History – Page 10 – Streaming thru America

Titans of Industry

February 16, 2018February 16, 2018Posted in Airstream, Architecture, History, landscape, money, Nature, Philosophy, Photography, Science, technology, travelTagged Ft. Myers, Harvey Firestone, Henry Ford, Thomas Edison2 Comments

Every student of science, history and commerce knows the importance of Thomas Edison’s contributions (2332 worldwide patents),

and how through his imagination and industry…

kinetescope projector — **Kinetoscope Projector**

he single-handedly reshaped the 20th century.

No less famous and equally as successful, Henry Ford’s lifetime commitment to automotive innovation was without peer.

Now put the two titans together…

as next-door neighbors within their Ft. Myers, FL winter compound…

beside the Caloosahatchee River…

and the sum exceeds the parts. Adding John Burroughs, the nation’s leading naturalist and conservationist of his time to the party,

Edison_Burroughs_Ford (2) — **Edison, Burroughs, Ford**

resulted in the birth of the car-camping movement in America as we know it today: motoring across the country in search of fulfilling outdoor recreation and adventure.

Better known as The Vagabonds, the caravan later included tire magnate, Harvey Firestone, who would travel with the pack across America for the next ten years, taking vacations in an elaborate Packer and Ford motorcade that always included Edison’s battery of batteries to light the campsite,

a Ford chuckwagon attended by Firestone’s personal chef,

and a pack of newspapermen and paparazzi who would record The Vagabond’s every step and conversation.

Edison’s inventions are presented in historical perspective in a comprehensive on-site museum space that credits Ft. Myers as an inspirational Eden for Edison’s genius.

Additionally, by recreating his West Orange, NJ laboratory in Ft. Myers,

Edison could work uninterrupted throughout the year, never missing an opportunity to tinker or embellish on an idea, while enjoying the comforts of a home…

and grounds…

that he designed in 1886,

and Mina attended until his death in 1931.

Henry Ford acquired the neighboring bungalow known as The Mangoes in 1916,

and the two titans drove each other to continuing heights of excellence in achievement.

But of all their noticeable accomplishments, their mutual love of country living coupled with the enormous publicity generated by their expeditions most certainly inspired an army of auto owners and outdoor enthusiasts to follow their example.

Thus, The Vagabonds paved the way for the popularity of motor camping, and gave rise to a recreational industry that advances the dream of this sojourner’s lifestyle: where the highway is my lifeline and my Airstream is my cradle.

Note: Historic photos courtesy of Edison and Ford Winter Estates collection.

For the Love of Money

February 11, 2018February 12, 2018Posted in Architecture, History, landscape, money, Nature, Photography, travelTagged billionaires, Gulf of Mexico, John Sample, Naples FL, Port Royal7 Comments

Apparently, the citizens of Naples, FL have the deepest pockets of any town in America thanks to the highest concentration of billionaires who own part-time residences along the deep water coastline of Port Royal.

Such was the claim of First Officer Owen, who was overheard aboard the top deck of the Naples Princess…

during a two-hour pleasure cruise from the top of Naples Bay, past Bayview Park,

and through the channels of decadence bound by the beach on the Gulf of Mexico…

and Keewaydin Island.

John Glenn Sample came to Naples in 1938 with a vision that would compete with Henry Flagler’s development of Palm Beach during the early 1900’s. Unimpressed by the titans of industry who would flock to the East Coast of Florida to sip fine whiskey and smoke Cuban cigars against a backdrop of crashing waves, Sample determined that the tranquil surf and serene surroundings of the Gulf Coast was better suited for peace and relaxation.

Not to be outdone by the co-founder of Standard Oil, Sample gobbled and cobbled two square miles of mangroves and marsh along Naples Bay for $13,700. During the 1950’s, Sample exhausted the $3.5 million he earned from the sale of his Chicago advertising agency by bringing heavy earth-moving equipment and dredging machinery to town, and subsequently rearranged his property into fingers reaching out to deep water access amid the warm currents of the Gulf of Mexico.

Early on, Sample priced his Port Royal lots between $7,500 and $12,000, and spec homes were priced between $22,000 and $25,000. By the 1960’s, Port Royal lot prices had ballooned to $30,000 and Port Royal homes were selling for $60,000.

Yet despite premium prices, Sample was holding out on hawking his holdings; the litmus test to buy property from Glenn Sample was that he must like you, because selling to a buyer was much more than “show me the money!” A prospective homeowner/neighbor had to supply letters of recommendation, and pass the like-mindedness quotient.

Today, only a few of the original 3,000 square foot homes remain, having been replaced by maximum-sized mansions of shimmering glass and steel.

And of those still standing and available as teardowns for $4M, they are being replaced by new construction that defies understanding–exceeding unimaginable dimensions, and approaching $100M to complete.

Port Royal royalty includes celebrities from sports fame, media, and entertainment. Generational offspring of corporate giants who colonized the enclave (Briggs-Stratton, Kodak, Collier Publishing, etc.) continue to live a life of quiet luxury, as does the former treasurer of Estonia who proudly flies his country’s flag.

But of all known Port Royal billionaires (there are many property owners who cloak their identities behind holding companies), none is more deserving than Dick Portillo, better known as Chicago’s King of Hot Dogs.

Starting out in 1963 with $1100 in savings intended as a down payment for a house, Portillo convinced his wife to invest in a small trailer called The Dog House on North Avenue in Villa Park. Running water came from a garden hose attached to another building.

Not knowing how to cook, Portillo learned the business by visiting competing restaurants with his two young children in tow and asking questions until he perfected his technique and grew the business: to his first drive-thru in 1983; to offering nationwide shipping to all 50 states; to 38 locations in Illinois, Indiana, Arizona and California;

to eventually selling to Boston-based Berkshire Partners in 2014 for $1B, and acquiring an anchor for his $10,500,000 Westport yacht.

Only in America!

The Ringling Museum of Art

February 7, 2018February 7, 2018Posted in Architecture, Art, History, Photography, travelTagged Sarasota, The Ringling10 Comments

John Ringling was one of the early 20th century’s most prolific collectors of art, and his Museum of Art, opened in 1931 has become his true legacy. Soon after marrying Mable in 1905, the Ringlings became avid collectors, acquiring paintings, furniture and tapestries from the estates of other established patrons of art. In 1924, the Ringlings met Julius Böhler, a prominent Munich art dealer, and developed a long-standing relationship that would ignite the Ringlings’ growing interest in collecting art.

The Ringlings had been traveling through Europe for years and had fallen in love with Baroque art. In 1925 John hired architect John H. Phillips to design and build a museum on his Sarasota property to house his ever-growing collection.

What Phillips designed was a U-shaped pink palace with 21 galleries to house Ringling’s treasure trove of paintings and art objects, highlighted by a collection of masters that would eventually include Velazquez, El Greco, Van Dyke, Veronese, Tiepolo, Gainsborough and Rubens.

Paired perfectly with the Renaissance-style of the Museum, the Museum of Art’s Courtyard embodied the ideals of the Renaissance garden.

museum gardens

Its long loggias…

garden arches

shimmering walkway

marble reflections

…flank a central courtyard that features an impressive group of early twentieth-century bronze and stone casts of famous Classical, Renaissance, and Baroque sculptures, among them, at its heart, Michelangelo’s David from Palazzo Vecchio in Florence.

David

Ringling hoped that by building the Museum he would make Sarasota a cultural and educational center. To achieve his vision he began buying comprehensive collections with prestigious provenances, beginning with the purchase of three rooms complete with furnishing, paintings and architectural finishes from the Astor Mansion and a villa in the Tuscan countryside.

He also purchased four tapestry paintings, oil on canvas, by the Flemish master Peter Paul Rubens from the Duke of Westminster. Today these magnificent paintings welcome you as you enter the Museum’s gallery, and are the foundation of the Museum’s extraordinary Baroque collection.

Rubens info

Paul Rubens Hall

Rubens paintaing

Between 1925 and 1931, Ringling acquired more than 600 Old Master paintings from the Late Medieval thorough the 19th century. His purchase of Rubens’ Pausias and Glycera was considered so significant that Art Digest reported on it.

Pausias and Glycera

In 1928, Ringling made another significant acquisition that was to form the core of his classical antiquities collection: 2800 objects of Greek, Roman, and Cypriot antiquities from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Excitement about his collection was growing in art circles; the New York Times did a full-page article about the purchase, praising not only the collection, but the Museum and its surroundings as well.

heron pedastol1.jpg

cypress and moss

The Depression and local real estate market collapse contributed greatly toward Ringling’s financial demise. It’s been reported that Ringling died in 1936 with only $311 in the bank. Although Ringling bequeathed his museum to the people of Florida–hoping to establish Sarasota as a cultural beacon–his creditors and legal wrangling would delay the settling of his estate for a decade.

Funds were poorly managed and the endowment Ringling left languished and barely grew. The Museum was only occasionally opened between 1936 and 1946 and not properly maintained. Gradually, the care that the buildings required were either put off or handled piecemeal.

But while the Museum struggled with a lack of finances, a series of Directors continued to foster its artistic growth, most notably A. Everett (Chick) Austin, Jr. the charismatic former Director of The Wadsworth Atheneum in Hartford, Connecticut who became the Museum’s first Director and Curator in 1946 and served until his death in 1957.

Today, thanks to continuing community support, the Museum has increased its gallery exhibition space. And under visionary leadership, the Museum has increased its artistic relevance, and national prominence by showcasing emerging talents in the international arts community.

glass form

credenza

sculpture (3)

Under Florida State University’s stewardship, the Museum of Art has exciting plans for new acquisitions and exciting exhibitions and programs, finally fulfilling John Ringling’s dream of delivering a great cultural center to Sarasota citizens.

Note:

Quotes are courtesy of Ringling Museum of Art

The House of John by Mable

February 5, 2018February 5, 2018Posted in Architecture, Art, History, landscape, money, Photo Challenge, Photography, travelTagged beloved, Ca'D'Zan, John Ringling, Mable Ringling, Sarasota7 Comments

Charles Thompson, manager of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show (later acquired by the Ringlings) had built Palms Elysian along Sarasota Bay by 1893…

to bolster his initial purchase of 154 acres for $1650. Thinking that Sarasota could be a great destination for the winter circus season, and a worthy land development opportunity, Thompson persuaded John and Charles Ringling to explore the area in 1911, and convinced John to purchase the home and 20 acres of waterfront property from mutual friend and General Agent of New York Railroad, Ralph Caples, who only three months earlier had acquired the estate from Thompson. By then, Palms Elysian had become a showplace of a home in an area surrounded by log cabins and fishing huts.

John and Mable continued to winter at Palms Elysian through the 1920s, with John and Charles becoming more involved in Sarasota real estate speculation and development, scooping up Bird Key, St. Armands Key and Longboat Key, and owning as much as 25% of the entire Sarasota area.

It was time to replace Palms Elysian with a home befitting the thirteenth wealthiest man in America.

John and Mable’s extensive travels throughout Italy provided her with plenty of inspiration for their proposed palazzo on the bay. Gleaning architectural details from Doge’s Palace and the Bauer-Grünwald Hotel in Venice, Mable turned her drawings and notes over to leading New York architect Dwight James Baum for a cohesive design, and commissioned Owen Burns to build Cà d’Zan (House of John, in Venizzi dialect), a 36,000 square foot Venetian Gothic-styled residence where Palms Elysian once stood.

Construction began in 1924. Every aspect of the building, inside and out, was painstakingly overseen by Mable–from the terra cotta mix and the tile glaze, to the decorative furnishings and flourishes of modern living during the Roaring Twenties.

All the while, John Ringling’s investments (entertainment, real estate, railroads, oil, and cattle) had amassed a fortune of $200 million, and landed him on the cover of Time Magazine.

Cà d’Zan was completed and fully furnished before Christmas 1926 at an astonishing cost of $1.5 million ($21 million today). With 41 rooms and 15 bathrooms, the Ringling’s new home featured a crystal chandelier from the original Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, Florida’s first residential elevator by Otis, an Aeolian organ with 2,289 pipes built into a wall rising two stories,

and an 82-foot-high tower with an open-air landing and a high-domed ceiling.

A similarly-styled gate marked the official entrance to the opulence of Cà d’Zan and The Ringling estate,

where Mable would greet her celebrity guests–the likes of Will Rogers, Jimmy Walker, Flo Ziegfeld, and Billie Burke.

Their stroll continued through lush gardens punctuated by Italian statuary,

past Mable’s rose garden,

and down the pathway marked by a zodiac compass mosaic,

until they reached the jewel on the bay.

Leah and I elected to tour the mansion in two parts, with a small group guided by docents who led us through four floors of fresco art, enormous Italian Renaissance paintings and tapestries, French Baroque furniture, and the Belvedere tower.

However, interior photography was not allowed. I felt like my hands had been tied.

I would have liked to photograph the deep tub in Mr. Ringling’s bathroom–with both freshwater and saltwater taps–carved out a single slab of Sienna marble to accommodate his 6′ 2″ frame.

Consequently, I have no image of the equally impressive 16-foot long German Silver sink installed in the kitchen pantry as a measure of protection for Mable’s oversized collection of Lenox bone china and hand-painted pottery displayed in the many pantry cabinets.

I was also miffed that I couldn’t capture the coffered ceiling of smartly painted Florida pecky cypress in the solarium amid the jeweled tones of the Venetian black glass skylights.

And it was disappointing being unable to record the light flooding through the windows that wrap around the 4th-floor guest bedroom once preferred by Will Rogers, which set the paneled walnut ceiling aglow.

However, with a climb to Belvedere Tower and the photo ban lifted, the lens cap came off, and I was free to enjoy the expansive 360° views…

across Mable’s lush gardens,

and over a rooftop clad in antique Spanish barrel tile from Barcelona buildings personally salvaged by John Ringling and cargo-shipped to Miami.

Legend has it that John Ringling would walk his guests to the top of the tower to show off his Longboat Key land holdings as far as the eye could see.

I must have lost all track of time while shooting to my heart’s content, because when I finally put my camera down, I noticed that I was standing alone, and the tour had moved on without me.

Down the spiral stairs I ambled,

only to discover the tower door locked from the inside. I pounded on the iron-clad door in vain, eventually realizing that nobody could hear me. I considered my limited options: I could look out over east side of the tower, hoping that I could be discovered from below…

…nah…or I could try Leah’s cell phone, and hope that she’d taken it off vibrate. It rang and rang and rang…

9-1-1 was another consideration, but quickly discounted when Leah finally answered on the fifth ring.

“Hello? Why are you calling me?” was all she wanted to know.

“Take a look around you. Do you see me anywhere?” I started.

“No, but I figured you’re off taking pictures somewhere ’cause that’s what you do,” she intoned.

“Well not this time,” I revealed. “This time I’m stuck at the top of the tower with the door locked, and no way of getting down. So do you think you could manage to alert the docent or security, and maybe they could find their way up here to rescue me,” I mentioned calmly.

“I’ll see what I can do. Bye.” and she was gone.

An extra five minutes on the tower landing, and I was still enjoying the view. But when five minutes turned to ten, I called Leah again to make sure I wasn’t being punished or forgotten. This time she answered right away.

“Hi. Remember me?” I was 100% sarcastic.

“I don’t know what to tell you. They said they were on their way,” she quasi-sympathized.

Moments later, I heard the door unlatch. The door swung open, and there was our security escort together with the guide–both looking relieved and embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry,” stated the docent. “I don’t know how something like this could have happened. In all my years of running tours through this house, this has never happened before. Thank goodness, you’re alright,” she gushed.

I followed her down four flights of stairs, with security only steps behind me, probably watching closely to guarantee I didn’t get lost. The tour was officially over.

I rejoined Leah at the back of the palazzo, where we sat for a few minutes on the inlaid marble terrace looking out across the water,

and imagined Mable being rowed around the bay in her authentic Venetian gondola, while contemplating her next trip to Italy.

But her time at Cà d’Zan was brief and bittersweet. She would only have three years at her beloved retreat before succumbing to Addison’s disease with complications from diabetes in 1929.

Although she lived to be 54, for Mable it was la dolce vita.

The Greatest Show on Earth

February 3, 2018February 12, 2018Posted in Architecture, Art, History, money, Photography, travelTagged circus, John Ringling, The Greatest Show on Earth3 Comments

For anyone who ever wanted to run away and join the circus, ground zero is located in Sarasota, FL, where a legacy built by John and Mable Ringling continues to simmer in a culturally rich pot that still stirs the imagination.

It’s hard to believe that Sarasota, once a sleepy fishing village on the Gulf Coast of Florida at the turn of the 20th century, has become a shining example of shimmering glass towers and manicured mansions on the bay,

and a cultural capital of fine and performing arts in America–

born from a prophecy envisioned by circus impresario John Ringling, and fueled by The Greatest Show on Earth.

However, after 146 years of touring across America, the curtain has come down on the entertainment extravaganza, and the big top has folded forever after its last show on May 21, 2017.

According to Kenneth Feld, chairman and CEO of Feld Entertainment, the circus could no longer compete as the spectacle that had endured for so many generations. Plagued by prolonged battles with animal rights activists, rising operating costs, and children more enamored by super heroes, the circus had lost its lustre and cultural relevance.

Fortunately, for those of us who still remember the taste of roasted peanuts, and the sweet smell of cotton candy wafting in the air, a visit to Ringling Museum of the American Circus…

provides a venue to a bygone era, when the thrill of the circus parade would send spirits soaring, and unrelenting children reigning havoc on parents, until they were promised tickets to the latest and greatest show.

Established in 1948 by Chick Austin, Jr., Ringling’s first museum director, the circus museum displays Ringling memorabilia from the time the Ringling brothers purchased the Barnum and Bailey act in 1907.

The collection features beautifully carved circus wagons,

music wagon1 — **Harp and Jesters Calliope Wagon, circa 1915**

music wagon — ***Griffin and Venetian Bandwagon, circa 1907***

lion wagon — **Hagenbeck and Wallace Lion Tableau Bandwagon, circa 1904-1905**

elephant wagon — **Elephant Bandwagon, circa 1906**

music wagon2 — **Italian Percussion Bandwagon, circa 1915**

props…

cannon truck1a — **Zacchini Repeating Firing Cannon, circa 1960s**

posters…

and costumes…

Emmett Kelly's Weary Willie clown shoes (3) — **Emmett Kelley’s Weary Willie clown shoes, circa 1942**

donated from local circus families, who eventually resettled in Sarasota after John Ringling moved the Circus Winter Quarters to town in 1927.

The museum features elaborate animal carvings, past…

and present, with active carving studios onsite for miniatures…

and life-size creations.

But the shining star of the show has to be the newly refurbished train carriage, named Wisconsin…

a customized rolling office and home of grand design and furnishings built by Pullman,

which allowed John and Mable Ringling to criss-cross the nation, always in search of fresh talent and new acts for the big top.

The Ringling Museum of the American Circus features a rich folklore that honors the performers of a Golden Age, and celebrates an iconic American institution once hailed as the Mecca of family entertainment.

The museum is also a testament to five hard-working brothers born in Iowa to German immigrants, who rose from the ranks of penny actors to build a circus empire that lasted long after John Ringling’s death in 1936 until its recent demise…

and sadly, has become just another blip in the timeline of American amusement.

Football Follies

January 31, 2018February 1, 2018Posted in Awards, History, humor, money, Photography, sportsTagged All Star game, Camping World Stadium, football, NFL, Orlando, Pro Bowl1 Comment

Traditionally, every professional team sport in America routinely celebrates a season midpoint known as the All-Star game….except for football. And for the most part, these exhibition events typically showcase the finest talent of the league franchises, usually selected by fans and coaches to honor the athletes who have amassed the season’s best stats…except for football.

Instead, the NFL currently slips its All Star game (called the Pro Bowl) between the Conference Finals (which determines the winners of the AFC and NFC) and the Super Bowl. As for talent, after excluding football’s best players heading to Super Bowl LII (Philadelphia Eagles vs. New England Patriots), player selection for this year’s Pro Bowl has been determined by fans, players and coaches in equal parts.

Pro Bowl enthusiasm among hand-core fans has flagged in recent years, now that warm and fuzzy football has replaced hard-nose hitting on gameday. The NFL punted the problem to the Players Association, who conceded that members may voluntarily decline to play due to injury concerns. But the league tackled player indifference by raising the stakes and incentivizing competitive play, with $64,000 awarded to every player on the winning side, while losers receive $32,000.

Thankfully, only the Super Bowl remains, before football passes the sports mantle to hockey, basketball, and the Winter Olympics. Fortunately for me, a very laid-back sports fan, uneven internet access and poor TV service from coast to coast prevented me from following the colossal collapse of the New York Giants (3-13), a four-time Super Bowl champion, and a perennial contender.

Nevertheless, with the Pro Bowl temporarily relocating from Hawaii’s Hula Bowl to Orlando’s newly renovated Camping World Stadium…

I decided to treat Leah to a last day of football. However, neither of us was counting on a day of downpours.

Rain was a constant interruption throughout the game–from the moment we arrived for the opening snap…

to the time we returned to the parking lot with minutes to play, and the AFC squad advancing to the goal line for an eventual 24-23 win.

In between, there were a few things to cheer about.

And then there was football, too.

The Pro Bowl was a game of two different halves, with the NFC holding a 20-3 half-time lead, capitalizing on dominant drives over darkening skies.

Meanwhile, preparation for half-time festivities devolved into occasional swordplay on the sidelines,

However, sword order was eventually restored after Dancing with the Stars winner Jordan Fisher emerged…

and took the makeshift stage for ten minutes of coordinated music and mayhem,

eventually finishing with a flourish.

When the game resumed, it seemed as if a different NFC squad had taken the field,

allowing the AFC to roar back under increasingly sloppy conditions.

Naturally, the biggest score of the day occured at the concession stand, when food vendors raided my wallet for $32 in exchange for a cheesesteak, fries, Coors Lite, and a bottle of water.

But despite the puddles and the pouring rain,

we put on our game faces,

and managed to convince ourselves that all of this was time and money well spent.

At Your Service

January 11, 2018January 13, 2018Posted in daily prompt, History, landscape, Mexico, Nature, Photography, travelTagged Akumal, Cancun, carve, Cozumel, Playa del Carmen5 Comments

The descendents of the Mayans are a happy people. Who wouldn’t be, with 300 days of sunshine per year, average temperatures of 75°F/24°C during winter,

and ocean swimming available all year round in turquoise waters that hover between 79°F/26°C and 84°F/29°C.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before money interests would step in to capitalize on a tropical paradise that was ripe for the picking.

Today, Cancun International Airport connects with 122 airports around the world, bringing over 5 million tourists to the Riviera Maya in 2017, and making Playa del Carmen and Tulum the fastest growing cities in Mexico.

But it all started from humble beginnings. Some say that Jacques Cousteau, the celebrated oceanographer first realized the potential of this area in the early 1960s. After anchoring the Calypso off the nearby island of Cozumel, he shot a documentary film that captured the wealth of sea-life thriving across the Palancar reef, the second largest coral reef biome on the planet, which resulted in an unintended flood of underwater activity from diving enthusiasts around the world, thus becoming the premiere scuba destination in the Western Hemisphere.

My earliest experience in the Yucatan Peninsula dates back to June 16, 1975, when I bounced across cratered jungle roads from Merida to Chichen Itza and Uxmal in a battered VW beetle, in search of Toltec truths once touched upon in college curriculum. This excursion/honeymoon–an elaborate anthropology and archeology tour arranged by a Mexican travel agency that rented cars and booked hotels–came with a fine-print disclaimer that later took on significant ramifications when our Bug broke down on the edge of a coastal clearing that became a colossal construction zone known as Cancun.

At first, the challenge of finding someone/anyone who could speak English was resolved after discovering the bilingual General Manager of the Sheraton Hotel (Cancun’s first and only hotel at the time) sitting in the town’s only restaurant enjoying his tamales. He negotiated a time for us to use one of two known local telephones connected to civilization–one in the restaurant, the other in the pharmacia–so we might call the Meridan agency to report our breakdown.

Several construction contractors were already patiently waiting their turn to call Mexico City for payroll and supplies, all the while drinking shots of tequila and trading gossip while their road crews were laboring 24/7 to carve the future streets of Cancun. The drone of heavy machinery and the scent of hot diesel hung in the humidity amid the occasional peal of electronic church bells tolling away the hours.

Eventually, our Sheraton translator secured a line to Merida, where we further learned that we were responsible for the VW no matter what. The car had to be repaired; it could not be abandoned, and no replacement would be available.

The new challenge was to identify a Mayan mechanic in the middle of nowhere who was VW savvy, and had a surplus of makeshift parts that could be gerryrigged to fix a transmission stuck in reverse. By now, the moon was rising over the mangroves, with little chance of making Akumal by daybreak.

The GM excused himself to network around the restaurant on our behalf, while we finished our simple meal, and to our astonishment located a local Mexican versed in lawn mower repair who offered to examine our 1965 Clasico.

Amazingly, we were on the road by 4:00 am, barreling through the dark night, charging toward our next reservation south of border, trying to make up for lost time, when I reflexively slammed on the brakes in just enough time, with just enough road to spare, and just enough tread to wear, to come bumper to bovine, narrowly avoiding a black cow lounging in the middle of a two-lane highway.

Steering clear of the cow provided an adrenaline rush that would last throughout the day, notwithstanding the bottle of Tequila we drained after finally arriving at the Place of the Turtles by dawn.

Once we checked into our room, we spent the entire day at the beach, watching in awe as leatherback hatchlings emerged from the sand and found their way to the sea.

That’s the moment I feel I fell in love with the Mexican Caribbean, and continue to return to this day.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

December 29, 2017December 29, 2017Posted in daily prompt, History, Philosophy, PhotographyTagged aging, extravagant, going gray5 Comments

With our travels slowing while we hunker down in Florida during the impending winter months, Leah has redirected her focus and efforts inward. She has contemplated doing something with her hair after growing it out for the nine months we’ve been on the road–originally citing the ease of pulling it back or putting it up when we were spending a fair amount of time enjoying the great outdoors–but recently she’s grown tired of her look, thinking that a change might boost her self-image.

I have learned long ago to always offer a compliment when asked to comment on how something looks. For example, on the occasion when Leah would buy a new article of clothing that I know she likes, it’s always easier to agree with her purchase.

“What do you think of this?” Leah might ask.

The safest response is usually: “I like it if you like it.”

…although, sometimes a question could provoke unwanted friction, and would demand tightrope accuity: “So what do you think about this dress on me? Do you think it makes me look fat?” she’ll ask, primping in front of the mirror while admiring the line or the color.

This is a quicksand question for which there is never a delicate answer. And the trap couldn’t be more obvious. Answering “No dear, of course not. The dress is very slimming!” can only complicate things, and warrants a surefire response: “Great! But you think I’m fat!”

However, by stating the obvious and acknowledging the pitfall, it’s possible to defuse the situation, and escape unscathed: “Only a fat suit could make you look fat, dear.”

Yet when it comes to offering “solicited” advice, I’m usually on terra firma, and free to speak my mind.

“I’m thinking about changing my hair,” began Leah, “and I’ve been thinking about getting lilac highlights. Whaddaya think?”

Of course, she’s asking the right person, because lilac highlights is something I happen to know a lot about. In fact, not a day goes by when someone doesn’t ask me about lilac highlights.

I considered my words. “I think that if you do it, and like it, it’s a great look for you. But if don’t, you’ll be miserable until the color fades away,” I replied cautiously and conclusively.

“Well, I have to do something,” Leah continued, “so why not risk it? I’m making a hair appointment at the next place we visit!”

The day of reckoning arrived the other day.

“You need to drive me to the salon for my 9:30 appointment,” informed Leah.

“Okay,” I relented. “Have you figured out what you have in mind yet?”

“I’m not too sure,” Leah confessed, “I have a few ideas, but nothing certain. We’ll see. Come and get me in a couple of hours.”

I went out for breakfast, and reflected on the direction that Leah might go. I didn’t expect anything radical, because Leah’s not that kind of person. She seldom wears makeup and eschews the glitz and glamour in favor of the practical and casual. Besides, as I often remind her, she’s beautiful and doesn’t need it. Once in a while, a touch of color on her lips tells me that we’re dressing up for a night on the town.

Still, when we met nearly 13 years ago,

Leah was periodically dying her hair to chase away gray tones in a Sisyphean effort to postpone the inevitable.

She continued to be a honey blonde until she was diagnosed with breast cancer three years ago, and made a conscious decision to go gray after chemotherapy. While Leah fortunately kept her hair during treatment, the fear of losing it by introducing harsh chemicals soon after was considered too risky.

Leah’s hair remained short, and the temptation to go back to blonde eventually faded to resignation…that maybe going gray didn’t suck so bad after all. Friends and family offered encouragement and compliments on the amazing color long-hidden by the hair dye. Over time, Leah embraced the color and the look.

Meanwhile, Leah’s hairdresser was documenting the makeover…

I could have stayed at the diner, and waited for the phone call, but I drove back to the salon and waited inside the F-150 in eager anticipation.

When the phone finally rang–more than two hours since dropping Leah at the door–I played coy.

“I’m just finishing up, here. You can come and get me any time.” she propositioned.

There was an inviting lilt in her voice.

“Are you pleased with the result?” I asked, not wanting to appear too anxious.

“You’ll see,” she teased, “I just can’t believe that it’s me.”

“Well, in that case, I’m already parked outside, and it’s time for the big reveal,” I declared.

She exited the salon, and stepped inside the truck cab. “How do you like it?” Leah asked hesitantly.

I immediately forgot all the sage advice I’d ever followed to hedge against potential fall-out.

“I love it!” I blurted out.

“You do?” she second-guessed, looking for confirmation.

“Absolutely! It’s stunning,” I gushed. “But where’s the lilac highlights?”

“Good. The hairdresser said that it would get all over my pillow, and it would fade after only a couple of weeks. Besides, she said it’s what all the teens are doing these days. Anyway, we decided it would be better if I worked with what I had. So, all the highlights are my natural color, and she worked her magic to match the rest underneath the gray. Nothing too extravagant, just enough, don’t ya think?” Leah explained.

That’s when I realized that there was nothing wrong with a little glitz and glamour in our lives, and I was somewhat hopeful that some of it would rub off on me.

Mystery Blogger Award

December 24, 2017December 27, 2017Posted in Art, Awards, daily prompt, History, Photography, Poetry, travelTagged Mystery Blogger Award11 Comments

With awards season upon us, and with many of the nominations coming before the close of 2017, I would be remiss if I didn’t nominate my favorite blogs before 2017 becomes just another check-writing mistake in 2018.

My qualifications to judge are simple. As a current recipient of the Mystery Blogger Award, it’s my obligation upon acceptance of the award to perpetuate the award, and nominate my successors. Yet, in so doing, there is a laundry list of rules that one must adopt to achieve compliance, which I will address as they appear, according to the originator:

RULES

1) Put the award logo/image on your blog:

2) List the RULES:

Put the award logo/image on your blog
List the rules.
Thank whoever nominated you and provide a link to their blog
Mention the creator of the award and provide a link as well
Tell your readers 3 things about yourself
You have to nominate 10 – 20 people
Notify your nominees by commenting on their blog
Ask your nominees any 5 questions of your choice, with one weird or funny question (specify)
Share a link to your best post(s)

3) Thank whoever nominated you and provide a link to their blog:

I am grateful to The Campervan Man–One Man, One Van and No Plan for discovering my blog and introducing me to a wider audience through his nomination. The Campervan Man rides around in a restored VW bus, reminiscent of the kind my college roommate once owned.

I fondly remember Steve Weill’s VW cruising up Bethesda Avenue at 2 am until we reached the edge of Chevy Chase, where the “All Night Bakery” would serve fresh-baked raisin bread meant to satisfy every stoner’s most discerning palette.

As for the Campervan Man, “Fanny” was personally designed and rebuilt to carry him to distant places where part-time work often interferes with full-time travel.

4) Mention the creator of the award and provide a link as well:

The Mystery Blogger Award is the brainchild of Okoto Enigma, a fellow blogger who believes in building community by recognizing and appreciating the blogging achievements of others.

5) Tell your readers 3 things about yourself:

With my avatar standing at a virtual podium before my fellow followers and nominees, I’d like to accept this award and offer my posthumous thanks to Helen DeFrance, my English AP teacher for the ignominious distinction of failing me in her Seniors’ English class 47 years ago because I overslept for the AP exam.

“My mean sister played a prank on me by turning off my alarm,” I explained, but Ms. DeFrance responded to my well-crafted and creative excuse with stinging rebuke. “You’ll never amount to anything!” she scorned, presenting me with a scarlet F scrawled across the front of my bluebook, which consequently disqualified me from any high school graduation academic awards.

Of course, her mean words and lack of empathy shattered a nerve, which later fueled my burning desire to be the best professional writer that I could be. And so, if I could exhume Helen DeFrance, and confront her for her audacious attack on my adolescent behavior and fragile ego, I would thank her for not mincing words, and providing me with the impetus to tell my story many years later in a way that no AP English exam could ever score.

6) You have to nominate 10 – 20 people, and

7) Notify your nominees by commenting on their blog:

My nominees–in no particular order:

The Loyal Brit Wit is a language enthusiast who flexes her word muscle in a variety of styles.

Widowcranky offers an unusual angle on twisted art, and a twisted angle on unusual art.

Chasing Patches is a quest on water as Streaming Thru America is to land.

Mehar Gandhi specializes in poetry with a knack for visual imagery.

floatinggold mixes creative writing with creative ranting.

smotheringfools showcases esoteric art with heart.

The Nostalgia Diaries features therapeutic reflections with insightful impressions.

A Walk and a Lark shares a passion of the great outdoors, one step at a time.

Michael Stephen Wills tells a story with pictures and words that’s more than the sum of his parts.

Joshi Daniel has an eye for eyes that captures the subject and lures the viewer into a visual conversation.

8) Ask your nominees any 5 questions of your choice; with one weird or funny question (specify). Questions selected by the Campervan Man:

1. Mountains or beaches? I am a fan of both, and find it impossible to pick between the two. Therefore, I select a hybrid…

beaching (2) — ***Lake Tahoe–my favorite mountain beach in the Sierra Nevadas!***

2) What is your favourite word? First of all, “what” is not my favorite word, and I dislike being told that “what” is. However, I am a huge fan of “and”!

3) Where is your favourite place in the world and why? My favorite place on the planet is home. The fact that I’m traveling in an Airstream for one year means that I’m always home, albeit at a constantly changing address of my choosing.

4) If you could invite two people in the world to dinner, who would you invite? Given a choice of any two “people”, I would invite God and Satan. Then I would sit back and watch the sparks fly.

5) Would you rather fight 100 hamster-sized lions or 1 lion-sized hamster? Neither, as I’m a firm supporter of animal rights,

5 Questions I would ask my own nominees are:

1) Which part of yourself would you change if you could and why?

2) What’s been your most creative Halloween costume to date?

3) Given a choice, would you rather work four 10- hour days, or five 8-hour days?

4) What’s your favorite holiday and why?

5) If you threw a Black Stone into the Red Sea, what would it become?

9) Share a link to your best post(s):

While I’ve written many favorite posts, I’ve also created several under-appreciated posts written earlier which I’d prefer to showcase in this forum.

Joshua Tree–the Album and the National Park

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Fire in the Hole

Beauty and the Beast

Blue Icing on the Cake

An Olympian Apology

Happy blogging, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year!

Foreverglades

December 23, 2017December 23, 2017Posted in History, landscape, money, National Parks, Nature, Photography, travelTagged Airboat, alligators, Broward County, Everglades, Paul Bedard4 Comments

Riddle: What does the Trump administration and the Army Corp of Engineers have in common?

Answer: Both tried to drain the swamp and both failed miserably!

At one time, four thousand square miles of southern Florida was regarded as a vast and untapped resource,

but not because of its natural beauty and bounty.

Rather, the Everglades was long considered an uninhabitable and hostile environment filled with horrible reptiles,

hordes of mosquitoes, and enough sawgrass to cut a man to shreds;

yet, nonetheless worthy of future cultivation and commerce, if only the rich underlying soil could be reclaimed.

By the middle of the 19th century, political dreams and aspirations begat studies and commissions which begat a Congressional resolution that decreed that draining the swamp would result in enormous land improvement, incentivizing developers and homesteaders to relocate to Florida.

After the Civil War, Hamilton Disston, a Pennsylvania real estate magnate bought 4 million acres at 25 cents an acre, and began dredging canals through the mangrove forests with the intention of lowering the levels of the wetlands by reducing the basin of the Caloosahatchee and Kissimmee Rivers.

While the canals never drained the Everglades, the publicity spawned newcomers to the area, who willingly paid Disston $5 per acre–establishing towns like Fort Myers on the west coast and Ocala in central Florida.

Oil tycoon, Henry Flagler took notice, and seized the opportunity to buy large tracts of coastal land to build a railroad, eventually reaching Miami, and encouraging further growth and tourism to fill his grand hotels, from St. Augustine to Palm Beach and beyond.

Fast forward to the 1930s, when the Army Corps of Engineers, under the direction of Herbert Hoover, built a dike four stories high, and 66 miles long on the southern edge of Lake Okeechobee–controlled through a system of channels, locks and levees–shifting the focus from drainage to flood control, in response to deadly storm surge caused by massive hurricanes.

The dike was so successful at holding back groundwater, that 1 million acres of Everglades, now parched and leached with ocean water burned in 1939 after an epic drought. Top soil quickly decomposed from bacteria now exposed to air, causing homes erected during the building boom to lose their foundations, only to be replaced by stilts.

^{A series of pump stations were built in the 1950s, designed to release water in drier times, or remove and pump it to the Atlantic or Gulf of Mexico in times of flood.}

And so it went throughout decades of mismangement: one problem after another led to one fix after another, with little regard for conservation.

Although Everglades National Park was dedicated in 1947 to preserve a fragile ecosystem that was suffering from explosive growth and systematic water diversion, the Army Corp of Engineers continued to build water conservation areas bordered by canals for intended sugarcane production and thriving population centers, again depriving the Everglades of water, and further shrinking a vanishing ecosystem.

Today, the Everglades is widely known as a network of wetlands,

and forests,

not a swamp as was once thought–although it flows almost imperceptibly at three feet per hour out of Lake Okeechobee–and is home to threatened species such as the Florida panther, the American crocodile, and the West Indian manatee. Congressional appropriations are currently earmarked only for environmental projects, with high priority given to restoring the natural flow, but not without political sleight of hand and conservation controversy.

On a recent visit to the Everglades Holiday Park, part of Broward County Parks,

Leah and I took an airboat ride through the canals…

…in search of alligators which have eluded us since the beginning of our trip (see: Where Have All the Gators Gone?).

But not this time around. Happily, Captain MJ knew exactly where to find them–on the mud flats…

and in the water…

Afterwards, we marveled at the stories of Paul Bedard, a bouny hunter and trapper who has made a commitment to rescue as many alligators as possible…

from golf courses, backyards, and swimming pools.

At the end of the show, we dismissed the notion of having our picture taken with a baby gator, but couldn’t help but be amused by those who patiently waited their turn.

Alternately, while walking through the park, our thoughts returned to Donald Trump,

who pledged to drain the political landscape of government corruption, “and make our government honest again–believe me.”

Yet he continues to enrich himself at the taxpayers expense: with extended stays to golf properties he still owns; and by championing the Republican tax bill–which guarantees his family millions of dollars saved from pass-through deductions, a top-rate tax reduction, and an expanded estate-tax exemption.

No less guilty are three of Trump’s lieutenants: Tim Price, disgraced and outed Secretary of the Department of Health and Human Services, Treasury Secretary Steve Mnuchin, and EPA Administrator Scott Pruitt…

all accused of using government funds for personal travel on outrageously expensive non-commercial flights.

Which begs the question: How can they be trusted to swim through the Everglades without harming their own environment?

Happy Birthday, Dad!

December 15, 2017December 15, 2017Posted in History, Photography, travelTagged Alzheimer's disease, Assisted Living, Dementia, MorseLife17 Comments

After nine months of driving 32,000 miles and covering 102 destinations, Leah and I arrived in time to celebrate Dad’s 93rd birthday at MorseLife Memory Center in West Palm Beach, Florida. It had been ten months since I had last seen Dad, and I was determined to be there to mark Dad’s latest milestone.

But things did not go originally as planned. In my mind, Dad had remembered the dozens of phone calls we shared prior to my arrival, with me always reminding him of our anticipated plans for our visit: how Leah and I would pick him up and treat him to dinner at a local Chinese restaurant–something he hadn’t tasted since relocating to a Kosher assisted-living residence over two years ago.

Instead, we found Dad sitting in his lounge chair in his room, with a nebulizer mask around his face. His eyes were shut and he was still, as the whir of the machine misted steroids into his lungs. I glanced at his right hand to examine the damage the nurse had called to tell me about while we were enroute.

His paper-thin, leopard-spotted skin was loosely wrapped in gauze to protect a tear above the web of his thumb–the damage caused by a tumble after losing his balance while pushing himself out of his chair during a late morning activity.

I removed his omnipresent cap and kissed the crown of his bald head.

“Happy Birthday, Dad!” I shouted, so he could better hear me without the benefit of his hearing aids, out for repair. He opened his eyes, and forced a smile through the mask.

We allowed time for his aide to untether him and prep him for his big night out.

Earlier in the day, there had been a small birthday celebration after lunch, with cupcakes for all the residents on his floor. Although he couldn’t recall the sing-along, he vaguely remembered the cupcakes, which were finger-lickin’ good.

It seems that one of the side effects of bottomless home-cooking and easy-living at MorseLife has been a steady rise in Dad’s weight–from 185 pounds upon admission, to 220 pounds, currently–accounting for four complete wardrobe changes within the past 18 months.

“Today’s your birthday, Dad. Do you remember me telling you that I was taking you out for your birthday?” I asked.

My question was met with a shoulder shrug.

Trying again, “Do you know how old you are today?”

“Not really,” he replied weakly.

“Today, you’re 93!” I announced animatedly.

“Oh, yeah?” Dad responded unenthusiastically.

“Do you remember your birth date…the year you were born?” I attempted.

“Um, 19……23?” he answered cautiously.

“Very close,” I encouraged. “It was 1924! That was a long time ago!”

“Okay,” Dad replied, nonplussed.

After desperately trying to pull his wounded hand through the sleeve of his windbreaker without causing him to wince in pain, we knew our plans were doomed. Even if we were lucky enough to secure his outerwear, I was clueless how I would usher Dad into the front seat of our F-150 without the assistance of a forklift sheathed in kid gloves.

I turned to Leah. “This is never gonna work. We need a Plan B!”

“I agree,” Leah intoned.

It was just after 6pm, and the other residents were nearly finished in the dining room, so maintaining Dad’s schedule was fast becoming our newest obstacle.

Fortunately, the residence maintains a private dining room for family occasions, so I went in search of Chinese take-out food within the West Palm area, while Leah sat with Dad.

By 6:30pm, we were unpacking cartons of fried rice, spring rolls, chicken satay and sesame beef on paper plates to preserve the integrity of the facility’s dietary laws, albeit, still feeling somewhat guilty for turning Dad a trifle treyf.

But it was hard to argue with Dad’s reaction. He was enjoying himself.

Surprisingly, he had given up on tableware, and surrendered to his hunger by using his hands. Unlike spring rolls and satay, I never thought of fried rice and sesame beef as finger food, but to Dad, it all looked the same, and tasted like more.

After cleaning up, we posed for pictures with the Birthday Boy,

and wondered how much of Dad’s party would be remembered by tomorrow. We made him swear an oath–that he would never tell that we infiltrated a Kosher facility with non-Kosher food.

And sadly, he never will.

Nowhere, No Way

November 26, 2017November 26, 2017Posted in hiking, History, landscape, money, National Parks, Nature, Photography, travelTagged Bryson City, Donald Trump, Great Smoky Mountains, Road to Nowhere, Swain County17 Comments

A seven-mile stretch of road from the southern lip of Great Smoky Mountain National Park to its tunnel terminus remains a source of irritation for generations of locals, and a symbol of an unfulfilled promise from the Federal bureaucracy,

which once pledged to replace submerged Highway 288, but lost their way amid a forest of red tape and environmental concerns.

Fontana Dam begat Fontana Lake in 1941 after the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA)–in concert with the Army Corps of Engineers–built a hydroelectric plant for ALCOA in consideration of the military’s demand for aluminum essential for aircraft, ship-building, and munitions during WWII. Consequently, communities and roads disappeared under the high-water reserves, and townspeople lost their land and their livelihoods.

In exchange for losing Highway 288, the displaced people of Swain County were promised a road north of Fontana Lake–through Great Smoky Mountain park lands–for continuing access to their ancestral cemeteries left behind, and compensation for relocation assistance. However, most of the 1,300 citizens who resisted the move never saw a dime after ultimately fleeing the rising waters.

Thirty years later, after building 7.2 miles of road and a quarter-mile tunnel, appropriated funds had dried up and the project stalled. By 2003, the National Park Service eventually revealed a feasibility study listing several considerations for public debate, and in 2007, issued a 13-page report detailing the government’s position, electing the No-Action Alternative:

The No-Action Alternative would forego any improvements to Lake View Road with the exception of routine maintenance. Under this alternative, there would be no changes to the existing conditions within the study area. No compensation would be provided in lieu of building the road. NPS would continue to provide transportation across Fontana Lake for annual cemetery visits and would maintain current amenities, policies, and practices of GSMNP.

Subsequently, Swain County sought a monetary settlement, demanding $52 million from the Department of Interior for defaulting on the original agreement. Yet to date, only $12 million has been paid, thus generating a pending lawsuit for the balance of money owed.

After learning about the history, Leah and I decided to make the pilgrimage to see this road for ourselves. We departed Bryson City on a dreary autumn morning, surrounded by mist and brisk winds that had us zipping up and foraging for hats and gloves from a backseat storage bin.

The drive along Fontana Road took us through bucolic farms and pastoral settings.

We followed the lightly traveled road until we reached the park entrance, and continued along a windy incline dotted with shrouded overlooks of the Tuckasegee River below us.

We knew we had reached the end of the line when we crossed over Nolands Creek,

and encountered a barricade of steel poles that barred us from approaching the tunnel around the bend.

The ¼-mile tunnel was dark and dank. And while a flashlight was a handy accessory for navigating the rutted road and avoiding scattered animal feces,

it became an essential tool for spotlighting the pervasive high school graffiti that randomly “decorated” the oft-covered whitewashed walls–

–most of it, a reflection of egocentric teenagers flexing their hormones…

…but in other cases, the graffiti represented a cathartic release of current political expression–

–bringing new meaning to an erstwhile patch of pavement.

As advertised, the “Road to Nowhere” terminated on the back side of the tunnel,

casting a glimpse of an uncertain future fraught with empty promises disguised as good intentions.

Eco-Beer

November 19, 2017November 19, 2017Posted in Architecture, Food, History, Photography, travelTagged Asheville NC, beer, Mills River. NC, Sierra-Nevada13 Comments

It seems odd to consider that drinking beer can also be good for the environment, but after touring the Sierra-Nevada brewery in Mills River, North Carolina, I’m convinced that raising a pint of porter is a sacrifice that I am more than willing to make for the sake of our planet.

John was our tour host for the afternoon, and he was aleing to tell us the hoppy story of Sierra-Nevada’s humble beginnings in Chico, California while we sipped a sample of pale ale, and listened to his silly puns. He narrated a slide show detailing how homebrewers Ken Grossman and Paul Camusi rented a tiny warehouse in 1979,

warehouse — First brewhouse. *Photo courtesy of Sierra Nevada archives*

and barley cobbled together a 10-barrel Frankenbrewer made of discarded dairy equipment and scrapyard plumbing with $65,000 seed money borrowed from family and friends in order to produce their first American Stout in 1980, followed by a hop-forward Pale Ale. Surprisingly, first year sales reached 950 barrels, and doubled the second year.

By 2012, world-wide thirst for Sierra Nevada’s craft beer had exceeded their manufacturing footprint in Chico–which was capable of producing one million barrels a year after expansions in 1988 and 1997–and eventually led to construction of the North Carolina brewery that now offer tours with John.

Ground-breaking began on 90 acres of oak and hickory forest in Henderson County, adjacent to Asheville’s Regional Airport. In line with Grossman’s ecological sensability, fallen trees from the property had been milled to provide lumber for the brewhouse and the rainwater cisterns that presently irrigate the landscaping and flush the facility’s toilets.

Additionally,

on-site solar panels and microturbines fulfill 32% of the brewery’s energy requirements;
surplus CO₂emitted during the brewing process is recaptured to pump beer to the taproom;
used cooking oil from its restaurant is processed into bio-diesel for its delivery trucks;
discarded yeast is converted into high-grade ethanol fuel;
spent grain is fed to company livestock;
spent water is recycled to the brewery’s own water treatment plant, where it is used as drip irrigation for its estate gardens;
culminating in 99.8% of the brewery plant’s solid waste being diverted from landfill.

Because of Sierra Nevada’s commitment to sustainability, the Mills River facility has been certified Platinum in 2016 by Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design (LEED)–its highest award, and first-ever bestowed upon a production brewery.

But none of it would matter unless the final product tasted good. With that in mind, John took us on a walking tour, identifying the four main ingredients, and how they all come together to produce an award-winning beer.

The purest water drawn from North Carolina’s mountains is filtered until rendered chemically inert.

The finest barley is milled on site.

to produce the finest wort.

Several varieties of whole cone hops are harvested with the flowers intact,

and added into the brew kettles in different combinations to produce complex tastes and flavor profiles–

–under strictly regulated temperatures according to specific beer style.

Whereupon, the finest yeast is added…

to initiate the fermentation process.

Quality control oversight guarantees a safe and consistent product throughout each production cycle.

After testing, the beer is chilled and bottled…

…and ready for packaging.

Or in our case, it’s ready to be poured and tasted in beautiful surroundings.

We sampled eight different beers–

–each one served in its own style of glass to enhance the tasting experience–

and the experience leaves little stout why craft beer, at the very yeast, deserves a bitter place at the table with the beer conglomerates.

Ken Grossman’s brewing philosophy of using pure and fresh ingredients…

…coupled with his unwavering attention to detail at Mill River, will surely tripel Sierra Nevada’s output and sales, securing its place as the nation’s lagerest private craft brewer, which gose without saying.

A VanderBiltmore Christmas

November 13, 2017November 13, 2017Posted in History, landscape, money, Photography, travelTagged Asheville NC, Biltmore2 Comments

Completed in 1895 as a collaboration between owner George Vanderbilt, architect Richard Morris Hunt, and landscape architect Frederic Law Olmsted, the Biltmore House opened on Christmas Eve after six years of intensive construction,

and remains the largest private residence in America, with 250 rooms covering 175,000 square feet.

The fourth and fifth generation of Vanderbilt descendants continue to operate the estate as a tourism mecca, welcoming the general public since the Great Depression, and generating needed income to preserve this Versailles-inspired masterpiece.

A variety of tours around the property are available, including: insight into the design, technology, and construction; biographical nuances about the owners and guests; historical notes on the rare artifacts and art collection; and upstairs-downstairs living comparisons.

We started our day by cycling through miles and miles of groomed gardens and grounds,

to gain a better perspective of the castle on the hill,

while surviving the first wave of Asheville’s brisk winter air.

By late afternoon, we’d had our fill of chill, and eagerly sought the warmth of the Biltmore House. We opted for a self-guided house tour of selected rooms that allowed us to visit at our leisure. The programmed route was matched to an accompanying booklet that provided brief reflections and information highlights that has assisted me in captioning the many photographs taken as we moved from room to room.

Our first impression of the residence upon entering the Entrance Hall was sheer wonder and amazement. Looking skyward through the spiraling staircase, was the perfect foreshadow of the immensity and grandiosity of what was to come.

Just beyond the center hall stands the Winter Garden,

an acoustic marvel for instrument and voice.

We followed signs to the Banquet Hall.

Organ Loft houses a 1916 Skinner pipe organ powered by an electric blower below the floor.

Moving on, we entered the Breakfast Room.

Exiting left, leads into the Salon,

and continues through the Music Room.

On the other side, stands the Loggia,

which is an extension of the adjoining Tapestry Gallery.

A walk down the runner terminates at the Library.

Above the vaulted ceiling is a valued fresco.

library ceiling fresco — *The Chariot of Aurora*, painted in the 1720s by Giovanni Pellegrini, once adorned the Pisani Palace in Venice.

Returning to the Entrance Hall, a climb of the Grand Staircase, reveals the Second Floor Living Hall.

Turning left and down the hall is the approach to George Vanderbilt’s Bedroom.

The neighboring Oak Sitting Room…

…was a buffer between George’s and Edith’s Bedroom.

Edith Vanderbilt's Bedroom — Edith, upon her marriage to George at age 25, retired to this oval room with purple and gold silk fabrics and furnishings in the style of Louis XV.

The stairs to the Third Floor, left of Mrs. Vanderbilt’s Bedroom lead to the Guest Quarters, connected by the Third Floor Living Hall.

However, access to grandest guest rooms are located behind the Vanderbilt’s bedrooms on the Second Floor. A walk down the hallway, and a gaze out the window offers incredible details of the limestone-clad exterior of Biltmore, with its statuary and gargoyles hanging from the decorative edifice.

Spiraling down to the Second Floor via the Grand Staircase…

…is the entrance to the Damask Room,

followed by the Tyrolean Chimney Room,

and the Louis XV Room, where Edith gave birth to Cornelia, and spent several weeks of convalescing, as was the custom of the time.

After taking breakfast in their rooms, guests of the Vanderbilts could enjoy a variety of indoor activities located on the Basement level, accessible by descending the Grand Staircase, and passing through the Stone Hallway, with foundation footings extending 29 feet into hillside.

The hallway passage winds into the Halloween Room,

so-named after friends and family of Cornelia and her newlywed husband, John Cecil spent several weeks painting whimsical wall scenes for a New Year’s Eve party to welcome the year 1926.

A Recreation Lounge along the hallway…

…transitions to the one of the nation’s first bowling alleys built for a private residence.

the hallway continues down a long narrow row separating two sides of dressing rooms–one for men, the other for ladies–where guests could change to use the 70,000 gallon indoor Swimming Pool,

or the fully-equipped Gymnasium, where guests kept fit by rowing, swinging Indian clubs, tossing medicine balls, and practicing on the parallel bars.

Just beyond the Gymnasium is the Servants Wing, containing the servants’ quarters and work stations.

Main Kitchen — This kitchen was used to make elaborate deserts by the pastry chef.

servants' dining room — This dining room could feed up to 30 servants, three meals a day.

laundry — The Main Laundry was as large and well-equipped as any stately hotel of the day.

laundry finishing — Laundry finishing and detail work was completed here.

Servants’ Stairs climbing to the Main Floor of the Bachelors’ Wing…

provided access to the Billiard Room.

This house tour represents one of many we’ve taken since hitting the road. For example, we have walked through plantation houses outside New Orleans, Andrew Jackson’s Hermitage, the Kaufman House at Fallingwater, Elvis Presley’s Graceland, and Hearst’s Castle during another trip.

But nothing, and I mean NOTHING compares in scope or elaborateness, and attention to restorative detail as the Biltmore estate… especially when it’s decorated for Christmas.

A VanderBiltmore Christmas

November 13, 2017November 13, 2017Posted in History, landscape, money, Photography, travelTagged Asheville NC, Biltmore5 Comments

and remains the largest private residence in America, with 250 rooms covering 175,000 square feet.

We started our day by cycling through miles and miles of groomed gardens and grounds,

to gain a better perspective of the castle on the hill,

while surviving the first wave of Asheville’s brisk winter air.

Just beyond the center hall stands the Winter Garden,

an acoustic marvel for instrument and voice.

We followed signs to the Banquet Hall.

Moving on, we entered the Breakfast Room.

Exiting left, leads into the Salon,

and continues through the Music Room.

On the other side, stands the Loggia,

which is an extension of the adjoining Tapestry Gallery.

A walk down the runner terminates at the Library.

Above the vaulted ceiling is a valued fresco.

Returning to the Entrance Hall, a climb of the Grand Staircase, reveals the Second Floor Living Hall.

Turning left and down the hall is the approach to George Vanderbilt’s Bedroom.

The neighboring Oak Sitting Room…

…was a buffer between George’s and Edith’s Bedroom.

The stairs to the Third Floor, left of Mrs. Vanderbilt’s Bedroom lead to the Guest Quarters, connected by the Third Floor Living Hall.

Spiraling down to the Second Floor via the Grand Staircase…

…is the entrance to the Damask Room,

followed by the Tyrolean Chimney Room,

and the Louis XV Room, where Edith gave birth to Cornelia, and spent several weeks of convalescing, as was the custom of the time.

The hallway passage winds into the Halloween Room,

so-named after friends and family of Cornelia and her newlywed husband, John Cecil spent several weeks painting whimsical wall scenes for a New Year’s Eve party to welcome the year 1926.

A Recreation Lounge along the hallway…

…transitions to the one of the nation’s first bowling alleys built for a private residence.

the hallway continues down a long narrow row separating two sides of dressing rooms–one for men, the other for ladies–where guests could change to use the 70,000 gallon indoor Swimming Pool,

or the fully-equipped Gymnasium, where guests kept fit by rowing, swinging Indian clubs, tossing medicine balls, and practicing on the parallel bars.

Just beyond the Gymnasium is the Servants Wing, containing the servants’ quarters and work stations.

Servants’ Stairs climbing to the Main Floor of the Bachelors’ Wing…

provided access to the Billiard Room.

But nothing, and I mean NOTHING compares in scope or elaborateness, and attention to restorative detail as the Biltmore estate… especially when it’s decorated for Christmas.

Music City, USA

November 8, 2017November 8, 2017Posted in Architecture, History, music, Photography, travelTagged Country Music Hall of Fame, Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum, John Haitt, Lyle Lovett, Nashville, Schermerhorn8 Comments

We refused to leave Nashville without attending a concert.

Of course, it’s impossible to ignore the live music screaming from scores of Broadway juke joints and honky tonks, combining to create a three chord din, and it’s all for free.

But getting past the burly bouncers requires mastery of a special skill set, namely: zigzagging through hordes of bridal parties and lady’s-night-outers;

sidestepping the street people and the homeless; and dodging the drunks and the soon-to-become-drunks who walk a crooked line.

Instead, Leah and I were in the mood for more of a formal venue. However, Grand Ole Opry’s Ryman Auditorium–featuring The Charlie Daniel Band–had sold out weeks ago, including standing room.

Undeterred, we scoured the internet and stumbled across an offering that showcased the quieter side of Nashville.

I was definitely up for the concert, but Leah was hesitant.

“I think we should do it,” I stated. “Besides, there’s nothing else out there that compares to this.”

“I don’t know,” said Leah, unconvinced. “For starters, I don’t know anything about John Hiatt. And second of all, I don’t think I can spend two hours looking at Lyle Lovett. I mean, how in the world he was married to Julia Roberts has to be one of life’s great mysteries!”

“I don’t think she fell in love with his looks, and I’m certain he feels the same way after two years together with her… Look, why don’t we find out if tickets are even available?” I argued.

“Okay,” Leah relented.

Unfortunately, online shopping established that only single seats scattered through the orchestra and balconies still remained, and that was not an option. However, a direct call to the box office revealed that a cache of tiered seats directly behind the stage could be ours if we were willing to forgo direct eye contact.

“What about the sound quality?” Leah asked the agent.

“It’s a symphony hall! You’ll hear it the same as everybody else, and it’s amazing!” the agent proclaimed.

“That’s perfect!” I declared, openly displaying my enthusiasm. “We get to hear two time-honored performers with deep songbooks, and you don’t have to look at either one of them.”

“Okay,” Leah surrendered.

Schermerhorn Symphony Center was designed with neo-classical underpinnings,

which seems characteristically out of place,

given Nashville’s lowbrow sensibility, and glass tower affinity.

We stepped into a stripped-down, blue-lit stage–just guitars and voices, and an occasional harmonica–as Lovett and Hiatt traded songs and repartee,

providing 2½ hours of mutual admiration,

and audience participation.

An evening of watching the backs of Lovett and Hiatt, while listening to their tone poems and anthems about America sounded wonderful.

The following day, the hit parade continued with a pilgrimage to Country Music nirvana,

where a million fans come every year to pay tribute to Country Western legends who’ve turned an American music genre into an international juggernaut.

Currently, museum exhibits follow the careers of music royalty, honoring the Queen of Country,

and the King of Folk–

–with multi-media memories, and enough testimonial trivia to solidify their golden reputations.

This is our second time through Nashville during our year-long odyssey; we’ve passed this way over seven months ago (Rig or Mortis) traveling southbound, and it’s become our way station once again as we move to warmer weather for the winter season.

We’ll surely pass through Nashville after we’ve emerged from our Florida hibernation, but next time around, we’ll have reserved tickets to the Grand Ole Opry in our hands before we get there.

Rebel Yell

November 5, 2017November 5, 2017Posted in History, National Parks, Photography, travelTagged Civil War, Fort Donelson5 Comments

The Civil War has gotten a lot of attention lately.

Politicians, generals, and TV apostates have sought to revise history.

Glory seekers and glory hounds have wrapped themselves in the Confederate flag as a cause célèbre.

White supremacists have co-opted the Black Lives Matters movement to launch a new low in elevating hatred and racism.

Relitigating the reasons behind the Civil War, and embracing the symbols that have inevitably blurred the battle lines continue to divide a nation 150 years later, where civility and social progress seem all but forgotten.

And what of the 620,000 who gave their lives to protect their way of life–to defend the practice of slavery or the belief that freedom belongs to everyone?

Many remain lost yet honored beneath the trenches and earthwork fortifications throughout Dover, Tennessee.

Their sacrifice is memorialized at the Fort Donelson National Battlefield: in its monument to fallen soldiers;

in its ramparts overlooking the Cumberland River;

and at the Dover Hotel surrender–which was an important turning point for the Union Army, and the advancing popularity of Brigadier General U.S.S. Grant.

History sheds light on the past to give us a direction toward the future. Otherwise, as Winston Churchill has stated,

“If we open a quarrel between the past and the present we shall find that we have lost the future.”

Museum of Mirth, Mystery, and Mayhem

November 4, 2017July 14, 2018Posted in Architecture, Art, History, Photography, travelTagged City Museum, St. Louis9 Comments

Looking for something different to do on a rainy day in St. Louis? Any list of indoor activities should include a trip to the City Museum,

the brainchild of Bob Cassilly started 20 years ago in an abandoned shoe factory and warehouse, that’s since been converted into a nail-biting, four-story jungle gym and rooftop amusement park created from repurposed mechanical and architectural relics.

During our visit, parents were either on the sidelines watching their kids wear themselves out, or trying to keep pace with them, as they maneuvered through a zany, life-size Chutes and Ladders game board, extending through multiple levels.

The bottom floor hosts a nautical and woodlands theme of crawl spaces…

with several points of access to a mezzanine food court,

while higher floors highlight an intricate cave system, ramps with rope swings, and warped walls to exploit one’s inner American Ninja Warrior.

Collections abound, with floor to ceiling showcases of pinned insects, and walls of archaeological finds;

architectural assemblages of friezes, cornices, and gargoyles;

Otto’s Robotorium of whimsical futurama;

and assorted oddities and eccentricities that defy classification…

Despite its 20-year run, the City Museum is a work-in-progress, with new and imaginative play environments under construction.

Protected by a Serpentine Wall outside the museum space,

the MonstroCity rises into a winding array of caged ladders and walkways that meanders through a jet fuselage,

a castle turret,

and so much more, before leading to a pit of dodgeballs.

Unfortunately, the rooftop, replete with a Ferris wheel, an enormous praying mantis, a domed rope swing, a pond and a dangling yellow school bus was closed due to inclement weather.

There is so much to explore at City Museum (including a flying circus), that it’s impossible to be bored. In fact, the interactive experience is so profound, that critics might consider it overload.

As a retired special educator who’s embraced the Vark model, I salute the City Museum for challenging children of all ages through a rich diversity of visual, auditory, and kinesthetic stimuli. However, nervous parents may wish to protect their kids with knee pads, elbow pads, and a helmet.

For more information, go to City Museum

Arch ‘n Bunker

November 3, 2017November 3, 2017Posted in Architecture, Art, History, landscape, National Parks, Photo Challenge, Photography, travelTagged Gateway Arch, Jefferson National Expansion Memorial, Old Courthouse, peek, St. Loius9 Comments

“Please don’t let it rain,” I beseeched the angry sky.

After savoring four months of dry weather from Oregon to Arkansas, we arrived in St. Louis at the same moment a cold gray funk had arrived for Halloween. Leah and I had put off our visit to the Gateway Arch in our hope that conditions would clear, but our window of opportunity had narrowed with a rainy forecast predicted for the following day. Running out of options, we bit the bullet and pulled the trigger.

Tickets to the monument are available at the Old Courthouse–headquarters for the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial,

and historic location of the landmark Dred Scott trials–where an ordinary man took extraordinary measures to free his family from the indignities of slavery, by bringing suit against the United States of America.

A walk inside reflects two hundred years of history. Directly beneath the dome and the 33-star flag (dating back to July 4, 1859)…

…rests a 3-foot diameter flagstone amid the pavers–the acoustic sweet spot of the courthouse–where orators would stand to speak and be heard from top to bottom,

and throughout the wings.

Stairwells lit by skylight…

carried us to higher floors, providing a peek of the nearby Arch,

and a recreation of the courtroom that memorializes where Louis D. Brandeis was admitted to the Missouri bar on November 21, 1878.

After a brief detour around a barricaded green space currently under construction, we arrived at the south bunker beneath the arch…

that houses walls of exhibits documenting construction from 1963 to 1965,

and more importantly, access to the carriage cars that carry visitors to a viewing gallery 630 feet above the city.

After a four minute ride, we emerged from our pod,

into an enclosed ramp with multiple portholes overlooking east of the Mississippi,

and unobstructed views westward, beyond St. Louis.

As we drove through St. Louis drizzle the following day, we were never far from occasional glimpses of the Arch shrouded in rain clouds.

While I never had a sunny day to capture the full beauty of the simple architecture created by Eero Saarinen, I could still bask in the warm glow of an iconic structure that celebrates the spirit of American exploration.

Supreme Ruler of Beers

November 1, 2017November 2, 2017Posted in Architecture, Food, History, Photo Challenge, Photography, travelTagged Anheuser Busch, Budweiser, Clydesdales, peek21 Comments

Growing up, I was never much of a beer drinker. But on the odd occasion that my underaged friends and I would sneak a beer in the woods by our homes, it was always an Iron City beer, ’cause that’s what Pirate fans drank in Pittsburgh. Besides, it was high treason to drink anything other than Iron City, and still be part of the cool kids’ club.

Had I been born in St. Louis, I’m certain that things would have gone differently. I’d be a Cardinals fan, and my “go-to” beverage would be Budweiser from the beginning, because Budweiser beer, introduced in 1876 by Aldolphus Busch dominated the St. Louis market, on its way to becoming the first national brand in America, thanks to pasteurization and a fleet of refrigerated rail cars.

In 2008, Anheuser-Busch (A-B) succumbed to a $52 billion hostile takeover by Belgium-Brazillian company InBev to become the world’s largest brewer, and cemented its global stronghold by merging with its rival, London-based SABMiller one year ago for $100 billion.

North American operations remain headquartered in St. Louis, where tours are conducted regularly for beer aficionados interested in A-B’s time-honored brewing process, and for history buffs who appreciate the architecture and design that’s been selected by the National Register as Historic Landmarks.

Leah and I arrived at Lynch St. for the 45-minute tour beginning at 3:10 pm. Upon entering the corporate complex, we were surrounded by tall Romanesque red brick buildings with elaborate flourishes and embellishments.

We entered the Welcome Center,

designed to house its branded gift store, pub space, and exhibits.

Soon after, we were introduced to our assigned tour guides, Tim and Andrew who spoke about sticking together amid the tight security surrounding the campus, before ushering our group of fifty outdoors to gawk at the Clydesdales in the exercise yard.

These massive draught horses stand at 18 hands, and have been carefully bred by the brewery to retain their chestnut coloring and markings, making them the most identifiable mascot in beer branding and advertising.

From there, it was a short stroll to the Carriage House where we were split into two groups: those on a steamboat cruise stuck with Andrew, while the rest of us walk-ins aligned with Tim, a self-professed expert on all things beer, who dared to be challenged with any questions on Anheuser Busch.

After moving to Washington, DC to attend college, my beer drinking habits matured. Staying true to my roots, Iron City was quickly replaced by Rolling Rock, a more “premium” beer with a smoother taste in a green bottle imported from Latrobe, PA.

Once inside the Carriage House, we were introduced to Murry, who was being braided for the 3:30 pm parade.

A peek inside the paddock, showed it to be far cleaner and neater than many major hotel chains across the country.

In fact, the art-deco structure gleamed from ceiling…

…to floor with nary a strand of straw out of place.

And that’s when things went awry. Returning to the carriage room, I noticed that everyone had left the building.

Running through the exit doors, I caught a glimpse of Leah up ahead and hurried to her side, only to realize once we returned to the Welcome Center, that she had followed the wrong group. We scrambled around outside to find Tim’s tour, but after pulling on a few secured doors, and with no one in sight, we were hopelessly lost.

Back at the Welcome Center, we approached a tour concierge to confess our situation.

“Not a problem!” she addressed. “Follow me!”

We backtracked to our last stop, before she led us into a building showcasing immense tankards–each one capable of Beechwood aging 3600 barrels of beer at a time.

We continued our personal tour until we eventually rejoined Tim in an elaborate Tasting Room…

…during his lecture on the ingredients and the brewing process,

while everyone sipped on a 6 oz. portion of chilled Budweiser.

A wacky summer abroad between my sophomore and junior year enlightened and refined my taste in beer, having sampled Grolsch in Enschede, Kronenbourg in Strasbourg, Carlsbad in Copenhagen, and Hafbrau in Bavaria. I loved them all.

But I must admit, that after finding our way back to the tour, my little cup of Bud tasted mighty refreshing.

The twenty-five of us rode the elevator up to the Mash House. The moment the doors closed the Bud jingle sounded.

“Do you know the composer’s name,” I inquired.

Without even thinking, Tim responded as the elevator doors reopened, “Steve Karmen, who also wrote the ‘I Love New York’ jingle.”

We spread out across the ornate wrought iron railing to take in the scene. No doubt, the Mash Tanks were impressive.

And three hop vine chandeliers from the 1904 Worlds Fair were dangling from the five-story ceiling.

Then it was outdoors again, this time near the clock tower–the second most photographed structure in St. Louis–

where Tim revealed that business as usual during Prohibition years depended on the sale of Brewers yeast and a non-alcoholic malt beverage concoction.

“Any last questions?” intoned Tim.

I glanced at my watch, and true to form, it was 3:55 pm. We were precisely at the 45-minute mark, but something wasn’t right. I pointed to the tower, and got Tim’s attention. Here was my last chance to stump Tim.

“Hey Tim, did I miss daylight savings time, or did the clock master just get ahead of himself?” I surmised.

Tim looked at the tower clock and hesitated. “Well let’s see a minute. The clocks get turned back this weekend, so I’m pretty sure it’s been set in anticipation of the event… Well, that concludes our tour today. However, the best is yet to come, since we’ll now return to the Biergarten where you can redeem your wood token for a ‘cold one’.”

I lingered behind. I wanted another shot of the clock tower.

I finally caught up to Leah inside the Welcome Center, where deep lines had already formed in front of the bar. But another station beyond the crowd had fewer people standing, so that’s where we went. To my surprise, the bartender was drawing Stella into familiar chalices from the tap–my newest favorite, and one of A-B’s newest brands since last year’s merger.

I ran into Tim on my way to an available high-top.

“Quick question, Tim! What’s the significance of the ’33’ on the Rolling Rock bottle?”

“I get that question a lot,” he began, and rattled off, “Rolling Rock – from the glass lined tanks of Old Latrobe, we tender this premium beer for your enjoyment as a tribute to your good taste. It comes from the mountain springs to you.”

Tim was the real deal, and so was my Stella.

P.S. When editing photographs for this post, I compared the meta-data between the clock tower shots. Even though the two were taken 5 minutes apart, the times on the clock were exactly the same. Final analysis: THE CLOCK IS BROKEN!

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