French Colonial influence in Illinois, Major Ezra Owen
August 22, 2009

I had no idea what a marvel the history of this area is! The French colonized along the Mississippi River beginning in 1699 with fur trading posts, began exploration in 1673 (dates courtesy of encyclopedic partner). It’s obvious there are enough historic sites in Randolph County to keep us busy for some time. We are staying at the Cahokia RV Parque (cute, ain’t it?) in the town of the same name (without the parque), but this first day were unable to resist an hour-long drive to Chester, the County seat even though we know we will need to do the drive again for further research. We will later check government records; today we perused the local library and found lots about our ancestor, Ezra Owen.

We knew he lived in Kaskaskia, a town that was washed away by a flood of the Mississippi River. In the olden days, Kaskaskia was on a peninsula between that mighty waterway and the Kaskaskia River. When it was destroyed, the neck of the peninsula disappeared, turning the land into an island and eliminating the town entirely.

We discovered that Ezra was, as always, a mover and shaker, in this case instrumental in creating the town of Blenheim, an activity that he continued later in Arkansas when he founded Collegeville and Owenville and a college. He named his sons after dignitaries he admired, in our case - James Monroe Owen. Others were Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson and Shadrack Bond (the first governor of Illinois). He held many public offices wherever he lived - Illinois was no exception - as did his sons.

The library’s genealogy collection was disorganized and odd in its holdings; nevertheless, we filled in a lot of data about the family. Undoubtedly, we will find more at the Courthouse and historical society.

Pierre Menard, penitentiary, Fort Kaskaskia, Popeye . . .
When we were finished freezing our hineys off in the library, we visited the Pierre Menard house. Menard, a Canadian from Quebec, was a wealthy merchant and trader and sometimes politician. His home and really most of the older buildings in the area reflect strong French influence in the architecture.

In Chester and other small towns here, such as Redbud, we see historic areas that are reminiscent of New Orleans’ French quarter with the attached townhomes and wrought iron balconies. It’s all very attractive and exciting, especially with learning about the history. Of course those French roots are reflected in many landmark names, such as St. Louis (we’re across the river from it), St. Genevieve, and so on, and the predominant Roman Catholic influence.

We met a swell fellow at the Menard House, a State park ranger name of Andrew. He looked at Chris so quizzically when we arrived that I thought he might have something even more untoward than his unkempt, overgrown whiskers, but no, Andrew thought Chris looked so much like a fellow ranger that he thought it might be a trick being played on him.

After our interesting tour of the house and grounds, we walked up the 181 steps that led us partway up the hill to the site of Fort Kaskaskia. Nothing remains of it except for extensive earthworks and a sign explaining how Lewis and Clark recruited men from there to join in their expedition. Andrew explained that a tree fell on the major interpretive sign.

Driving what is called the Great River Road, I find the countryside to be enchantingly beautiful. It is hilly, on the bluffs above the Mississippi, deep forests of towering trees rising above impassably thick underbrush and vines. I never tire of seeing that river from any perspective, so enjoyed crossing over and driving a bit on the Missouri-side levee, wondering what it would be like to live in one of those houses below out on the flood plain.

As we paralleled the Mississippi on a nearly-untraveled back road, we passed the Menard Penitentiary, a maximum-security prison housed in buildings that appeared to be very old and attractive in a very-old-prisoney sort of way, so natch, I wanted a pic of said facility. As we slowed and stopped, I saw a guard in a not-very-old-but-very-prisoney sort of tower take sudden notice that we had stopped immediately in front of the place and were rolling down our window and pointing an object toward them. It was at that time that I saw him also reach for and raise up an object (dare I hope it was a pair of binoculars). Photo quickly snapped, Chris gives the guard far above us a wave as if to say, “Thanks for a lovely time”, and away we zoom, unobtrusively topped by two purple kayaks and Goat Hill Music signs on the doors.

Chris is famous for his waves at folks who are mad enough to spit little red nickels, always assuming that they will know from that little flick of the fingers exactly what it is he’s doing/thinking/planning. I guess I should be happy he doesn’t indicate his thoughts with a more offensive gesture.

We saw great egrets, our first of the trip surprisingly, and a great blue heron, in addition to hundreds of cliff swallows languishing on power lines while not darting after mosquitoes.














And . . . the discovery of the day: Chester is the home of Popeye, thus studded throughout with statues of the sailor man and his fellow characters.

Kansas City stuff, family, skipping Missouri
August 21, 2009

I would never have believed it - 9 a.m. & 66 degrees. Most pleasant weather, especially because I expected to be sweltering. We haven’t used the a/c for days. Of course there’s that small matter of rain and lightning, but last night and today are clear and beautiful.

We grilled and played outside last night at the home of my former brother-in-law, Bob, and my littlest sister Christie’s kids, Mary and Jamie and grandkids, Hailey and Mason, two of the most darling children you could ever hope to meet. Mary dined us beautifully with fancy hamburgers, crab-stuffed mushrooms and fruit pizza for dessert. It was fun seeing them all and meeting Jamie’s girlfriend, Nicole, at dinner out the night before. Speaking of that, I have to express delight at being back in the country where they know how to prepare green beans - with bacon! Don’t cringe; it’s the only way to go and southerners know how to do it.

Bass Pro Shop . . .

Between two evenings of family visits, we two rubes from the country ventured into Kansas City: what a handsome skyline it displays. Our destination was to see the steamboat Arabia, more later, but first about the bumpkins and the Bass Pro Shop, our first time in one of those places. That’s not a store; it’s an experience, and I wasn’t the only one snapping photos. The wildlife mounts in two-story-high natural settings amidst creeks and waterfalls with live fish and ducks were eye-popping. Also astounding was Bess, the 103-pound catfish swimming slowly in circles looking like a baby submarine among her otherwise large companions in an 8-foot-tall tank.

The place even sports (pardon the pun) a lifelike shooting range with actual life mounts that move, jump up or down, howl or otherwise acknowledge hits on the targets. If not for dinner plans, I’d probably still be there plunking in my quarters and being sure I could improve my score.

Because I had lost our last rooster tail after catching four trout with it in Utah, we stocked up on lures, replaced our soft-sided tackle box that somehow went missing at home and otherwise assisted the economy in Oak Grove. No, we didn’t get very far from Topeka, just had to stop here to see the folks, and very glad we did.

The steamboat Arabia . . .
Now the Arabia - a steamboat that hit one of hundreds of snags in the Missouri River in 1856. It was a treacherous waterway at the time; hundreds of boats disappeared beneath its waters, and most remain where they went down. The Arabia, however, was discovered and excavated in 1988 from beneath a cornfield a half-mile from the current (oops, there’s another one) river course. Five gentlemen with lots of curiosity and nary a sense of failure found the boat 45 feet under the frozen ground surface. They managed to excavate and retrieve its 200 tons of cargo, a veritable treasure trove of shipping boxes containing everything from fine china and beaver hats to rifles, cosmetics and pickles, virtually everything a person of that time could want. The merchandise was bound for the various river ports. The goods were beautifully preserved by the thick silt at river’s bottom. The displays and films were more than worth the trip, definitely a must-see.

Harry Truman, GPS . . .
Last summer, we thoroughly enjoyed and were enlightened by our visit to the Truman presidential library/museum in nearby Independence, but had not been able to tour the Truman home there, so we remedied that this time, walking the five blocks from the visitors’ center to the house, just as President Truman would have. The more I learn about Harry Truman, the more I admire his forthright manner, honesty and modesty. What an amazing, intelligent and innovative man he was. “The buck stops here”, he stated, accepting all responsibility. Seems as if that’s something sorely missing in today’s political scene, perhaps a reflection of modern society in general.

While we were off the turnip truck in the big city, we made note of the vast amounts of traffic. I could just hear Dad wondering aloud, “Where are all these people going?” That was his constant query any time we ventured out of Chino Valley and sometimes even there. We both miss calling him every day to recount our adventures.

Oldest son Darren has been after us to acquire a GPS. He’s having so much fun with his that he’s sure we would do the same, although we remain unconvinced. Another GPS aficionado, our neighbor last night, Beau Gardner, finds his to be invaluable on his interesting sojourn that he’s chronicling on Facebook.

KOA, Missouri . . .
Again, we stayed in a KOA, seems this trip, we’ve utilized them more than other commercial parks. The Oak Grove facility has a nice woodsy, parky appearance, lovely to look at, but the never-ceasing roar from I-70 on the other side of those trees is a bit harsh. Oh well, we were seldom in the place. I did enjoy seeing these tree faces and again wondered where to acquire such. I spotted some in Prescott once and thought they would look fine on some of my trees.

Uncharacteristic for us, we are hopping across my well-loved Missouri on the Interstate with nary a stop of significance, the intention to be landing a few days in Cahokia, Illinois. Never having heard of the place before, I discern that it’s an unusual destination; however, Chris has decreed it to be the best place with internet access near some Ezra Owen family research we’d like to do.

We’re traversing Cooper County, Missouri, one of our favorite ancestral homes, of John and Hulda Chilcoat, and wishing to spend even more time here. Last year, we did lots here and elsewhere in Missouri and visited many cousins and friends around the state. Odd that even with this much travel time, we continue to wish to take it slower. I am definitely going to want to have a Missouri fix on the way back west.

While verbalizing that I would love to spend a whole summer in Missouri, I continued with wanting to spend a whole summer in each: Arkansas, Tennessee, and Colorado. Chris piped in with Utah and Wyoming; it was then that we realized it will require at least 50 additional summers to get the job done, knowing full well that we’d still be missing things we want to see. Geez, maybe a summer at home would be nice, too.

Rowdy was alarmed when we stopped at this sign, happy that a buyer was not found.

Best weather observation: In response to my phone inquiry if he was getting rain in Florida, Darren informed me that it was “pouring down sunshine”.

Sara and Trinity Grace, Topeka and environs
August 18, 2009

This was our last day to spend time with Sara and Trinity Grace. We will see them briefly before we leave in the morning. What a joy this visit has been. At six months of age, Trinity is an extremely good-natured child, just looks at a person and laughs or offers her smile that says, “I am happy and you make me even happier”.

She is busy as can be, always moving, drooling, stuffing things into her mouth or pulling Mom’s hair. She’s especially fond of sucking on her big toe; we’ll hope she outgrows that before she starts school.

We have spent time at Sara’s and Ray’s house, taken the baby to have her portrait made, had them for dinner, watched a video, played air hockey, gone bowling, out to eat and for walks. The highlight may have been the day we babysat all day while Sara was at work. We loaded baby up in her pack and took her for walks, which she loved, and survived by tag-teaming. Folks in their 60s are not meant to care for infants. It brought me back to the time when I had an 11-year-old, two babies in diapers, one nursing, and having them with me while working full-time. This should have seemed like a vacation compared to that, but of course I did that when I was 30 years younger. Funny what a difference a few decades makes.

It is so fun to see mother and baby cooing and talking and laughing together. I would so love to be a day-to-day grandmother, not so far away.






Farmers' market, KOA, neighbors . . .

Saturday morning Chris and I ran downtown to the farmers’ market, a bustling affair with everything from handmade white cedar lawn furniture, live music and home-canned produce to spinners, weavers, herbs, vegetables and flowers. It is held near the capitol building; Topeka is Kansas’ capital. I began to like the city more than I had before. They are romancing new industry, evidently with some success, but it does seem to have more than its share of rundown areas.












































I couldn’t resist snapping a shot of the handsome Chief Drive-in Theatre marquee. Too bad there is a Walmart now in place of the drive-in, but at least they had the sense to leave the sign.

We are staying at the same KOA as last year. It’s a pleasant place with three good-sized ponds wherein lurk some huge lunkers - bass, catfish, bluegill and carp - a great game room, workout equipment (I didn’t wear that out) and super walking trails and birding areas. The ponds have a resident green heron in addition to ducks, geese and many other birds. We see lots of brilliant American goldfinches here. Kansas also showed us our first fireflies of the trip. I think they are just magical.

Our neighbors are fun and interesting. On one side are Russell and Theresa with Reggie, their rescue goose. It remains to be seen whether the names stands for Regina or Reginald. Reggie seems to fancy itself as a pet dog, following closely at the heels of its “parents”. He’s a beautiful gray color, incredibly soft and sweet.

To the left of us is a woman camping, so to speak, in a passenger van (not a camper) with four St. Bernards. She is here showing that quartet of her 16 dogs of the same breed left at home. I can scarce believe that she lives (temporarily, thank goodness) in there with those behemoths - a stronger woman than I. They are gentle and nice, as St. Bernards tend to be, and two of them took championships this time.

We were pleased to find that our friend, Ben, is still there. We met Ben last year and enjoyed having him over to jam on his guitar with Chris last time and again this year. His father passed away the week before we got there, so he and I spent quite a bit of time talking about that. Obviously, my loss is close on my mind right now. We find Ben to be a well-read, introspective and inquiring young man, and a good conversationalist.

At the end of a long day, we sometimes like to turn on the television. After all, we haven't had that experience for the past 35 years, so it's novel to us, and to Rowdy, who hogs the remote.





Abilene, Ike . .
Our one day away was to go down to Abilene to tour the Eisenhower Center - presidential library, museum, boyhood home and burial place. It was an incredible museum: I learned much about the first president I remember being in office. I’ve always thought highly of him as a statesman and leader, but did not realize much of what he did. I also loved learning about his family; however, my genealogist side was surprised to see that one of his early female ancestors has not been identified. Makes me feel a bit better to know that even the top researchers sometimes can’t find something.

The entire block of residences around Ike’s boyhood home was purchased and removed so that the campus now consists of only the Eisenhower family residence plus the two major facilities and a beautiful meditation center/chapel where he and Mamie were laid to rest. Personally, I would have preferred to see the house in its original context. It was not overly large for a couple with seven boys, six of whom survived.

I am especially taken with that area because of a family connection: my great grandfather, George Washington Taylor (unrelated to the Yates Center bunch) worked the second drive of cattle from Texas to Abilene on the Chisholm Trail. He was accompanied by his brothers, Daniel Meridith and Louis Dixon. We are fortunate enough to have an account of the harrowing journey written by Lewis.

We liked Abilene and would happily spend more time in the area. We also ran over to Manhatten (“the little apple” they call themselves) one afternoon to do a genealogical burial search. We had discovered earlier that Fred Sherwood was interred there, so the proximity encouraged us to look for him. After a stop at the genealogical society library, we found him in the Rebekah/I.O.O.F. Home cemetery, evidently indicating that he resided in that short-lived home, once a resort, a Job Corps facility now. It may have been the strangest graveyard I’ve encountered. The perimeter of a fenced grass field is lined by a sidewalk on which are stones for each burial. Are they all around the outside as the stones indicate? Who knows?

Flint Hills, rain, ants, oh my . . .
Much of this week’s travel has been in the Flint Hills region, which I’ve mentioned before. It truly is a wonderful area - awesome in scope and beauty. I am totally in love with the ochre/yellow limestone found here, must find a way to haul some home and utilize it in landscaping.

As we prepared for our departure this morning, a thought flitted through and stuck for a moment before I was able to dislodge it. It went something like this: “I wanna go home where it doesn’t rain all the time.” Cripers, it does get old after a bit! Last night, I arose somewhere around 3 a.m.and ventured outside to secure chairs, rugs, tablecloth, etc. away from the latest precipitation. I needed to get that done to avoid having to pack up everything wet and then possibly not be able to get it out to dry at the next place. The good news is: the rain stopped long enough after our short visit with the kids to allow us to get our packing done without getting soaked. The bad news is: we had water damage to containers in the lower compartment again . . . and . . . the ant infestation we experienced continues at the new place because oddly enough, the little creatures just rode right along with us; who knew they were such good travelers. Surely, I will have eventually vacuumed, stomped, crushed and brushed them all away.

Next time through: Fort Leavenworth, Barbara’s Clay Center, birding and fishing. Also a picnic and swim at the lake; it rained the day we had that planned.

Meteors, Yates Center, Kansas
August 12, 2009

Our first scissor-tailed flycatcher of the trip, and it flies right in front of our windshield - how fun is that! And then last evening, there were three gorgeous common nighthawks darting and swooping around us while Chris was playing the keyboard outside.

We got a bit of a late start this morning, primarily because I was zonked from getting up at 3 a.m. to watch the Perseids meteor shower. By that time, the moon was high in the sky, making us unable to see the smaller meteors. Even so, we counted about 40 per hour. I also watched earlier before moonrise, which is said not to be the optimum hour, and was totally wowed with some super spectacular streakers, the kind that make you gasp and keep telling people about it afterward even though once was more than enough, especially if they saw it with you.

We’re driving through Kansas’ enchanting Flint Hills, just a relaxing back road drive traversing miles of green, green farmland, rising high enough to provide distant vistas and dropping down into rock-bluff-lined creeks shyly glimmering under dense trees. While viewing the beauty of this area, I am inclined to treat it as I would intriguing places back home, and to want to explore and hike. I come to my senses about the time I remember that: 1. It’s private property, not the vast expanses of public land that I’m accustomed to in Arizona; 2. There are chiggers and ticks (In my own dyslexic way, I sometimes think of them as tiggers and chicks) in this country, thus transforming those welcoming lush grasslands into itchy hot humid trekking sites. I have determined to be satisfied with looking, and confining my hiking to developed trails.

We have just read that this area is also known as the Bluestem Region, a major cattle feeding area because of the excellent grasslands.

What a great route we’ve chosen to get to Yates Center (Topeka is later in the day). We’ve visited Yates Center twice before on the search for our Taylor ancestors on Mom’s side of the family. The first stop was just barely that; actually, it was more of a slowdown and a drive through the cemetery without even getting out. Even at that, we saw burials of kin. The second visit was last year, when we did research in the area, but declined a survey of the burying ground because of rain, rain and more rain.

When I think back to last year’s 4.5 month sojourn, I sometimes wonder if it rained the whole time. Of course it didn’t, but I do believe there was more wet than not.

As we come into Woodson County, where Yates Center is, I spot the Toronto Wildlife Area, which looks positively intriguing. This will be a must-return when we can drive back in there for a look-see. The adjacent Toronto Lake covers a farm once owned by my g.g. grandparents, Samuel and Sarah (McKinney) Taylor, as we discovered last year when we went to track down their home. Long ago, we found that couple’s final home in Neosho, Missouri. That was very exciting; all we had was a photo of them standing in front of the house and an inscription on the back (kudos to the person who did that!) with their name and the town’s name. Photo in hand, we arrived in Neosho and started driving up and down in the thankfully-small old section. There it was, exactly like the picture; I even expected them to come to the door. The folks who did come to the door let us tour and photograph the house.

Now back to present day: we are back in Yates Center, hopefully to get the job completed this time. Too bad that the graveyard is substantially larger than my memory indicated. Too bad, also, that it’s midday on a really hot clear sunny day. Oh well, faulty memory says the Taylors’ graves are easily visible from one of the lanes crisscrossing the cemetery, so we begin our survey that we will confine to those tracks. This time, we will be able to get digital photos and have them permanently recorded.

Hmmm. . . no, they’re not over at that far side where I was so sure I would spot them. Hmmm . . . hot slogging later - we’ve found the handsome handmade masonry monument marked only as “Taylor”, and we’ve found a marker for Samuel Taylor’s brother John. Where is the other sibling, Jacob, who we know remained in Yates Center? We can’t survey the entire place or we’ll never get to Topeka, so we opt for going to the local museum, the only research place we missed in past trips, but are not hopeful.

We are met there by two of the sweetest elders a person could ever hope to encounter. We are their only customers and they aim to please. Following conversation regarding our quest, we tour their extensive collections while the director searches for our kin. I point her to who is and is not ours, and she comes through with life stuff about owning hotels, being stone masons, and where they are interred. Armed with mapped locations, we return again to the cemetery (this is all on small dirt roads trailing the trailer), get everyone photographed and get on our way. Wasn’t that easy once we knew what we were doing.

While we are sweating and slogging, my attention is repeatedly drawn to the numerous metal emblems that mark many of the graves. I’ve seen them before, even photographed them, but have never seen this quantity nor such variety before. It has come to my attention that these markers are considered items to collect; obviously, that practice would necessitate removing them from the graves they mark. I am often shocked at the irreverence displayed toward our ancestors’ burials. Finally though, it occurs to me that I can collect them myself simply by amassing photographs, so I have begun that. Being in a bit of a rush, I was unable to get pics of the entire variety at Yates Center; however, I began my collection nicely with several, including World War I veteran, Civil War veteran, World War II veteran, G.A.R. (Grand Army of the Republic), Eastern Star, Gold Star mother, and more, some of which I don’t now know just what they denote. I will have to discover if these particular markers have a specific name.

Best epitaph:
“I pray that I may live to fish until my dying day.
And when it comes to my last cast, I then most humbly pray
When in the Lord’s great landing net and peacefully asleep
That in his mercy I be judged big enough to keep.”

And now: Sara and Trinity Grace: here we come.

Land Rush Museum, blog photos, escaped prisoner
August 11, 2009

Whew, what a relief: that scary storm dropped its rain on us last night and moved on its way. I am unenamored of the weather here. It gives me the jitters, so today’s blue skies punctuated by fluffy sheep clouds feel so much better, even though the humidity has jumped up to 3,000 percent or something close to that.

A welcome laid-back day, Chris did laundry while I wrote a blurb to go on the Goat Hill Music website about offering house concerts. I will send it along to our trusty website designer tomorrow after I reread it hundreds of times, but of course one time short of finding that goof.

I have been disappointed that the blog site reduces my photos to the point that they're pretty unimpressive (not that my photography abilities are all that great to start with). I just discovered that when one clicks on them in the blog, they are instantly transformed to full-screen size, thus causing pics like the trumpet-vine-covered shack and the creepy clouds to appear much more as they were viewed and intended.

We’re trying out a nice hot-weather salad tonight that I found in my "Southern Living" cookbook. It involves melons, prosciutto, provolone, greens and homemade poppy seed dressing. Seems that simple cooking turns into a major megillah in this small space, but in a way is fun because of the necessary planning and organizing and reaching above, below and around each other while putting it together.

Seldom content to stay put all day, we did errands and shopping and ran off to Arkansas (pronounced like “r and the state we’re in, not the other state, Arkansas) City to check out the Cherokee Strip Land Rush Museum. It was actually not as well done as the one yesterday in tiny Udall, but inevitably, we learned some about that aspect of history. There were some super photos of anxious pioneers lined up ready to ride horses or drive wagons out to grab their bit of property.

Interestingly, Arkansas City publicized itself better than most as a place from which to start. The result was that approximately 145,000 additional bodies spent a good part of a year here waiting for the land grab to begin. It did wonders for local business, of course, but one wonders if the negative effects might not have outweighed the fiscal benefit. It seems there was much question and a multitude of rumors about just when the land would be opened, so folks were cooling their heels waiting. I’m not sure, but I suspect a hard date had not been set, perhaps awaiting the completion of surveying and marking the parcels to be had.

The museum sported a genealogical library, too. We browsed it, but confined ourselves to perusing only a few indexes.

There was some unfortunate events unfolding all around us here without any knowledge on our part until afterward. Seems a jail prisoner with a violent tendency attacked a guard and escaped on Friday, and was only recaptured yesterday, Monday, after several car chases, shootings, and hunts with dogs. The RV park manager told us this morning that he shot and killed a man near here while stealing a truck, but we think that part may be rumor. At any rate, we are grateful he didn’t come by while we were wandering around.

Tomorrow, we hit the road again (sorry, Rowdy).

Black Dog, rivers, storms, cotton, economy
August 10, 2009

We have returned to the country of brick and cobblestone streets, makes a heck of a clatter when we’re pulling the trailer over them.

After crossing the Arkansas River for the umpteenth time, we see that it has gained back its lost water and is impressive once again.

When we have traveled the country previously, we could generally get a feel for the economy of various places - whether they were booming or declining, and often why. Now, however, it’s more difficult to make those assessments because of the general decline across the nation. Are those businesses closed because of what’s happening in the past year economically, or has some major area industry relocated? We are seeing store closures in our own town; the trends are hard to read.

I was shocked today when we were in the Cowley County seat, Winfield, and saw the beautiful impressive shaped-stone masonry buildings of a college, and then realized on closer inspection that they were empty and open to the weather with universally broken windows. What a terrible shame to let those wonderful edifices go derelict.

We seem to be in the vicinity of the Black Dog Trail, so called for its originator, an Osage chief of that name. It extended from east of present Baxter Springs, Kansas, to the Great Salt Plains in Alfalfa County, Oklahoma. Black Dog was blind in his left eye. An impressive figure, he stood around seven feet tall and weighed an estimated 300 pounds.

I see crape myrtle and rose of Sharon blooming everywhere here. It makes me wonder about mine at home. They were just budding out when we left. Seems that everything oughtta be in full bloom right now with our strawberries fruiting for all they're worth. We had some of our own frozen strawberries for breakfast this morning. Delicious, but no match a’tall for those incredible sun-ripened, sun-warmed delectables that I eat by the handful after being drawn to the garden by the alluring aroma.

We have seen quite a lot of cotton being grown here, a surprise to me. Its open white blooms are lovely; bolls are just beginning to form.

The evening temperature has plummeted down into the mid-70s and a sweet breeze enticed us out for a walk down our dirt road. It was enchanting - cool, quiet, a good-sized pond twined through the trees just off one side. A great blue heron soundlessly lifted away from there, didn’t give us so much as a squawk.

On the way home this evening, I saw such a funny sight that we were well past before I could register just what it was, then back we went for a photo and to share it with Chris. A large field of tall soybeans, and there sitting on a sea of green was the cutest brown head and two ears - a deer keeping watch. Just as we stopped, the head ducked out of sight and suddenly two deer began bounding as high as they could over the plants to get away from us. They looked like a couple of dolphins on the ocean surface smoothly soaring above and dipping below. I didn’t get my photo, but it was worth a turnaround for sure.

I did get a shot of an old farm house being reclaimed gracefully by trumpet vine and assorted foliage.

Shortly afterward, we saw an amazing cloud formation: a huge ropy light cloud running horizontally in front of a dark storm sky. Another photo missed when I looked through the viewfinder and saw the message, “batteries exhausted”. Heck, I’m exhausted plenty of times, but it doesn’t mean I quit working . . . at any rate, I whipped those useless non-power sources out, threw in young macho batteries and still got some dynamite shots, even though the rope was unraveling by then.

We search for Augustus Sherwood . . .

Our stay here was specifically to search for ancestor Augustus Sherwood. We thought he died here, or possibly farther north in Republic County. We didn’t know why he’d left Nebraska in his later years, but surmised it was to be with an offspring. The Cowley County courthouse in Winfield offered scanty records and none at all for Sherwoods. The nearby public library was disappointingly bare of historical or genealogical fare, too, although we spent substantial time perusing old newspapers on microfilm. About the most I learned there was that the term “dog and pony show” originated from spectacles called exactly that, performances that traveled from town to town much like the circus. I had thought it was a phrase conjured from imagination.

Chris was surprised to find a book containing baptismal and marriage records of the old Dutch church of Ulster, New York. That had nothing at all to do with our search, but we knew it would contain a slew of our other ancestral stuff, so much so that the task of reviewing it while sitting there was beyond daunting. I suggested that he Google it in case it was online. He did; it was, so he downloaded it.

About then, I began to wonder whether onsite research has passed its prime with so much being otherwise available. That doubt was cast aside later in the day. We left Winfield empty-handed (except for a billion things from Ulster) and wended our way to the tiny town of Udall, where our information told us Augustus had passed from his Earthly realm.

Downtown consisted of a community center, senior center, post office, museum and library. The only one open was the post office, and Augustus was not “wanted” there. Disappointed but still hopeful, we called the phone number posted at the museum. The lady who answered said she’d send her husband down in about ten minutes, and sure enough, there came Fred Satterthwaite to greet and admit us.

Another five minutes brought us to the laminated original front page of the Udall newspaper for September, 1904, and Augustus’ obituary. Wow, it told us he had sailed at age 21 (before the mast; I don't know what that means) on the whaler, Vesper, about his wife and 13 children, his whereabouts during his later years, and that he had moved to Udall four years previous to live with his son, Frederick.

We discovered his grave in the nearby burying ground, marked by a plain handmade concrete stone that states simply “Sherwood”. We think earlier family researchers have never tracked that down, but were basing their data strictly on an obituary published for him back in Nebraska.

We were happy to locate his resting place, put flowers on his grave, and to gain further information about him. We think his son is buried in Manhattan, Kansas. Because that is near Topeka, which is on our itinerary, we will give it a look-see.

Mr. Satterthwaite was an accommodating gem of a guy, retired from the Udall Police Department and as Cowley County Sheriff, he and his wife seem to be the mainstays of their interesting historical museum. He was just as excited as I when we saw the article about Augustus.

He showed us around and told us about the 1955 tornado that leveled his home town of Udall - a 3/4-mile-wide twister. Eighty-three people died in Udall, and 200 were injured, in addition to many hit by the same storm over a 50-mile path. The photos told the story of complete building devastation; nothing could explain the human losses and pain.

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Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’, keep that trailer rollin’
August 9, 2009

We managed to get on the road nine minutes after our stated goal of 7 a.m., one hour after arising. The trick seems to be to skip breakfast and forego coffee until we’re moving, glad we brought the thermos. After setting out, we dined on some groaty sickeningly sweet peach turnovers Chris located at the market where one purchases sickeningly sweet items. I didn’t get to read the Sunday paper, daggone it; I do like my little routines.

We drove away under generally overcast skies looking as if a storm was imminent.

We’re seeing lots of hay and corn fields, the corn being planted so densely that I thought it surely must be for the purpose of making silage, and sure enough, we eventually came upon a gigantic feedlot operation that utilizes silage for cattle feed.

We’ve also noticed quite a few abandoned rock ranchhouses and something called the Star schoolhouse, also constructed of rock, complete with a sign in front outlining its history. We zoomed by that, much to my dismay, and I was disinclined to request a turnaround. We have a fairly long day of driving ahead of us, so will forego a few sights. Perhaps a second cup of coffee will awaken my curiosity reflex. . .

We’ve just entered the flat state of Kansas (sorry, Barbara, I couldn’t help myself; I know that’s not true no matter what Chris says). Continuing on the route of the Santa Fe Trail somehow never ceases to intrigue me as I try to imagine the unimaginable - what it was like for those hardy souls who passed this way long ago. Surely it was just as difficult for them to imagine what awaited them.

We are now going through almost all crop land, encountering lots of combines and other harvest equipment on the road. We’ve passed large packing sheds for various melons and onions plus additional feedlots.

We’re seeing miles of power poles canted at about a 30-degree angle. Some of the line has been replaced and others are waiting to be, with the replacement poles lying on the ground. We thought at first it had been caused by wind, but on second thought, it seems unlikely that would create this kind of symmetry. Were they mechanically pushed aside in order to continue service while replacing them?

Sara called while we’re running down the road (how did we ever get along without cell phones?) and asked where we are headed. Embarrassingly, neither of us could tell her. I think she was a bit alarmed that her parents are hurtling down the highway to an unknown destination. Actually, it even alarmed me a bit. I think I’d better take a look at the map. The problem was because of whatever’s going on in Wichita causing the RV parks to be maxed out and us not wanting to give up the search for Augustus Sherwood.

Crossing the plains, there has been major agriculture, feedlots, and we’ve come into some oil country with the pumps working away out in the grasslands and corn fields.

A fuel stop in Dodge City. Odd that we’ve just crossed the route of cousin Art Winans. He was here yesterday on his way home to Texas after attending the Sturgis, South Dakota, motorcycle rally. Even odder when I Iooked over and saw a sign for Winans Oil. I think I will look up what Winans kin lives here; that’s one of my ancestral names.

Arthur was pretty unhappy about the so-called Boot Hill in Dodge and a recent poorly contrived replica of the frontier Dodge City. When we came through here last March after visiting Sara, Ray and Trinity Grace in Topeka, we were moving on, the same as today. One of these days, we’ll spend a bit more time there. Despite Art’s displeasure, I would like to look around a bit, just not at that Chamber of Commerce silliness. Art indicates that a historic section was razed to make way for urban renewal - a shame.

We thought it was hilarious last year as we approached and followed the signage to an overlook. Naturally, we pulled out - wouldn’t want to miss a thing - and found ourselves overlooking the stockyards. Somehow, that was not even close to what we expected.

As usual, roadkill shows us that we’re traversing territory unlike home; raccoons are the pavement pancakes of choice here, later we see possums and armadillos.

Seeing the sights in southwestern Kansas . . .

The folks in Mullinville are having a blast seemingly celebrating blasts of wind. It is unknown to us just what precipitated the roadside display, but it was surely worth a stop and photos. I’d guess for at least a half-mile, there are fanciful metal sculptures, flags, gee-gaws and wind-catchers galore, hundreds of them. There seems not to be a theme other than fun. Some are labeled as historical figures, places, cartoons, peoples’ names and I don’t know whut all (thanks to Andy Griffith). Pictures don’t begin to capture the fantasmagorical quality of it. Maybe I will discover what it’s about if, indeed, it’s about anything at all.

Same unknown with the “big well” marked on our map as a point of interest, but unexplained beyond being denoted with a red square. Further questions regarding the Kansas Meteorite Museum. Surely someday we will stop to see everything we want to see. . .

We’ve just passed through Greensburg, a scene both harrowing and inspirational. I disremember exactly when the tornado hit it, but at least two years ago, literally wiping it off the face of the Earth. The populace is rebuilding, a task so daunting I can’t imagine it, and in the process “going green” in a major way. Even now, there are still FEMA tent annexes as an adjunct to remains of the hospital. Downtown Main Street is no longer a thoroughfare at all, but a construction site. I saw one old two-story brick building left in the entire downtown; the attached edifices on each side are gone along with everything else there.

We see many signs pointing the way to lakes, waterways and wildlife areas. It would be interesting to check them out another time, but not today. This is our longest driving day so far, and we are anxious to be at our destination, still a few hours away at 2 p.m.

It may be a small world, but it’s a huge country.

Warm and warmer . . .

We’re running along just north of the Oklahoma border with our truck thermometer registering 103 degrees as we go through Pratt. We were told that they had 110 a couple of weeks ago, the highest temps ever recorded in this part of Kansas. Yikes! At least it’s not humid on top of it.

We have crossed the Arkansas River five or six times. Each time as we go downstream, it is smaller instead of larger, until the last crossing revealed only a small stagnant pool. I’m guessing this reduction is a result of irrigation water being drawn out.

This area consists of rolling hills (relatively speaking) with nice little creeks wandering here and there, plenty of forestation in the creek beds and around most of the fields - very pretty country. The sky is bluer than what we’re used to in this part of the country, probably lower humidity causing it to look more like our brilliant blue at home. These roads, U.S. 160 and U.S. 281, are excellent byways with scarce traffic and lovely views of farms, farmhouses and scattered small towns. There is some diversity of crops through here, but primarily hay, corn, sunflowers and milo.

Well, we’re here in South Haven where it is currently 7 p.m. and one billion degrees outside after 11 hours on the road. I left home why??? This park is ridiculously odd - newish, grassy but trees none (oh, there is a cute one; I almost didn’t recognize it blending in with the grass). We have a narrow broken-up piece of concrete alongside the trailer: some sort of sidewalk? And the internet works not at all. Three nights here does not sound attractive. There will be no sitting out in the hot wind, but we’re too tired to change and really no place to change to (evidently the Wichita Open is causing RV parks to be filled). Chris is dealing with the resident computer geek trying to get our internet going. At least with that, I will be able to distract myself.

I refuse to go into anything that has happened since we pulled in here. Suffice it to say we are in our third space; the internet works, and it is cooler outside - life is good.

Best residential sign: Garden of Weeden’.

Also visit us at: www.goathillmusic.com