tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42850077382459020862024-03-12T21:44:15.984-07:00Trip 2011Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-88608536179833905072011-07-13T03:49:00.000-07:002011-07-13T03:49:18.873-07:00The Final Blog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Monday, 11 July</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.24in; text-indent: 0.24in;">Well, we're back home in Salem. After the disappointment in Kalispell we decided to do the final what was planned to be two days in one. We had tentatively planned to try to reach the Zirkle family in Richland, Washington. The McIntosh connection to the Zirkles is through Janet Low McIntosh who married Dean Zimmerman, and many of the Ohio McIntoshes are descendants frin that marriage. I did not have a phone number for them, so I rang for information. There can't be a lot of Zirkles in Richland who are not related to Janet Low McIntosh, so I had high hopes of reaching a cousin there. But all I got was a discrete answering machine, and the message I left inviting them to have dinner with us went unanswered. So there was no reason to take a liesurely two days for the last 475 miles.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">So we rose early, went through the now pretty familiar routine of eating and preparing the rig for travel and headed for I-90. This time, however, it was to hell with saving gas; this time we would drive a reckless 65 miles per hour! Whoopee!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">The drive through eastern Washington is very interesting. Not so much for its beauty<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">—</span>though it is, but for its geology. At the end of the last glacial period there was a huge lake in the vicinity of what is now Missoula, Montana, formed behind sheet of glacial ice. When the glaciers retreated they released cataclysmic floods across eastern Washington and through what is now the Columbia Gorge. This it did several times over a period of several thousand of years. In western Washington the repeating floods scoured much of the soil from the volcanic base and distributed it in braided patterns of soil and rock. Where the plains of the Midwest are cultivated into seemingly seamless crops of corn and beans. In western eastern Washington, however, the farmer is forced to follow the braided patterns these ancient violent floods left behind.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">The effect in the Columbia was even more dramatic because the flood water carrying huge boulders which chiseled a narrow channel through the Cascade Mountains between what is now Oregon and Washington.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">Valerie and I felt a bit like we were being hurtled by these ancient flood waters as we bounced along, and I thought to myself, “Since most of the photographs I have taken on this trip have been from the cab of our rig, the final blog would be done that way <u>on purpose</u><span style="text-decoration: none;"> </span>rather than by necessity as it had been for the rest of the trip. The only shots that were not taken in this manner were the last two: Multnomah Falls and our home. Multnomah Falls, because it was impossible to see while speeding westward on the freeway, and home, because that is where the trip and the blog end. So fasten your seat belts for the final leg of the journey. And keep in mind that a click on a picture will make it larger.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;"><br />
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</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;"> <i>Scab lands, eastern Washington. Farmer have to work around the rock. </i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CTIF4P_VFJw/Th1Y-nLK22I/AAAAAAAAAUk/-4mw20t6Wlg/s1600/DSCN0698.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CTIF4P_VFJw/Th1Y-nLK22I/AAAAAAAAAUk/-4mw20t6Wlg/s320/DSCN0698.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;"> Here there is no working around the rock; the rock has won.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-96i-nobA63U/Th1Y_B3UujI/AAAAAAAAAUo/0MoW8ro6cag/s1600/DSCN0701.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-96i-nobA63U/Th1Y_B3UujI/AAAAAAAAAUo/0MoW8ro6cag/s320/DSCN0701.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;"> It may be flat here, but there no soil.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G-fodywpYCE/Th1ZBCID6NI/AAAAAAAAAUw/kN4kNQgddZE/s1600/DSCN0705.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G-fodywpYCE/Th1ZBCID6NI/AAAAAAAAAUw/kN4kNQgddZE/s320/DSCN0705.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;">It is hard to see in this photograph, but there is cultivation beyond the rock.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8FBhyU4PnLE/Th1ZB3QjyrI/AAAAAAAAAU0/X-HsQdCIyW0/s1600/DSCN0708.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8FBhyU4PnLE/Th1ZB3QjyrI/AAAAAAAAAU0/X-HsQdCIyW0/s320/DSCN0708.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;"><i>Here it looks like the Midwest: cultivation without boundaries.</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZOgplWLYRf8/Th1ZE8i7EXI/AAAAAAAAAVA/DyIA62jyQhs/s1600/DSCN0717.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZOgplWLYRf8/Th1ZE8i7EXI/AAAAAAAAAVA/DyIA62jyQhs/s320/DSCN0717.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;">It is easier to build on the scab lands than it is to plow it.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OxZxYsvEnrE/Th1ZF2Cxx_I/AAAAAAAAAVE/dSqj-daP0cA/s1600/DSCN0722.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OxZxYsvEnrE/Th1ZF2Cxx_I/AAAAAAAAAVE/dSqj-daP0cA/s320/DSCN0722.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;">Sage brush survives in the rocks, barely. The farmer has found good soil in between.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hGTUW6aCe7k/Th1ZG5VcqJI/AAAAAAAAAVI/xuW4ZyGXkRE/s1600/DSCN0726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hGTUW6aCe7k/Th1ZG5VcqJI/AAAAAAAAAVI/xuW4ZyGXkRE/s320/DSCN0726.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;">Again, no soil to cultivat; it was washed away during the Missoula Floods.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tm_mB3VnDsg/Th1ZHkU4t0I/AAAAAAAAAVM/N8yidHHD7Q4/s1600/DSCN0730.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tm_mB3VnDsg/Th1ZHkU4t0I/AAAAAAAAAVM/N8yidHHD7Q4/s320/DSCN0730.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;"><i>On the other hand, grapes do well on the rocks, especially chardonnay.</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QTYSORv_GBs/Th1ZItj9l2I/AAAAAAAAAVQ/SqOpSk1XnjQ/s1600/DSCN0732.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QTYSORv_GBs/Th1ZItj9l2I/AAAAAAAAAVQ/SqOpSk1XnjQ/s320/DSCN0732.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;">So do apples.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wb660BD1P1c/Th1ZNHcgOHI/AAAAAAAAAVk/zL7knluxSQU/s1600/DSCN0755.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wb660BD1P1c/Th1ZNHcgOHI/AAAAAAAAAVk/zL7knluxSQU/s320/DSCN0755.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;">This farmer has figured our to work with his land:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5Ny0DQ5aggM/Th1ZO9512gI/AAAAAAAAAVs/YzykTP_CHMs/s1600/DSCN0759.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5Ny0DQ5aggM/Th1ZO9512gI/AAAAAAAAAVs/YzykTP_CHMs/s320/DSCN0759.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><i>Now we're in Oregon driving east, driving through the gorge.</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xou_ezcY0Oo/Th1ZR6tCwEI/AAAAAAAAAV4/BnpE1rsm45s/s1600/DSCN0783.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xou_ezcY0Oo/Th1ZR6tCwEI/AAAAAAAAAV4/BnpE1rsm45s/s320/DSCN0783.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The hills are dry on the eastern side of the Cascade Mountains and, in the summer it can be hot - <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j8DQdQASKqE/Th1ZSkaIr0I/AAAAAAAAAV8/vyFJyxd3bCc/s1600/DSCN0785.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-j8DQdQASKqE/Th1ZSkaIr0I/AAAAAAAAAV8/vyFJyxd3bCc/s320/DSCN0785.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>on both sides of the Columbia River.<br />
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<i><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GBgTpqiwqag/Th1ZTQP5nsI/AAAAAAAAAWA/z5tVZhbG7Rs/s1600/DSCN0793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GBgTpqiwqag/Th1ZTQP5nsI/AAAAAAAAAWA/z5tVZhbG7Rs/s320/DSCN0793.JPG" width="320" /></a>But in the mountains it can be quite cold in the snow. This is Mt. Hood. It is 11,240 and is capped by several glaciers.</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RIvCHKJsKNc/Th1ZVDNT4VI/AAAAAAAAAWI/_nMkOwOF4Nw/s1600/DSCN0808.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RIvCHKJsKNc/Th1ZVDNT4VI/AAAAAAAAAWI/_nMkOwOF4Nw/s320/DSCN0808.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The gorge is beautiful, but busy. Here a train is next to I-84. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MFC_rmW06rI/Th1ZV5UwiJI/AAAAAAAAAWM/3y8XYtVmTxY/s1600/DSCN0809.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MFC_rmW06rI/Th1ZV5UwiJI/AAAAAAAAAWM/3y8XYtVmTxY/s320/DSCN0809.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>And windmills augment the power generated by the dams. There are 14 dams on the Columbia; we passed 4 on this trip: McNary, John Day, The Dalles, and Bonneville.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YlmBJl5_Uqk/Th1ZY3PwP7I/AAAAAAAAAWc/KxNxPxHwqH4/s1600/DSCN0825.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YlmBJl5_Uqk/Th1ZY3PwP7I/AAAAAAAAAWc/KxNxPxHwqH4/s320/DSCN0825.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><i>On the west side of the Cascade mountains the moist ocean air promotes heavy forestation. On the down side, it means for a fair amount of rain, mostly in the months from November through May.</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IqLgrQHZ4F0/Th1ZbbwfKKI/AAAAAAAAAWk/2KtqsBBQc0Q/s1600/DSCN0831.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IqLgrQHZ4F0/Th1ZbbwfKKI/AAAAAAAAAWk/2KtqsBBQc0Q/s320/DSCN0831.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><i>Multnomah Falls is one of many along the eastern half of the Columbia.</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nQZttSjxpTI/Th1ZcHJMpqI/AAAAAAAAAWo/1N5sJBSBFvo/s1600/DSCN0833.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nQZttSjxpTI/Th1ZcHJMpqI/AAAAAAAAAWo/1N5sJBSBFvo/s320/DSCN0833.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Vista House on Crown Point provides a spectacular view of the gorge and is part of a highway built in the early 1920s. Parts of it are still drivable.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vqS3n0D6bfI/Th1Y89eSt5I/AAAAAAAAAUc/G51XrPK4DtA/s1600/Xmas+2010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vqS3n0D6bfI/Th1Y89eSt5I/AAAAAAAAAUc/G51XrPK4DtA/s320/Xmas+2010.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Thanks to all of you who put us up, or just put up with us. We loved seeing you all, and your love and generosity mean a great deal to us.<br />
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And now that you know where we live and how easy it is to get around this wonderful land of ours, we hope you will give us the opportunity to repay you by coming to our home. And as you can tell be this picture, the grass is green here, even in the winter.<br />
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Much love to all,<br />
Bruce & Valerie<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.24in;"><span id="goog_1843258131"></span><span id="goog_1843258132"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZOgplWLYRf8/Th1ZE8i7EXI/AAAAAAAAAVA/DyIA62jyQhs/s1600/DSCN0717.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZOgplWLYRf8/Th1ZE8i7EXI/AAAAAAAAAVA/DyIA62jyQhs/s1600/DSCN0717.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-27715635194406467512011-07-11T00:30:00.000-07:002011-07-11T00:30:04.891-07:00Blog 18<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Saturday, 9 July</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">From Grandview RV Park we traveled up I-90 north to just below Missoula, MT, and set up our RV in <span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Ekstroms Stage </span></span></span></span><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Station</span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"> in Clinton, MT. It turned out to be a beauty. The setting was in an open pine forest and the principal buildings were reconstructed log buildings. The forest and the buildings gave the place a warm feel even in the high mountain air. </span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Another positive aspect was that it had an excellent restaurant with a real cook. The meals were not prepackaged meals which needed </span></span></span></span><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">only </span></span></span></span><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">to be warmed up. The meals were prepared and cooked right there. Scrumptious! This was a fortuitous coincidence as it was Valerie's birthday. We skidded the tires and ate <span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">in the restaurant</span></span></span></span></span><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">—</span></span></span></span></span><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">a nice treat for both of us: I didn't have to cook and she didn't have to eat my cooking.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.2in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Sunday, 10 July</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">This was to have been a very special day and one of the highlights of the trip</span></span></span></span><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">—especially for me. My brother and I had arranged to have a marker placed on the grave of our father's mother in Kalispell, MT. She died 11 days after our father's birth and was buried without a marker of any kind. I visited the cemetery several years ago and had found the place of her burial. It's a strange feeling standing in the place one knows is where a family member lies buried, especially under such tragic circumstances. The incompleteness of her life gives one pause, and the blankness of the unmarked grave seemed to me something that had to be rectified. One needs something to see, to touch, or to feel to mark the passing and give it meaning.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">So you can imagine my profound disappointment when I arrived at her grave and found it still unmarked. Apparently, the marker is still in the process of being manufactured. But I had traveled thousands of miles, and although nothing real had changed, it hurt not to be able to trace my fingers on the letters of her name, much as people do on the </span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Vietnam Veterans Memorial </span></span></span></span></span><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">in Washington, D.C. Ah, well, that is something that will have to wait for another day.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">And, once again, there is so much grandness and beauty in the Flathead Lake area, one can not long dwell on ones hurts.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gn5KDoGDUEE/ThqjYayaGcI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/U6hNeeDUhjc/s1600/Flathead+Lk+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gn5KDoGDUEE/ThqjYayaGcI/AAAAAAAAAUQ/U6hNeeDUhjc/s320/Flathead+Lk+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cFO0zk_eeYM/ThqjazvI8QI/AAAAAAAAAUU/ee236-_6g1A/s1600/Flathead+Lk+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cFO0zk_eeYM/ThqjazvI8QI/AAAAAAAAAUU/ee236-_6g1A/s320/Flathead+Lk+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Wcu4uT1Y06k/ThqjdLEU_xI/AAAAAAAAAUY/FnvvA7k77eU/s1600/Flathead+Lk+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Wcu4uT1Y06k/ThqjdLEU_xI/AAAAAAAAAUY/FnvvA7k77eU/s320/Flathead+Lk+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><br />
</div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-59247813879136121602011-07-08T23:21:00.000-07:002011-07-08T23:21:22.593-07:00Blog 17<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WHnBMVwZOAk/ThfsiX4u7MI/AAAAAAAAASg/nCp9f1zsJ4I/s1600/Babe+%2526+Bruce+at+Wall+Drug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WHnBMVwZOAk/ThfsiX4u7MI/AAAAAAAAASg/nCp9f1zsJ4I/s320/Babe+%2526+Bruce+at+Wall+Drug.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: right; text-indent: 0.24in;"><u>Thursday, 7 July</u></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">We left Mitchell and the Corn Palace far behind us, including a lovely thing I tried to lure away. But she was a young thing and could not leave her mother. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eIzPqgqTCck/ThfsrTNqrUI/AAAAAAAAASw/_x3Vlif8VRU/s1600/Dinosaur.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eIzPqgqTCck/ThfsrTNqrUI/AAAAAAAAASw/_x3Vlif8VRU/s320/Dinosaur.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">There was also a T-Rex involved in the escape, but that's another story.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crazy Horse from our campsite.</td></tr>
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">Probably from the first time we crossed the country from Oregon and back, we have stopped at the Crazy Horse Memorial in the Black Hills not far from its more famous neighbor, Mt. Rushmore. Mt. Rushmore is justifiably famous but it is dwarfed in size and concept by Crazy Horse, or, at least the conception of what it will come to be when finished many years away. In fact, all four of the faces in Mt. Rushmore will fit in the head of Crazy Horse, the only completed portion of the memorial. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">Crazy Horse was started by one person, Korczak Ziolkowski, who had but $174 to his name when he began the work. Korczak worked alone for many years, then his children joined him, and, at the time of his death in 1982, not a single feature could be distinguished. The family has continued his dream, and now, with the face completed and much of the horse's head cleared for carving, the work has accelerated. The work is far from over, however, and, like the cathedrals of Europe, the work may take several generations. </div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q1OCrWTTry0/ThfsqP99M8I/AAAAAAAAASs/4cFoa_iscfM/s1600/Crazy+Horse+next+morning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q1OCrWTTry0/ThfsqP99M8I/AAAAAAAAASs/4cFoa_iscfM/s320/Crazy+Horse+next+morning.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crazy Horse from US 385</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">Anyway, Valerie and I are much impressed with the concept and the passion of the work and, in our small way, like to support it. As we have done before, we camped in the Crazy Horse Heritage campground within sight of this work.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.2in;">Friday, 8 July </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">In the morning went to the nearby visitor's center, dropped a few coins on the usual stuff and ogled at the amazing collection of Native American artifacts that have been donated, and the amazing photographs of Edward Curtis.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ja4vNFWELRE/ThfsbAzIA3I/AAAAAAAAASU/PiEM47JMOTM/s1600/a+black+hills.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ja4vNFWELRE/ThfsbAzIA3I/AAAAAAAAASU/PiEM47JMOTM/s320/a+black+hills.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-If4_CUkGei0/ThfsgU4OTEI/AAAAAAAAASc/2M0Nsf3YN78/s1600/b+black+hills.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-If4_CUkGei0/ThfsgU4OTEI/AAAAAAAAASc/2M0Nsf3YN78/s320/b+black+hills.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">Then it was time to move on and out of this beautiful and inspiring land which the United States, in spite of treatises, stole from the people who considered sacred. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">As we moved northward thunder storms began to form in the snow capped peaks. It was beautiful to watch from our safe distance.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">Along the way, I was hooked by a billboard advertising <i>Red Ass Rhubarb Wine </i><span style="font-style: normal;">made by Prairie Berry Winery</span><i>.</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> I had to stop and try some and ended up buying three bottles and three bottles more of their </span><i>Crab Apple Wine </i><span style="font-style: normal;">as well</span><i>. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">It's good stuff!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OUigixctme4/ThftXTVSM7I/AAAAAAAAAUA/Zn8nq_mAipc/s1600/Wild+Sky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OUigixctme4/ThftXTVSM7I/AAAAAAAAAUA/Zn8nq_mAipc/s320/Wild+Sky.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-91SJ6CbfSKg/ThftQVdlZhI/AAAAAAAAAT0/OcRET7xIdLw/s1600/u+storm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-91SJ6CbfSKg/ThftQVdlZhI/AAAAAAAAAT0/OcRET7xIdLw/s320/u+storm.jpg" width="320" /></a>We had taken a bit too much time at the visitors center and the winery and were now late. We decided to call ahead to reserve a site in Hardin, MT. They warned us to watch out for a very strong storm poised to hit them. We had be watching thunderstorms forming in the mountains along side our route and were amazed at their beauty. Their warning reminded us that these storms, while perhaps beautiful, can be quite dangerous, especially in our rig, which is more like a box kite than an RV.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N_OrZKy00JA/ThftVaXp59I/AAAAAAAAAT8/BBM7YKUf6VE/s1600/W+Storm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N_OrZKy00JA/ThftVaXp59I/AAAAAAAAAT8/BBM7YKUf6VE/s320/W+Storm.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A storm avoided.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">We spotted the storm well ahead of us and noted that it appeared to be headed east, perpendicular to our route, and that, at worst, we might hit its tail end. As it turned out we pulled to the side of the road until the winds dropped a bit and then proceeded on without incident. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;"><br />
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</div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-8984728283541936242011-07-07T05:46:00.000-07:002011-07-07T05:46:58.049-07:00Blog 16<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y9JMM7py_jU/ThWjuT9EX7I/AAAAAAAAARY/IUf24hPAkb4/s1600/Isaac+Pletcher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y9JMM7py_jU/ThWjuT9EX7I/AAAAAAAAARY/IUf24hPAkb4/s320/Isaac+Pletcher.jpg" width="209" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.2in;">Tuesday & Wednesday, 5-6 July</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Today was a lesson in living with disappointment. We headed out for Cedar County, Iowa, to try to fill in the gaps in Valerie's great-great-granduncle, Isaac Pletcher (for those of you not conversant in genealogical speak, that would be the same as saying the the brother of Valerie's great-great-grandparent). We crossed the Mississippi River which was very full but apparently within its banks and in about 50 minutes were in Tipton at the Cedar County Historical Museum. Fresh in out minds was the memory of the outstanding Pickaway Historical Library in Circleville Ohio. There they had an outstanding collection of original documents, a librarian who knew which documents were the most likely to hold the answers to Valerie's questions, knew right where to find them, and had an assistant who was ready to make copies on excellent high-quality acid-free paper. At the Cedar County Historical, however, the attitude towards the collection seemed to be without focus, probably because there were insufficient funds to hire a trained curator. On the plus side they had constructed a rather nice facility to house the collection, but a collection without personal and sociological significance is little more than a collection of curiosities.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">We drove on leaving what might have been known unknown. The contrast with the Windham County Historical Museum in Newfane, Vermont, and the Pickaway County Historical Museum, in Circleville, Ohio, could not have been greater. It was with little glee that we rolled into the Des Moines West KOA. The way west from this point has only a few points of points of personal interest separated by many rather uninteresting miles and no cousins to visit.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">But I had forgotten what an amazing country this is! Mile after mile there is always something of interest. Unique, funny, curious, amazing, beautiful, and distaster. The way west may not have much of a plot, but it is a spectacular show. Our dampened spirits were soon lifted and our disappointments were put into their proper perspective.</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Millions of acres of cultivated fields.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Agricultural art.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fields and Flowers</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEtnuTQspw/ThWkEQ3vO9I/AAAAAAAAAR8/2dbo_v1_F24/s1600/I-80+C.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qJEtnuTQspw/ThWkEQ3vO9I/AAAAAAAAAR8/2dbo_v1_F24/s320/I-80+C.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Industry on a personal scale.</td></tr>
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This farm is perhaps not so prosperous but may earn a few bucks renting space for the sign!?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aon8QoxdJy8/ThWkF0a4cFI/AAAAAAAAASA/3cqVjzObqq0/s1600/I-80+D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aon8QoxdJy8/ThWkF0a4cFI/AAAAAAAAASA/3cqVjzObqq0/s320/I-80+D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b_GUbFGYzz8/ThWj30Qn0jI/AAAAAAAAARk/YDGtT7Yd1mw/s1600/Flooding+on+the+Missouri+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b_GUbFGYzz8/ThWj30Qn0jI/AAAAAAAAARk/YDGtT7Yd1mw/s320/Flooding+on+the+Missouri+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Omaha and the swollen Missouri River.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sand bags shield I-29</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flooding on the right - - </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flooding on the left.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A touch of whimsy</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XKBUx1_Mhk0/ThWkIKBBEUI/AAAAAAAAASI/8MspgczteJ8/s1600/I-80+wind+farm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XKBUx1_Mhk0/ThWkIKBBEUI/AAAAAAAAASI/8MspgczteJ8/s320/I-80+wind+farm.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Driving through wind farms</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XgZfnBdKsWc/ThWkJUjENSI/AAAAAAAAASM/yYbZUyy6F70/s1600/I-80+wind+farm+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XgZfnBdKsWc/ThWkJUjENSI/AAAAAAAAASM/yYbZUyy6F70/s320/I-80+wind+farm+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everywhere wind farms</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Zt_9dVN8bjk/ThWjz6Xf41I/AAAAAAAAARc/qg88RssiQvA/s1600/Corn+Palace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Zt_9dVN8bjk/ThWjz6Xf41I/AAAAAAAAARc/qg88RssiQvA/s640/Corn+Palace.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Valerie & Henny at the the Corn Palace in Mitchell, South Dakota.</td></tr>
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</div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-71575926453160283862011-07-06T18:01:00.000-07:002011-07-06T18:01:48.767-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tN2nzDqqrlg/ThUFMx06boI/AAAAAAAAARU/lwySCbO4uw8/s1600/Henryetta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tN2nzDqqrlg/ThUFMx06boI/AAAAAAAAARU/lwySCbO4uw8/s320/Henryetta.jpg" width="259" /></a></div><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Hello, this is Henrietta (AKA Henny),</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">My mom has been asking me to write something on this blog ever since we left home on this torturous trip. I told her that I don't know how to write and I don't have very much to say<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">—</span>you might say that this trip has left me speechless. I am clueless as to what we are doing. She said she would write for me, and I could just give her a few random thoughts, so, OK, here goes.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">This is the darnedest thing they have ever made me do. Almost every day I am made to get into this vehicle and sit behind my folks. The vehicle sways, bounces and rattles and makes other weird noises. Sometimes things fly down from above. Fortunately nothing has hit me (yet). One time a jug of orange juice fell on the floor and broke. What a mess that was!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">When we began the trip I was so scared I just shook and panted. I couldn't stand to look out the front window so I sat looking toward the back of the vehicle (which is appropriately, the toilet). I was exhausted! When we stopped I fell right to sleep and I wouldn't get up until about 2 A.M.. to eat my dinner. The weather was hot and windy and I drink my whole bowl of water every time we stopped.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">We have met some nice people on this trip. Sometimes we stay in their houses overnight, which is <u>much</u> nicer than sleeping in the vehicle. Sometimes they have friendly dogs. The trouble for me is that I don't feel like socializing. I am just too tired and worried.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">When we set up for the night in a campground, I try to get out of the RV as fast as I can. Some campgrounds have nice grass, but the majority of them have gravel, even so, I would rather lie down on gravel than be in the RV. Mom and dad pull the picnic table close to the RV. I like to lie underneath the table and sleep until it is dark when they make me come in.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">I have seen some interesting animals. My favorite are chipmunks, especially the ones that live underground. I had never seen them before. I also saw a snake, bunny rabbits, ground hogs, and, oh yes, buffalo.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">The worst thing that happens is when mom and dad make me stay alone in the R.V. I am really scared and I wail my head off. It doesn't seem to do any good. I usually fall asleep, but when they get back I let them know how miserable I have been.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">Well, I have no idea when or if this experience will ever end. Am I to spend the rest of my life in this torture chamber? I miss my family (especially Alex, Collin, and Rowan), the chickens and all of my friends. I want to send a “woof” out to Bandit, Floyd, Lizzie, Hannah, Hunter, Jake, and Roxie. I hope that I will see you guys again some day.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Henny</div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-28592837932352796652011-07-04T21:37:00.000-07:002011-07-04T21:37:27.405-07:00Blog 15<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tpH_BqchYGI/ThKSIWOxLgI/AAAAAAAAARA/84oHfkQ6CXc/s1600/Deb+%2526+David+Durham.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tpH_BqchYGI/ThKSIWOxLgI/AAAAAAAAARA/84oHfkQ6CXc/s320/Deb+%2526+David+Durham.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">Deb and David Durham</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">In all of our trips around the country we always visited my cousin Janet and her husband, Jerry Masterson. Janet & I had known each other since we were quite young. Her family would come to Vermont for vacations as we were growing up. Janet & I were closer geograpically than my other cousins who lived on the opposite side of the continent, and, because we were the same age, we were closer personally, as well. By the way, I am using the term <i>cousin</i> here in the normal sense meaning of <u>1</u><sup><u>st</u></sup> cousin. Most of the cousins I meet on these trips are more like 3<sup>rd</sup> or even 4<sup>th</sup> cousins, some several times removed. So in the first week of our trip when Janet's husband, Jerry, emailed me to say that Janet's heart was failing, it came as a complete shock. In our previous trips we always had stayed the night with them and had wonderful conversations punctuated with frequent laughter, but now Jerry was suggesting that we should count a only a brief visit.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tPrYta6wcYk/ThKSLmYkWPI/AAAAAAAAARM/Aow0Q_1fALI/s1600/Denis%252C+Denise+%2526+Elizabeth+May.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tPrYta6wcYk/ThKSLmYkWPI/AAAAAAAAARM/Aow0Q_1fALI/s320/Denis%252C+Denise+%2526+Elizabeth+May.jpg" width="278" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">Denis, Denise & Elizabeth May</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">Then, just a few days later, came the notice of her death. Valerie and I quickly sent off a card of condolence. Jerry replied with thanks, but also wrote that he was having considerable trouble with his grief, and it was decided we should plan on at least one night with him. Now, I am among the least qualified to help people deal with grief, but I looked to my father's example that showed me that ones physical presence is more important than what one might say. <u>Being there</u><span style="text-decoration: none;"> </span>is what is important.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">So we were there in Edinburg, Illinois, in the afternoon of July 3<sup>rd</sup>. Janet's son David, whom we had never met, came over to join us, and we had a wonderful night of laughter<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">—Janet would have joined us—</span>and tears. The next morning Jerry & I went to the cemetery to stand by Janet's grave. The marker is marvelous in that it is engrave with images of the things she love best. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5FxgwdkPUc/ThKSJh2VF3I/AAAAAAAAARE/Ki5mbYn6RUw/s1600/Deb+%2526+her+sister.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y5FxgwdkPUc/ThKSJh2VF3I/AAAAAAAAARE/Ki5mbYn6RUw/s320/Deb+%2526+her+sister.jpg" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deb, and her sister</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">David joined us again, and Janet's youngest son Denis and his wife and their new baby joined us as well. This, too, was a first for us. Denis, among other things, is a very talented musician. He also has an interest in family history, and so the two of us talked a bit about what we were doing in music, went through his mother's collection of genealogical material including some wonderful photographs. And then it was off to David's house for a late breakfast. There we met David's wife, her sister and her best friend.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">We could have stayed much longer and would have enjoyed every minute of it, but we needed to push on. So we said our goodbyes and embraced our new and old friends and set up camp on the shores of the Mississippi across from Davenport, Iowa. Our route out of of Edinburg took us past the grave of my cousin, and we had one more remembrance of her which brought a smile to my face and tears to my eyes.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">Best wishes to this wonderful family. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wKhN2iU13jg/ThKSN444LVI/AAAAAAAAARQ/mfSWEXLsTn4/s1600/Janet%2527s+grave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wKhN2iU13jg/ThKSN444LVI/AAAAAAAAARQ/mfSWEXLsTn4/s640/Janet%2527s+grave.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jerry at his wife's grave.</td></tr>
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</div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-67014969401328578452011-07-02T23:02:00.000-07:002011-07-02T23:02:24.748-07:00Blog 14<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Wednesday, 29 June</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We left Lakeside to our cousins, and, as it turned out, to more cousins than any of us had imagined. Just as I was preparing this blog, Lenore and Neil sent me an email saying that their son Chris and family, had notice that a Bruce McIntosh was also registered at East Harbor State Park but hadn't realize it was us! Had we known, we could have had an even greater party! Life is full of surprise and disappointments. It's necessary to keep the universe in balance.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The first stop was at the Ohio Genealogical Society Library in Belleville, Ohio. There Valerie found that her ancestors Henry & (Sarah Alspach?) Spade and other family member were buried in the Werner Church Cemetery in Walnut Township, Pickaway County, Ohio. She found lots of “itty bitty things” that help to bring the family together.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We then spent the evening talking with Lenore and Neil. They are an amazing couple; well read, talented artistically, and thoroughly entertaining and intellectually stimulating. It is through Lenore that I discovered my Ohio cousins, and I will always be grateful for that one simple element. I'll tell the tale one more time, perhaps for the first time in writing. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Ten or fifteen years ago, shortly after returning from our first trip to Scotland, I wrote a form letter with a stamped, self-addressed card to all twenty-four Andrew McIntoshes in the U.S. who were listed in a book I had purchased. Most of the few who bothered to reply indicated that there was little likelihood that they were related to me, and one tried to sell me something<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">—</span>all's fair in love and genealogy. One of the Andrews, on the other hand, thought to himself, “I don't know anything about my relatives, but my mother does genealogy; I'll send it to her.” And he did. His mother, Lenore McIntosh, replied to my note, gave me the name and address of Phebe Zimmerman, among others, and the rest is history. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Thursday, 30 June</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">After breakfast while I continued the conversations with Neil & Lenore, Valerie drove off to the Ohio Historical and Genealogical Society in Columbus, a short distance away, to dig deeper into her Spade ancestry. Among other things, she found a transcript recording the death and burial records for Jacob and Elizabeth Spade in the Zion's Evangelical Lutheran Church Cemetery in Washington Township, Pickaway County.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We all finished off the day with a lovely dinner out and, of course, more conversations.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hF7a1zccSxQ/Tg_6aEpiKAI/AAAAAAAAAQk/eODAnZANqyA/s1600/Neil+%2526+Lenore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hF7a1zccSxQ/Tg_6aEpiKAI/AAAAAAAAAQk/eODAnZANqyA/s320/Neil+%2526+Lenore.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Neil & Lenore McIntosh</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Friday, 1 July</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We said farewell to Neil & Lenore McIntosh, and headed south on I-71 and then on US 23 to Walnut & Washington townships. We were looking for some of Valerie's ancestors, especially Jacob Spade and his wife Elizabeth (Valerie had just found Elizabeth's first name two days before and is yet to find her maiden name). It's easier looking for dead relatives rather than living ones, for, unlike living relatives, the dead don't often move. However, cemeteries are sometimes abandoned and headstones are often made illegible by weather and other natural causes and vandalism. Also, they often fall over and, if neglected, are gradually swallowed up by the earth. We found the Werner Church (in a much delappedated state) and cemetery and located the stones marking the burial of Henry and Rosannah Spade and other family members. There may have been more buried under the sod.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vy-KWtZ__ro/Tg_8SQyducI/AAAAAAAAAQo/z8ZVRH1PghI/s1600/Werner+Church.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vy-KWtZ__ro/Tg_8SQyducI/AAAAAAAAAQo/z8ZVRH1PghI/s320/Werner+Church.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Werner Church</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">After unsuccessfully searching for the Zion Church Cemetery we went to Circleville. There, while I walked Henrietta, Valerie went to the Pickaway County Historical & Genealogical Society Library. There, with the help of an exceptionally knowledgeable and helpful staff, she struck pay-dirt. One of the bits she found was the location of the cemetery where Jacob and Elizabeth Spade were buried. She also found the certificate for the marriage of Michael Pletcher & Susanna Spade, an inventory for Jacob Spade's estate, and other legal papers relating to his death. With all this new information we headed out to find the cemetery and hopefully their stones.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Now, the dead may not often move but the years have a way of hiding them. The stones marking their graves are frequently worn by the weather making them difficult or impossible to read; or they may be broken by weather, trees or vandals, and those knocked over are gradually swallowed by the earth. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">After the first round of reading the stones in the yard, it appeared that we would be out of luck. But when we have time we like go around again looking especially for the broken and buried bits. I returned to a stack of miscellaneous fragments and got lucky. At the bottom of the stack was a stone, partially buried in a layer of turf. It was legible enough to suggest that the name might be Elizabeth. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Time to get down and dirty, and while I was digging, Valerie discovered that, with a little bit of cleaning, a nearby upright stone with an inscription we had previously thought too difficult to read was the stone for Jacob Spade. I eventually unearthed Elizabeth's stone. These were, without doubt, the graves of Valerie's ancestors, and perhaps the most significant genealogical find of the trip.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PYlCGnhzxwA/Tg_4EO0XkDI/AAAAAAAAAQM/J3JOgFOTeNI/s1600/Elizabeth+Spade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PYlCGnhzxwA/Tg_4EO0XkDI/AAAAAAAAAQM/J3JOgFOTeNI/s320/Elizabeth+Spade.jpg" width="172" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"> <i>In memory of </i></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Elizabeth</i></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Spade,</i></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>wife of</i></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Jacob Spade, who</i></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>departed this life</i></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>March 10, 1845, aged</i></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>77 Y</i>[ears], <i>2 M</i>[onths], <i>& 14 days</i>.</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Weep not my dearest friends</i></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Nor shed your tears in vain.</i></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>My face you'll see no more</i></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Till called to rise again</i>.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eQ_PT0ABAsE/Tg_57ZkflbI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/8IlURb7JiGg/s1600/Jacob+Spade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eQ_PT0ABAsE/Tg_57ZkflbI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/8IlURb7JiGg/s320/Jacob+Spade.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jacob's stone iwas engraved in German with Germanic block-text type. If I were close to a German dictionary I might be able to copy it here in the original. Instead, here it is in an English translation.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jacob</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Spade</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">10 October 1829</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">aged 65 years, 1 month, 27</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">days.</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Exhausted, and now behind schedule, we sped off to what was to have been our next campsite but instead was to be our room in the <span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Blue Licks State Resort Park Very comfortable and expensive. And because we were so late we picked up pizza. We both slept very well.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-U91bTjKSAxA/Tg_30RBXwrI/AAAAAAAAAQA/Q-7O-aXUixE/s1600/18th+century.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-U91bTjKSAxA/Tg_30RBXwrI/AAAAAAAAAQA/Q-7O-aXUixE/s320/18th+century.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Saturday, 2 July</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The thick curtain blocked the light of morning, and I slept until 7:30</span></span></span></span><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">—</span></span></span></span></span><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">unusual for me. After breakfast, I spent too long trying to work out the rest of the day, and suddenly it was time to go to Historic Washington, where an Allen ancestor of Valerie's had lived in the late 18</span></span></span></span><span style="text-decoration: none;"><sup><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">th</span></span></span></sup></span><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"> century. She had arrange for a tour, and so off we went. The tour was OK but the houses were wonderful. There were even some original log houses. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vadv3HYKc94/Tg_333ZUp8I/AAAAAAAAAQE/qBN_by2SKwE/s1600/18th+century+inside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vadv3HYKc94/Tg_333ZUp8I/AAAAAAAAAQE/qBN_by2SKwE/s320/18th+century+inside.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">From Washington we went back to Maysville where Valerie researched in the historical library and I took care of Henrietta, looked for Propane, searched for a place to spend the night, and then to get groceries. I failed in all but where to spend the night. Henrietta might </span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">also </span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">say I failed in my care-taking of her, but while she got the short end of the shift, she was not neglected. And here I am writing to you all in Indian Springs Campground in North Bend, Ohio. We still need propane and groceries.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Good night,</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Bruce</div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Stones in the Werner Church Cemetery</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-enjSsBf3ZBU/Tg_6DArAW9I/AAAAAAAAAQU/yZlktPetzsE/s1600/Misc.+Spades+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-enjSsBf3ZBU/Tg_6DArAW9I/AAAAAAAAAQU/yZlktPetzsE/s320/Misc.+Spades+1.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spade stone in Werner Church Cemetery.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yDLc1L3MAsU/Tg_6LebFVVI/AAAAAAAAAQY/GxclKqMZV64/s1600/Misc.+Spades+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yDLc1L3MAsU/Tg_6LebFVVI/AAAAAAAAAQY/GxclKqMZV64/s320/Misc.+Spades+2.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spade stone in Werner Church Cemetery.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LZoNH227Bxw/Tg_6P1q4P8I/AAAAAAAAAQc/PYR-rSC2aKQ/s1600/Misc.+Spades+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LZoNH227Bxw/Tg_6P1q4P8I/AAAAAAAAAQc/PYR-rSC2aKQ/s320/Misc.+Spades+3.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spade stone in Werner Church Cemetery.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MdbpB4K-wHg/Tg_6VAf2pII/AAAAAAAAAQg/Chnj0ZZZqGA/s1600/Misc.+Spades+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MdbpB4K-wHg/Tg_6VAf2pII/AAAAAAAAAQg/Chnj0ZZZqGA/s320/Misc.+Spades+4.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spade stone in Werner Church Cemetery.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nU3sZCWJIvc/Tg_3_-zq0nI/AAAAAAAAAQI/lA9ou725zPA/s1600/Bruce+escavating.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nU3sZCWJIvc/Tg_3_-zq0nI/AAAAAAAAAQI/lA9ou725zPA/s320/Bruce+escavating.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bruce excavating the Elizabeth Spade stone.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3LRpQ1Y5q-o/Tg_8by-XUoI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/VHZ2Q9C-F2g/s1600/Werner+Church+Sanctuary+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3LRpQ1Y5q-o/Tg_8by-XUoI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/VHZ2Q9C-F2g/s320/Werner+Church+Sanctuary+2.jpg" width="230" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Interior of Werner Church. Sanctuary.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ALfJqzKc-gI/Tg_8VgwoDFI/AAAAAAAAAQs/eIUqUiOO2JU/s1600/Werner+church+interior+entrance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ALfJqzKc-gI/Tg_8VgwoDFI/AAAAAAAAAQs/eIUqUiOO2JU/s320/Werner+church+interior+entrance.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Interior of Werner Church. Entrance.</td></tr>
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</div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-11452868901820371292011-07-02T07:02:00.000-07:002011-07-02T07:02:46.144-07:00Blog 13<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Wv0LBal1NVg/Tg8kR-S2RiI/AAAAAAAAAP0/fXVlyyPTSPE/s1600/DSCN0097.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Wv0LBal1NVg/Tg8kR-S2RiI/AAAAAAAAAP0/fXVlyyPTSPE/s640/DSCN0097.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Monday, 27 June</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We said goodbye to Betsy in Ann Arbor (Chuck had already left for work before we awoke) and drove to the end of a spit of Ohio land lying east-west in Lake Erie where we set up camp in East Harbor State Park. After resting a bit we called McIntosh cousins to say we had arrived. They invited us to join the gang at Lakeside a Chautauqua village on the shore of the lake. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Tuesday, 28 June</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We spent much of the day chatting, renewing old acquaintances and becoming friends with new folks. The list is long and perhaps confusing.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><u>Judy Hammer</u> (since the death of Aunt Elizabeth is the grandam of the group) </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> her daughter and son-in-law and grandchildren <u>Beth & Randy Bartels,</u></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> <u>Hailey & Paige</u>; </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> nieces <u>Ellen McChesney</u>; </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> <u>Carol & Jeff Phillips</u><span style="text-decoration: none;"> </span>and their children </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> <u>Drew</u>; </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> <u>Joyce & Kent Murphy</u> and their daughter</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> <u>Jillian & Meghan</u></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">and various in-laws who and others whose names and relationships I have forgotten, while maybe not having that extra special drop of McIntosh blood cursing through their veins, none-the-less made us feel very much welcome.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q1Dyhq7mIb4/Tg8kWNgjaKI/AAAAAAAAAP4/nzfL2mTyJR4/s1600/DSCN0104.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q1Dyhq7mIb4/Tg8kWNgjaKI/AAAAAAAAAP4/nzfL2mTyJR4/s640/DSCN0104.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-28616273246125829452011-06-27T12:50:00.000-07:002011-06-27T12:50:48.899-07:00Blog 12<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sorry to keep you all waiting. We have too often been out of the range of a wifi signal. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fiayWXfLZI4/TgjYrAvlt4I/AAAAAAAAAPA/TekqIe8n1Tg/s1600/Phebe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fiayWXfLZI4/TgjYrAvlt4I/AAAAAAAAAPA/TekqIe8n1Tg/s320/Phebe.jpg" width="248" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Thursday, 23 June</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">We met with Bob & Betsy Zimmerman in Betsy's sister's place in Burton, Ohio, in the middle of Amish country. It is charming seeing horse-drawn buggies on the streets sharing the pavement with cars, trucks and RVs. Perhaps the most interesting contrast was seeing the horse and buggies parked in special shelters next to a Walmart. There's definitely a lesson to be learned here, however. While the average American enjoys many amenities, luxuries and conveniences, it is done at a great cost to the environment. Meanwhile, the Amish thrive while mowing and cultivating their fields with horses. They leave a very gentle footprint on planet earth.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EzRkJG4azE8/TgjYuvMssVI/AAAAAAAAAPI/KDXg_0c--zA/s1600/Blog+12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EzRkJG4azE8/TgjYuvMssVI/AAAAAAAAAPI/KDXg_0c--zA/s320/Blog+12.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">Bob's sister-in-law lives in a wonderful house built in 1820 occupied by people of note in Ohio. We chatted with Bob a while, catching up on this & that, and then had lunch in an Amish restaurant and traveled to meet with his mother in nearby Hiram. And talk about houses people of note, President Garfield once lived in Phebe's home and Phebe is a relative of Garfield's.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">But this is not a story about famous people, it is a story about an extraordinary family, and for sure, Phebe's life is quite extraordinary. Besides sharing gene's with a president she, her husband<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">—</span>the late John Pridy Zimmerman<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">—</span>and her four sons, Bob, Ted, John, Jr., and Dean, are all highly intelligent, well-educated, well-read and accomplished in their fields. The house and the treasures in it are physical testaments to their lives and the things they hold dear. We were unable to meet with Ted, John, Jr., and Dean. That will have to wait for a future trip. The visit finished with a delicious dinner at the nearby Welshfield Inn with Bob and Phebe. Thanks Bob! </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gZpFwgsIG28/TgjY0ZApbwI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/N4kgd-B2HTw/s1600/Farm+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gZpFwgsIG28/TgjY0ZApbwI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/N4kgd-B2HTw/s320/Farm+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.24in;">Friday, 24 Jun</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">This was a primarily a day of travel, not a particularly long day, but a trip through the heartland of this country, through the rich farmland of northern Ohio and southern Michigan. Our first stop in Michigan was to try to find out more about the life of my great-granduncle, John H. Purves. You may recall John from our days in Georgia. John fought in several battles in the Civil War and was quite seriously wounded. After the war he lived for about seven years in Sandusky, Ohio, and then moved to Jackson, Michigan, in about 1875 and lived there until his death in 1923. The <i>when</i> is not quite so interesting as the <i>what</i> he did there. He became a prison guard, and especially while serving as the captain of the night watch, he kept a journal detailing his experience there, the things he witnessed. Shortly after his death, the prison edited and printed in book-form these journals. My cousin, Christine Lurk (see Blog 7), discovered the journals in their printed form and sent me a copy, and Sunday, Valerie and I will go to the old prison on a tour and hear his words as part of the narration.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">At the end of the day I met with the woman who will conduct the tour, Judy Gail Krasnow. She was excited to meet the great-grandnephew of John H. Purves. She took us into her apartment in the Armory Arts Court where she now lives. The Armory Arts Court is a prize-winning reconstruction of the old prison where Purves once worked. There she gave me a copy of this wonderful picture that a relative of another night watchman had given her. Written on the photograph is: “When he worked at Jackson Prison.Walter Bearse.” We are looking forward to the tour and I will tell you all about it in the next Blog.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8ga_i_boqsk/TgjZEsNbXiI/AAAAAAAAAPw/bF5dxwX97Tg/s1600/Night+Watchmen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="460" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8ga_i_boqsk/TgjZEsNbXiI/AAAAAAAAAPw/bF5dxwX97Tg/s640/Night+Watchmen.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Night Watchmen, Jackson Prison, Jackson, Michigan. John H. Purves, Captain, front and center.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">Our home for the two days was amazing. There were well over 1,100 campsites, many of which were permanent<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">—</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">at least until they die</span>. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Saturday, 25 June</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VYwZJFGB-hU/TgjYzB1n71I/AAAAAAAAAPM/O2Hk_rFLvJs/s1600/Cemetery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VYwZJFGB-hU/TgjYzB1n71I/AAAAAAAAAPM/O2Hk_rFLvJs/s320/Cemetery.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An interesting monument/vault in Woodland Cemetery.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">In the morning Valerie & I went to the Jackson Public Library to do a little research. Unfortunately we did not leave ourselves enough time, we but did discover, among other things, that he and his wife were buried in Woodland Cemetery. Then, knowing that, we went to the cemetery where we found, unfortunately, that the office is open only on weekdays. The cemetery is large and there was no way that the two of us could find their graves simply by walking around. Because he was in the GAR (Grand Army of the Republic) we narrowed our search to graves with GAR markers. It was, however, to be for naught, and we had to move on to our next destination, the home of Walter and Gloria Edwards in Owosso, Michigan.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7bkpV-JNnfM/TgjY6H5Ty5I/AAAAAAAAAPk/pi-KFexjzcM/s1600/Gloria+%2526+Wally.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7bkpV-JNnfM/TgjY6H5Ty5I/AAAAAAAAAPk/pi-KFexjzcM/s320/Gloria+%2526+Wally.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">Walter Edwards is my second cousin once removed, that is to say, his great-grandparents are my great-great-grandparents. We had never met them and found them delightful. Walter has been many things throughout his long life: Fireman in the Birmingham Michigan Fire Department, ceramic tile setter, and during WWII he was in the Navy serving as a technician specializing in fire control and radar. In addition he is an accomplished furniture maker. Gloria is an artist specializing in painting ceramics. We were most impressed with them both. Their long lives have been very rich and full.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">We finished the day by returning to our camp.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sunday, 26 June</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">After breakfast, we headed back to Jackson for Judy's tour of the prison. Story telling is her thing, and she does it very well. Her narrative has been thoroughly researched, the selections chosen are interesting and dramatically presented. After the tour we took her out to lunch and introduced her to my collection of the Purves' millitary service records and pension applications. She got quite excited by it and after lunch we copied it all for her. I wish I could return next year to see how see incorporates this new material.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">Afterward, we looked for former residence of the Purves family, and then set out for Ann Arbor where we met Betsy & Chuck Price. They are busy people! And busy people are always the most interesting, so we were fortunate to find a time when they were both at home. Chuck is a radiologist, and it's fascinating hear the business from his side. We've only experienced it from the patient end, and there's so much more that we are unaware of. Betsy volunteers for least two worthy causes, and does gorgeous quilted work, everything from the typical squares cleverly pieced together to free-form pieces. And she makes the in all sizes, from picture size to full-size bed spreads, all of them knock-dead gorgeous.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;">We next moved on, back to Ohio where we will meet up with many of the Cleveland folks. More on that on the next blog.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.24in;"> More pictures of the magnificent farms along the way.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.24in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ogB3wPAc0xc/TgjY1Rghj9I/AAAAAAAAAPU/Nr6aCxLt7KM/s1600/Farm+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ogB3wPAc0xc/TgjY1Rghj9I/AAAAAAAAAPU/Nr6aCxLt7KM/s320/Farm+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D2rR7E2vHQY/TgjY2E6qcjI/AAAAAAAAAPY/fZ6uQdwpXfc/s1600/Farm+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D2rR7E2vHQY/TgjY2E6qcjI/AAAAAAAAAPY/fZ6uQdwpXfc/s320/Farm+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3sJX2RMk0Hs/TgjY3N8oBaI/AAAAAAAAAPc/MwFfptw2338/s1600/Farm+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="194" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3sJX2RMk0Hs/TgjY3N8oBaI/AAAAAAAAAPc/MwFfptw2338/s320/Farm+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HeV2qqZ2HPA/TgjY8ikCHHI/AAAAAAAAAPo/3VNLUQ8lFAI/s1600/House+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HeV2qqZ2HPA/TgjY8ikCHHI/AAAAAAAAAPo/3VNLUQ8lFAI/s320/House+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6P68PXnFFEs/TgjZBb-uYlI/AAAAAAAAAPs/XbDWeSpiQlw/s1600/House+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6P68PXnFFEs/TgjZBb-uYlI/AAAAAAAAAPs/XbDWeSpiQlw/s320/House+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m97nxWKcDrI/TgjYsfA03SI/AAAAAAAAAPE/9I_bmB1MKxw/s1600/Amish+%2526+Walmart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m97nxWKcDrI/TgjYsfA03SI/AAAAAAAAAPE/9I_bmB1MKxw/s640/Amish+%2526+Walmart.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At KMart: A horse & buggy and a shed to shelter both from the weather.</td></tr>
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</div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-48892162835500291352011-06-22T19:43:00.000-07:002011-06-23T05:18:52.110-07:00Blog 11<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">People have been having trouble reaching me and placing comments on this blog. I'm so sorry!. I should have printed my contact numbers from the beginning of the trip. The best I can do now is to print them here now<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">—</span>better late than never. Here they are: my cellphone: 503-385-6118; my traveling email: <a href="mailto:john1848@gmail.com">john1848@gmail.com</a>. I apologize to those of you who tried and failed to reach me. If I have passed through your neck of the woods and we didn't get together, I am truly sorry, we would love to have seen you. We won't now be able to go back to see you. I'll just have to do better next time. Between now and then, you are all always welcome to visit us in Oregon anytime. 503-585-4298; <a href="mailto:bvmcintosh@comcast.net">bvmcintosh@comcast.net</a>.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">22 June</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">It was purely a travel day, but there were lovely things to see. Unfortunately, both our cameras were down; mine because I forgot to pack the battery charger; Valerie's simply gave up the ghost. I got her another, and we can call it an early birthday present (9 July). It was too late, however, for the best of the views. I-80 follows the Susquehanna River for several miles, and the valley views with the many well-maintained farms were gorgeous.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">At the end of the day we set up for the night in Kool Lakes, a private, unaffiliated campground in Parkman, Ohio<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">—</span>not spectacular but very pleasant and quite convenient to tomorrow's events. Tomorrow we are looking forward to visiting with Bob Zimmerman and his mother, Phebe. Bob & I have been sharing old photographs and information since the first McIntosh reunion that I have been privileged to attend in the summer of 2000. When I look back at that event I still can't believe it happened. I don't remember how many came<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">—</span>I have that information at home<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">—b</span>ut I do remember that Bob was there with his mother and father, and his three brothers and much of their families. The reunion was made conceivable by Lenore & Neil McIntosh. It was Lenore who released a flood of information that showed me that I had a great bounty of cousins in Ohio and beyond. And Phebe provided me with names, phone numbers and addresses. We all had one thing in common: two ancestors named James McIntosh & Agnes Davidson. More and other interesting relationships have since been discovered, but the core that came that day were particularly special to me. With a little bit of tweaking from Phebe and others they came; some hadn't met since childhood; other had never met. We met in a cemetery in which most had never been. We were rained on; we split into two groups, but it was a magical day, and I shall never forget it.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Tomorrow I meet again with Phebe and Bob. I'm greatly looking forward to it.</div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-31194672037415462122011-06-21T22:17:00.000-07:002011-06-21T22:21:42.789-07:00Blog 10<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v0HXs0XwcvM/TgFlVF59vvI/AAAAAAAAAOE/rJwK4Rq2Jbg/s1600/%2521-91+village.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="172" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v0HXs0XwcvM/TgFlVF59vvI/AAAAAAAAAOE/rJwK4Rq2Jbg/s320/%2521-91+village.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A village in northeastern Vermont as seen from I-91.</td></tr>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></div>Friday, 17 June<br />
The way back through Vermont took us through some beautiful landscapes and towns. I-91 through northeastern Vermont is quite spectacular. The views are broader than they are further south where the mountains are closer together and the valleys are more narrow and deep and more intimate. US-4 took us through one of the most beautiful cities, architecturally speaking, in Vermont. The many old grand buildings have been well and lovingly preserved.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qsjRGUtqt9g/TgFlYV4qraI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/8EY0Q90OX4A/s1600/Benson+farms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="192" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qsjRGUtqt9g/TgFlYV4qraI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/8EY0Q90OX4A/s320/Benson+farms.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Farms in Benson, Vermont.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-slfAxpWFYBU/TgFlgtJ6z1I/AAAAAAAAAOk/ZZSRIrJqNyM/s1600/United+Church+of+Benson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-slfAxpWFYBU/TgFlgtJ6z1I/AAAAAAAAAOk/ZZSRIrJqNyM/s320/United+Church+of+Benson.jpg" width="240" /></a>For me, the biggest surprise of the trip thus far was Benson. Benson is a very old town dating back into the 18<sup>th</sup> century and has some beautiful old buildings in a good state of preservation. But what surprised me the most was the vitality of the farms. The area around Townshend where I grew up has been much altered by the influx of people from Massachusetts, New York and, especially Connecticut who have bought what were often beautiful old farms. But beauty is not just aesthetic, it is function, and these new people were seeking escape from the more industrial cities in the neighboring states and were not seeking to maintain these properties as farms, but country cottages, escapes from the frantic drum beat of the cities. The most positive result of this migration was the preservation of the homes, but the barns and other outbuildings often fell into decay and the fields, no longer cultivated nor mowed soon were overgrown with brushes and trees. And worse, the migrants altered their summer cottages in ways which destroyed their aesthetic function. The house in which I grew up is very much a case in point. While my parents were operating the business manufacturing copperware, they also maintained the integrity of the original builders. Changes since the sale of the house are of a quite different aesthetic.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">Bomoseen Lake, VT, turned out to be one of our least favorite campsites, especially when compared with the reception we received at the Langlois' home. But we were not here to have a fun time in the lake but to meet David Wright & Mary Lou Willits. David picked us up at our campsite and immediately began a narrated tour of the area<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">—</span> historic, philosophic, the aesthetics, the economics<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">—all rolling off the tongue of this amazing contractor/master builder/historian/businessman/conservator. As we traveled from the park to his home we learned the history of the place, his involvement in the restoration and preservation of historic landmarks that he is personally involved with as well as the efforts of others in the community. We love his home filled with craftsman-style furniture, art, lamps, and other objects including copperware in the craftsman-style, some Vermont Copper Crafters (my parents' company) and some Craftsmen (the company for whom my father worked 1939-1941).</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Saturday, 18 June</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">We set out for Londonderry to meet with Tom Platt to try to work out a plan for the paintings of Arthur Gibbs Burton, AKA “Mr. B” in the McIntoshes when I was growing up. Mr. B was an artist specializing in oil paintings of the Vermont landscape. He lived with the McIntosh family in the last years of his life and left his paintings to my mother when he died. Some years later, Tom Platt, then a client of my mother, (a CPA at that time) became enamored with Mr. B's work and worked out an arrangement to display the paintings in his restaurant and sell them, splitting the proceeds with my mother. My mother died in 1998, and so to bring this much-too-long introduction to a conclusion, Tom and I worked out an agreement to bring the relationship to a final conclusion. By the way if you are ever in or near Londonderry, VT, be sure to stop at the Garden Cafe and Gallery for a delicious lunch or supper surrounded by a collection of wonderful art works.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">After saying goodbye to Tom we headed off to nearby Weston to say “Hi” to Jerry Bidlack at Kinhaven, a summer music camp. You may recognize the name “Jerry,” my high school music teacher, from Blog 8. Unfortunately, Jerry was attending a funeral and was not at the camp. However, Michael Finckel and his wife were there which I had not anticipated. Michael is the son of George Finckel, my second, and one of the two most influencial cello teachers I had. It is always a treat to meet good friends unexpectedly, and it helped erase the disappointment of missing Jerry.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JiaL_32aaNQ/TgF3i_VBphI/AAAAAAAAAO8/gIW7uy3FwTU/s1600/IMG_2279.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JiaL_32aaNQ/TgF3i_VBphI/AAAAAAAAAO8/gIW7uy3FwTU/s320/IMG_2279.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">VCC #506, Fern Planter, Boiler style.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">We couldn't hang around long because with had to get back to Townshend. In Townshend I gave a copy of my book on the Vermont Copper Crafters (VCC) to Carol Melis (see Blog 8) with whom we had a lovely chat. Then we set off one more time to see <span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">to see if we could find Otto Tarbel and take a picture of my father's bas relief of a wood cutter. No such luck, but we did find his mother and her husband in the old brick school house. We had a wonderful chat with them. Their turning the old school house into a residence has preserved a piece of history for future generations, and in the words of Martha Stewart, “that's a good thing.” One of the fringe benefits of this visit was getting a picture of a VCC piece that was not included in the Gallery section of my VCC book: #506, Fern Planter, Boiler style.</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lOzRBmGAZcA/TgFlXCw4KpI/AAAAAAAAAOM/j91kDhkSrDM/s1600/Band.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="222" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lOzRBmGAZcA/TgFlXCw4KpI/AAAAAAAAAOM/j91kDhkSrDM/s320/Band.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Alumni Parade "band"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">We then skidded the tires economically and had dinner out at Bootsy's Bar & Grill in Newfane and then it was back to Townshend to join my old classmates in the Leland Gray Seminary Alumni Parade. Now don't get the wrong idea; by the time I attended LGS the word “Seminary” had no significance whatsoever, and it is now known as <i>Leland & Gray Union High School</i>. The parade was fun, and I got to renew old acquaintances, and to find out what happened to them all. And by the way, the float won 1<sup>st</sup> place! I'm sure my presence there is what made the difference! </div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hE8LBZqCLhU/TgFlcJJezrI/AAAAAAAAAOY/1WkdR4dqvuk/s1600/Float.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hE8LBZqCLhU/TgFlcJJezrI/AAAAAAAAAOY/1WkdR4dqvuk/s320/Float.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Class of 1961!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">Well, more likely, the sentimental judges were probably swayed by the fact that it was our 50<sup>th</sup> anniversary.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">We spent the night on Carl Steiner's property, and feeling the exhaustion of a rather full day we slept soundly.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Sunday, 19 June</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">This was to be a day for travelling, but we started with one last attempt to find Otto. But it was not to be, so we headed for I-91. We refilled our propane tank to make sure that the refrigerator would keep what was left of our bison frozen, and in Concord, Massachusetts, we picked up I-84 to begin the final westward leg of our odyssey.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">Then the shaking began, and in Brewster, NY, <span style="color: maroon;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>BANG!</b></span></span> A blowout! Fortunately, it was one of the rear tires which are dual tires, so Valerie was able to regain her composure quickly and safely move over to the shoulder. We called AAA, and, while waiting for the tow truck, we began considering our options. After being towed to the garage we got a taxi to a nearby motel where we ordered pizza, watched TV, and fell into a much welcomed sleep.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Monday, 20 June</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;">I woke early<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">―</span>far earlier than necessary<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">―</span>still considering our options, and then walked the mile or so on a very busy road to the garage. The best of the options in our opinion was to get six new tires and continue our trip pretty much as planned. However, if you recall from our <span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Cheever Tire & Wheel experience in Bellows Falls, our tires are hard to find. What we settled on was a 185R 14D tire to replace the original 185R 14C. </span></span> The 14D is a bit thicker than the 14C and thus tougher, which is good, but it was chosen because the 14C is not locally available. And, even at that, the 14D tires would not be available the following morning. The good news is that we will be on the road again by noon Tuesday.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Tuesday, 21 June<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">―</span>the first day of summer, and always my brother's birthday. </div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: maroon;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Happy Birthday Bob!</b></span></span></div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black;">As promised, we were on the road pretty close to noon, and as it was a day for travel we just got on the interstates and rolled along in our usual 55 mph and stopped at the KOA in New Columbia, PA, where we hoped to find a wireless internet so I could get this long overdue Blog published.</span></div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-63069160763549742482011-06-17T15:05:00.000-07:002011-06-17T15:05:03.577-07:00Blog 9<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RQubvnWNPNg/TfvFTvg-KtI/AAAAAAAAANY/5kq1qevaz1c/s1600/Cheever+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RQubvnWNPNg/TfvFTvg-KtI/AAAAAAAAANY/5kq1qevaz1c/s400/Cheever+4.jpg" width="264" /></a></div><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.1in;">Tuesday, 14 June</div>We woke in the middle of the night to the rather loud noise of rain hitting our roof. It probably sounded heavier than it was, but it was pretty steady most of the night and continued well into the daylight hours. We had to get up early and drive back through Bellows Falls to Alstead, NH, for a 9:30 appointment for a wheel problem<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><i>—</i></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">hopefully nothing worse than balancing or aligning. We had notice a shaking of the steering wheel as we approached 60 mph, but as we generally drove at 55 mph we had ignored the symptoms. But recently we even noticed a problem as we first started to roll</span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><i>—</i></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">a gentle rocking side to side.</span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">When we rolled into the station they took one look at the hubs and said, “We can't help you. We don't have the tool that will handle that size hub. Go to Cheever Tire & Wheel.” Fortunately the place they suggested was nearby. So back across the Connecticut River to Bellows Falls to the garage. They took us in almost immediately. That was a relief. They took off the left front tire and balanced it in no time at all, and then took off the right tire and started rolling it toward the machine to balance it. The machanic suddenly stopped and said, “There's your problem. Your tire is dead.” His analysis was based on years of work. “One of the belts is broken,” he said. And sure enough, there was a significant ridge in the road surface of the tire. The bad news is that they didn't have one there in the shop; the not-so-bad news was that they couldn't get it until the next morning. All in all, not bad. It would have been better if they could have found two tire so that the tires would be equal, but with luck the difference will still be a lot better than with the “dead” tire. We will get the rig to them by 9:00 am Wednesday, and by 10:00 we should be on the road to Magog, Canada. More on that tomorrow.</span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-50H2V7EjOEc/TfvFQlVl27I/AAAAAAAAANQ/fn1Nngnfqno/s1600/Cheever+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-roa4r5C0ITw/TfvFV2ih6tI/AAAAAAAAANg/X9MMKDbFL34/s1600/Collamer+Abbott.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="279" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-roa4r5C0ITw/TfvFV2ih6tI/AAAAAAAAANg/X9MMKDbFL34/s320/Collamer+Abbott.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Collamer Abbott</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">In the afternoon we went to White River Junction to meet Collamer Abbott. Collamer Abbott? Now you will really think I have gone off the deep end. Collamer is not a cousin, and I have only talked with him by telephone two or three times. But there was something very special about this humble man. Collamer wrote an article about the Vermont Copper Crafters for Yankee Magazine which appeared in the March issue of 1949. The Vermont Copper Crafters was a business that my parents created in 1946, and I wanted to include his article in my history of the company (see blog 8, Sunday, 12 June). I telephoned Yankee and they responded that their copyright had expired, but that I might want to contact the author who had also done the photographs for the article. So I did, and a friendship developed between us, and, as I was in Vermont I thought it would be fun to meet him face to face. The long and the short of the matter is that it was a wonderful meeting. He worked for most of his life as a photo/journalist and an English teacher, but he was almost invisible at the time; people knew his work, but he was anonymous. He is now 91, and in the last couple of years, his work has caught on. He says it is because his photographs captured a lost time</span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><i>—</i></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;">mostly the 40s and 50s. But his work is also very attractive visually. While the photographs were mostly taken for journalistic purposes, they are always well-composed, often take advantage of an attractive cloud, a child's face, a curved line, etc., etc. He was as much artist as journalist.</span></span></div><div> </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.2in;"> <span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">We had a wonderful conversation with this modest, gentle man, and I felt privileged just to be there talking with him. He is one of a kind.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HH3ZhxPKKLo/TfvFhkbZ8SI/AAAAAAAAAN8/h-zG3mJEs08/s1600/Merry+House+1880-81+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="245" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HH3ZhxPKKLo/TfvFhkbZ8SI/AAAAAAAAAN8/h-zG3mJEs08/s320/Merry+House+1880-81+copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Merry House, ca. 1880-81</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.2in;"> <span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">We then drove on to Magog, Quebec, Canada, where Ralph Merry, an ancestor of Valerie's not only lived, but founded the town of Magog. Not only founded, but built a house that is still standing since the early 1800s. Valerie in her research Valerie located a book on the Merry family written by Maurice Langlois, and immediately contacted him. They have shared information which was of great importance to Valerie as she was in the process of transcribing a diary written in 1880-81 by a descendant of the Merry and Jenney families: Homer Jenne, Valerie's great grandfather. On an earlier odyssey we traced her family as far north as Derby one of the northern most village in Vermont. You will remember in an earlier blog the name of John Jenney in Plymouth, MA; well, some of that family migrated to what would become the northern boarder of Vermont. One of this family Elisha married a Matilda Merry.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SAcx6a2ZZ-0/TfvFdVTXE4I/AAAAAAAAAN0/JL70kys5yQI/s1600/Merry+House+2+Inspection.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SAcx6a2ZZ-0/TfvFdVTXE4I/AAAAAAAAAN0/JL70kys5yQI/s320/Merry+House+2+Inspection.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Valerie, Barbara & Maurice inspecting the Merry House</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.2in;"> <span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">So that is where we are at this moment, researching the Merry family, and enjoying the generous hospitality of Maurice Langlois and his lovely wife Barbara. It always amazes me when our relatives welcome us into their lives with open arms, but Maurice and Barbara had never met us before and are not relative of any degree. However, we do share a common interest in genealogy and the conviction that family history is not only fascinating but important! There is no way that we can adequately thank them unless they were to visit us in Oregon. Perhaps they will one day.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.2in;"> <span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">The next stop will be on the 17<sup>th</sup> back in Vermont with David Wright & Mary Lou Willits. They, again, are not relatives. They are friends met on line through a common interest in Vermont, copper, and history. We look forward to meeting them. </span></div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.2in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.2in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">A gallery of additional Blog 9 photos</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OUnHiS64_uI/TfvFOTldENI/AAAAAAAAANM/-0gqqwUNv7Y/s1600/Cheever+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OUnHiS64_uI/TfvFOTldENI/AAAAAAAAANM/-0gqqwUNv7Y/s320/Cheever+1.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheever Tire & Wheel</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-50H2V7EjOEc/TfvFQlVl27I/AAAAAAAAANQ/fn1Nngnfqno/s1600/Cheever+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-50H2V7EjOEc/TfvFQlVl27I/AAAAAAAAANQ/fn1Nngnfqno/s320/Cheever+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheever Tire & Wheel</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fms1-FYwQrw/TfvFSi7resI/AAAAAAAAANU/smqL8p_0GYE/s1600/Cheever+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fms1-FYwQrw/TfvFSi7resI/AAAAAAAAANU/smqL8p_0GYE/s320/Cheever+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheever Tire & Wheel</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--mZ4aF3K0Dw/TfvFU53uJMI/AAAAAAAAANc/qSJvQ1fK0KU/s1600/Cheever+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--mZ4aF3K0Dw/TfvFU53uJMI/AAAAAAAAANc/qSJvQ1fK0KU/s320/Cheever+5.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheever Tire & Wheel</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TemwkkRv90I/TfvFb67bYGI/AAAAAAAAANw/PhXYilOe5W0/s1600/Merry+House+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TemwkkRv90I/TfvFb67bYGI/AAAAAAAAANw/PhXYilOe5W0/s320/Merry+House+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Merry House</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SAcx6a2ZZ-0/TfvFdVTXE4I/AAAAAAAAAN0/JL70kys5yQI/s1600/Merry+House+2+Inspection.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SAcx6a2ZZ-0/TfvFdVTXE4I/AAAAAAAAAN0/JL70kys5yQI/s320/Merry+House+2+Inspection.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Valerie, Barbara & Maurice at the Merry House</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Qt_kt5YjMBw/TfvFfkvvCuI/AAAAAAAAAN4/zlJ0sx2IOyY/s1600/Merry+House+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Qt_kt5YjMBw/TfvFfkvvCuI/AAAAAAAAAN4/zlJ0sx2IOyY/s320/Merry+House+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Merry House</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3ys0fkntKgI/TfvFXCgXdII/AAAAAAAAANk/a2DZf5uIzYk/s1600/I-91+cloulds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3ys0fkntKgI/TfvFXCgXdII/AAAAAAAAANk/a2DZf5uIzYk/s320/I-91+cloulds.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vermont views on I-91</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--UE0H88kG3s/TfvFYVz6whI/AAAAAAAAANo/PPiaFiRKWjM/s1600/I-91+rolling+hills.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--UE0H88kG3s/TfvFYVz6whI/AAAAAAAAANo/PPiaFiRKWjM/s320/I-91+rolling+hills.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vermont views on I-91</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.2in;"> </div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-89129773662541903402011-06-14T04:28:00.000-07:002011-06-14T04:28:53.751-07:00Blog 8June 8 <div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We left the Christine & Paul Lurk after an all-too-short visit. Many thanks and best wishes to them. Pennsylvania has a reputation for bad roads, and I must say, this leg of the journey lived up to that reputation: pot holes, crumbling pavement, and repairs that are possibly worse than the problem they were supposed to have fixed. We bounced and rattled along at our usual 55 mph wondering if our rig could hold together for the rest of the trip.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We pulled off the road in Bethlehem, PA, to visit<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">—</span>not another cousin<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">—but my high school music teacher, Jerry Bidlack and his lovely wife, Nancy. He is perhaps a few years older; he may have two new hips; his hair may be a little thinner and whiter, his back may be bent from the constant work of many years, but his voice—still punctuated with frequent laughter—has every bit the same pied-piper quality it had some 50 years ago. His teaching saved me a year's worth of music theory at Oberlin Conservatory, and his recommendation, I sure, had much to do with the fine scholarship I received there. We will try to see him again in Kinhaven, a music camp in Vermont, where he still conducts the orchestra.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">After visiting with Jerry all too briefly, we bounced and rattled our way to East Sturbridge where we spent the night.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0xnxwHUbyO0/Tfc89Pn7ubI/AAAAAAAAAMY/1YvPUtd3Se8/s1600/David+David+Ann.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0xnxwHUbyO0/Tfc89Pn7ubI/AAAAAAAAAMY/1YvPUtd3Se8/s320/David+David+Ann.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Robert, David & Ann Cavanaugh</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Thursday, 9 June</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">In the morning, we bounced our way on SR 209 to I-84 through New York to Middleborough, Massachusetts where we had and wonderful dinner with Ann Cavanaugh and her husband, David. Ann is the most distant cousin (4</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"> cousin once removed) we are meeting on this trip; our first common ancestors are Andrew McIntosh (1783-1836) and Sophia Symers (ca. 1780 - 1829), my great-great-great-grandparent and her great-great-great-great-grandparents. But distance has nothing to do with it; we are cousins! We had a wonderful meal, and the conversations—punctuated by a thunder storm and laughter—rolled on and on over many topics from Boy Scouts (David is a scout master) to music (Ann performs many instruments) from family (they have two sons: Robert John and Andrew David and we have a daughter, a son and three grandchildren) to history (they live in a turn of the century house—the 18</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"> to the 19</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"> century). Ann will be perform on Saturday, and we would have loved hearing her, but we hope to be in Vermont by Saturday.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Friday, 10 June</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d60SG-oCtN8/Tfc9MFbpo4I/AAAAAAAAAMg/TPkFb1wLGoc/s1600/Jenney+mill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d60SG-oCtN8/Tfc9MFbpo4I/AAAAAAAAAMg/TPkFb1wLGoc/s320/Jenney+mill.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Jenney Mill</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v6THIbdXNBs/Tfc8yef1HCI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/dT80TgDJ7Mc/s1600/B%2526V+a+Jenney+mill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v6THIbdXNBs/Tfc8yef1HCI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/dT80TgDJ7Mc/s320/B%2526V+a+Jenney+mill.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">This could have been the most exciting “sight-seeing day” of the trip. 1<sup>st</sup>, you have to understand that Valerie is descended from a long line of folks (12 generations to be precise) from John Jenney in Plymouth, MA. In her genealogical research. Valerie had found that John Jenney built and operated a grist mill in Plymouth, which was basically the first commercial enterprise in America, so we set aside the day for pursuing more information on the mill and struck pay dirt! The mill is now in the hands of an amazing couple who are working to preserve the mill and house for prosperity. The wife runs the concessions and large tours (often school children); the husband runs the more intimate and detailed tours of the mill explaining its history, its significance, its working which is all mixed with the explanation of many terms from the “rule of thumb” to “ear marks.” It was a mind blowing presentation.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Saturday, 11 June</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Definitely cooler than the past week or two—a welcome relief. We took I-495 around Boston and headed toward Concord to meet with George Neikrug, my cello teacher at Oberlin and U Texas. I have been blessed with many wonderful influences in my life; George gave me what was necessary to have a career in music. We had a delightful time with George and his wife Virginia remembering common acquaintances—or trying to. We did OK, and blamed the rest on old age. But George, at 92, has 24 more years of excuses than I, and I think he fared better than I.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">We then headed toward Townshend where I grew up, and mile-by-mile the scenery became more and more familiar. There were many changes, of course, but Townshend is like an old friend, and there was no need for the GPS. Valerie kept the map out, but there was no need; I was on auto pilot.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">We set up the rig in Ball Mountain RV Park on the west back of the West River. The river was full following several days of rain. I tried calling folks to work out a schedule for the week we will be in Vermont. I was unable to get on line but the phone worked well. Then, because the holding tanks needed emptying I decided to change location. At the new location I was able to get on line but unable to call out. You seldom get more that you pay for, and as we had not yet payed for camping here—that will happen in the morning—I could not complain—but it did complicate things.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Sunday, 12 June</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">What a fun day, and one which was totally in the hands of the gods. No amount of planning could have made the day any better.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">1<sup>st</sup>, we again had trouble getting a signal for the cellphone, and getting on line was still tricky. We would have to do it the old fashion way: go see the folks face-to-face. We started the day by driving out to see if Carol Melis was home (she lives in the house that we first lived in when the family arrived in Vermont in 1946 and across the street where lived starting in 1948). I wanted to leave my book, <i>A Brief History of the Vermont Copper Crafters,</i> with Carol to give to the house—the house, not the people in the house. It's complicated, I know, but not worth telling in more detail here. But Carol was on vacation. Hopefully, she will return before we head west again.Strike one.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">I then went across the street and knocked, but, alas, no answer. Strike two.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">We then went to find Ned Phoenix a long time friend to whom I had promised my book. We couldn't find his home. A neighbor suggested that the Phoenixes were probably all in church. Strike three.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">I guess that normally would mean I was out, but no. This was not a game of baseball; this was the game of life, rural life: “If at first you do not succeed, try, try--” etc. After lunch we went to the Windham County Historical Museum in the Newfane (the town just south of Townshend) where among other thing, my father's hand-painted Vermont Copper Crafters sign is held in perpetuity. I had already given the museum my book and they had a couple of pieces of my father's copper ware, including one which I don't have. I was excited.</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e28mpYaXtTM/Tfc9zMmcoZI/AAAAAAAAAM0/A43ptkKxOCY/s1600/RM+Short.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e28mpYaXtTM/Tfc9zMmcoZI/AAAAAAAAAM0/A43ptkKxOCY/s320/RM+Short.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rose Marie Short</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">We then met up with Rose Marie Short, a long-time friend and neighbor whose parents had helped my parents financially when they were setting up the copper business. She was in marvelous spirits in spite of living with life-threatening medical problems that will probably end her life. She was living with her daughter, Helen Grace, in an assisted care facility. We had a long chat about old times and new and then moved on.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">We next visited with Carl Steiner whom I had known years ago. I had known his parents, too, and is father was an itinerant electrician in Townshend for many years and something of a town character. His son, Carl, seems to have taken up his father roles of town historian and character. These are not official positions, of course, but he is well qualified as he blessed with the gift of gab and the ability make interesting he daily lives of the local folk. He also raises bison and sell the meat. We bought some.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">We then whipped some lunch and headed off to Ed & Lois Phoenix's place (parents of Ned and also of Whitney in Las Vegas whom we had considered visiting way back on the third travel-day of the trip). They were in a great mood and we talked and talked and met their son Seth. Ed does many things from tuning pianos to building houses, including the home they now live in.</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UIS1zGTc1SA/Tfc-RfEi48I/AAAAAAAAANA/AGS9iAIzkrY/s1600/The+Phoenix+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UIS1zGTc1SA/Tfc-RfEi48I/AAAAAAAAANA/AGS9iAIzkrY/s320/The+Phoenix+house.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Valerie with Ed & Lois Phoenix and their home. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">The final event of the day was the arrival of Ned and a lady friend at our campsite. Ned would require an additional blog to describe, and perhaps a third as he is a moving target. He is a musician, a reed organ repairman, and brilliant intellectual who brings new meaning to the gift of gab. Anyway, we decided to meet with him at his house the following morning to complete some of the topics left open.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Monday, 13 June</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">One of the things I wanted to accomplish in Townshend on this trip was to get a photograph of a bas-relief my father had created for the wedding of a Townshend couple (this would have been in the 50s). Well, to make a long story short, I have not yet succeeded. However, it was not without spending the better part of the morning looking. </span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">So we gave up on that and set out to Ned's place and finish what we had begun last night. Ned lives up a steep gravel road, deep into the forest, in a house he started building 20 years ago and which is still largely unfinished. It is wonderfully conceived and will(?) one day make a wonderful home for him and his many reed organs. His ideas on violin playing are very interesting, too, and, for the most part soundly based, even though they are quite unorthodox.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IgqhJjsRQd8/Tfc84DbV0RI/AAAAAAAAAMU/13--HzT98eQ/s1600/Bruce+L.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IgqhJjsRQd8/Tfc84DbV0RI/AAAAAAAAAMU/13--HzT98eQ/s320/Bruce+L.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bruce </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">We then departed for Saxtons River a few miles northeast of Townshend. The goal was to meet up with my nephew, and his family: Bruce, Ella, Samantha and Riley. But, because of the near total lack of a cellphone signal and an on-again-off-again wifi we set out without knowing if we would find them or not. But we all managed to get together and had a lovely meal at the Saxtons River Inn. I thank them for letting us so rudely interrupt their lives. And I especially apologize to Riley for having interrupted her time with her friends, and for not remembering to take her picture before she left to rejoin her friends.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zoJkoevoaKs/Tfc9DSaxofI/AAAAAAAAAMc/Y_tmmxEdUc8/s1600/Ella.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zoJkoevoaKs/Tfc9DSaxofI/AAAAAAAAAMc/Y_tmmxEdUc8/s320/Ella.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ella</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PCvYFq1wtrY/Tfc_f60y88I/AAAAAAAAANE/ASYLCwLUIZk/s1600/Samantha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PCvYFq1wtrY/Tfc_f60y88I/AAAAAAAAANE/ASYLCwLUIZk/s320/Samantha.jpg" width="247" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Samantha </td></tr>
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</div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-28665735519510490012011-06-08T21:06:00.000-07:002011-06-08T21:06:41.922-07:00Blog 7<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ge3X6G6wZhA/TfA-uKjBlgI/AAAAAAAAAK0/IC-PuiF-HgM/s1600/13+Midway+Museum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ge3X6G6wZhA/TfA-uKjBlgI/AAAAAAAAAK0/IC-PuiF-HgM/s320/13+Midway+Museum.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Midway Museum</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G_RUn2Iawuw/TfA-wsapCQI/AAAAAAAAAK8/z0medqmnMHg/s1600/15+Flemmington+cemetery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="207" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G_RUn2Iawuw/TfA-wsapCQI/AAAAAAAAAK8/z0medqmnMHg/s320/15+Flemmington+cemetery.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gravestone of Susan's parents in Flemmington Cemetery</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-x2rK-jJwFnc/TfA-xrVqEsI/AAAAAAAAALA/y60XlGckMV4/s1600/16+Flemmington+Church.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-x2rK-jJwFnc/TfA-xrVqEsI/AAAAAAAAALA/y60XlGckMV4/s320/16+Flemmington+Church.jpg" width="231" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flemmington 1st Presbyterian Church</td></tr>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Thur, 2 June</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">The 2<sup>nd</sup> was a hot and humid travel day. We past through the city of Atlanta and had lunch with our former colleague Kurt Zeller. Kurt is a fine tenor with whom we both have collaborated, and he is a brilliant conversationalist. While we contributed our share, we could have simply listened to this brilliant and accomplished friend. After lunch we drove on and spent the night in Fosyth, Georgia.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">On the way we passed through some more tornado damage.</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tu6DqSTULME/TfA-h1C3GHI/AAAAAAAAAKI/wiR_iEWewMc/s1600/8+Tornedo+a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tu6DqSTULME/TfA-h1C3GHI/AAAAAAAAAKI/wiR_iEWewMc/s320/8+Tornedo+a.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tornado damage: trees ripped out by the roots.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tDiL74j45M4/TfA-i7p5D6I/AAAAAAAAAKM/PJCX1W-Nnms/s1600/9+Tornedo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="234" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tDiL74j45M4/TfA-i7p5D6I/AAAAAAAAAKM/PJCX1W-Nnms/s320/9+Tornedo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tornado damage: the limbs have been torn off.</td></tr>
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Friday, 3 June</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">We then went on to Macon, Georgia, where our friend, Susan Miller, grew up. There we gawked in true tourist fashion at the wonderful 19<sup>th</sup> and early 20<sup>th</sup> century architecture and had a excellent introduction to the city at the visitors center.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Unfortunately, Dick McIntosh was unable to travel to Hinesville to join me in meeting Jim Arnold and his family. Jim is the son of MaryEllen McIntosh who was key in my finding and understanding the descendants of Robert McIntosh, the identical twin of my great-grandfather, John McIntosh. We had a wonderful meal with Jim, his wife, Barbara and their two sons, Jim Jr. & Tyler. The conversations and exchange of information went on into the wee hours of the night. Their wonderful home is filled with pictures and artifacts of their family.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Saturday, 4 June</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">In the morning we went to the First Presbyterian Church of Flemington, GA where we thought nice thoughts at the graves of our friend Susan Miller's mother and father nestled under a lovely dogwood tree. We then went on to the colonial village of Midway, GA, and took a tour in the museum there. The museum lies next to a marvelous old church which survived the American Revolution and the Civil War, or as southerners call it, “The Wah.”</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ge3X6G6wZhA/TfA-uKjBlgI/AAAAAAAAAK0/IC-PuiF-HgM/s1600/13+Midway+Museum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ge3X6G6wZhA/TfA-uKjBlgI/AAAAAAAAAK0/IC-PuiF-HgM/s320/13+Midway+Museum.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Midway Historical Museum</td></tr>
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">We then headed north to Columbia, South Carolina to enjoy the warm and wonderful hospitality of Pam & Don Hoffman. Pam is from my mother's side of the tree: the Edwards. Originally from Wales, the Edwards moved to Liverpool, England, where they lived for a couple of generations before my mother's mother moved to this side of the pond with her family. Pam found me on line while doing genealogical researdh, and Valerie & I were thrilled to meet them about ten years ago on yet another of our round-the-country tours. We spent the night in their wonderful home </span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yPhPg7XrBOg/TfA--z_V9cI/AAAAAAAAALw/11H4evL5Xmw/s1600/No+place+for+RVs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yPhPg7XrBOg/TfA--z_V9cI/AAAAAAAAALw/11H4evL5Xmw/s320/No+place+for+RVs.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Atlanta, Georgia</td></tr>
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Sunday, 5 June</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Pamela is a cellist, and I had given her my new game, <span style="color: red;"><i>F</i></span><span style="color: blue;"><i>inger</i></span><span style="color: red;"><i>B</i></span><span style="color: blue;"><i>oard</i></span>, and after breakfast, we played a round. A good time was had by all (Don won). We had a wonderful visit and got to know this generous, delightful and talented couple better. Wish we lived closer. After the game we headed north again and ended up in an RV near Staunton, VA, high up in the Appalachian Mountains where we had neither cellphone connection nor wifi.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;"> Monday, 6 June</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">To relieve the tedium of interstate travel on I-81, we opted for a stretch on the Blue Ridge Parkway, a magnificent, high national park on the crest of the Appalachian Mountains. To the east there were long views of neighboring mountains, and to the west far below—2,700 feet on at least one occasion lay the Shenandoah Valley.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Tuesday, 7 June</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">We returned to I-81 and continued north with hopes of meeting up with my cousin, Christine Lurk and her husband Paul. Christine—also known as “Blue.” Christine is from the same branch of the family tree as Gloria Dukeshire way back in Kingman, AZ (she is descended from Thomas Purves and his second wife, Nancy Hattery). We went out to dinner and then the girls returned home and talked about what I don't know, while Paul & I went to the Gettysburg Battlefield, not so much for the battle—Paul is deeply knowledgeable on the subject—but to look at what are almost surely dinosaur tracks in the rocks—Paul has done considerable research in this subject as well.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">Wednesday, 8 June</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">We left the Lurks after a wonderful visit, sorry only that it could not have stayed longer. But we needed to mush on to the next stop in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, where we chatted with Jerry Bidlack and his family. Jerry was my music teacher in my last two years of high school. His influence has been a huge in my life, especially my musical life. Not only was he an outstanding musician and friend, he was immensely generous with his talents and time. Among other things he accompanied me in two recitals one of which included a sonata of his own composition.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif;">We then reluctantly pushed on to Mountain Vista RV Park near East Stroudsburg, PA, where we will spend the night.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QCRWMsmHyoM/TfA-rWpf8vI/AAAAAAAAAKs/orKa6x18EY0/s1600/11+Mecon+homes+e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="221" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QCRWMsmHyoM/TfA-rWpf8vI/AAAAAAAAAKs/orKa6x18EY0/s320/11+Mecon+homes+e.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Valerie & Henrietta examine a 1909 home under reconstruction</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AlcncR1yGoo/TfA-mgVN3pI/AAAAAAAAAKc/mUkUeQIzwwY/s1600/11+Mecon+homes+a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="234" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AlcncR1yGoo/TfA-mgVN3pI/AAAAAAAAAKc/mUkUeQIzwwY/s320/11+Mecon+homes+a.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Macon architecture</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gTIqCuEQzIc/TfA-n2FmfJI/AAAAAAAAAKg/gie972UVKgg/s1600/11+Mecon+homes+b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gTIqCuEQzIc/TfA-n2FmfJI/AAAAAAAAAKg/gie972UVKgg/s320/11+Mecon+homes+b.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Macon architecture</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-g6iUoQW18kw/TfA-pKmRPxI/AAAAAAAAAKk/s0KOI_LEZ1Q/s1600/11+Mecon+homes+c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-g6iUoQW18kw/TfA-pKmRPxI/AAAAAAAAAKk/s0KOI_LEZ1Q/s320/11+Mecon+homes+c.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Macon architecture</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MAy0_gPnGqw/TfA-qGoU6wI/AAAAAAAAAKo/q1qGbS9uEVs/s1600/11+Mecon+homes+d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MAy0_gPnGqw/TfA-qGoU6wI/AAAAAAAAAKo/q1qGbS9uEVs/s320/11+Mecon+homes+d.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Macon architecture</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sL5TWo5FgJI/TfA-jnnFrhI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/Mn_Fcgfkhcg/s1600/10+Mecon+train+station.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sL5TWo5FgJI/TfA-jnnFrhI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/Mn_Fcgfkhcg/s320/10+Mecon+train+station.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Macon railroad station</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5_KPQvbHktg/TfA-kvZsODI/AAAAAAAAAKU/WeVYhXH7yOE/s1600/10+Mecon+train+station+a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5_KPQvbHktg/TfA-kvZsODI/AAAAAAAAAKU/WeVYhXH7yOE/s320/10+Mecon+train+station+a.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Macon railroad station interior</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n89HjwCQDYA/TfA-lv9u39I/AAAAAAAAAKY/00UmC9hx_Jg/s1600/10+Mecon+train+station+c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n89HjwCQDYA/TfA-lv9u39I/AAAAAAAAAKY/00UmC9hx_Jg/s320/10+Mecon+train+station+c.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Macon railroad station "Colored" waiting room</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1Sc7dSXDvJY/TfA-sLphWcI/AAAAAAAAAKw/3nyELW58PAI/s1600/12+Jim+%2526+Barbara.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1Sc7dSXDvJY/TfA-sLphWcI/AAAAAAAAAKw/3nyELW58PAI/s320/12+Jim+%2526+Barbara.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jim & Barbara Arnold</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UHsZ6jnilZk/TfA-9wRBreI/AAAAAAAAALs/T9ADBxXtT_s/s1600/Lurks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="281" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UHsZ6jnilZk/TfA-9wRBreI/AAAAAAAAALs/T9ADBxXtT_s/s320/Lurks.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christine & Paul Lurk</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VMHLu1MT9MA/TfA-znUt3oI/AAAAAAAAALI/BsqFxdf6HEE/s1600/18+Blue+Ridge+views+a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VMHLu1MT9MA/TfA-znUt3oI/AAAAAAAAALI/BsqFxdf6HEE/s320/18+Blue+Ridge+views+a.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Blue Ridge Parkway</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--PxY7Xez16A/TfA-0x611mI/AAAAAAAAALM/F037qJilEec/s1600/18+Blue+Ridge+views+b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--PxY7Xez16A/TfA-0x611mI/AAAAAAAAALM/F037qJilEec/s320/18+Blue+Ridge+views+b.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Blue Ridge Parkway</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VPlB7FLjYKY/TfA-2OLPfbI/AAAAAAAAALQ/qQsBaULzatc/s1600/18+Blue+Ridge+views+c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VPlB7FLjYKY/TfA-2OLPfbI/AAAAAAAAALQ/qQsBaULzatc/s320/18+Blue+Ridge+views+c.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Blue Ridge Parkway</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_akkiga8zU4/TfA-3Uxb01I/AAAAAAAAALU/fuJVqmL71jc/s1600/18+Blue+Ridge+views+d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_akkiga8zU4/TfA-3Uxb01I/AAAAAAAAALU/fuJVqmL71jc/s320/18+Blue+Ridge+views+d.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Blue Ridge Parkway</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V3XYLgr0IxU/TfA-47X6sDI/AAAAAAAAALY/cJl9PvZbjS8/s1600/19+Blue+Ridge+Shanandoah+a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V3XYLgr0IxU/TfA-47X6sDI/AAAAAAAAALY/cJl9PvZbjS8/s320/19+Blue+Ridge+Shanandoah+a.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Blue Ridge Parkway</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-79327361026504966212011-06-01T21:11:00.000-07:002011-06-01T21:11:17.274-07:00Blog 6<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;">Saturday, 28 May, Oklahoma City, OK</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;">Hello from Valerie, I thought I would share with you a fascinating couple I met at our second RV park in Oklahoma City. Henny and I decided to stay at the RV site while Bruce, the mighty hunter, went off to the Walmart superstore to replenish our larder. About an hour later, sitting at a warped picnic table, drinking warm water, being blown by a very warm wind, I began to wonder if this was such a good idea. Henny had stretched out on the gravel in front of doorway of our neighbors very large RV and gone to sleep. The door opened and an older couple came out (wait a minute – I think they were probably our age). I immediately apologized for my dog sprawled out at the base of their steps. Speaking with that wonderful Texas drawl they assured me that they loved dogs and that they had just lost their dalmatian. Henny was thrilled with their attentions. The couple sat down at the warped picnic table and we started to chat. They live in the panhandle part of Texas and were in Oklahoma City to see an allergy specialist for Buck (real name: Charles Burk, but everyone calls him Buck). He told me he was a cattle breeder who specialized in crossing Angus and Chianina (an ancient Italian breed of cattle). He has 900 cattle and a prize winning bull. I told him that I had three chickens. I was surprise and flattered that they asked questions about my chickens. He has his Masters degree in Agriculture and specifically genetic husbandry which is why he developed this strain of cattle. I asked him if most cattle are bred through artificial insemination. He said that quite a bit of cattle are, but, because he is tracking bloodlines, he did it the old fashioned way. He did make quite a bit of money off of his prize bull: 10 straws for $500. Buck said, “one man said he didn't need 10, that he only had 2 cows. I told him I didn't care what he did with the 10 straws – they were still 10 for $500. When his bull was “up there in years” he sold it to a guy who ran a chain of hamburger joints. When the bull died the guy had it stuffed, and it now stands in his library.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I could go on and on. His wife was equally charming, but Buck was an authentic Texas cattleman. He had a softer side. Now that he is semi-retired he makes what I would call “home décor items.” He showed me a picture of a lamp he made from “stuff just lying around the place” (barb wire, parts of fence posts, etc.). One of his lamps sold for $1700 in Dallas. He also makes large BBQs in the shape of a six-shooter. People like to use them at BBQ competitions. Well, we chatted away until my “hunter” returned with food. These folks made the waiting thoroughly enjoyable. I have learned that southerners (including Texans) have a wonderful “gift for the gab.” </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;">Sunday, 29 May Oklahoma City, OK <span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">– </span>Little Rock, AR</div> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-67YJW5Dz62c/TecBBNLtPWI/AAAAAAAAAHc/0dg47KYROPo/s1600/1.+A+not+so+lovely+campsite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-67YJW5Dz62c/TecBBNLtPWI/AAAAAAAAAHc/0dg47KYROPo/s320/1.+A+not+so+lovely+campsite.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">Can you find our rig?</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;">We woke up to strong winds which were to follow us all day. The good news is that they were not head winds; the bad news is that they were side winds forcing us to drive with the wheels cranked into the winds—bad for the tires and bad for the mpg. For those of you who have not experienced the joys of RV driving in the wind here are a couple of tips. If a truck comes between you and the wind be prepare to be sucked into the side of the truck as the wind you have been fighting will suddenly be gone, and, at highway speeds, one covers quite a lot of territory in a hurry.. The same thing happens when you enter a tunnel or go under an overpass.</div> <div style="text-align: right;"></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AFQW9eOp_K4/TecBELTpQgI/AAAAAAAAAHg/WdngABJ0luc/s1600/2.+A+Little+Rock+Bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="157px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AFQW9eOp_K4/TecBELTpQgI/AAAAAAAAAHg/WdngABJ0luc/s320/2.+A+Little+Rock+Bridge.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The RV park for the night was something to write home about. I'll start with the good parts. There was to be a fireworks display from one of the three bridges in our view, so we would have a ring-side seat. The park was on the northern short of the flood-swollen Arkansas River. The crest had passed through a couple of days prior to our arrival, but the volume of water was still impressive. More impressive were our neighbors. They towered above our little RV, and we were wedged in between 36 footers. The layout was city-like with the walls of these monoliths practically touching. The fireworks were great, but they were followed by a rock concert on the southern shore that sounded like it was inside our rig. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Monday, 30 May Little Rock, AR<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> – Buffalo, TN.</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c8oaNPaKi64/TecBIFbi6yI/AAAAAAAAAHk/6PfkwZ-ILI4/s1600/3.+Arkansas+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="210px" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c8oaNPaKi64/TecBIFbi6yI/AAAAAAAAAHk/6PfkwZ-ILI4/s320/3.+Arkansas+1.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lush country side</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">We were definitely south of the Mason-Dickson line now: hot and humid. But what is uncomfortable for us Oregonians is great for vegetation. The trees are crowded together and the leaves completely hide the tree itself, so the effect is one of a grand, undulating green pillow. We're still occasionally seeing signs of wind damage but nothing like that in Oklahoma. The drive to Buffalo was lovely. The lush green pillows looked cool and soft out our windows, and wild flowers bloomed in profusion along the road. But open the window of our comfortably air conditioned vehicle and in would rush hot humid air. </span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iDzQfJtVi8g/TecBMVyE1kI/AAAAAAAAAHo/je9YaldRkmA/s1600/4.+A+swollen+Mississippi+River.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="162px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iDzQfJtVi8g/TecBMVyE1kI/AAAAAAAAAHo/je9YaldRkmA/s320/4.+A+swollen+Mississippi+River.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A swollen Mississippi</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The RV park in Buffalo could not have been more different nor more welcome than the park in Little Rock. It was in a forest and the lots were widely spaced and the air was cooled by the lush foliage. And we saw our first cardinal of the trip.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div> <div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Buffalo, TN to Chickamauga, GA</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Tuesday, 31 May</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vKByVgFRJjc/TecBeDGLpMI/AAAAAAAAAH0/EXhmIs0NTCI/s1600/7.+Roadside+flowers+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vKByVgFRJjc/TecBeDGLpMI/AAAAAAAAAH0/EXhmIs0NTCI/s320/7.+Roadside+flowers+1.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The drive should have been beautiful. There were rolling hills, lovely lakes and lush foliage. But the folks of Georgia have not chosen to follow the path of Oregonians. In Oregon there a laws limiting the size and height of roadside signs, but here in Georgia signs raise their ugly heads high above above the trees shouting the virtues of everything from Ruby Falls to shampoo in loud reds and violent yellows.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Wednesday, 1 Jun</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Dick McIntosh met us at a campsite just south of Chattanooga, TN. Dick is a third cousin (meaning we share the same great-grandfather). He drove up from Kathleen, GA. It's a long drive and I am very grateful for him doing so. Dick met us at the Visitor Center at the Chickamauga Battlefield. We spent a few minutes at the center and then set out on a self-guided tour of the battlefield in which two of our great-granduncles fought, John H. Purves and his brother James. John enrolled 9 Sep 1861 and, in spite of many wounds, stayed the course to the end of the war. James appears to have joined about the same time but was killed in the Battle of Chickamauga on 19 Sep 1863. We paused at the markers honoring their unit, the 51</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">st</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> Ohio Volunteer Infantry, thought about war and it's toll, took some pictures and left to enjoy dinner together. I was most impressed with Dick and look forward to meeting him again at the home of another McIntosh descendant, James Arnold, another 3</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">rd</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> cousin.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jPZi8QmHk98/TecBsapGmiI/AAAAAAAAAIA/qyqULUgo67o/s1600/10.+Roadside+flowers+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jPZi8QmHk98/TecBsapGmiI/AAAAAAAAAIA/qyqULUgo67o/s320/10.+Roadside+flowers+4.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Rf96mCGC9NU/TecBm-gMGRI/AAAAAAAAAH8/uKd5d6-vmOk/s1600/9.+Roadside+flowers+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Rf96mCGC9NU/TecBm-gMGRI/AAAAAAAAAH8/uKd5d6-vmOk/s320/9.+Roadside+flowers+3.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_K_7SKHJOfU/TecBxzfxSvI/AAAAAAAAAIE/Lm5nGVrzK-I/s1600/A+different+aesthetic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="177px" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_K_7SKHJOfU/TecBxzfxSvI/AAAAAAAAAIE/Lm5nGVrzK-I/s320/A+different+aesthetic.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not in Oregon</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4-mPhNifiqo/TecBidtkzlI/AAAAAAAAAH4/FZgHi-rnEGs/s1600/8.+Roadside+flowers+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192px" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4-mPhNifiqo/TecBidtkzlI/AAAAAAAAAH4/FZgHi-rnEGs/s320/8.+Roadside+flowers+2.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-91097387786558461812011-05-28T22:53:00.000-07:002011-05-28T22:53:02.965-07:00Blog 5<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b>Belated wishes for a <span style="font-family: Rockwell Extra Bold, serif;">Happy Birthday</span> to our grandson Collin McIntosh! We hope you had a wonderful birthday celebration, Grandma and Grampa.</b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Thursday, 26 May.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">This leg started out much the same as the day before: buttes and partly cloudy skies. But as we approached the eastern boarder of New Mexico the mountains vanished. In a sense, they didn't vanish, we were now on top of them. Much of the Continental Divide on the I-40 corridor is a broad plateau. But, while the topography and fauna are less visually interesting, the skies are magnificent and ever changing. </div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">The changes are brought about by the wind! The same winds that are transforming the skies in a brilliant display of shapes, textures and colors, our little RV<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">—</span>more sail than truck<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">—</span>is constantly buffeted about by them. The grand finale came in a brilliant sunset while in our Tucumcari Mountain Road RV park.</div><div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DgH20C8hu4Q/TeHXOkAUUOI/AAAAAAAAAGs/fm4Q8C4b_YY/s1600/Wide+view+shots+x.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DgH20C8hu4Q/TeHXOkAUUOI/AAAAAAAAAGs/fm4Q8C4b_YY/s640/Wide+view+shots+x.jpg" t8="true" width="640px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Try to imagine these three shots as a single image and you might get a sense of the grand skys of the high plateau</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-P8q0wlZVGUM/TeHXSUeTX4I/AAAAAAAAAGw/moo_KvG1xUA/s1600/10+sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-P8q0wlZVGUM/TeHXSUeTX4I/AAAAAAAAAGw/moo_KvG1xUA/s400/10+sunset.jpg" t8="true" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Tucumcari sunset.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Friday, 27 May.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Shortly after starting out, on the hottest day of the trip, our air conditioner, which had been complaining from the start, gave up the ghost. We chose to drive on with the hope of getting it repaired the next day. From Tucumcari eastward across the Pan Handle of Texas the arid landscape gradually moistened and, by comparison, Oklahoma was a virtual Eden. The green vegetation was soft to the eyes and a welcomed relief from hard edged desert, and the green was set off by the deep red color of the soil. Then, shortly before Oklahoma City, we saw the effects of a recent tornado. Trees, some with their branches ripped off, others uprooted. Ten travelers were killed by this storm. It reminds one of the uncertainty of life. Sobering thoughts as we enjoy a mostly wonderful trip, especially so since we had originally hoped to leave a week earlier than we did.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D5PAsa2SiJI/TeHXbLZqDoI/AAAAAAAAAG4/bn-F1zlBWcI/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="176px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D5PAsa2SiJI/TeHXbLZqDoI/AAAAAAAAAG4/bn-F1zlBWcI/s320/12.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red earth/green grass</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-clSiOzGEurE/TeHXh1S4S6I/AAAAAAAAAG8/0-Oj2CaRj3Y/s1600/14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="205px" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-clSiOzGEurE/TeHXh1S4S6I/AAAAAAAAAG8/0-Oj2CaRj3Y/s320/14.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trees ripped out of the ground by the recent tornedo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I-E9Ei0rSW0/TeHXphn3fZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/Ls263F0ZG4M/s1600/15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="183px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I-E9Ei0rSW0/TeHXphn3fZI/AAAAAAAAAHA/Ls263F0ZG4M/s320/15.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cattle return to the fields after the tornedo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We arrived in Oklahoma in the early evening hot and sweaty, and, after registering at the Twin Fountains RV Park, we we went to the home of Chuck and Beth Connell. Chuck is my first cousin, which makes him a rarity amongst the many layers of cousins we will meet on this trip. He is the son of my uncle, Dave Connnell and brother of Lori and Diedre whom we met at my brother's in Lake Forest (see earlier blog). In spite of the genealogical closeness of our relationship we barely know each other and may never have previously met. We spent a little while getting to know each other in their magnificent new home and then went out for dinner to continue the process. When we returned to their home the evening was capped off by meeting their son, John. What a treat to have finally gotten to know this accomplished fellow and his family.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1ibExZrSQ_I/TeHXy3mH6XI/AAAAAAAAAHE/HPJ1YnkVos4/s1600/Connell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1ibExZrSQ_I/TeHXy3mH6XI/AAAAAAAAAHE/HPJ1YnkVos4/s320/Connell.jpg" t8="true" width="267px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chuck, Beth and John Connell</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But the evening was far from finished! And the finish could not have been more exciting nor more frustrating. After leaving Chuck and family, we headed back to our RV site. Our troubles began when we mistakenly turned onto the Turner Turnpike, which, as the name implies, is a toll road. What the name kept hidden is the fact that there would not be an exit for 35 miles! 35 miles in the wrong direction! 35 miles that would be more than doubled by the time we would finally find our way back to the Twin Fountains RV Park. At 15 mpg that's about a $18 mistake not counting the 75 cent toll.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And just getting off the turnpike had its trials. Valerie drove up to a machine to pay the toll<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">—</span>close to the machine because it would require an awkward, backhand, left-hand toss into a basket into which she was to toss the “exact change, coins only”<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">—</span>7 dimes and a nickle<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">. Of course only four of the seven coins made it into the basket. Then, because she was close to the basket, she could only open the door part way, barely enough of an opening to squeeze through. She collected the errant coins and put them in the basket. The red light turned to green, Valerie self consciously waved at the cars waiting patiently behind us, squeezed back in and we were on our way. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">And where was Bruce during all this?” I hear you ask. Well, Bruce was madly fighting with the computer trying to figure out where the hell we were and how to get back to the Twin Fountains. The problems now were:</span> it was getting late, we were way out in a very rural country side, and we were running low on fuel. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">We did make it back somehow, but he emotional cost was much higher than the cost of fuel as we were at wit's end trying to figure out how to get back. The good news is we found a gas station, we found our way back and our marriage seems to have survived. Knock on wood.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Saturday, 28 May</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Things have gone much better so far today. We got up earlier than usual and arrived about 8:00 am at Bob Howard Toyota hoping that the repair of our air conditioning could be accomplished with a minimum of time and not too much expense. The fact that we had to wait in a line of about five cars for a first-come-first-served service on a holiday weekend did not bode well. Much to our satisfaction, however, things progressed reasonably swiftly and the staff was very friendly and kept us apprised of the progress. Three new V-belts and $145 later we left Bob Howard's in delightfully cool rig. We decided not to push our luck and are spending another night in Oklahoma City. There was laundry and shopping to do. There was no room at the Twin Fountains, but we found accommodations at Rockwell RV Park where we plan to have a more relaxing day.</div> <div style="text-align: right;"></div> <div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-26917536051077931472011-05-25T23:34:00.000-07:002011-05-25T23:34:03.453-07:00Blog 4<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>24 May. We had a pleasant drive From Bob & Debbie's to Kingman, AZ; the temperatures were pleasant and the air clear. We arrived at Gloria Dukeshire's house pretty much on time, chatted a little while and then took her to dinner. A more pleasant and generous lady would be hard to find. We had met only one time prior to this meeting <span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">several years ago in eastern Oregon. She and I (Bruce) share an ancestor</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">—</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Thomas Purves</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">—Gloria by his second wife, Nancy Hattery, and I by his first wife, Ann Henderson. One of the fortunate things about her is that, like me, Gloria has a passion for genealogy. We shared thoughts and insights into the family's history, but my brain, already tested by traveling all day, was soon filled and overflowing, so I had to say goodnight. </span><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The next day (25 May) it was back in the RV. Again, the weather was perfect: not too hot, not too cold, clear skies, and mostly interesting landscape.</span></div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cQ_MvBKwpac/Td3qCz_5EEI/AAAAAAAAAEc/jKd5zJIgwJs/s1600/Gloria.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cQ_MvBKwpac/Td3qCz_5EEI/AAAAAAAAAEc/jKd5zJIgwJs/s320/Gloria.jpg" t8="true" width="244px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gloria Baskerville Dukeshire</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C7WzvQkiULc/Td3qI5XXQPI/AAAAAAAAAEg/8PHa6v21LeA/s1600/Gloria+%2526+Valerie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-C7WzvQkiULc/Td3qI5XXQPI/AAAAAAAAAEg/8PHa6v21LeA/s320/Gloria+%2526+Valerie.jpg" t8="true" width="233px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gloria & Valerie</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HjbwZgd04jU/Td3qNMKV_LI/AAAAAAAAAEk/TvVfQdA9JS0/s1600/I40+%2526+Trucks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="163px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HjbwZgd04jU/Td3qNMKV_LI/AAAAAAAAAEk/TvVfQdA9JS0/s320/I40+%2526+Trucks.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I-40 has more trucks than cars</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VpQ0S1FNKaE/Td3qQftwLFI/AAAAAAAAAEo/JNY9irkWRp8/s1600/Leaving+CA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VpQ0S1FNKaE/Td3qQftwLFI/AAAAAAAAAEo/JNY9irkWRp8/s320/Leaving+CA.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaving California: Lovely depth of field accentuated by the thick air.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>As we drove accros Arizona and ascended towards the Continental Divide, the geography became more complex as well as the fauna.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9qQxnuOz9vs/Td3qjVWmlZI/AAAAAAAAAE4/f_w2Log19nU/s1600/Painted+cliffs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9qQxnuOz9vs/Td3qjVWmlZI/AAAAAAAAAE4/f_w2Log19nU/s320/Painted+cliffs.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There were painted cliffs</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5eUfdS0Yqtk/Td3qesgrsiI/AAAAAAAAAE0/4NGka66Lqhc/s1600/Navaho+Signs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="209px" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5eUfdS0Yqtk/Td3qesgrsiI/AAAAAAAAAE0/4NGka66Lqhc/s320/Navaho+Signs.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Navaho apparently have no laws concerning the size of signs along the highways.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1KU453_hEi8/Td3qqVcLwhI/AAAAAAAAAE8/H1bn7aeQps4/s1600/Quarry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1KU453_hEi8/Td3qqVcLwhI/AAAAAAAAAE8/H1bn7aeQps4/s320/Quarry.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There were quarries</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0e7UYxtbHcY/Td3qUBk421I/AAAAAAAAAEs/zt565SwzIFQ/s1600/More+cliffs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="202px" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0e7UYxtbHcY/Td3qUBk421I/AAAAAAAAAEs/zt565SwzIFQ/s320/More+cliffs.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There were buttes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xYDhz4pW_Ik/Td3qaBmUSWI/AAAAAAAAAEw/pil-5yaJMQw/s1600/More+rocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="209px" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xYDhz4pW_Ik/Td3qaBmUSWI/AAAAAAAAAEw/pil-5yaJMQw/s320/More+rocks.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There were Volcanic forms.<br />
<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iShXRFVO9kI/Td3qvUL1NAI/AAAAAAAAAFA/KMYg_s8cYoM/s1600/Rt.+66+%2526+I40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iShXRFVO9kI/Td3qvUL1NAI/AAAAAAAAAFA/KMYg_s8cYoM/s320/Rt.+66+%2526+I40.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And there were freight trains running east and west along the entire I-40 corridor. <br />
.<br />
<div align="left"></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><div align="left">All in all, it was a fascinating drive, and I am looking forward to the next leg of the journey. But for now, it's getting late. Valerie is now quite asleep. I'm surprised that the amount noise she makes sleeping does not wake her.</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">Good night for now. I'll soon add my own voice to the chorus of snores. It will surely awake the entire KOA campground. </div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">Gallup, New Mexico</div><div align="left">Bruce </div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-50096119149889216292011-05-24T03:02:00.000-07:002011-05-24T03:02:44.111-07:00Blog 3B--PicturesFor the text see Blog 3A--Text<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vXopekUXEtI/Tdt_AzqGwMI/AAAAAAAAADo/YNa12JVw_-Y/s1600/Table+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vXopekUXEtI/Tdt_AzqGwMI/AAAAAAAAADo/YNa12JVw_-Y/s320/Table+2.jpg" t8="true" width="240px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Table 1</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0Qju3E5JviQ/Tdt_EhNq4MI/AAAAAAAAADs/G2wWiJXzfQU/s1600/Preparing+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="185px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0Qju3E5JviQ/Tdt_EhNq4MI/AAAAAAAAADs/G2wWiJXzfQU/s320/Preparing+1.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Debbie - Lori - KC - -Deidre</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8NcOpZ9Yfjk/Tdt_HFam0qI/AAAAAAAAADw/ohtzzw2u1Js/s1600/Preparing+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238px" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8NcOpZ9Yfjk/Tdt_HFam0qI/AAAAAAAAADw/ohtzzw2u1Js/s320/Preparing+2.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lori -- KC -- Deidre</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I0-mCBGZi6E/Tdt_JgPknWI/AAAAAAAAAD0/qupi1dRQauM/s1600/Preparing+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="313px" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I0-mCBGZi6E/Tdt_JgPknWI/AAAAAAAAAD0/qupi1dRQauM/s320/Preparing+3.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K0OtB84rGAw/Tdt_Nj7CzPI/AAAAAAAAAD4/LYpB_Y61iag/s1600/Dessert+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="259px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K0OtB84rGAw/Tdt_Nj7CzPI/AAAAAAAAAD4/LYpB_Y61iag/s320/Dessert+1.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Debbie -- Diane -- Bob</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xPQPc0Z3_LE/Tdt_UtW9R9I/AAAAAAAAAD8/HXiU6CkcK1E/s1600/D+Val+Dave+Diane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xPQPc0Z3_LE/Tdt_UtW9R9I/AAAAAAAAAD8/HXiU6CkcK1E/s320/D+Val+Dave+Diane.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deidre -- Valerie -- Dave -- Diane</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wqhbNFqtC9E/Tdt_ZRzvQ-I/AAAAAAAAAEA/ZLseTQkO9vg/s1600/Debbie+%2526+Valerie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wqhbNFqtC9E/Tdt_ZRzvQ-I/AAAAAAAAAEA/ZLseTQkO9vg/s320/Debbie+%2526+Valerie.jpg" t8="true" width="240px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Debbie -- Valerie</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JI3kHwikU7k/Tdt_eYrC__I/AAAAAAAAAEE/cghPzH7OYaI/s1600/Diane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="310px" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JI3kHwikU7k/Tdt_eYrC__I/AAAAAAAAAEE/cghPzH7OYaI/s320/Diane.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Diane</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w7v5fUW7P7Q/Tdt_ifEWw6I/AAAAAAAAAEI/Fm9zzhQmEFU/s1600/Dave+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-w7v5fUW7P7Q/Tdt_ifEWw6I/AAAAAAAAAEI/Fm9zzhQmEFU/s320/Dave+3.jpg" t8="true" width="240px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dave</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XVwJsu1Ih0g/Tdt_mKSW-CI/AAAAAAAAAEM/apLgMqUZcUA/s1600/Deidre.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XVwJsu1Ih0g/Tdt_mKSW-CI/AAAAAAAAAEM/apLgMqUZcUA/s320/Deidre.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deidre</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QAE8U6HF1c4/Tdt_rlA8OKI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/vMAWw1m_LVE/s1600/Lori+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QAE8U6HF1c4/Tdt_rlA8OKI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/vMAWw1m_LVE/s320/Lori+2.jpg" t8="true" width="240px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lori</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mxA9KcWRYrU/Tdt_uumhyKI/AAAAAAAAAEU/RcDT9655f2c/s1600/KC+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mxA9KcWRYrU/Tdt_uumhyKI/AAAAAAAAAEU/RcDT9655f2c/s320/KC+1.jpg" t8="true" width="296px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">KC</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0DGbR5NIGZE/Tdt_wTfikFI/AAAAAAAAAEY/CTODCCtcX14/s1600/KC+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0DGbR5NIGZE/Tdt_wTfikFI/AAAAAAAAAEY/CTODCCtcX14/s320/KC+2.jpg" t8="true" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">KC</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Tv0XBCmWLTA/Tdt-94hq1MI/AAAAAAAAADk/CO_2e_ENgUY/s1600/Table+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Tv0XBCmWLTA/Tdt-94hq1MI/AAAAAAAAADk/CO_2e_ENgUY/s320/Table+1.jpg" t8="true" width="240px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Table 2</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-5624102279084765932011-05-24T02:47:00.000-07:002011-05-24T02:47:14.412-07:00Blog 3A--TextBefore I launch into the the wonders of this leg of our trip, let me correct two errors in Blog 2. #1: Yes, I know what month it is: May! #2: The final in the blog picture is not a picture of the “San Joaquin Valley;” it's a picture of scrub trees in southern Oregon as we climbed through the many passes of the Siskiyou Mountain range. This is a whirlwind of a trip, so there will undoubtedly be more booboos as I try to form a narrative from the debris in what I loosely call my mind.<br />
<br />
And one other thing. Putting pictures in this blog has given me a lot of trouble, so will have a text blog page and a picture blog page. The text pages will be "A" pages, and the picture pages will be the "B" pages.<br />
<br />
The San Joaquin Valley is not so much a place to visit as it is a place to endure on your way to get someplace else. It is a very broad valley with the Sierras on the east and various coast-range mountains on the west. On this trip<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">—and I suspect most trips—the Sierras were invisible. They are quite distant—well over 50 miles most of the time, more of the rest of the time—but, for those of us who love mountains and have spent a lot of time in them, they have a strong presence even when not seen. On the west of the valley are various smaller mountain ranges, and on this day (Friday 20 May) they were a visible but the thick valley air rendered them a dirty blue and obliterated most of their details.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">At the southern end of the valley, I-5 rapidly ascends into the mountains which form a wall on the north of Los Angeles. The pass was 4,000 ft., plus, and was the most interesting part of the day's trip. The hills seem largely untouched and seem to have only native species growing on their slopes. This a significant contrast with both the San Joaquin Valley which lies south of Sacramento, and the Sacramento Valley which lies on the north of Sacramento.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">The remainder of the trip was exciting, also, but not in a pleasant sense. The traffic got increasingly dense and increasingly slower, and, from Hollywood to Long beach, it was stop-and-go with the emphasis on “stop.” My line, which was repeated many time in this stretch of I-5 was, “Why would anyone chose to live here?” South of Los Angeles is much better. Lovey weather and more tolerable traffic.</span><br />
<br />
21-23 May<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">My brother Bob and his wife Debbie welcomed us with a tidal wave of love and food. Debbie's family comes from Italy and brings with it food, more food, and, just in case, more food<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">—</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">all of it delicious! Another Italian trait is love, big open-hearted love, with lots of hugs. We could not have felt more welcomed.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Bob and Debbie arranged for a reunion on Sunday (22 May). This was a reunion of people on my mother's side of the family: my uncle Dave (my mother's baby brother) and his wife Diane, Dave's children (my cousins) Diedre and Lori, and Lori's husband KC. Uncle Dave, approaching his 84</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> birthday, is the last of my mother's siblings. I don't know Dave's children well</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">—we grew up on <span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">opposite ends of the country—they in California and I in Vermont. I will always treasure this opportunity to get to know them a little bit better. A grand time was had by all, and there was food, more food, and, mama mia, piu mangiare!</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">We will be meeting more relations on my mother's side later on this trip. The next will be Pamela Edwards Hoffman, my 2</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">nd</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> cousin in South Carolina, and her children, my 2</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">nd</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> cousins, once removed. Later in the trip in Michigan we will be meeting Walter Edwards, Pamela's uncle—my 1</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">st</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> cousin 1 once removed. More on these folks later.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Monday, 23 May, we went into Laguna Beach to meet with Sandra Shrader. This will give you an idea of just how crazy I am. She and I are not related—at least not in the usual way; I did not go to school with her; in fact, we had never met. She found me on line because of my work preserving my parents' business, the Vermont Copper Crafters. And herein lies the relationship: my father worked for her grandfather. That makes me her uncle in the copper business. Whatever the relationship, she turned out to be an absolutely delightful person. Her grandfather was a long-time owner of Craftsmen Inc., one of the most important manufacturers of copper giftware (bookends, bowls, pitchers, ashtrays, etc) in the country. It was with Craftsmen that my father learned the trade. Sandra has been researching the history of Craftsmen with the intention of publishing a book on the company. It promises to be The Word on the subject. She is the right person for the job. Not only is she related to the business, but she is a tireless researcher and a professional writer. I can't wait for it to roll off the presses.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Tuesday, 24 May, we will head to Kingman. AZ. There we will meet with Gloria Chase Dukeshire. Gloria and I are both descended from Thomas Purves, She is the 3rd generation, I the fourth. More on this when I post the next blog.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Bruce</span></div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-83950474244696433172011-05-21T00:44:00.000-07:002011-05-21T21:55:09.265-07:00Blog 2: 18 - 20 September <br />
<div class="" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><u>18 May 2011: An I-5 day</u></div> <br />
<div style="text-align: right;"></div> <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TCCZ1C6ZJr0/TdfmVHKTE8I/AAAAAAAAAA0/g2lGpsd3EyU/s1600/The+greens+of+the+Willamette+Valley+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150px" j8="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TCCZ1C6ZJr0/TdfmVHKTE8I/AAAAAAAAAA0/g2lGpsd3EyU/s200/The+greens+of+the+Willamette+Valley+1.jpg" width="200px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The colors of green</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;">We left the house this morning at 10:30,but it was 11:00 before we could say we were on our way. The weather was was pleasantly cool and sky was filled with pillowy clouds . The Willamette Valley, the "Eden of the Oregon Territory," which, in the middle of the 19th century had drawn thousands from the eastern states, was its usual lovely and benign self. Sheep, goats, llamas and dairy cattle were grazing in the fields; hawks and vultures soared above, and everywhere it was green<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">—the </span>green fields of valley, the dark, blue-black green of the conifers, the pale chartreuse of the willows with their fresh spring leaves made possible by the bounty of the Valley's rains. Closer to the ground patches of blue and yellow marsh iris made wonderful splashes of color. Bright yellow scotch broom was gorgeous too, but our ardor is cooled by the fact that this is an aggressive, imported invasive species.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GlXBWc5hUIQ/TdfmwyXynhI/AAAAAAAAABA/GIRkfAxvVIc/s1600/Scotch+Broom+on+I-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150px" j8="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GlXBWc5hUIQ/TdfmwyXynhI/AAAAAAAAABA/GIRkfAxvVIc/s200/Scotch+Broom+on+I-5.jpg" width="200px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scotch Broom</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Shortly after Eugene we began the long haul up through the passes of the Siskiyou mountains which straddle the boarder of Oregon and California<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">—Canyon Creek Pass: 2,020 ft., Stage Road Pass: 1,830 ft.,</span> Smith Hill Summit: 1,727 ft., Sexton Mt. Pass: 1,970 ft., Siskiyou Summit: 4,310. The climate is cool in winter and hot in the summer, and is considerably more arid than the Willamette Valley. Mount Shasta, at 14,162 ft., of course has snow and ice year round, but even the lesser peaks still had snow<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">—</span>some of it probably fresh (it's been a strange spring). The dryness results in a different flora: fewer Douglas fir and western hemlock, but more madrones and pines, especially ponderosa. But even at that, many hills are nearly devoid of trees, and, what trees there are, are scrubs. They squat there like old men, worn rough and bent from the wind, cold winters and arid climate. Mt. Shasta, by the way, had its head in clouds of its own making the entire time it was in our view.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zNuLU9r19so/Tdfm1tmx4OI/AAAAAAAAABE/mL0uwg2crgE/s1600/Climbing+out+of+the+valley+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150px" j8="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zNuLU9r19so/Tdfm1tmx4OI/AAAAAAAAABE/mL0uwg2crgE/s200/Climbing+out+of+the+valley+1.jpg" width="200px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Climbing out of the Willamette Valley</td></tr>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Because we had gotten such a late start, and because we had so many miles to go, and because we chose to drive at a fuel-saving-speed of 55 mph, to save time we took pictures through the windows of the bouncing rig. The resulting photos are blurry, but they are included here to help our friends back east who never seem to be able to travel west of the Mississippi.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fRquD48TSnY/TdfnY8k-XLI/AAAAAAAAABM/FTUuFx60Fjo/s1600/Mt.+Shasta+in+the+clouds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150px" j8="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fRquD48TSnY/TdfnY8k-XLI/AAAAAAAAABM/FTUuFx60Fjo/s200/Mt.+Shasta+in+the+clouds.jpg" width="200px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt. Shasta hides her head</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">One of my favorite bits was the huge sign we passed in the hills of the Roseburg, Oregon. Not only was it huge, but it was bright yellow. Its message: "The Day of Judgment is Coming: 21 May 2011," or words to that effect. At the time I was driving in the midst of double and triple trailer trucks, and, if I had stopped to take a picture of the sign, 18 May might have been my day of Judgment! </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We finally stopped for dinner at 7:00 pm, and to save time we chose a McDonalds. We ate in the van to keep Henrietta, our basset hound, company.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It was already becoming dark as we hit the road again and about a half an hour before reaching our destination<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">—Valerie's</span> aunt's house in Sacramento<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">—</span>a nearly full "full flower moon" rose in the southeast. It was a lovely shade of yellow caused partly from being so close to the horizon and was thus filtered by much more atmosphere than had it been higher in the sky, and partly because we were looking at it through Sacramento's heavy breath.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Hello, this is Valerie. Bruce wants me to say a few words about “why Sacramento.” I was born in Sacramento<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">—</span>4<sup>th</sup> generation on my mother's side. My mother's great-grandparents came to California for the gold. George and Margaret (Gill) Hagelstein came from Germany, and Christian and Agatha (Tennis) Jurgens came from Helgoland (an island in the North Sea close to Denmark and Germany, which, at the time they came, belonged to England). George Hagelstein walked from St. Louis, Missouri, to Hangtown (Placerville), California, and his wife probably came across the Isthmus of Panama to San Francisco. Christian and Agatha and many of other members of both the Tennis and Jurgens families sailed from England to San Francisco around Cape Horn. </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">My father's side of the family were late comers to Sacramento. They moved to Sacramento from Portland, OR, in 1923. Both of my parents are buried here in Sacramento. And, not only my beloved aunt (my father's sister), but, also, two of her daughters and their children and grandchildren are now living there. All of this family, alive and dead, keep me feeling at home in Sacramento.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Miles traveled: 545; hours on the road: 12 hours.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Bruce is writing again.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">19 September. We spent a very pleasant day with Valerie's aunt and cousins. Aunt Phyllis is in her 80s now and her short-term memory is not what it once was<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">—</span>a source of great consternation for this highly intelligent, Smith College graduate. Two of her daughters, Linda and Katherine, live in the Sacramento area and look after their mother. Linda was the maid of honor at our wedding and Katherine was a flower girl. The morning was spent talking with Phyllis both about old memories and more current events. In the evening we had a delicious meal with Katherine and her family: husband Peter, son Benjamin and daughter Amanda, and Ben's girlfriend Gwen. All are delightful, intelligent, talented, and with a sense of humor that kept the banter delightful, interesting and fast paced.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">20 May</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We are back on the road again and hope to spend a day or so with my brother and his wife, Debbie, in Lake Forest, CA. I have an aunt and uncle in nearby Laguna Beach, and a cousin, Lori, Uncle Dave's daughter, who lives in the area as well. We'll see them Sunday</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N9GrkRG-BiU/TdfoHX4mz8I/AAAAAAAAABg/qicQ6vta8H8/s1600/Valerie+at+the+wheel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" j8="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N9GrkRG-BiU/TdfoHX4mz8I/AAAAAAAAABg/qicQ6vta8H8/s200/Valerie+at+the+wheel.jpg" width="150px" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N9vRN0HqKIQ/TdfmKx0by9I/AAAAAAAAAAw/rnwGtynm77A/s1600/Conifers+%2526+pillowy+clouds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-g8xJTsCWlrk/TdfnpcoOI4I/AAAAAAAAABU/3f49QNDYzCI/s1600/Scrub+trees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150px" j8="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-g8xJTsCWlrk/TdfnpcoOI4I/AAAAAAAAABU/3f49QNDYzCI/s200/Scrub+trees.jpg" width="200px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hills in the Sanouquin Valley.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="about:blank" name="rso"></a>I-5 (the main multi-laned road through the west coast states). I-5 through the San Joaquin Valley (the valley south of Sacramento) has to be one of the most boring stretches of road anywhere. It is long (383 miles), and, in the summer, hot and arid. We're not in summer yet, so it's not unbareably hot, but the grass has already gone dormant from the lack of rain. The Sierras are off to the east, but you can't tell by looking, as the Valley air is too thick to see them. To the west, at the moment, are the Santa Barbara Mountains and beside being an uninteresting shade of blue, provide nothing to hold ones attention for more than a few seconds. A few miles past Bakersfield we ascended what is called the Grape Vine to cross a range of mountains which help hold the smog in Los Angeles. The name, "Grape Vine," is probably a hold over from the time when US route 99 was the main thoroughfare crossing these mountains. Old folk can recall the many switchbacks which made it possible to get over the 1499 ft. pass. The engineers who designed I-5 did a much better job, and, except for heavy trucks and underpowered RV (like ours) the average speed is about the same as on the flats of the valley.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The traffic through Los Angeles and its burbs was stop and go with the emphasis on stop. For the life of me, I can't figure out the appeal of living in or around L.A. The traffic is horrendous! the air unbreathable as well as corrosive, and the traffic maniacal. But we made it through and arrived at my brothers house about 9:00pm and ate a wonderful meal with Bob & Debbie. In spite of our weariness the laughter made us forget our exhaustion. </div></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Bruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4285007738245902086.post-12312673534449048832011-05-15T19:55:00.001-07:002011-05-15T21:26:21.341-07:00Trip 2011: 15 MayHi to all,<br />
<br />
Valerie & I are about to make another circumnavigation of the U.S. It is our plan to see as many of you as possible, but because of the complexity of the trip there will be some of you that we will have to miss. There are 82 people and places of interest on our list including siblings, cousins (1st thru 4th cousins), nephews & nieces (grand & great), high school and college class mates, colleagues, former teachers and students, friends and places. Hopefully many of you would like to gather a favorite watering hole or other gathering place for some great reunions. We won't be able to see you all, but, being the party animal that I am, we will make every effort to come close.<br />
We plan to begin our 2-month, 10,000 mile odyssey this Wednesday (May 15) and be in Sacramento by the evening. We'll spend a day with some of Valerie's relatives there and then head south to Orange County California for some of my family. From there we head east visiting all manner of folks and then turn north in Georgia travelling up the coast visiting cousins and colleagues and pausing at Civil War battlefields to remember those in our families who fought and died there. We will go all the way to Magog, Quebec, where a branch of Valerie's family lived in the early 1800s. From there we head back south and then west through New York and Pennsylvania to Ohio where both of our families lived in the 19th century and where many of those with McIntosh blood running through their veins still live. While in the mideast, as I call it, we get a bit crazy zigging and zagging to Kentucky to Michigan to Indiana to Illinois.<br />
Then we will look towards home covering more miles than relatives and seeing some pretty spectacular scenery. Perhaps the last major stop before home will be Kalispell, Montana. It was there that my father was born in 1915, and his mother died just 11 days later. She has rested in an unmarked grave since, but my brother and I have made arrangements to have a marker installed for her, and Valerie and I will pause to view it.<br />
Then we turn southwest for home with a possible pause in Washington to visit with the Zirkles in Richland, Washington.<br />
That's all for now, but it is our plan to post a blog every day or so. We're hoping to meet with many of you in person, or at least on line.<br />
<br />
Best wishes,<br />
Bruce & ValerieBruce & Valeriehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01452217167454013476noreply@blogger.com1