. I listened to my co-worker as she related the particulars – sex, length, weight, time, details about the delivery. I asked questions, and listened more with a huge grin on my face. For behind the words was an effusion of joy that could not help but escape into the electronic phone in my ear.
I hung up the phone and cried. I cried and I thanked God. I cried because this was my co-worker’s second child. The first was born more than two years ago and is now buried in a small graveyard near my home. He had lived for a brief, and very brave three months.
As I wrote the announcement for the rest of the campus, tears were still streaming down my face. God is truly good, I wrote. God is truly, truly good.
“Joyful, joyful we adore thee, God of glory, Lord of love; hearts unfold like flowers before thee, opening to the sun above. Melt the clouds of sin and sadness; drive the dark of doubt away. Giver of immortal gladness, fill us with the light of day!” Henry Van Dyke
The Great Experiment Results
Many of you have been curious about how The Great Experiment turned out. The long and short of it is that it ended on Thursday. My husband got up from bed Thursday morning, turned on the light in the bathroom and announced that the experiment was over. He received no argument from any other faction.
We did learn a couple of things. On the good side, when there are no electronic items to play with/occupy your time, people tend to gather together a lot more which causes conversation, music and quiet, side-by-side reading. On the bad side, no overhead lights mean that you can’t really see things that are located around and about the house. This can be OK, especially if you haven’t cleaned in a while and you don’t want a messy home stressing you out. But, if you are looking for something that you swear you had yesterday and now you can’t find it – having no lights to shed on the situation can be a debilitating problem.
All in all, it was a good experience. We all acknowledged that the boys were far more affected by the Experiment than the rest of us as they spent the most time in the house during the day. Has it affected our lives moving forward? I’d like to think that it has. Only time will tell for sure.
We did learn a couple of things. On the good side, when there are no electronic items to play with/occupy your time, people tend to gather together a lot more which causes conversation, music and quiet, side-by-side reading. On the bad side, no overhead lights mean that you can’t really see things that are located around and about the house. This can be OK, especially if you haven’t cleaned in a while and you don’t want a messy home stressing you out. But, if you are looking for something that you swear you had yesterday and now you can’t find it – having no lights to shed on the situation can be a debilitating problem.
All in all, it was a good experience. We all acknowledged that the boys were far more affected by the Experiment than the rest of us as they spent the most time in the house during the day. Has it affected our lives moving forward? I’d like to think that it has. Only time will tell for sure.
September 21, 2008
The Great Experiment -- Day 1
Today we began what is to be known as “The Great Experiment.” Or, according to our youngest, “The Very Bored Experiment.”
It started at lunch. We began a discussion at the dinner table about what our life would be like without electricity – no TV, no video games, no lights, no microwave, no computer, no electronics of any kind. What would we do?
So, we decided to try it for one week and see what happened. We spent quite a bit of time discussing the “rules” of our experiment. We decided that there was really no way to go completely cold turkey – there are some things where the old technology simply does not exist in our home anymore or things that would make our lives unnecessarily difficult (i.e. cooking on the stove, typing, researching, task lighting). But there are other electronic things that simply serve as life clutter (i.e. electronic games, TV and lighting for the purpose of turning night into day.) We did, also, decide that music is allowed in any of its electronic forms because music feeds the soul.
At first, the boys were pretty excited. We got home and changed and began our normal routines. Mine – watching a little TV while my husband naps – was slightly disrupted, but not horribly. I visited the library and had some quiet time on the couch while the boys played outside with their toys. But after an hour or so of that, they were back inside.
“Mom, I’m bored,” said the seven-year-old slumping in the chair across from me. The ten-year-old, meanwhile, sat head first in the other chair performing a perfect, suspended somersault with his rear and sock feet out for the world to see.
“Well,” I said seriously, “I can think of something for you both to do.”
“What?” they said.
“Your homework.”
I also made a new rule. This rule was that anyone who said they were bored would be given a chore that they would have to perform. I asked them to confirm that they had heard me.
“I never said I was bored, mom,” the rear and socks clarified quickly.
And then they disappeared. Ha-ha! Peace in the living room again.
Things got interesting as dinner approached. We took our food and homework to the patio because we discovered that the house is actually darker inside than it is outside in the evening. We ate and talked and finished homework and then picked up our dishes and put them away in the candlelit kitchen.
After that, we retired to the living room and listened to our youngest practice the piano by lantern light. My husband actually got out the guitar and joined him in playing “Ring Around the Rosy.” Following the performance, my oldest and I played “spell and catch” with his spelling words while the youngest and dad did a little cleaning and organizing. After that we all gathered in the living room to read, draw and write.
As this evening draws to a close, I will say that I am enjoying the ambiance created by the candles and lantern light. And I am REALLY enjoying the silence punctuated only by the waterfall in the backyard, the frogs, the cricket and the occasional distant vehicle noise that seeps through the trees of our quiet, little cul-de-sac.
To be continued….
It started at lunch. We began a discussion at the dinner table about what our life would be like without electricity – no TV, no video games, no lights, no microwave, no computer, no electronics of any kind. What would we do?
So, we decided to try it for one week and see what happened. We spent quite a bit of time discussing the “rules” of our experiment. We decided that there was really no way to go completely cold turkey – there are some things where the old technology simply does not exist in our home anymore or things that would make our lives unnecessarily difficult (i.e. cooking on the stove, typing, researching, task lighting). But there are other electronic things that simply serve as life clutter (i.e. electronic games, TV and lighting for the purpose of turning night into day.) We did, also, decide that music is allowed in any of its electronic forms because music feeds the soul.
At first, the boys were pretty excited. We got home and changed and began our normal routines. Mine – watching a little TV while my husband naps – was slightly disrupted, but not horribly. I visited the library and had some quiet time on the couch while the boys played outside with their toys. But after an hour or so of that, they were back inside.
“Mom, I’m bored,” said the seven-year-old slumping in the chair across from me. The ten-year-old, meanwhile, sat head first in the other chair performing a perfect, suspended somersault with his rear and sock feet out for the world to see.
“Well,” I said seriously, “I can think of something for you both to do.”
“What?” they said.
“Your homework.”
I also made a new rule. This rule was that anyone who said they were bored would be given a chore that they would have to perform. I asked them to confirm that they had heard me.
“I never said I was bored, mom,” the rear and socks clarified quickly.
And then they disappeared. Ha-ha! Peace in the living room again.
Things got interesting as dinner approached. We took our food and homework to the patio because we discovered that the house is actually darker inside than it is outside in the evening. We ate and talked and finished homework and then picked up our dishes and put them away in the candlelit kitchen.
After that, we retired to the living room and listened to our youngest practice the piano by lantern light. My husband actually got out the guitar and joined him in playing “Ring Around the Rosy.” Following the performance, my oldest and I played “spell and catch” with his spelling words while the youngest and dad did a little cleaning and organizing. After that we all gathered in the living room to read, draw and write.
As this evening draws to a close, I will say that I am enjoying the ambiance created by the candles and lantern light. And I am REALLY enjoying the silence punctuated only by the waterfall in the backyard, the frogs, the cricket and the occasional distant vehicle noise that seeps through the trees of our quiet, little cul-de-sac.
To be continued….
Unofficial Report of the 37th Annual Walnut Valley Festival
What is it about good writing – really good writing – put to music and sung for all to hear that puts me in a pensive state of mind?
This is, after all why I go to the festival. For me, the festival is not about the music – although that is undeniably an important element. No, for me, the festival is about the weaving of stories – the passing of truths through poetry and verse.
My youngest son shares this love of the Festival with me, although I am yet to discover what he enjoys the most. If close observation renders any hints, it is the food, the organization of the schedule and the music – not necessarily in that order. He likes his music fast and energetic – a speed to which Bluegrass and Irish reels certainly cater. He spent hours reading and re-reading the schedule for names he knew and checking out the Festival map for the placement of the stages and the bathrooms. Finally, he spent an annoying amount of time marking the hours until it was time to purchase a funnel cake.
No matter what our motivations for attending, we both agree that the main reason to attend is, and always will be, Tom Chapin and Michael Mark. Tom, like his brother Harry, is a master at storytelling. He also just happens to be a Grammy winning children’s songwriter. When Tom and Michael pair up with John McCutcheon – another master at telling stories – it is pure magic.
This year, the song that hit me was called “Doing My Job” written by John McCutcheon. This song was written during the 1995 Festival shortly after Cal Ripken Jr’s record-breaking stretch of 2,131 consecutive games on September 6, 1995. John sang it at this year’s Festival during the show that Tom and John always perform together on Saturday afternoon. They were singing songs from their collaborative album entitled, “Doing Our Job.”
The song goes like this:
It was one for the ages, one you just had to see.
So we sat on the sofa, my two kids and I and we watched on TV.
It was in the fifth inning, the game had to be stopped.
The whole ballpark went nuts when the number was dropped.
My kids they clapped and they hollered. Me, I choked up with tears
Thinking back on the grace he brought to that place for over thirteen years.
And as he stood in the spotlight, he looked so awkward and shy
When they asked him to say a few words on that day, this was his reply.
Chorus:
“I’m only doing my job like folks everywhere.
Where I come from, it’s just how things are done, doing my share.
I did not love every part, still I don’t think it odd.
Give your best and to hell with the rest, doing my job.”
I’ve heard that song many times before at previous festivals. But this year, it reached out and grabbed hold of me like never before. And this, my friends, is what makes a good song great. This is why I keep shelves full of stories that I have read and enjoyed many times. This is why verses in the Bible continue to inspire no matter how many times you hear or read them.
The words of a song or a book are enduring, fixed letter combinations delivering their message to those who know how to translate them. We, the translators, bring to those words our rich and constantly changing context. And the context that I brought to this year’s festival was one of searching, of impatience, of frustration. And into this fertilized field, the words of this song added to some words from Philippians and a dash of the Holy Spirit fed my soul.
I suppose that some of the magic of the Festival is also in the music. For it was during those times – the times when there was just music and no words – that I allowed my mind to wander down new and narrow paths so that I could eventually sit back and study the map it drew for connections and new discoveries.
And finally, during one of these non-word times, I sat with a warm, peacefully sleeping child in my arms, the acoustic sounds of the guitar, violin, mandolin and banjo quenching my ears, my view overflowing with stars that only a Kansas night sky can hold and I received peace – God’s peace – and I was filled with joy.
“And I am sure that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on that day when Christ Jesus comes back again.” Philippians 1:6
This is, after all why I go to the festival. For me, the festival is not about the music – although that is undeniably an important element. No, for me, the festival is about the weaving of stories – the passing of truths through poetry and verse.
My youngest son shares this love of the Festival with me, although I am yet to discover what he enjoys the most. If close observation renders any hints, it is the food, the organization of the schedule and the music – not necessarily in that order. He likes his music fast and energetic – a speed to which Bluegrass and Irish reels certainly cater. He spent hours reading and re-reading the schedule for names he knew and checking out the Festival map for the placement of the stages and the bathrooms. Finally, he spent an annoying amount of time marking the hours until it was time to purchase a funnel cake.
No matter what our motivations for attending, we both agree that the main reason to attend is, and always will be, Tom Chapin and Michael Mark. Tom, like his brother Harry, is a master at storytelling. He also just happens to be a Grammy winning children’s songwriter. When Tom and Michael pair up with John McCutcheon – another master at telling stories – it is pure magic.
This year, the song that hit me was called “Doing My Job” written by John McCutcheon. This song was written during the 1995 Festival shortly after Cal Ripken Jr’s record-breaking stretch of 2,131 consecutive games on September 6, 1995. John sang it at this year’s Festival during the show that Tom and John always perform together on Saturday afternoon. They were singing songs from their collaborative album entitled, “Doing Our Job.”
The song goes like this:
It was one for the ages, one you just had to see.
So we sat on the sofa, my two kids and I and we watched on TV.
It was in the fifth inning, the game had to be stopped.
The whole ballpark went nuts when the number was dropped.
My kids they clapped and they hollered. Me, I choked up with tears
Thinking back on the grace he brought to that place for over thirteen years.
And as he stood in the spotlight, he looked so awkward and shy
When they asked him to say a few words on that day, this was his reply.
Chorus:
“I’m only doing my job like folks everywhere.
Where I come from, it’s just how things are done, doing my share.
I did not love every part, still I don’t think it odd.
Give your best and to hell with the rest, doing my job.”
I’ve heard that song many times before at previous festivals. But this year, it reached out and grabbed hold of me like never before. And this, my friends, is what makes a good song great. This is why I keep shelves full of stories that I have read and enjoyed many times. This is why verses in the Bible continue to inspire no matter how many times you hear or read them.
The words of a song or a book are enduring, fixed letter combinations delivering their message to those who know how to translate them. We, the translators, bring to those words our rich and constantly changing context. And the context that I brought to this year’s festival was one of searching, of impatience, of frustration. And into this fertilized field, the words of this song added to some words from Philippians and a dash of the Holy Spirit fed my soul.
I suppose that some of the magic of the Festival is also in the music. For it was during those times – the times when there was just music and no words – that I allowed my mind to wander down new and narrow paths so that I could eventually sit back and study the map it drew for connections and new discoveries.
And finally, during one of these non-word times, I sat with a warm, peacefully sleeping child in my arms, the acoustic sounds of the guitar, violin, mandolin and banjo quenching my ears, my view overflowing with stars that only a Kansas night sky can hold and I received peace – God’s peace – and I was filled with joy.
“And I am sure that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on that day when Christ Jesus comes back again.” Philippians 1:6
September 14, 2008
Food
My husband and I have seen the future and it isn’t pretty.
I was thinking, today, about food. When you have two children in your home it is hard not to think about food – especially on the weekend. For you see, it is the weekend when the meal plan for the week is born: recipe’s searched, options considered, daily activities listed, directions written and shopping list crafted.
In our house, this event typically takes place on Sunday afternoon while my husband takes a nap. Sometimes, I try and get the family involved. But, because I like a little variety in my diet, they are limited to suggesting meals for only one or two nights a week.
Our oldest is the healthiest eater of the bunch. This one will actually order side salads and apple dippers at McDonalds instead of fries. I still credit this to the fact that added sugar did not cross his lips until he was two years of age. He is, however, not a big eater. Never has been. He makes up for it by drinking his weight in liquids. Give that boy juice, milk, water or G2 and he’s got the bottle or glass gone in the first 2 minutes of the meal. We give him lines on his glass so that a drink will last through the entire meal.
My husband is our pickiest eater. He will not eat anything with cheese or milk in it – a flu in his early twenties ruined his body for anything containing lactose. He does not like spicy food (except for Pizza Hut’s mild chicken wings.) He will NOT eat fish unless carefully concealed within something else or cooked on the side so he can remove it. And pretty much likes all his food in large, recognizable chunks – which means NO casseroles.
I love food and will try anything – with the possible exception of liver. Even then – I would possibly be willing to experiment if someone out there has a recipe that can mask that incredibly nasty smell that gets on your hands and lingers there. I also don’t think that I would be very good at the Survivor challenges where they have to eat worms and bugs and stuff like that.
It is our youngest, however, that this article is about.
On Sunday, we eat lunch at Southwestern College. It is, by far, the best deal in town. It is an all-you-can-eat buffet brunch featuring two entrée options, two or three hot vegetable sides, a full breakfast, sandwich bar, salad bar, wall full of drink options, and a dessert bar that always includes ice cream. With my employee discount, the cost is $5 per adult and $3 per kid between the ages of 5 and 10. Kids under 5 eat free – but we don’t have any of those anymore.
This Sunday, my husband and I watched open-mouthed as our seven-year-old sat and ate most of a chicken fried steak, half of a pile of mashed potatoes, four raw carrots, two large pieces of raw broccoli, two link sausages, a bowl of applesauce, two cookies and topped everything off with a bowl of vanilla ice cream. My only solace was that all four food groups were represented.
Moving forward, we will not be sharing this information with the people who run the food service – they might change their prices.
I was thinking, today, about food. When you have two children in your home it is hard not to think about food – especially on the weekend. For you see, it is the weekend when the meal plan for the week is born: recipe’s searched, options considered, daily activities listed, directions written and shopping list crafted.
In our house, this event typically takes place on Sunday afternoon while my husband takes a nap. Sometimes, I try and get the family involved. But, because I like a little variety in my diet, they are limited to suggesting meals for only one or two nights a week.
Our oldest is the healthiest eater of the bunch. This one will actually order side salads and apple dippers at McDonalds instead of fries. I still credit this to the fact that added sugar did not cross his lips until he was two years of age. He is, however, not a big eater. Never has been. He makes up for it by drinking his weight in liquids. Give that boy juice, milk, water or G2 and he’s got the bottle or glass gone in the first 2 minutes of the meal. We give him lines on his glass so that a drink will last through the entire meal.
My husband is our pickiest eater. He will not eat anything with cheese or milk in it – a flu in his early twenties ruined his body for anything containing lactose. He does not like spicy food (except for Pizza Hut’s mild chicken wings.) He will NOT eat fish unless carefully concealed within something else or cooked on the side so he can remove it. And pretty much likes all his food in large, recognizable chunks – which means NO casseroles.
I love food and will try anything – with the possible exception of liver. Even then – I would possibly be willing to experiment if someone out there has a recipe that can mask that incredibly nasty smell that gets on your hands and lingers there. I also don’t think that I would be very good at the Survivor challenges where they have to eat worms and bugs and stuff like that.
It is our youngest, however, that this article is about.
On Sunday, we eat lunch at Southwestern College. It is, by far, the best deal in town. It is an all-you-can-eat buffet brunch featuring two entrée options, two or three hot vegetable sides, a full breakfast, sandwich bar, salad bar, wall full of drink options, and a dessert bar that always includes ice cream. With my employee discount, the cost is $5 per adult and $3 per kid between the ages of 5 and 10. Kids under 5 eat free – but we don’t have any of those anymore.
This Sunday, my husband and I watched open-mouthed as our seven-year-old sat and ate most of a chicken fried steak, half of a pile of mashed potatoes, four raw carrots, two large pieces of raw broccoli, two link sausages, a bowl of applesauce, two cookies and topped everything off with a bowl of vanilla ice cream. My only solace was that all four food groups were represented.
Moving forward, we will not be sharing this information with the people who run the food service – they might change their prices.
September 6, 2008
Football Season is Here
The Winfield 4th Grade Football Team won their first game of the season 13-0 against Wellington. At linebacker position, our oldest son made an interception that set the tone and instigated the momentum for the first touchdown in the first quarter. Mom, Dad and little brother all witnessed the interception from the sidelines and were extremely proud.
I try very hard not to yell too much during these games, but I could not resist after this play. “Way to get that pop tart!” I screamed from the sidelines. (Dad’s advice to our son last year about playing defense is, “Just pretend the ball is a chocolate pop tart and you are really, really hungry.”)
We also noticed that our oldest spent the rest of the game organizing the defensive line. He was a true leader – helping the other players understand where they were to stand and keeping them excited and pumped up.
It was a pretty exciting game to watch from the sidelines – but not necessarily for what was happening on the field. The Wellington coach got thrown out in the third quarter for foul language. This, of course, angered many of the Wellington fans and coaches and ended with the Winfield police making a subtle appearance.
Fortunately, our boys and coaches resisted the examples of poor sportsmanship and played an honest game. They played well, deserved the win and conducted themselves with integrity.
What was good about sports and what is bad about sports were both present on the field today. I’m just really glad that our boys were on the good side of the equation. It was a learning experience for all and we are saying a quick prayer for the other team. It’s never fun to lose – we certainly learned that lesson last year with our 0-7 season. Hopefully they can recover and, with God’s help, gain back some control.
I try very hard not to yell too much during these games, but I could not resist after this play. “Way to get that pop tart!” I screamed from the sidelines. (Dad’s advice to our son last year about playing defense is, “Just pretend the ball is a chocolate pop tart and you are really, really hungry.”)
We also noticed that our oldest spent the rest of the game organizing the defensive line. He was a true leader – helping the other players understand where they were to stand and keeping them excited and pumped up.
It was a pretty exciting game to watch from the sidelines – but not necessarily for what was happening on the field. The Wellington coach got thrown out in the third quarter for foul language. This, of course, angered many of the Wellington fans and coaches and ended with the Winfield police making a subtle appearance.
Fortunately, our boys and coaches resisted the examples of poor sportsmanship and played an honest game. They played well, deserved the win and conducted themselves with integrity.
What was good about sports and what is bad about sports were both present on the field today. I’m just really glad that our boys were on the good side of the equation. It was a learning experience for all and we are saying a quick prayer for the other team. It’s never fun to lose – we certainly learned that lesson last year with our 0-7 season. Hopefully they can recover and, with God’s help, gain back some control.
Cowley County Fair
(This post is a little late in coming. It was, however, written several weeks ago.)
The Cowley County Fair has come and gone. For the Hicks boys, it was successful. Our oldest entered in two projects – photography and visual arts. He received one purple, two blues and two reds – a very well-rounded bit of work.
The purple ribbon picture of a flower was sited with a spotlight award for “strong center of interest.” His blue ribbon photograph of a butterfly was given a blue for depth of field. He also got nice complements on his red ribbon photographs for a good job capturing side lighting.
He learned that sometimes people in a picture cause too much of a distraction. He learned to focus the camera on the subject of his photograph, not the background. And, he learned some lessons on the rule of thirds in photography. Most importantly, he enjoyed the experience.
His visual arts judge was equally as encouraging. She pointed out things in his drawing that he could have done better and encouraged him to bring more of his work back next year. I think that he will.
My youngest was entered again in the CloverBud competition. He entered a blanket that he constructed out of two pieces of fleece fabric glued together with stitch-witchery. He tied knots all around the outside to finish the edge. He is very happy with his project and has been sleeping with it for the past two nights.
We enjoyed working the food booth twice and got all the rocketry and aerospace exhibits checked in and judged. The temperatures averaged in the 100’s every day. It was hot, hot, hot. It was so hot that we weren’t totally free to enjoy the fair’s normal entertainments. I also think that the weather effected attendance just a bit. Today, we helped clean everything up.
Fair is done and its passing marks the final obligation of summer. Fall and school are around the corner. We are spending these final weeks trying very hard to forget they are coming.
The purple ribbon picture of a flower was sited with a spotlight award for “strong center of interest.” His blue ribbon photograph of a butterfly was given a blue for depth of field. He also got nice complements on his red ribbon photographs for a good job capturing side lighting.
He learned that sometimes people in a picture cause too much of a distraction. He learned to focus the camera on the subject of his photograph, not the background. And, he learned some lessons on the rule of thirds in photography. Most importantly, he enjoyed the experience.His visual arts judge was equally as encouraging. She pointed out things in his drawing that he could have done better and encouraged him to bring more of his work back next year. I think that he will.
My youngest was entered again in the CloverBud competition. He entered a blanket that he constructed out of two pieces of fleece fabric glued together with stitch-witchery. He tied knots all around the outside to finish the edge. He is very happy with his project and has been sleeping with it for the past two nights.
We enjoyed working the food booth twice and got all the rocketry and aerospace exhibits checked in and judged. The temperatures averaged in the 100’s every day. It was hot, hot, hot. It was so hot that we weren’t totally free to enjoy the fair’s normal entertainments. I also think that the weather effected attendance just a bit. Today, we helped clean everything up.
Fair is done and its passing marks the final obligation of summer. Fall and school are around the corner. We are spending these final weeks trying very hard to forget they are coming.
August 4, 2008
Journal Day 12
Journal Day 12
It’s the final day of vacation and we will be darned if we rush it or waste any of it. We didn’t have to check out until 11:00 a.m., so while Mom typed up the blog for yesterday, we all laid around and watched a couple of old family style movies on Turner Classic Movies.
It is extremely refreshing to see the boys so into movies that, in today’s standards, wouldn’t even probably make it to opening night. The first movie was about a con man who “got sold some swampland in Florida.” He traveled south to collect on his investment and, many hi-jinks later, unloaded the land on a sweet pair of newlyweds. As always happened in movies of the late 50s, early 60s – the hero got the girl, the bad guys were shot or arrested and the endearing con man got out ok – if not any richer. At one point, the young hero wrestled a huge alligator to save his girlfriend from being eaten. My oldest looked over at me with really big eyes and said, “Man, Mom! That was intense!” We’ve done something right, we have.
Once the blog was published, we packed up and headed to the Cherokee Heritage Museum on the southeast side of Tahlequah. This museum is a little challenging to find, but worth the effort. For the price of admission, you get access to the Trail of Tears exhibit, a self-paced tour of a frontier Cherokee town and a guided tour of an ancient Cherokee village. There was one difference that we noted for not the first time on our trip. No matter where you were outside, it was hot.
We did the ancient village first as there was a tour beginning right when we arrived. This tour had several similarities and some differences from the one that we did in Cherokee North Carolina. First of all, our guide was an older woman in her late 50s and 60s. From the quality of her tour, we knew she was a teacher and guessed her to be a professor of history or anthropology. She was an excellent teacher and guide.
The main difference I would say between the two tours was that our young guide in Cherokee, North Carolina focused on the “what” and the “how’s” of Cherokee life in the ancient times. Our guide in Oklahoma focused slightly more on the “why’s.” Both showed examples of blow guns, weaving, and canoe building. Our Oklahoma guide added two things to the “how to” list that were fascinating.
First, she demonstrated how to make an arrowhead using a striking rock, a piece of obsidian, and an antler. She talked about why the particular properties of the striking rock and the obsidian made them excellent choices. And, she explained why an antler was so useful in refining the shape of the arrowhead. The boys – all three of them – were in love with this woman from that moment forward.
Second, she finally demonstrated for us how the stick ball game is played. She actually threw a ball with the sticks to show the technique. We also finally got why they called stick ball the “little war.” Apparently, Cherokee’s used stick ball to settle disputes before going to war. War was only discussed if a good game of stick ball didn’t get the aggression and disagreement solved first. This would be an interesting experiment to try in the modern world, I think. Just fit the two fighting factions out with football uniforms, and let them have at it. Best two out of three wins the argument.
There were a few differences in the villages. When I pointed out these differences to her after the tour, she explained that they were most likely because the village that we saw in Cherokee NC was a slightly more modern version than the one being exhibited in Oklahoma. All in all, if you can – go to both. If not, either one will give you an excellent view into Cherokee life in ancient times. The experience is well worth the time and expense.
The museum exhibit on the Trail of Tears is terrific. In many ways, it does a much better job of bringing out the emotional experience of the Cherokee nation during their forced removal from their mountain home than the museum in North Carolina. There is one room in particular with life-sized sculptures of about 6-7 Cherokee. While in the room, voices repeat words from actual interviews of family members of people who marched on the trail. If you leave this exhibit with dry eyes, you haven’t really immersed yourself properly.
The village in the back is also interesting, although I must admit that we were way too hot to appreciate this fully. I can say that several of the buildings are authentic. They have been relocated to this area and placed in the village as representations of typical buildings of the time. There is a school house, a general store, several one and two room homes, and some farm buildings.
We finished up at the museum and headed quickly for the air conditioned comfort of the car and the continuing trip west. We were all quiet for the ride into the Tulsa area where we stopped for a brief respite from traveling and toured the Bass Pro Shop at Broken Arrow. We took a very close look at the hiking equipment and all tried on backpacks. We discovered that between the pack and sleeping bag alone, you would be carrying 8 pounds on your back. A four man tent adds another 4 pounds to someone. It appears that when hiking, food is the heaviest thing to carry.
After the Bass Pro Shop, we got back into the car and headed north and west to Winfield. The final stop was for dinner at the north McDonalds in Bartlesville. After that, it was a quick 1.5 hour drive home.
It’s the final day of vacation and we will be darned if we rush it or waste any of it. We didn’t have to check out until 11:00 a.m., so while Mom typed up the blog for yesterday, we all laid around and watched a couple of old family style movies on Turner Classic Movies.
It is extremely refreshing to see the boys so into movies that, in today’s standards, wouldn’t even probably make it to opening night. The first movie was about a con man who “got sold some swampland in Florida.” He traveled south to collect on his investment and, many hi-jinks later, unloaded the land on a sweet pair of newlyweds. As always happened in movies of the late 50s, early 60s – the hero got the girl, the bad guys were shot or arrested and the endearing con man got out ok – if not any richer. At one point, the young hero wrestled a huge alligator to save his girlfriend from being eaten. My oldest looked over at me with really big eyes and said, “Man, Mom! That was intense!” We’ve done something right, we have.
Once the blog was published, we packed up and headed to the Cherokee Heritage Museum on the southeast side of Tahlequah. This museum is a little challenging to find, but worth the effort. For the price of admission, you get access to the Trail of Tears exhibit, a self-paced tour of a frontier Cherokee town and a guided tour of an ancient Cherokee village. There was one difference that we noted for not the first time on our trip. No matter where you were outside, it was hot.
We did the ancient village first as there was a tour beginning right when we arrived. This tour had several similarities and some differences from the one that we did in Cherokee North Carolina. First of all, our guide was an older woman in her late 50s and 60s. From the quality of her tour, we knew she was a teacher and guessed her to be a professor of history or anthropology. She was an excellent teacher and guide.
The main difference I would say between the two tours was that our young guide in Cherokee, North Carolina focused on the “what” and the “how’s” of Cherokee life in the ancient times. Our guide in Oklahoma focused slightly more on the “why’s.” Both showed examples of blow guns, weaving, and canoe building. Our Oklahoma guide added two things to the “how to” list that were fascinating.
First, she demonstrated how to make an arrowhead using a striking rock, a piece of obsidian, and an antler. She talked about why the particular properties of the striking rock and the obsidian made them excellent choices. And, she explained why an antler was so useful in refining the shape of the arrowhead. The boys – all three of them – were in love with this woman from that moment forward.
Second, she finally demonstrated for us how the stick ball game is played. She actually threw a ball with the sticks to show the technique. We also finally got why they called stick ball the “little war.” Apparently, Cherokee’s used stick ball to settle disputes before going to war. War was only discussed if a good game of stick ball didn’t get the aggression and disagreement solved first. This would be an interesting experiment to try in the modern world, I think. Just fit the two fighting factions out with football uniforms, and let them have at it. Best two out of three wins the argument.
There were a few differences in the villages. When I pointed out these differences to her after the tour, she explained that they were most likely because the village that we saw in Cherokee NC was a slightly more modern version than the one being exhibited in Oklahoma. All in all, if you can – go to both. If not, either one will give you an excellent view into Cherokee life in ancient times. The experience is well worth the time and expense.
The museum exhibit on the Trail of Tears is terrific. In many ways, it does a much better job of bringing out the emotional experience of the Cherokee nation during their forced removal from their mountain home than the museum in North Carolina. There is one room in particular with life-sized sculptures of about 6-7 Cherokee. While in the room, voices repeat words from actual interviews of family members of people who marched on the trail. If you leave this exhibit with dry eyes, you haven’t really immersed yourself properly.
The village in the back is also interesting, although I must admit that we were way too hot to appreciate this fully. I can say that several of the buildings are authentic. They have been relocated to this area and placed in the village as representations of typical buildings of the time. There is a school house, a general store, several one and two room homes, and some farm buildings.
We finished up at the museum and headed quickly for the air conditioned comfort of the car and the continuing trip west. We were all quiet for the ride into the Tulsa area where we stopped for a brief respite from traveling and toured the Bass Pro Shop at Broken Arrow. We took a very close look at the hiking equipment and all tried on backpacks. We discovered that between the pack and sleeping bag alone, you would be carrying 8 pounds on your back. A four man tent adds another 4 pounds to someone. It appears that when hiking, food is the heaviest thing to carry.
After the Bass Pro Shop, we got back into the car and headed north and west to Winfield. The final stop was for dinner at the north McDonalds in Bartlesville. After that, it was a quick 1.5 hour drive home.
July 21, 2008
Journal Day 11
Well, we certainly know that we have left the country. There are people everywhere in our hotel. It almost seems that they are multiplying – kind of like squash on a vine. We got up to a noisy hotel and headed out for the early service at Christ the King Lutheran Church.The church has a radio broadcast of its services as well as a parochial school. This was a much different experience than our little mountain church of a week ago – but just as friendly. We were greeted warmly at the door and welcomed in person by both Pastors Neugebauer and Goble before the service.
While we were sitting in the pew waiting for the service to begin, a man sitting with his two children turned around and spoke to my husband. “I think that I’ve seen you before,” he said. After a few quick questions, turns out this man’s wife – the church organist – was a graduate of St John’s in Winfield. They come back every so often for the college reunion. Apparently, he and my husband had talked while they were visiting Trinity Lutheran in Winfield. We spoke with his wife later and found that we had several common acquaintances. It just goes to show you that no matter how you slice it, it’s still a very small world.
The service was great. The boys still didn’t want to go up to children’s time – too shy. During the summer, Pastor Goble let children take a bag home and bring things back. A young girl had taken it home and brought it back filled with two additional bags. Taped on the outside of the bags was $1 bill and a message for Pastor Goble. It read, “Pass the buck to Pastor Chuck.” And Pastor Goble gladly did.
Paster Neugebauer preached on Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43. He started with a great illustration on the futility of living for this life only. He talked about some of the wonderful achievements he had done in his life – athletic awards, getting a date with the most beautiful girl in high school, raising four boys and even being a grandpa. Then, he said that he had just done something in the last week that made him the proudest of all. Prouder than any of those other things – and he held up a tomato. He said, “Look at this. I, Pastor Chuck Neugebauer grew this beautiful tomato.” Then he caught himself. He said, “Well, God actually grew it. I just managed to not kill it.”
He went on to say that he would like to put the tomato on a shelf for all to see. But, in reality, he knew that the tomato’s life would be fleeting. In fact, if he put it on the shelf, it would soon begin to rot and die. I’m not sure how he did it (I had to do a little parenting in the pew just then) but he began discussing how we should live each moment of life reacting to and treating people as they will be in
heaven, not as they are now – a good way to move through life, I think.After church, we returned to the hotel, changed, packed up and headed out to see Mud Island – a museum and river park on the edge of the Mississippi River. The museum, about the culture and history along the Mississippi River was terrific. It had 18 galleries and life size replicas of a gunnery boat and steamboat. The boys enjoyed climbing on these. They also had an audio tour that added embellishments and voices about the exhibits on display. The museum was well done. The pace was just right. The tour Nazi called out the numbers that we were to type into the MP3 again. We had a great time.
Outside of the museum there was a to-scale model of the lower Mississippi. It was a topographical map which was a great hands-on way to demonstrate the curves and depths of the river as it rolls from it’s juncture with the Ohio all the way to it’s delta in Louisiana. We spotted the location where we crossed at Cairo and the boys had fun wading in the river from there to the Arkansas line.
After that, we headed back to our car on the monorail that we had taken out to the island and headed across the Mississippi River bridge and into Arkansas on I-40. The trip was easy this time – Interstate the entire way. I sat back, began to read one of my library books and enjoyed the rest of the day on the road.
We stopped at about 8:30 in Tahlequah, OK at the Holiday Inn Express. We sat for about an hour while the boys enjoyed swimming in the pool. We met another family of boys that were looking forward to a canoe trip on the Illinois the following day. We told them about our harrowing adventure on the Green and wished them a sunny, cloudless day.
July 20, 2008
Journal, Day 10
This day of travel started extremely slowly as none of us were really very excited to leave the railcar. We were having a ton of fun just hanging out and watching TV in our beds – my husband and I had a queen size and the boys were sleeping on a daybed with a trundle. I finished my book, my husband got a nice long sleep in and the boys were completely pacified watching cartoons on TV. Things were peaceful at the rail station.
But, all good things must come to an end – and, just like in a real hotel, they kick you out around 11:00 a.m. So, we got up, showered, packed the car and checked out. But, before we left we took advantage of some more free stuff that we got with our room and went to view the model railroad museum located on the hotel property.
The brochure said that the model railroad was valued at $1 million and has taken more than 50,000 hours to build and maintain. The railroad is 174 feet long and 33 feet wide at it’s widest point. It had over 3000 feet of track and there were four train
s running on continuous loops while we were there. There were also push buttons to operate a downtown trolley and an incline railway.There is just something about model railroads. I don’t know what it is, but I could stand and look at them all day long. And this one was exceptional. The attention to detail found in this display was breathtaking.
We spent about 30 minutes making the long trip down the room and back and marveling at the new things we discovered each way. They even had a miniature of the hotel there when it was a working depot. That was cool because it was an excellent opportunity for us to explain to the boys how passenger trains worked. They were fascinated.
We ate lunch at the dining room again and then hopped in the car and headed west across the great state of Tennessee. We drove mostly on Highway 64. The majority of the road was a scenic byway and we enjoyed watching the native hills, houses and livestock as we went. It would appear that the state is attempting to make this route a 4-lane highway all the way from Chattanooga to Memphis. There are several spots with brand new 4-lane and others where it is clear where the 4-lane is to go and still others that are being developed into 4-lane as we speak. This project occupied much of our discussion during the trip.
At Savannah, TN we stopped for a short break at the Shiloh National Military Park. We got to the visitor’s center just as it was closing, but got the map for the driving tour and did a hurry-up-and-look job around the museum.
This battle was a little more self explanatory. Basically, General Grant and his troops were headed to Corinth MS in an effort to take a strategic position there along the railroad in order to cut off the south’s northern rail supplies. He was to be reinforced before he took the city so he was camping in the Shiloh area and occupying a two mile stretch south of Pittsburg Landing on the Tennessee River. The confederates in Corinth learned of his plan and decided to attack him and his troops before he was reinforced.
They met the outlying post of soldiers at 4:55 a.m. on April 6 and fought a bloody, tough battle for the entire day. Federal troops were pushed back to a line just about 100 yards from Pittsburg landing where they massed and held the confederates for the remainder of the evening. The fighting stopped at dark.
As luck would have it, Grant was reinforced that evening with two additional platoons of soldiers, increasing his ranks to 50,000 men. The tired and diminished confederates, who were hoping to finish off the Federal troops the morning of the 7th, awoke to an overwhelming and fresh set of Federal troops that outnumbered their 35,000 ranks. They quickly gave up and were pushed back to Corinth.
The most interesting part of this battlefield was viewing the confederate burial trenches that are scattered about. This war saw 23,000 casualties – men that were killed, wounded or missing. To bury the confederate dead, General Grant created mass graves where he buried men 7 layers deep. There are memorials at each of these trenches.
These battles are so much in our distant past that it is difficult to imagine what went on so many years ago. It is moving to see the problems that can happen when people can’t use their words to resolve issues and instead use people like chess pieces on a political playing board. The brochures all talk about how both sides of the conflict felt that fighting would not be necessary and, if needed, would be over in 3 months. Obviously, they were wrong. And many, many people on both sides paid a significant price.
After the battlefield, we hopped back in the car and drove the last stretch to Memphis and our hotel. We are all tired from the road so we immediately went straight to bed.
Journal, Day 9
Our youngest is seven years old today. I had remembered to bring his presents along with us and had laid them out on the table before I went to bed. He got up, came in to our room to cuddle and didn’t even notice they were there until my husband said something when he got up.
He was so excited! We had nearly convinced him that he probably wouldn’t get presents until he got back home, so this morning’s bounty caught him completely by surprise. While he examined his new DS and TMNT game, we packed up ourselves and the car.
We said goodbye to the cabin and were on the road, headed to Chattanooga on Highway 74 by 9:00 a.m. On the road we passed several groups heading out to raft on the Nantahala River. The town and areas reminded us of the Big Cedar Lodge area around Branson. The river was also fun to watch and looked really inviting. It was difficult not to stop and wade.
At Lake Hiwassee we saw some impressive white water rafting. The groups started at the Hiwassee dam, shot a huge waterfall at the dam’s edge and then headed down river for several more rapid areas until the pull-out spot just prior to where the lake widens. It looked absolutely like the most fun thing in the world. My husband thought they were crazy and said he would never do that. So, I guess I will place my hope with my boys and pray that I will have someone to experience some white water rafting with someday.
After that it was a fairly uneventful drive to the Georgia Visitor’s Center on I-75. We ate lunch out of the cooler and grocery bag again and then headed to the Chickamauga & Chattanooga National Military Park. We stamped our National Park passport and grabbed the junior ranger book. (They don’t have a program for anyone less than 3rd grade so we opted to not do the activities at this time to keep the peace.) And then we toured the Visitor’s Center.
Now, I’m sure that if you are in to the civil war and all, this is a fascinating area and museum. The boys did enjoy walking through the gun and cannon display. And, there was one exhibit with a map and lights showing how the battle progressed and where the forces went. It looked a little like a video game and held the boys’ interest.
The Battle of Chickamauga began when the Union army took Chattanooga – a town that afforded the Federal army an extremely strategic position for supply lines to armies raiding into the deep south. The confederates attempted to regain Chattanooga and met the Federals at Chickamauga. General Rosecrans held them fairly well until the fighting got intense and there were some fatal communication errors.
At one point in the middle of the fighting, General Rosecrans thought that a gap had opened in the Federal line. In reality, he had received poor information. He did not verify the scout’s erroneous report. Instead, he sent orders to the regiment one section over to move and fill the gap. This action opened a real gap and gave the Conferederates a perfect spot to break the Federal line and win this particular battle.
They chased the Union army back to Chattanooga and spent the winter holding it under siege from nearby Lookout Mountain. General Grant didn’t just sit around and wait for things to happen. He attacked the Confederates on Lookout Mountain and routed them. Chattanooga remained in Federal hands and became an extremely important and valuable position as the Federal army marched to take over the Deep South.
Most of the exhibits required reading very much above the 8th grade level. Since we have two very important folks on our tour that are not even there yet, we breezed through the museum and went on to the auto tour. Unfortunately, I must say that this didn’t really get any better.
The boys were actually pretty disappointed. I don’t exactly know what they were expecting, but I think it was something like life-size wax figures poised around the battlefield in actual battle stances. High expectations, maybe? There was one very cool monument erected at the sight where General Rosecrans made his error in judgment and opened the gap in the Union line. It was an 85 foot high tower that you could climb to the top of. One of the people coming down said there were 136 steps. Having just walked 4.5 plus miles the day before, this seemed like chump change. And the view at the top was definitely worth it.
After the battlefield, we headed into town to check into our hotel. We stayed downtown at the Chattanooga Choo-Choo Convention Center hotel run by Holiday Inn. The hotel is a restored train depot and tracks in the center of downtown. They have restored and repurposed 37 passenger cars into hotel rooms decorated in the Victorian style. For a few hundred dollars, you can stay the night in one of them and get free tickets to the downtown Aquarium and IMAX theater. Another perk that we didn’t even realize we had was a free engineer’s hat from the gift store for each boy. How cool was that?
After we unpacked our stuff and checked out our really cool room (it was like sleeping in a museum), we headed for the downtown aquarium on the free, electric trolley system. The aquarium boasts that it is the largest, fresh-water aquarium in the United States. I believe it. It is a study of the flora and fauna in the Tennessee River Valley. You ride an escalator up to the very top where the river starts in the Smokey Mountains and you continue by walking down into lower levels of the museum as you descend downstream. Eventually, you end up in the Gulf of Mexico just like the real river does.
The whole thing was really great, but if we had to pick our favorite areas, we would probably pick and exhibit about turtles showing turtles from all over the world. There was a sturgeon touch pool that was really cool. There are two buildings to the aquarium – one on fresh wa
ter and one on animals of the ocean. This second building had a butterfly garden at the very top that was super cool and where we spent much time. It also had a touch pool.
I can say with some first-hand knowledge now that I would rather touch a sturgeon with my hands than a manta ray.
Once we had exhausted the museum’s, it was across the street to the IMAX where we watched a 3-D show on the Grand Canyon and Colorado River. It was a fabulous film about water conservation and the very critical problem that is occurring in the Southwest. There were some impressive pictures showing just how much of two lakes have been depleted due to excessive use of water. The movie, which is narrated by Robert Redford and (I’m sure) partly funded by Bobby Kennedy is definitely worth experiencing if it comes to your area.
After the movie, it was back to the Holiday Inn – where kids eat free! – a quick dip in the pool and then back to bed. What a full day! I fell asleep in bed watching a documentary on Carol Burnett and didn’t get around to posting this blog. For that, I apologize.
He was so excited! We had nearly convinced him that he probably wouldn’t get presents until he got back home, so this morning’s bounty caught him completely by surprise. While he examined his new DS and TMNT game, we packed up ourselves and the car.
We said goodbye to the cabin and were on the road, headed to Chattanooga on Highway 74 by 9:00 a.m. On the road we passed several groups heading out to raft on the Nantahala River. The town and areas reminded us of the Big Cedar Lodge area around Branson. The river was also fun to watch and looked really inviting. It was difficult not to stop and wade.
At Lake Hiwassee we saw some impressive white water rafting. The groups started at the Hiwassee dam, shot a huge waterfall at the dam’s edge and then headed down river for several more rapid areas until the pull-out spot just prior to where the lake widens. It looked absolutely like the most fun thing in the world. My husband thought they were crazy and said he would never do that. So, I guess I will place my hope with my boys and pray that I will have someone to experience some white water rafting with someday.
After that it was a fairly uneventful drive to the Georgia Visitor’s Center on I-75. We ate lunch out of the cooler and grocery bag again and then headed to the Chickamauga & Chattanooga National Military Park. We stamped our National Park passport and grabbed the junior ranger book. (They don’t have a program for anyone less than 3rd grade so we opted to not do the activities at this time to keep the peace.) And then we toured the Visitor’s Center.
Now, I’m sure that if you are in to the civil war and all, this is a fascinating area and museum. The boys did enjoy walking through the gun and cannon display. And, there was one exhibit with a map and lights showing how the battle progressed and where the forces went. It looked a little like a video game and held the boys’ interest.
The Battle of Chickamauga began when the Union army took Chattanooga – a town that afforded the Federal army an extremely strategic position for supply lines to armies raiding into the deep south. The confederates attempted to regain Chattanooga and met the Federals at Chickamauga. General Rosecrans held them fairly well until the fighting got intense and there were some fatal communication errors.
At one point in the middle of the fighting, General Rosecrans thought that a gap had opened in the Federal line. In reality, he had received poor information. He did not verify the scout’s erroneous report. Instead, he sent orders to the regiment one section over to move and fill the gap. This action opened a real gap and gave the Conferederates a perfect spot to break the Federal line and win this particular battle.
They chased the Union army back to Chattanooga and spent the winter holding it under siege from nearby Lookout Mountain. General Grant didn’t just sit around and wait for things to happen. He attacked the Confederates on Lookout Mountain and routed them. Chattanooga remained in Federal hands and became an extremely important and valuable position as the Federal army marched to take over the Deep South.
Most of the exhibits required reading very much above the 8th grade level. Since we have two very important folks on our tour that are not even there yet, we breezed through the museum and went on to the auto tour. Unfortunately, I must say that this didn’t really get any better.
The boys were actually pretty disappointed. I don’t exactly know what they were expecting, but I think it was something like life-size wax figures poised around the battlefield in actual battle stances. High expectations, maybe? There was one very cool monument erected at the sight where General Rosecrans made his error in judgment and opened the gap in the Union line. It was an 85 foot high tower that you could climb to the top of. One of the people coming down said there were 136 steps. Having just walked 4.5 plus miles the day before, this seemed like chump change. And the view at the top was definitely worth it.
After the battlefield, we headed into town to check into our hotel. We stayed downtown at the Chattanooga Choo-Choo Convention Center hotel run by Holiday Inn. The hotel is a restored train depot and tracks in the center of downtown. They have restored and repurposed 37 passenger cars into hotel rooms decorated in the Victorian style. For a few hundred dollars, you can stay the night in one of them and get free tickets to the downtown Aquarium and IMAX theater. Another perk that we didn’t even realize we had was a free engineer’s hat from the gift store for each boy. How cool was that?
After we unpacked our stuff and checked out our really cool room (it was like sleeping in a museum), we headed for the downtown aquarium on the free, electric trolley system. The aquarium boasts that it is the largest, fresh-water aquarium in the United States. I believe it. It is a study of the flora and fauna in the Tennessee River Valley. You ride an escalator up to the very top where the river starts in the Smokey Mountains and you continue by walking down into lower levels of the museum as you descend downstream. Eventually, you end up in the Gulf of Mexico just like the real river does.
The whole thing was really great, but if we had to pick our favorite areas, we would probably pick and exhibit about turtles showing turtles from all over the world. There was a sturgeon touch pool that was really cool. There are two buildings to the aquarium – one on fresh wa
ter and one on animals of the ocean. This second building had a butterfly garden at the very top that was super cool and where we spent much time. It also had a touch pool.I can say with some first-hand knowledge now that I would rather touch a sturgeon with my hands than a manta ray.
Once we had exhausted the museum’s, it was across the street to the IMAX where we watched a 3-D show on the Grand Canyon and Colorado River. It was a fabulous film about water conservation and the very critical problem that is occurring in the Southwest. There were some impressive pictures showing just how much of two lakes have been depleted due to excessive use of water. The movie, which is narrated by Robert Redford and (I’m sure) partly funded by Bobby Kennedy is definitely worth experiencing if it comes to your area.
After the movie, it was back to the Holiday Inn – where kids eat free! – a quick dip in the pool and then back to bed. What a full day! I fell asleep in bed watching a documentary on Carol Burnett and didn’t get around to posting this blog. For that, I apologize.
July 17, 2008
Journal Day 8
Our last day in Smokey Mountain National Park – and no pussy footing around…it was time to hike! We got up early and were at the park gates by 9:00 a.m. We headed up the 45 minute long drive to Clingman’s Dome – the highest point in the park.Two things we noticed about this climb: 1) the air was chilly, and 2) the trail was steep. The walk to the top was a little dampened by the results of a Frasier fir eating aphid called the Balsom Wooly Adelgid. The insect came to the US on imported nursery stock in the 1950s from Europe. It has been eating the snot out of all the Frasier firs since. The rangers are concerned because this is one of the only places in the United States that the Frasier Fir appears in the wild. They are attempting to control its spread, but it is a tough job.
The devastation of this tiny, little bug was far-reaching. Thousands of bare trunks stuck up amongst living trees marring the landscape and creating and eerie mood. As we and some of our fellow hikers looked at the ravaging, one phrase from an earlier trail guide came to mind. “The only thing in a forest that is constant is change.” And so, though this may be sad right now, it is a blip in history. The future can hold much – the majority of which is unknown.
So, our hearts a little lighter for remembering that God is in charge, we headed back down Clingman’s Dome and on the way hiked another ¼ mile section of the Appalachian Trail. This part of the trail near Clingman’s Dome is narrow and rocky. We got lots of mountain kisses on our legs (dewy grass drying itself on our shins). And, we enjoyed meeting several hikers like ourselves. We also met two real, honest-to-goodness, bed-roll packing, in-it-for-the-whole-shebang hikers. The boys were impressed.
After we returned to the car, we finished the 8 page requirement in the Junior Ranger books and headed on back down to the Oconaluftee Visitor’s Center. The boys had to do 8 activities each, attend a ranger talk, pick up a bag full of trash and then get sworn in. To get our “Not So Junior Ranger” patch, we had to attend 3 ranger talks. We were not done with our job. So, we headed back to the Mountain Farm Museum to attend a presentation called “Batteries Not Included.”
This ranger led activity was really fun. The whole family enjoyed playing fox and geese, tops, corn darts, clothespins, a springy thing that I don’t know the name of, a wooden dancing man, marbles and stilts! Dad’s particular skill was with the fox and geese game, our youngest was a whiz with corn darts and our oldest gave several lessons on how to make the dancing man dance.
Mom, however, was declared the best all-around at stilts impressing several tourists and the ranger with my excellent stilt skills. Little did they know that I spent many childhood hours walking from the garage to the machine shed on my very own pair. Apparently, walking on stilts is like riding a bike – even I was surprised at how easily it all came back. I ended up holding kind of a stilt clinic right there teaching several other families the best grip hold and the easiest style of mounting.
After that, we ate a lunch of boiled eggs and headed into the ranger station to be sworn in. We got a really good ranger who looked carefully over all of the boys’ work in their books asking them questions while he looked. “What’s your favorite national park?” he asked. “Yellowstone,” the boys promptly answered. Not missing a beat he said, “That was the wrong answer, try again.” They got it right the second time.
Properly sworn and badged, we hopped into the car and drove to the Deep Creek campground to do some more hiking around two water falls found in that area. We ended up hiking about 4.5 miles of trails from about 2:00 to about 6:00 p.m. We hiked up the Deep Creek Trail and then joined with the Indian Creek Trail about halfway in and followed it down. We waded at the bottom of Indian Creek Falls – freezing water, but it felt excellent on the feet and shins after 3 miles of trail. We finished by watching the tubing along the bottom half of Indian Creek.
The tubing looked very fun, but we were most entertained by a tattooed woman getting out of the creek wet, smiling and exclaiming to anyone who would listen: “That is dangerous! I was wondering why everyone was walking back down with their tubes, but now I know why! They need to post danger sounds around here!”
Secretly, we thought she probably had a pretty good time.
We met some people on the trail. One family from Raleigh, NC waded with us at the falls and a mother, father and daughter were fly fishing up at the top of Deep Creek and followed us back down the trail. It was nice to have their company.
On the trail we saw several of the plants that we had learned about in the junior ranger books. One in particular is the tulip tree. The leaves of this tree look chopped off at the top – sort of like it forgot to grow in that part. We also are seeing Rosebay Rhododendron everywhere – even though there is a small family argument about whether or not to call it R.R. or Mountain Laurel.
After the trail, we were definitely ready to get back to the cabin and spend our last night enjoying it. We ate spaghetti for supper and then got into the hot tub to soak our sore muscles. It was incredible. We will miss our little cabin on the side of the mountain very much.
While we were soak
ing, we sat and watched a rather large spider gather her dinner for the evening and talked about the last few days. For my youngest, the best part was the nature trail where we discovered the remains of Nick McCarter’s cabin and explored John Ownsby’s cabin. For my oldest, it was the hike to the top of Clingman’s Dome to look around. For my husband, it was holding the honor of being one of the very first ever “Not So Junior Rangers” sworn in on the first year of the only National Park that has the program in place. For me, it was making the corn shuck doll and playing with the old fashioned toys.We each enjoyed the Smokies in our own way. Tomorrow we turn west and for home.
July 16, 2008
Journal Day 7
We are officially halfway into our trip. If I had to put a label on today it would be “the day of doing whatever we wanted.”This was created mostly because I think that the pace of our trip finally caught up with us. The alarm went off at 6:00 a.m., but neither my husband nor I could stomach getting up that early. The boys were even out until an unheard of 8:45. We lazed about the cabin until nearly noon.
After their breakfast, the boys played a little foosball, tried making spears out of their arrowheads, and explored outside while my husband and I read, did some laundry, and nibbled on breakfast. After that, we sat around the dining table and worked a little on the Junior Ranger books and then hopped in the car to head to the park.
When we got there, we picked up two “Not So Junior Ranger” pamphlets. This is a program for people from ages 13 to 130. We figured, why should the boys have all the fun? Then it was back to the Mountain Farm museum for a ranger led program called “Aw, Shucks.”
The program was a brief orientation to the importance of the corn plant for the mountain farm family. Corn was good as food because if you don’t crack it, it apparently never spoils. I did not know that. Because the area is so high in humidity other grains spoiled rather quickly and wouldn’t keep. Corn quickly became a mountain staple.
All pieces of the corn plant were useable and the ranger informed us briefly about what some of those uses were. And then, she started talking about the corn shuck. Apparently, the shuck is one of the most versatile parts of the corn plant. She showed us a rug, a chair seat and a mop made out of dried corn shucks. We then got our own shucks that had been soaked in water for about 3-5 minutes and sat down to make corn shuck dolls.
Now, you wouldn’t think that boys would be interested in making dolls, but this was the quietest ours had been almost the entire trip. They were enthralled. The ranger showed us how to make the dolls into boy dolls with legs and we now have two of them. On the way back to the car, my oldest decided that we could put a cape on his when we got home so that his could be a superhero. My youngest started trying to figure out how his could hold a lightsaber.
After that program, we headed up the Smokey Mountain Highway towards the Sugarland Visitor Center on the Tennessee side of the park. The road is tree-lined and beautiful with several pull-offs where you can get out of your car and walk a quiet little trail or peek over the edge of a rock wall for a fabulous view. There is one particular spot in the road called “The Loop.” This was really fun, because the road curves and loops under itself to get back down one of the mountains. The boys spent this part imagining they were on a rollercoaster. My husband was fighting motion sickness.
At the Sugerland Visitor Center, we went on a one mile long hike through the woods to view the homesteads of Nicholas McCarter and John Ownsby. We spent $1 for the guidebook at the entrance of the trail and were very happy that we did. The trail would not have been half as interesting without it.
The guide showed us how we could tell where a corn field had been by looking at the age and type of the trees growing in the area. The type of trees is determined by how much sun the area gets. When the pine trees grow to a point where most of the area is shaded (a process that takes several years), the type of trees that need full sun to grow give way to trees that fare better in the shade. The guide also explained that the change from open fields to forest also affects the types of birds and mammals that live in the area.
The McCarter home had all but disappeared. The trail went right across what would have been Mr. McCarter’s front porch had the house still have been there. All that remained was a pile of rocks where the chimney had been. Nick also had a boxwood in his front yard that was the biggest boxwood my husband and I had ever seen. It made the boxwoods in front of our house look kinda wimpy.
The trail continued on to the John Ownsby cabin. This cabin had been restored by the park rangers and sat as a testament to the people who called the Smokey Mountains their home. Between the Ownsby land and the McCarter land the guide pointed out the remains of a stone fence.
After this little hike, we headed back to the visitor’s center for another ranger talk on what it was like to be a kid in 1808. The ranger did a great job with a large group of kids, showing them pictures of what kids wore (boys would wear dresses because they were simpler to hand down to younger siblings) and what kinds of chores they did.
Because the doctor was sometimes a two-day horse ride from a mountain family’s home, the ranger also showed the kids some of the things that families would use for medicine and bandages. She played a human “memory” game by having six kids stand in front of the group. Three of the kids held modern day medicines (Band Aids, Tums and bug spray) and three held corresponding old day medicines (moss, a berry plant, and opossum oil). The six children had their backs turned to the group so that the audience could not see what they held. The rest of the kids had to match the old medicine to the new medicine by calling out the shirt color of the child that they wanted to turn around.
Then came the fun part! The ranger handed out the materials to make a Mountain “buzz” toy. The toy is basically made of a wooden cookie that had two holes bored in it to make it look like a two-inch round button and a piece of string. You thread the string through the two holes, tie a knot in the string and wah-lah – you’ve got a mountain buzz toy. We all made one of those. The ranger offered to the adults and my husband was the first brave soul who held his hand out. After that there were several parents who chimed in.
After we all got our journals and cards signed saying that we’d been there, we grabbed a snack for the road and headed home. On the way back, we stopped at a turnout on the Tennessee/North Carolina line called the Newfound Gap. It was also a spot to access the Appalachian Trial. Because we could and because we wanted to say that we had, we hiked about ¼ of a mile of the Appalachian Trail to see what we could see before heading back to the car.
The boys had gotten into a habit of asking us how long each trail we saw or walked on was. When I said that this one was 2,150 miles long, they were completely floored. “Are you kidding mom?” my oldest asked. “Not kidding,” I replied. “Wow,” was all he could say in return – shocked into silence.
Because we got such a late start, it was dark by the time we got back to the cabin. We grabbed what we needed out of the car and went to bed.
July 15, 2008
Journal Day 6
True to our word this morning, we slept in! We started this morning very lazy. I even got a little time on the couch with my book – just me and the birds outside.
After breakfast and getting around, we hopped in the car at around 10:00 a.m. and headed out to the Museum of the Cherokee and the Oconuluftee Indian Village. The museum did a good job of tracing the history of the Cherokee nation from its beginnings, through trade with the British, the Revolutionary War and the era of the Trail of Tears. The boys were most interested in the models of the Cherokee village and the talking exhibits.
The tour began with a 5 minute video of the Cherokee view of the beginning of the world. They told a story of a water beetle that helped to create the land out of mud from the bottom of the ocean. They also explained that the mountains in the land of the Cherokee were created by the great buzzard flapping his wings too close to the ground. From there, patrons wound around through exhibits on the history and ways of the Cherokee tribe. It was extremely well presented.
After that we headed further into the woods to tour the Oconuluftee Indian Village. This was a living history museum where we were lead through a series of stations of local tribesmen practicing their various crafts. Our Indian guide would describe what the person was doing, the tools that were being used and how the tools would have differed in the olden days.
There were stations on beadwork, basket weaving, canoe building, blow gun demonstrations, spear and arrowhead making and pottery. We also saw several examples of Cherokee homes as well as bear, fish and small animal traps. Finally, we were lead to the square grounds where the seven clans would gather to dance. And the tour ended at the Council house where the seven clans would gather to make decisions and govern themselves.
We probably enjoyed the final two things the most. John Walking Stick, an elderly gentleman spoke passionately about the Cherokee ways. He explained that unlike what most people think, Cherokee’s dancing was a way of praying to the Great Spirit for thanks and to ask for things that he wanted. The little gal in the Council House did a good job of explaining the political and justice system of the tribe. She also spoke several common phrases in the Cherokee language. And, it was from both of them that we learned that there is no word in the Cherokee language for “Goodbye.” This is because Cherokee’s always expect to see you again, either on earth or in the afterlife. So instead, they both said the Cherokee equivalent to “See you later.”
Following the Indian Village, we headed on up the mountain and into the Great Smokey Mountain National Park. We stopped first at Mingus Mill – an operating grist mill on the banks of Mingus Creek. The mill runs on a turbine system and was fired up and grinding corn when we got there. We hiked to the place where the water was diverted from the creek and into the wooden chute to eventually run the turbine. They had one grinding stone put together and working hard. The other they had taken apart so that you could see what it looked like on the inside.
Upstairs was a demonstration of the process of bolting flour to separate it into four types of quality (fine, middlins, bran, and I can’t remember the name of the final one). The sorted flour was routed through a chute back to the first floor where it was bagged for sale. The man working the mill explained that they only ground flour one day of the week. The other days were used for corn – a much easier and quicker process.
While we were there, he stopped the mill for a while to show us how the water would begin to overflow and spill over the side of the chute. There was a little boy playing beneath the chute when he stopped it. The man, who realized that he had Kansan’s in his midst said conspiratorially, “Watch this, that little boy is going to get wet.” Something tells me this man enjoys his job.
After the Mill, we returned to the Oconaluftee Visitor Center to stroll through the Mountain Hill Farm. The farm was comprised of relocated and restored buildings from the Davis farm. There was a house, meat house, outhouse, chicken coop, corn crib, apple shed, barn, and blacksmith shed. There was a full vegetable garden and large corn field. Each spot had a brief introduction to what the building was used for and how it was used.
There were also a couple of surprises. When we reached the barn, I smelled something that I haven’t had the pleasure of smelling for quite some time. Instantly I looked around and asked my husband, “Where’s the pigs?” And they were there! Penned over a little ways in the shade of the trees were two gilts rooting around in the mud. The
smell took me straight back to childhood on the farm.
My oldest was enamored by the brood of chickens that called the Mountain Hill Farm home. There was a beautiful rooster, several hens and teenage chicks running around in and among the buildings. The farm was just a little way from the Oconaluftee River so we spent just a little bit playing in the shallow, rocky rapids before heading back to the car.
After that it was back to the cabin for dinner and a dip in the hot tub before calling it a day.
After breakfast and getting around, we hopped in the car at around 10:00 a.m. and headed out to the Museum of the Cherokee and the Oconuluftee Indian Village. The museum did a good job of tracing the history of the Cherokee nation from its beginnings, through trade with the British, the Revolutionary War and the era of the Trail of Tears. The boys were most interested in the models of the Cherokee village and the talking exhibits.
The tour began with a 5 minute video of the Cherokee view of the beginning of the world. They told a story of a water beetle that helped to create the land out of mud from the bottom of the ocean. They also explained that the mountains in the land of the Cherokee were created by the great buzzard flapping his wings too close to the ground. From there, patrons wound around through exhibits on the history and ways of the Cherokee tribe. It was extremely well presented.
After that we headed further into the woods to tour the Oconuluftee Indian Village. This was a living history museum where we were lead through a series of stations of local tribesmen practicing their various crafts. Our Indian guide would describe what the person was doing, the tools that were being used and how the tools would have differed in the olden days.
There were stations on beadwork, basket weaving, canoe building, blow gun demonstrations, spear and arrowhead making and pottery. We also saw several examples of Cherokee homes as well as bear, fish and small animal traps. Finally, we were lead to the square grounds where the seven clans would gather to dance. And the tour ended at the Council house where the seven clans would gather to make decisions and govern themselves.
We probably enjoyed the final two things the most. John Walking Stick, an elderly gentleman spoke passionately about the Cherokee ways. He explained that unlike what most people think, Cherokee’s dancing was a way of praying to the Great Spirit for thanks and to ask for things that he wanted. The little gal in the Council House did a good job of explaining the political and justice system of the tribe. She also spoke several common phrases in the Cherokee language. And, it was from both of them that we learned that there is no word in the Cherokee language for “Goodbye.” This is because Cherokee’s always expect to see you again, either on earth or in the afterlife. So instead, they both said the Cherokee equivalent to “See you later.”
Following the Indian Village, we headed on up the mountain and into the Great Smokey Mountain National Park. We stopped first at Mingus Mill – an operating grist mill on the banks of Mingus Creek. The mill runs on a turbine system and was fired up and grinding corn when we got there. We hiked to the place where the water was diverted from the creek and into the wooden chute to eventually run the turbine. They had one grinding stone put together and working hard. The other they had taken apart so that you could see what it looked like on the inside.
Upstairs was a demonstration of the process of bolting flour to separate it into four types of quality (fine, middlins, bran, and I can’t remember the name of the final one). The sorted flour was routed through a chute back to the first floor where it was bagged for sale. The man working the mill explained that they only ground flour one day of the week. The other days were used for corn – a much easier and quicker process.
While we were there, he stopped the mill for a while to show us how the water would begin to overflow and spill over the side of the chute. There was a little boy playing beneath the chute when he stopped it. The man, who realized that he had Kansan’s in his midst said conspiratorially, “Watch this, that little boy is going to get wet.” Something tells me this man enjoys his job.
After the Mill, we returned to the Oconaluftee Visitor Center to stroll through the Mountain Hill Farm. The farm was comprised of relocated and restored buildings from the Davis farm. There was a house, meat house, outhouse, chicken coop, corn crib, apple shed, barn, and blacksmith shed. There was a full vegetable garden and large corn field. Each spot had a brief introduction to what the building was used for and how it was used.
There were also a couple of surprises. When we reached the barn, I smelled something that I haven’t had the pleasure of smelling for quite some time. Instantly I looked around and asked my husband, “Where’s the pigs?” And they were there! Penned over a little ways in the shade of the trees were two gilts rooting around in the mud. The
smell took me straight back to childhood on the farm.My oldest was enamored by the brood of chickens that called the Mountain Hill Farm home. There was a beautiful rooster, several hens and teenage chicks running around in and among the buildings. The farm was just a little way from the Oconaluftee River so we spent just a little bit playing in the shallow, rocky rapids before heading back to the car.
After that it was back to the cabin for dinner and a dip in the hot tub before calling it a day.
Journal Day 5
Since we had explored the longest cave in the world, we couldn’t pass up an opportunity to peek through the largest house in America. Built by George Vanderbilt, the 250-room Biltmore Mansion in Asheville North Carolina is a sight to behold.
I had been through it once before in 1992 with a girlfriend from high school. We motored through on our way to Charleston. It was amazing what 16 years will do to a place. My girlfriend and I went through on a guided tour with about 10 other people, heard stories about the Vanderbilt family, got to try out doorknobs and chairs and had no barrier access to the grounds and balconies outside the home. We only got to see the first, second and basement stories of the home and were too young to partake of the wine tasting at the Biltmore Winery. All of this experience was included in the price of admission.
In 2008, you walk in and for $8 you can get an MP3 player with a self-guided tour of the home. You follow the rest of humanity through the house looking at a map on a brochure that has numbers on each room that correspond to numbers that you type into your MP3. Then you would listen to a brief 2-3 minute commentary of the room that you were in trying not to unnecessarily crowd the people around or in front of you. For another $15 you can get special tours by reservation to see additional areas of the house with fewer people. And, if you want what my girlfriend and I got the last time we were there, you have to pay $150 per adult/$75 per child. And all of this is ON TOP of the regular admission to the grounds at the gate.
Despite the fleecing, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves as we walked through this home built by a person whose wealth we can’t even imagine. We all had our favorite parts. Our youngest was the tour Nazi, announcing which buttons to push on the MP3 player when we entered each room. He turned several heads and probably got some people to listen with us as authoritative and thorough as he was reading and following the map.
At one point, we were in the South Tower Room on the third floor – one of the many guest rooms in the house. Because he had his earphones on, my youngest did not realize that he was speaking rather loudly. He looked around at the room decorated in a subdued, neoclassical style of yellows, blues and pinks and announced, “This room looks like you are sleeping in a birthday cake!”
My favorite part was, of course, the house – but particularly the library. George was an avid reader and according to the auto tour was considered the most well-read man in America at the time. The have calculated that he read two books per week over his entire life-time. The library contains more than 10,000 books of his 23,000 book collection. The library was two stories high and stacked floor to ceiling with books, books and more books. I also love the grand staircase made of limestone that has no visible supports. In the middle of the staircase is a 1,700 pound chandelier held into place by a single bolt.
My husband was very impressed with the 72’ x 42’ x 70’ Banquet Hall. One end of the room is almost entirely covered with three side-by-side, walk-in fireplaces. The other end holds an organ loft and the center of the room contains an oak dining table that can extend to 40 feet. There are flags, banners, crests, hunting trophies, tapestries and huge, electric chandeliers. Cool room – and also the one that is featured on TV the most.
Our oldest enjoyed the gardens. He loved walking among the various gardens and took several photos of flowers, bees and greenery throughout the estate’s Italian Garden, Shrubbery Garden, Walled Garden and Conservatory. All the garden’s and the rest of the acreage surrounding the house were designed by Frederick Law Olmsted – the very same man who coined the term “landscape architecture” and who designed Central Park in New York City.
The entire family enjoyed the one “special” tour that we decided to take – the Rooftop Tour. The group on the 9:30 a.m. tour consisted of the four of us and a retired couple from Florida. On the tour we were able to go into some rooms that were not open to the general public on the tour and also were able to walk out on the rooftop balcony and several other balconies at the front and back of the house. We all patted the butt of a gargoyle on the front of the house for luck and looked at the view from outside of George’s bathroom. Tracy Ross, our tour guide, explained as we were looking out the back balcony that at one time, George owned every single piece of land that you could view from the balcony – including Mount Pisgah over 19 miles in the distance.
We also saw the attic and how the slate shingles were attached to the steel roof beams by what looked like copper bailing wire. We got a birds-eye view of the grand staircase and the front porch as well as some really great views out some fourth floor maid’s quarters windows. We went up and down some really weird, narrow staircases and in and out windows up around the rooftops. It was a really cool tour. If you are ever at Biltmore and you can only do one tour – this one is a terrific pick.
Tracy was a fantastic tour guide and instantly won over our youngest by making him the official “rope holder” when we would go through the barrier ropes to places not on the public tour – must be the freckles. We saw her later when we were touring on the audio tour and she caught the boys’ eyes and waved at them. She thanked us for visiting Biltmore so that she could keep the job that she thoroughly enjoyed. We were OK with that – she was good at her job.
After touring the house and gardens, we made our stop in the gift shop for our family Christmas ornament. We decided on a two-inch replica of the Vanderbilt china plate with the George’s initials in the center. Then it was on for a very short tour through the Winery, some wine tasting and home.
On the way back to the cabin we stopped at TGI Friday’s in Asheville for dinner and the Bryson City IGA for supplies and then called it an evening. Tomorrow, we have decided to sleep in!
George’s great-grandchildren are keeping the home and grounds alive and I’d say they are doing a fantastic job.
I had been through it once before in 1992 with a girlfriend from high school. We motored through on our way to Charleston. It was amazing what 16 years will do to a place. My girlfriend and I went through on a guided tour with about 10 other people, heard stories about the Vanderbilt family, got to try out doorknobs and chairs and had no barrier access to the grounds and balconies outside the home. We only got to see the first, second and basement stories of the home and were too young to partake of the wine tasting at the Biltmore Winery. All of this experience was included in the price of admission.
In 2008, you walk in and for $8 you can get an MP3 player with a self-guided tour of the home. You follow the rest of humanity through the house looking at a map on a brochure that has numbers on each room that correspond to numbers that you type into your MP3. Then you would listen to a brief 2-3 minute commentary of the room that you were in trying not to unnecessarily crowd the people around or in front of you. For another $15 you can get special tours by reservation to see additional areas of the house with fewer people. And, if you want what my girlfriend and I got the last time we were there, you have to pay $150 per adult/$75 per child. And all of this is ON TOP of the regular admission to the grounds at the gate.
Despite the fleecing, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves as we walked through this home built by a person whose wealth we can’t even imagine. We all had our favorite parts. Our youngest was the tour Nazi, announcing which buttons to push on the MP3 player when we entered each room. He turned several heads and probably got some people to listen with us as authoritative and thorough as he was reading and following the map.
At one point, we were in the South Tower Room on the third floor – one of the many guest rooms in the house. Because he had his earphones on, my youngest did not realize that he was speaking rather loudly. He looked around at the room decorated in a subdued, neoclassical style of yellows, blues and pinks and announced, “This room looks like you are sleeping in a birthday cake!”
My favorite part was, of course, the house – but particularly the library. George was an avid reader and according to the auto tour was considered the most well-read man in America at the time. The have calculated that he read two books per week over his entire life-time. The library contains more than 10,000 books of his 23,000 book collection. The library was two stories high and stacked floor to ceiling with books, books and more books. I also love the grand staircase made of limestone that has no visible supports. In the middle of the staircase is a 1,700 pound chandelier held into place by a single bolt.
My husband was very impressed with the 72’ x 42’ x 70’ Banquet Hall. One end of the room is almost entirely covered with three side-by-side, walk-in fireplaces. The other end holds an organ loft and the center of the room contains an oak dining table that can extend to 40 feet. There are flags, banners, crests, hunting trophies, tapestries and huge, electric chandeliers. Cool room – and also the one that is featured on TV the most.
Our oldest enjoyed the gardens. He loved walking among the various gardens and took several photos of flowers, bees and greenery throughout the estate’s Italian Garden, Shrubbery Garden, Walled Garden and Conservatory. All the garden’s and the rest of the acreage surrounding the house were designed by Frederick Law Olmsted – the very same man who coined the term “landscape architecture” and who designed Central Park in New York City.
The entire family enjoyed the one “special” tour that we decided to take – the Rooftop Tour. The group on the 9:30 a.m. tour consisted of the four of us and a retired couple from Florida. On the tour we were able to go into some rooms that were not open to the general public on the tour and also were able to walk out on the rooftop balcony and several other balconies at the front and back of the house. We all patted the butt of a gargoyle on the front of the house for luck and looked at the view from outside of George’s bathroom. Tracy Ross, our tour guide, explained as we were looking out the back balcony that at one time, George owned every single piece of land that you could view from the balcony – including Mount Pisgah over 19 miles in the distance.
We also saw the attic and how the slate shingles were attached to the steel roof beams by what looked like copper bailing wire. We got a birds-eye view of the grand staircase and the front porch as well as some really great views out some fourth floor maid’s quarters windows. We went up and down some really weird, narrow staircases and in and out windows up around the rooftops. It was a really cool tour. If you are ever at Biltmore and you can only do one tour – this one is a terrific pick.
Tracy was a fantastic tour guide and instantly won over our youngest by making him the official “rope holder” when we would go through the barrier ropes to places not on the public tour – must be the freckles. We saw her later when we were touring on the audio tour and she caught the boys’ eyes and waved at them. She thanked us for visiting Biltmore so that she could keep the job that she thoroughly enjoyed. We were OK with that – she was good at her job.
After touring the house and gardens, we made our stop in the gift shop for our family Christmas ornament. We decided on a two-inch replica of the Vanderbilt china plate with the George’s initials in the center. Then it was on for a very short tour through the Winery, some wine tasting and home.
On the way back to the cabin we stopped at TGI Friday’s in Asheville for dinner and the Bryson City IGA for supplies and then called it an evening. Tomorrow, we have decided to sleep in!
George’s great-grandchildren are keeping the home and grounds alive and I’d say they are doing a fantastic job.
Journal Day 4
Apologies for the delay in posting. Took us awhile to get the Internet working in the cabin. To catch up, this is the Journal from Sunday.
Our final driving day for a while.
We began the day by worshiping with the members of the Highland United Methodist Church. The church wasn’t too far from the Mammoth Cave Park and had a small, mostly female congregation. In fact, besides us, there were only about three other guys present in the 30 or so member congregation. The boys didn’t want to go up for children’s time because there were way too many girls.
Pastor Donna Aros gave an excellent sermon on Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23. It is Jesus’ parable of the seeds and the soil. The message met my husband’s “requirements of a good sermon.” Pastor Donna focused on the parable’s image of God with his bag of seeds sowing his message of grace with great abandon. He is throwing it out there for all of us without care or consideration over where it lands. She went on to say that it is up to us to make sure that our soil is cultivated enough to hear the message of grace so that it will grow and spread. It was a message that was full of grace and Pastor Donna delivered it with great style.
The church family was also fun to observe. Because it was so small, people were extremely casual with one another and there was a lot of joking and laughing. Our presence in their midst seemed to make them a little nervous, but they managed it well. A couple of the women walked in late and were promptly teased by the rest of the ladies. The last person through the door also happened to be the pianist who swore on a stack of bibles that her watch, which was set by a GPS satellite, was right and the church’s clock was fast. Pastor Donna said fine, as long as she wouldn’t mind calling all the other people of the congregation next Sunday to make sure they knew the right time too.
We enjoyed our time among these smiling, warm, small church folk. The group sang “Wonderful Words of Life,” “In the Garden,” and “He Lives” from the United Methodist Hymnal a little off-key but with great gusto. Charles Wesley would have been proud. We heard announcements about a recent and very successful fundraiser as well as about an upcoming Vacation Bible School and canoe trip. Many people shook our hands and we received several warm smiles. It was a great start to the day.
After that it was back to Mammoth Cave hotel to pack up, check out and get back on the road. We were making some good time until we got on the Cumberland Parkway just outside of Glasgow, Kentucky.
I had settled into reading Fearless Fourteen by Janet Evanovich when suddenly I heard my husband gasp, slam on the breaks and felt him pull over to the side of the road. I looked up and saw what had caused his reaction. A car was in the grassy median of the road, clothing and mud strewn across the far west-bound lanes. It was completely upside down. We were the third car on the scene and I immediately grabbed the cell phone and the map, got out of the car and dialed 911. My husband told the boys to stay put and headed into the median to see what he could do to help. While we were stopped, two additional cars pulled over – one containing an off-duty nurse who immediately took over and organized everyone.
Apparently, a 60ish-year-old woman was driving east-bound heading to pick up her granddaughter at a nearby lake. Her tire blew out forcing her off the road. She hit the soft shoulder and her car did a bumper over grill somersault and landed on its top. She was thankfully wearing her seatbelt and – miracle of miracles – crawled out of the passenger side without her glasses but with only a small scratch on her ankle. She was disoriented and hurt and between the nurse and several other people she was given blankets and pillows to keep her warm and still.
We stayed until the ambulance from Glasgow showed up and then got in the car and continued down the road. I was unable to get back into my book for quite some time. The boys were also pretty shaken. The wreck occupied our conversation for the next several miles.
We ate lunch at Wendy’s in Somerset, Kentucky, headed on east to London to hook up with southbound I-75 which took us into Tennessee. About 20 miles outside of Knoxville, we ran into two lanes of slow moving traffic that looked to be backed up for at least 5-6 miles. When we finally got up to see what was causing the bottleneck, we noticed a semi truck pulled off the road, two police cars directing traffic and another small car in the median with a rear-end that was completely smashed in. There were no longer people at the scene of this wreck. It looked as if the two policemen were simply waiting on a clean-up crew to remove the vehicles and debris from off of the road.
I started to feel as if there were some cosmic forces at work and said a brief thank you prayer to God. Our delay with the first wreck could very well have saved us from being in the immediate area when this one happened. Maybe, maybe not, but my stomach felt a little uneasy for the remainder of the drive.
We headed east from Knoxville on I-40 and entered North Carolina for a beautiful drive skirting the Great Smokey Mountain National Park on the north side. It rained on us the entire way. The mountains truly lived up to their name and we saw a gorgeous rainbow outside of the Dillsboro Huddle Hut where we ate dinner. We drove on up to our cabin which is south and west of Bryson City, just up the mountain from Highway 28 north and could not believe our good fortune.
The cabin and its surroundings are beautiful. We have rented Bearfoot – one of the “value cabins” owned by Watershed Cabins here in North Carolina and we could not be more pleased. It is newly remodeled, contains everything a person could possibly want in a cabin INCLUDING a washer/dryer, two TV’s, a foosball table, an outdoor dining area, a grill, and a hot tub.
The boys were coming out of their skin they were so excited and we all took a dip in the hot tub before bed. I read the boys a chapter out of Harry Potter until all was quiet in the cabin and then set the alarm to get an early start for our day of adventure in Asheville tomorrow. All in all, it was a terrific way to end a long, mentally exhausting day.
Our final driving day for a while.
We began the day by worshiping with the members of the Highland United Methodist Church. The church wasn’t too far from the Mammoth Cave Park and had a small, mostly female congregation. In fact, besides us, there were only about three other guys present in the 30 or so member congregation. The boys didn’t want to go up for children’s time because there were way too many girls.
Pastor Donna Aros gave an excellent sermon on Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23. It is Jesus’ parable of the seeds and the soil. The message met my husband’s “requirements of a good sermon.” Pastor Donna focused on the parable’s image of God with his bag of seeds sowing his message of grace with great abandon. He is throwing it out there for all of us without care or consideration over where it lands. She went on to say that it is up to us to make sure that our soil is cultivated enough to hear the message of grace so that it will grow and spread. It was a message that was full of grace and Pastor Donna delivered it with great style.
The church family was also fun to observe. Because it was so small, people were extremely casual with one another and there was a lot of joking and laughing. Our presence in their midst seemed to make them a little nervous, but they managed it well. A couple of the women walked in late and were promptly teased by the rest of the ladies. The last person through the door also happened to be the pianist who swore on a stack of bibles that her watch, which was set by a GPS satellite, was right and the church’s clock was fast. Pastor Donna said fine, as long as she wouldn’t mind calling all the other people of the congregation next Sunday to make sure they knew the right time too.
We enjoyed our time among these smiling, warm, small church folk. The group sang “Wonderful Words of Life,” “In the Garden,” and “He Lives” from the United Methodist Hymnal a little off-key but with great gusto. Charles Wesley would have been proud. We heard announcements about a recent and very successful fundraiser as well as about an upcoming Vacation Bible School and canoe trip. Many people shook our hands and we received several warm smiles. It was a great start to the day.
After that it was back to Mammoth Cave hotel to pack up, check out and get back on the road. We were making some good time until we got on the Cumberland Parkway just outside of Glasgow, Kentucky.
I had settled into reading Fearless Fourteen by Janet Evanovich when suddenly I heard my husband gasp, slam on the breaks and felt him pull over to the side of the road. I looked up and saw what had caused his reaction. A car was in the grassy median of the road, clothing and mud strewn across the far west-bound lanes. It was completely upside down. We were the third car on the scene and I immediately grabbed the cell phone and the map, got out of the car and dialed 911. My husband told the boys to stay put and headed into the median to see what he could do to help. While we were stopped, two additional cars pulled over – one containing an off-duty nurse who immediately took over and organized everyone.
Apparently, a 60ish-year-old woman was driving east-bound heading to pick up her granddaughter at a nearby lake. Her tire blew out forcing her off the road. She hit the soft shoulder and her car did a bumper over grill somersault and landed on its top. She was thankfully wearing her seatbelt and – miracle of miracles – crawled out of the passenger side without her glasses but with only a small scratch on her ankle. She was disoriented and hurt and between the nurse and several other people she was given blankets and pillows to keep her warm and still.
We stayed until the ambulance from Glasgow showed up and then got in the car and continued down the road. I was unable to get back into my book for quite some time. The boys were also pretty shaken. The wreck occupied our conversation for the next several miles.
We ate lunch at Wendy’s in Somerset, Kentucky, headed on east to London to hook up with southbound I-75 which took us into Tennessee. About 20 miles outside of Knoxville, we ran into two lanes of slow moving traffic that looked to be backed up for at least 5-6 miles. When we finally got up to see what was causing the bottleneck, we noticed a semi truck pulled off the road, two police cars directing traffic and another small car in the median with a rear-end that was completely smashed in. There were no longer people at the scene of this wreck. It looked as if the two policemen were simply waiting on a clean-up crew to remove the vehicles and debris from off of the road.
I started to feel as if there were some cosmic forces at work and said a brief thank you prayer to God. Our delay with the first wreck could very well have saved us from being in the immediate area when this one happened. Maybe, maybe not, but my stomach felt a little uneasy for the remainder of the drive.
We headed east from Knoxville on I-40 and entered North Carolina for a beautiful drive skirting the Great Smokey Mountain National Park on the north side. It rained on us the entire way. The mountains truly lived up to their name and we saw a gorgeous rainbow outside of the Dillsboro Huddle Hut where we ate dinner. We drove on up to our cabin which is south and west of Bryson City, just up the mountain from Highway 28 north and could not believe our good fortune.
The cabin and its surroundings are beautiful. We have rented Bearfoot – one of the “value cabins” owned by Watershed Cabins here in North Carolina and we could not be more pleased. It is newly remodeled, contains everything a person could possibly want in a cabin INCLUDING a washer/dryer, two TV’s, a foosball table, an outdoor dining area, a grill, and a hot tub.
The boys were coming out of their skin they were so excited and we all took a dip in the hot tub before bed. I read the boys a chapter out of Harry Potter until all was quiet in the cabin and then set the alarm to get an early start for our day of adventure in Asheville tomorrow. All in all, it was a terrific way to end a long, mentally exhausting day.
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