Photography – Page 19 – Streaming thru America

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?

Moon Over Muddy Mountain

December 20, 2017January 3, 2018Posted in Airstream, landscape, National Parks, Nature, Photo Challenge, Photography, travelTagged favorite, Valley of Fire4 Comments

Now that Leah and I are nine months into Streaming thru America, a familiar question often arises from family, friends, and fellow bloggers: “What’s your favorite place, so far?” It still remains the most difficult question to answer. Here’s why:

We’ve covered over 32,000 miles to 104 distinct destinations–with amazing views of beaches, mountains, prairies, canyons, and deserts. We’ve toured cities and suburbs, villages and vicinities, parks and plantations, graveyards and ghost towns.

Thus far, we’ve crossed the country from the Atlantic to the Pacific and back; we’ve traveled as far north as Jasper National Park in Alberta, Canada to the southern edge of Florida within the Everglades; We’ve ascended Trail Ridge Road to the Rocky Mountain tundra at 12,183 feet to the salt flats of Death Valley’s Badwater Road at 282 feet below sea level.

Having slogged through Los Angeles and Miami traffic, we’ve also driven hours through remote regions without a soul in sight. We’ve cursed the crowds at Yellowstone and Zion, and celebrated the isolation of Black Canyon of the Gunnison and Theodore Roosevelt National Parks. We’ve witnessed numerous national monuments, and bore witness to monumental tragedy in Las Vegas.

While we’ve camped at some of the fanciest and most expensive RV parks in the country, we’ve also boondocked at Walmart parking lots, always meeting new people from around the world, yet reminiscing with old neighbors we discovered at a scenic overlook in North Dakota.

Despite having written over 80,000 words and shared over 2,500 photographs of our adventures this year, I feel compelled to answer that one nagging question, but forgive me if I pause for a moment longer to filter all the information collected to date…

The one location that stands out over all the others is Valley of Fire State Park–16-miles outside of Overton, Nevada–as much for the solace and cleansing it brought us after the Las Vegas massacre, as for it’s raw and natural beauty.

And from this experience, I’ve reluctantly selected one photograph that captured my imagination and exemplified my feelings–two days after the world grappled with senseless inhumanity.

May 2018 bring us closer together as we work to build bridges between communities, and discover a path to peace and tolerance.

Home Invasion!

December 19, 2017December 19, 2017Posted in Airstream, Nature, Photography, travelTagged ants, insecticide, insects, Raid8 Comments

As if straight out of a horror film, our Airstream has been overrun by ghost ants. This wasn’t the first time we’ve seen bugs in the trailer, because bugs are an undeniable consequence of living outdoors, and a way of life. However, while occasional spiders, love bugs, moths, gnats, no see-ums, and mosquitoes have all managed to infiltrate our home at one time or another, it’s not until recently, that so many unwelcomed six-legged insects have made themselves comfortable without an invitation.

Long considered a well-established resident of South Florida and other tropical and subtropical environs, Tapinoma melanocephalum workers are thought to have illegally immigrated from Asia or Africa–where to this day, as an affront to our democracy–they continue to worship their queen, while spreading their vermin and contaminating our food.

Despite their small stature, at 1.3 to 1.5 mm long, I’m certain that had there been a border wall to protect us from this infestation, these pests would never have gone on to infiltrate the foundation of our trailer, and rob us of our American dream.

And had the FBI taken notice and properly profiled these larvae from the beginning, none of this would have ever happened. To be sure:

They have 12-segmented antennae with the segments gradually thickening towards the tip. Antennal scapes surpass the occipital border. Head and thorax are a deep dark brown with gaster and legs opaque or milky white (Creighton 1950). The thorax is spineless.

The gaster (swollen part of abdomen) has a slit-like anal opening which is hairless. (Smith and Whitman 1992). The abdominal pedicel (stalk-like structure immediately anterior to the gaster) consists of one segment which is usually hidden from view dorsally by the gaster (Creighton 1950). Stingers are absent.

The small size, combined with the pale color, make ghost ant workers hard to see (Smith and Whitman 1992).

At the very least, these ants have been extremely annoying, invading every part of the Airstream in a matter of days. We discovered them in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in the closet, in the bedroom, and ON MY PILLOW! EWW! Leah has been reflexively swatting phantom bugs from her arms and legs at the the very thought of our new colonists.

Quickly, ants were now to blame for every miscellaneous skin bump, itch, or irritation on her body.

While camping at John Dickinson State Park in Jupiter, it was hard to ignore the many ant hills throughout the sites. I backed the Airstream into stall #43, and soon located several small cones of sand with limited ant traffic. Being careful to not disturb them, I thought they might return the favor, but the ants had a different agenda.

“Oh my God!” shrieked Leah. “They’re everywhere! They have to be stopped!”

Leah laid into the ants like they were ISIS terrorists. Her flip-flop was a particularly effective weapon in her campaign to eradicate the enemy. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

“Gotcha!” she bellowed.

She came down hard on the ants, but there was no quit in their little legs as they they rebounded in their crazy dance, scurrying around in all directions at once, before darting into their hiding places–provoking her ire and igniting her wrath.

“We’ve got to do something!” she vowed.

A trip to the garden section of Home Depot offered several interesting choices that promised instant relief, but we opted for Raid. Somehow, the notion of killing ants with a lightning bolt stirred our sado-masochistic sensibilities.

After returning to the Airstream, Leah tore into the packaging with a vengeance. Out popped eight plastic bait traps, looking like a mini Buster Keaton pork pie hats.

Declaring all-out war on ants, we strategically scattered them around the Airstream, often debating the locations of the most effective kill zones. For the most part, I acquiesced to Leah’s judgement, so long as I secured rights to wage war in the bathroom, which I considered my domain.

I closely observed the ants racing inside the aluminum channel along the wall, and knew exactly what I had to do. I wedged one of the little white poison pucks behind the soap dish, and waited for the feeding frenzy. After a minute or so, a curious ant came to inspect the trap, as if the Sirens were luring it to its certain death…

…and swallowed it whole.

“Yes!” I exclaimed. “One by one, you will eat the poison and die!”

I launched into my end-zone victory dance with a firm belief that we were now winning the war on ghost ants like never before. And that there will be so much winning, that we will tire of winning so much.

**Feature Image: Ghost ant worker, lateral view. Drawing by Division of Plant Industry**

Top of the World

December 16, 2017December 17, 2017Posted in hiking, landscape, Nature, Photo Challenge, Photography, travelTagged ascend, Florida, Hobe Sound, Jonathan Dickenson State Park8 Comments

While much of the country is enjoying a refreshing blast of Arctic air to put them in the holiday mood, southeastern Floridians are currently languishing under fair winds and sunny skies, and wondering how they’ll ever manage with temperatures climbing to 80 degrees.

“Look, we’re gonna be in Florida for a few months. As tempting as it is to stay inside and hunker down for the winter, we can’t allow the weather to dictate our lives. We’ve got to get out and stay active. Maybe we should go for a hike,” stated Leah.

“Agreed! In nine months of traveling, we’ve never let the weather interfere with our outdoor plans. So if you’re up for it, we could hike to the observation tower atop Hobe Mountain in Jonathan Dickinson State Park,” I suggested.

“Are you sure?” Leah posited. “It’s been a while since we’ve done anything that strenuous. We could be setting ourselves up for a painful tomorrow.”

While it’s true that we’ve been sedentary lately, and maybe gained a pound or two from Thanksgiving overeating, I thought we could use a legitimate challenge to clear the cobwebs and get the blood pumping in ways when we were performing at our peak.

“C’mon! It’ll be fun. And if it’s too tough to the top, we’ll go as far as we can, and we’ll turn back,” I persuaded.

As a warm-up to our hike, we rode our bicycles to the trailhead parking lot, passing the Loxahatchee River,

and two camouflaged sandhill cranes along the way.

Apparently, resident Floridians were already deep into their hibernation cycle, as there wasn’t a single car in the lot, or maybe this was the hike that everyone avoids, for fear of over-exertion.

We spotted our destination from a distance,

and checked our water supply to ensure we were carrying enough to stay hydrated.

When we approached the trailhead, we stopped at the sign to get better acquainted with our surroundings.

“Are you sure you wanna go through with this?” I queried. “There’s no shame in pedaling away.”

“As long as we’ve made it this far, we should at least try,” Leah opined.

We set out along the boardwalk, traversing the planks, as we ascended the dune.

We trudged up the risers,

and caught a glimpse of our target.

We were nearing the halfway point of our trek, and I couldn’t help but notice Leah’s shallow breathing. Thus far, she had been a real trooper; five minutes had passed since we’d started out, and she hadn’t once complained about her neck and feet. Although, I had to admit, my back and knee were beginning to throb.

Fortunately, the park mavens had wisely provided a bench just when we needed it,

giving us a chance to recover, and consider a different strategy for attacking the steeper second half of the hike.

We managed our steps more carefully,

pacing ourselves as we approached the tower. From a distance, it seemed so small, but now that we were standing so close, it towered over us. We paused for a moment to appreciate its pine leg supports, the efficiency of its screened porch,

and the sophisticated intricacy of its frame lumber construction.

Leah and I took a long look back to see how far we’d come, and we couldn’t help but feel proud of our accomplishment. But it was too soon to gloat.

We still had to contend with the tower ascent.

“I’ll bet they have seats up there,” I predicted.

“That would be a good idea, because you never know when you might want to sit,” Leah exclaimed.

“Exactly!” I stated precisely.

Climbing the stairs was faster than I expected; the adrenalin was coursing through our veins in eager anticipation of the view. Once at the top of the tower, the thin air and the expansive vista made us giddy with excitement. At 86 feet above sea level, we were on top of the world.

All that remained was retracing our steps back to the parking lot. But that would be easy, now that we were riding a Florida high. Although the naysayers would argue that it’s downhill from here.

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.

Cross Beams

December 11, 2017December 13, 2017Posted in Architecture, Art, National Parks, Photo Challenge, Photography, travelTagged ascend, Charleston, Colorado Springs, Eureka Springs, Helena, religion, San Antonio, Savannah, St. Louis8 Comments

Life on the road can be unsettling to the soul, so from time to time–when passing through towns and cities–we’ll randomly take our time to wander through a variety of houses of worship for a healthy dose of salvation and inner peace.

As we’ve wound our way across America, several sanctuaries have stood out for their historical significance, stunning architecture, and their integration into the communities they serve.

The chapel of the Mission San Antonio de Valero, better known as the Alamo, was founded in the early 18th century as a Roman Catholic mission along the San Antonio River,

and distinguished itself as the Shrine of Texas Liberty, commemorating the Battle of the Alamo on March 6, 1836, when a 13-day siege ended in the Mexican army’s victory over 189 Texian soldiers.

Originally, the compound was intended as an education center for America’s Indians who converted to Christianity,

but, ultimately the Alamo became a fortress of New Spain militiamen after the Franciscan missionaries abandoned it in 1793.

In 2015, the Alamo was designated as a UNESCO World Heritage site.

While exploring Big Sky country around Helena, Montana, Leah and I visited the Cathedral of St. Helena,

a Roman Catholic parish patterned after the Gothic form of Votive Church in Vienna, Austria,

and distinctive for its 59 stained glass windows depicting scenes from the Old and New Testaments.

Nearly destroyed by an earthquake in 1935, the cathedral was restored to its original design after three years of reconstruction.

The interior was gilded in time for the Cathedral’s Golden Jubilee in 1959,

and included in National Register of Historic Places in 1980–giving the residents of Helena something to crow about.

Romanesque architecture defines the exterior of the Cathedral Basilica of Saint Louis, completed in 1914,

and attributed to patron Saint Louis IX, King of France.

However, the interior reflects from a Byzantine style rooted in soaring domes and mosaic art.

Installation of the Cathedral’s mosaics–which adorn almost every decorative surface of wall, ceiling and dome–began in 1912 and was completed in 1988.

Twenty different artists collectively inlaid 41.5 million tessarae tiles of 7,000 colors, covering 83,000 square feet, making it the largest mosaic collection in the world.

Pope John Paul II designated the Cathedral a basilica in 1997, where it acts as the mother church for the Archdiocese, and seat of its archbishop.

In stark contrast, the Cadet Chapel–a multi-faith house of worship–soars heaven-bound at the Air Force Academy campus located in Colorado Springs, Colorado.

With 17 upright wings on edge, and piercing the sky at 150 feet, the Cadet Chapel is a stirring example of modern American Architecture.

Constructed mostly of aluminum, glass, and steel,

the main sanctuary is home to an Air Force Academy demographic that is primarily Protestant.

However, the lower level of the structure houses chapels and prayer rooms for Catholics, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, and Orthodox Christians.

The Cadet Chapel was awarded the American Institute of Architects’ Twenty-five Year Award in 1996, and was named a U.S. National Historic Landmark in 2004.

Also reflective of modern American architecture, and an homage to nature in its purest form is Thorncrown Chapel, nestled in the Ozarks of Arkansas, on the edge of Eureka Springs.

Constructed from the same Southern pine indigenous to the site, the chapel is so integrated into the landscape that it stealthily stands camouflaged by its surroundings,

and represents an inside/outside sensibility, with Arts and Crafts flourishes.

Thorncrown Chapel was named a National Historic Place in 2000, and received the Twenty-five Year Award by the American Institute of Architects in 2006 for design of enduring significance.

The Cathedral of St. John the Baptist in Savannah, Georgia is a Roman Catholic sanctuary built in the French Gothic style, and was dedicated in 1876.

Twelve years later, fire gutted the interior, leaving behind only the walls and towers.

Overcoming adversity, the church community quickly rebuilt much of what was destroyed, and resumed inside services in 1900,

while interior decoration continued for an additional 13 years,

to restore the stained glass and organ loft to its original splendor.

Embedded in Savannah’s Historic District, the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist was awarded landmark status by the National Park Service in 1966.

Lastly, in our effort to somehow balance the preponderance of churches and chapels we’ve toured, we visited Kahal Kadosh Beth Elohim Synagogue in the Historic District of Charleston, South Carolina.

Kahal Kadosh is notable as the country’s second oldest synagogue, and the oldest in continuous use. Established in 1749, Kahal Kadosh grew into America’s largest and wealthiest Jewish community by the end of the 18th century.

A new vision of American Reform Judaism originated at this site in 1824 after parting ways from its conservative Sephardic origins.

After Charleston’s fire of 1838 ravaged the city and destroyed the synagogue, a new Greek revival style was adopted for the new structure, with rich interior ornamentation,

reminiscent of Greek temples.

Jewish services, according to reformist rituals and practices, were now conducted in English, with a new emphasis on organ music, and women were encouraged to participate with men on the main floor, breaking with a long-standing tradition of separation and isolation in the sanctuary balconies.

The rich history and diversity of religion and protected religious freedoms in America cannot be overlooked as increased debate centers around self-centered interpretations of our Constitution’s First Amendment.

Moral outrage and hubris abound as politicians and public figures drape themselves in stars and stripes, while preaching to their flock from behind protective glass with handfuls of stones at the ready.

A reckoning of biblical proportion awaits us if we cannot ascend beyond our intolerance, and let each other live as we would have others let us live–in peace and without judgement.

Amen.

Southern (C)Harm

December 4, 2017July 11, 2018Posted in Architecture, hiking, landscape, National Parks, Photography, travelTagged Charleston Harbor, Fort Moultrie, Old Slave Mart4 Comments

Charleston, South Carolina has a picture postcard personality with an imperfect and unpleasant past–mostly because Charleston was built on the backs of slaves for nearly 200 years, with nearly 1.5 million slaves passing through Charleston Harbor until the 13th Amendment to the Constitution abolished slavery in 1865–yet the appeal and beauty of Charleston cannot be denied.

A tour of Fort Moultrie on Sullivan’s Island offers a historical narrative that addresses the highs and lows of the Low Country from a military perspective.

The earliest protection of Charleston’s harbor came from its outlying shoals, forcing ship traffic from the south, and across Sullivan’s Fort.

Early defense of the harbor relied on a sixteen-foot thick sandwich between two slices of palmetto log-walls that British bombardments found impossible to penetrate. In June 1776, nine British warships were driven off under a hail of smooth-bore cannon fire during the Revolutionary War.

Consequently, Charleston was saved and the fort was renamed in honor of its commander, William Moultrie (1730-1805).

In 1794, with the addition of Vermont and Kentucky to the Union, a new 15 star/15 stripe flag flew beyond the sally port…

over a newly-styled defense system, with walls of earth and timber rising 17 feet above the shoreline.

In 1804, a hurricane destroyed the fort, calling for Congress to appropriate funds for a Second American System of coastal fortifications, including an 1809 rebuild of Fort Moultrie fortified with brick,

and the addition of Fort Sumter to its south.

South Carolina’s secession from the Union in 1860 provoked the Civil War. Moultrie was quickly abandoned in favor of Sumter’s stronger defense system. However, the Confederates bombed Sumter into submission three months later, gaining control of the harbor–and successfully defended against a Federal fleet of Ironclads with a string of 32-pounders lined across its battlements–until Charleston surrendered in 1865.

Fort Moultrie continued to modernize, and sustained to protect the southern coastline through both World Wars…

…by coordinating all harbor defenses through its Harbor Entrance Control post,

until its decommission in 1947.

Sullivan’s Island was also the first line of defense against virulent disease, providing “pest houses” for in-transit African slaves between 1700 and 1775. who were processed and quarantined prior to dispatch to the Slave Mart in Charleston,

suggesting a crude and culpable counterpart to white immigration at Ellis Island.

The Old Slave Mart–now converted to a museum–tells the painful story of America’s darkest days in a straightforward way…

offering a self-guided tour through an unimaginable time when freedom was confiscated for a price,

and families were ripped apart,

so America could prosper.

Yet, such a beautiful city has been wrought in the wake of such misery.

But lest we forget:

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.

Stomping Grounds

November 22, 2017November 22, 2017Posted in Architecture, daily prompt, Photography, travelTagged Nest, New York City, Rockefeller Center, UFTLeave a comment

After eight months of highways and high country, I took a deep breath and returned to the nest. Leah and I had already flown to Philadelphia from Charlotte–where the Airstream was idling in storage until our travels resumed–and continued by car to Northern New Jersey where we planned to reunite with our families for Thanksgiving dinner and my 65th birthday celebration.

While commuting to New York City to attend a union-sponsored luncheon of like-minded teachers and retirees was never part of my original plan, it seemed difficult turning down a free lunch after receiving the invitation a month earlier, and realizing that the event would be a pleasant diversion from all the doctor visits Leah had scheduled months ago.

Although the trip by bus from Willowbrook Park and Ride to Port Authority was uneventful, memories of tidal traffic flooded my mind as the bus crept at a snail’s pace until we entered the Lincoln Tunnel.

Port Authority was as grimy as ever. No one dared to linger longer than necessary, so travelers were quick about their business, and goodbye exchanges tended to be short and sweet before people parted ways for different places. Only the homeless and drunks cared to share the surroundings, as they dutifully sifted through trash cans in search of redeemable bottles and discarded deli.

Walking out onto 8th Avenue and looking beyond 42nd Street, a familiar game of human pinball was playing out across over-crowded sidewalks, with pedestrians weaving through imaginary obstacle courses, unable to avoid each other.

Also familiar were the cacophonous sirens of emergency vehicles frozen in gridlock, and the scent of the big city.

I routed through Times Square for an essential rush of nostalgia,

as this was my traditional walk to work for the better part of a school year when I taught World History and Chemistry at JKO (Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis) High School, renown for once housing the school characterized in the movie Fame.

Winding my way to 6th Avenue,

camera towers were rising between decorated office buildings in preparation for Thursday’s Thanksgiving Parade.

Arriving at my destination, I joined a reception in the ballroom lobby of the New York Hilton that soon transitioned to an open call for lunch, as the doors to the ballroom parted and 800 attendees scrambled to locate their seating assignments.

After customary introductions and rousing speeches from union officials,

we settled on servings of institutional indigestion masked as fish or fowl, while catching up with complete strangers around our table.

Entertainment was provided by retirees with a passion for colorful clothes and random gyrating.

By two o’clock, it was all an afterthought, and the crowd slowly dissembled…in search of what’s next after retirement.

Upon my return to Port Authority, I re-routed through Rockefeller Center–ahead of Thursday’s masses–to sneak a peak at Christmas future…

…but alas, the Northern Spruce–like so much of New York City–was still a work in progress.

Ironically, I felt myself immediately transported back to the classroom for one brief moment, reflecting on one of my earliest teaching revelations: that instruction, much like construction, is best achieved with proper scaffolding. For without it, most students would be skating on thin ice.

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.

Parhelic Circle with Sundogs

November 16, 2017January 4, 2018Posted in landscape, National Parks, Photo Challenge, Photography, travelTagged Andrews Bald, Astronomy, experimental, Great Smoky Mountains, Parhelic circle, sundogs2 Comments

While enjoying the exhilarating views of the Great Smoky Mountains from the vantage of Andrew Bald’s grassy slopes, a narrow ribbon of color caught my eye just as the clouds were parting on the right side of the sun. I knew I didn’t have much time, so I refocused my attention on capturing my discovery through the lens of my camera, while trying not to blow-out the exposure by shooting into the sun.

“Ooh, a rainbow,” I thought, “That’s cool.” I turned to the few hikers present, now relaxing after the trek down from Clingmans Dome.

“Did anyone else see the rainbow?” I asked around to no one in particular.

Their casual shrugs spoke volumes. Glancing back to the sky, I understood their ambivalence; the rainbow had already vanished.

After a snack and a brief respite, it was time to start up the mountain before darkness descended, but not without one last look as I was leaving the clearing. That’s when I noticed–if only for an instant–a reciprocal slice of color on the left side of the sun…

…and then it was gone. Leah and I ascended the trail in sufficient time for photographing a glorious sunset over Clingmans Dome, and nothing more was considered, until it was time to construct the post, On Top of Old Smokey.

While putting my thoughts together with the TV running in the background, I became distracted by a local meteorologist from Charlotte, who was standing in front of a projected image submitted by a viewer that looked very similar to photographs I had recorded on Andrew Bald.

And then he replaced the image with this graphic:

while giving a brief explanation of the earth science behind the phenomenon of a parhelic circle with flanking sundogs.

That’s when I realized I had captured something special…caused by sunlight refracting off tiny ice crystals in the atmosphere, and creating a larger halo around the sun.

I returned to the file to re-examine the photographs, and wondered–by chance, and given limited resources–if I could stitch the two views together using Windows Publisher to reproduce the full effect, even though the photographs of both sides of the sun were taken minutes apart from two different viewpoints and parallax.

While the technique is purely experimental, I believe the result comes very close to interpreting “what could have been” had the clouds not interfered with my “rainbows”…

…all of which makes for a more remarkable discovery, given the Great Smoky Mountain smoke.

On Top of Old Smokey

November 16, 2017March 21, 2019Posted in hiking, landscape, National Parks, Nature, Photography, travelTagged Andrews Bald, Clingmans Dome, Great Smoky Mountains, Observation Tower, sundogs12 Comments

A side trip to Great Smoky Mountains National Park from Asheville takes only an hour, but the payoff is timeless. Admission is free, but the views are priceless.

The National Park straddles North Carolina and Tennessee, with Clingmans Dome, the highest peak in Tennessee, and a natural boundary between both states. The park is situated within a day’s drive for 60% of the nation’s population, making it the most popular of all National Parks, with over 9 million visitors per year.

The park can be accessed through a dozen different gateways, with Sugarlands Visitors Center being the prevailing entry point from the north side through Gatlinburg, TN. But Leah and I approached the Great Smokys from the south, and entered via Oconaluftee Visitors Center, the heart of Cherokee Nation.

Once there, we took our time strolling through the Mountain Farm Museum on the banks of the Oconaluftee River…

…before driving north on Newfound Gap Road–stopping frequently at the many overlooks–to gaze across Carolina’s side of the Blue Ridge Mountains,

and preview our next destination, Clingmans Dome, at 6,643 feet elevation.

A dogleg turn onto Clingmans Mountain Road took us through short winding turns as we climbed the Appalachian Trail ridgeline, eventually leveling off at an over-sized parking area with trails radiating from the top of the bald, and views extending a hundred miles.

Thinking that views might be even better at the very top–allowing us to see over Mount LeConte–we trekked half a mile up a very steep asphalt path to Clingmans Observation Tower, albeit knowing it was closed for repair until next year.

To our surprise, families were scaling the spiraling ramp to the tower.

Looking around, there were no views to be had at the base. We were surrounded by a dense growth of evergreens without breaks. Sacks of concrete were stacked under the column with flimsy, yellow, KEEP OUT tape tied across the tower entrance.

Scores of visitors-turned-violators stood around the column base, determining their next move. Should they make the ascent or not? Yes, the tower was officially closed to the public while undergoing repair. But was it too risky to breach the ribbon barricade? There weren’t any park rangers present, but maybe there were cameras? What a moral dilemma!

“I’m not going up there,” exclaimed Leah. “There’s a reason that tower is closed.”

“But look around us! Where are the views?! We hiked up here expecting to see something, yet there’s nothing to look at, unless you want a closer look at this fir stump,” I argued. “And what about everyone already up there? If they really wanted to keep us out, then why didn’t they secure the entrance better? Why didn’t they use fencing instead of tape?”

Leah was adamant. “I’m still not going up there, and I don’t care about everybody else! It’s not the right thing to do.”

I offered Leah my Roy Moore rationale: “But it ain’t illegal if ya don’t get caught!”

I deliberated carefully…

…and ducked under the tape. I couldn’t help myself. I wouldn’t deny myself the views I had come all this way to capture.

The 45-foot tower was completed in 1959 to give unobstructed 360° views of the surrounding mountains and valleys, and it was showing its age. The concrete pathway was separating from the wall in places, and patches of rebar were visible along the way. But did it warrant closing while in the midst of being repaired?

Probably, but not until I had the chance to document the landscape. I scurried up the ramp with the intention of quickly getting my shots, and hurrying back down, just in case I should be noticed.

On our way back down the trail, several families on their way up the trail, paused to catch their breath and ask, “Is it worth it? Is there anything to see up there?”

“It all depends on how good you are at following orders,” I’d answer cryptically.

But our day wasn’t done yet. It was only three o’clock, and we hadn’t hiked more than an easy mile. We’d been told by a park volunteer at the Visitor Center that the two-mile trail to Andrews Bald–which intersects with the Appalachian Trail–was a worthwhile hike with amazing views at the end.

So, we took her advice, and set out down a narrow, terraced ridge capped by embedded logs as steps–to keep the erosion to a minimum–until it turned to saw-toothed rocks and twisted roots, and occasional mud in low lying places.

“You realize that it’s now getting dark around five, so we’re not gonna have much time before we have to turn around,” Leah warned. “And climbing back up this hill is gonna be a bear!”

“Sunset’s at 5:30, but as long as we’re out by five, we should be fine,” I replied. “Besides, there’s no way I’m gonna miss the sun going down from up top!”

We made excellent time down the mountainside, and crossed onto Andrew Bald, a grassy clearing with breathtaking views. While Leah was making new friends, and photobombing their picture,

I was focused on the sky, and that’s when I realized that the sun had created something remarkable.

That slivered arch of a rainbow crisscrossed by contrails was an elusive sundog, a small portion of an optical phenomenon caused by sunlight refracting off tiny ice crystals in the atmosphere, and creating a larger halo around the sun.

The excitement of capturing this meteorological moment was enough to propel me up the mountain and back to the parking lot with plenty of time to prepare for sunset. But the look on Leah’s face after emerging from the hike told a different story; her feet were achy and her knee was throbbing.

While she retired to the truck to relax and seek shelter from the bite of cold air moving across Clingmans Dome, I stood steadfast on the edge of the mountain, camera in hand, taking a front row seat to nature’s second act.

Going…

going…

gone.

Almost immediately, all the visitors who stood shoulder to shoulder, drifted back to their cars and trucks to wind their way down to the bottom of the mountain road in the faint tinted light of dusk.

If only they had stuck around long enough for nature’s curtain call…

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.

Tempus Fugit

November 10, 2017November 18, 2017Posted in landscape, National Parks, Nature, Photo Challenge, Photography, travelTagged Balloon Fiesta, Corvallis, Jasper National Park, Lassen Volcanic National Park, Valley of Fire6 Comments

When I reflect over the past eight months on the road, it’s a focused blur. Like the miles that melt behind us as we’re cruising on the Interstates, our side-view mirrors only serve to remind us what we once observed before it’s gone in an instant.

“Did you see that?!” has been a common cue while driving, that could come at any time. It could be a natural phenomena like a double rainbow, or a dramatic change to an underwhelming landscape, or a man with no teeth whose nose touches his chin passing us in his hot-rod Mustang convertible.

Whatever the case may be, we usually have just a moment to react and make a meaningful connection before we’re on to the next moment in time. Our experience may be filed into memory, but memories can be sketchy, ambiguous and subjective.

“What’s your favorite place so far?” is a question that unquestionably comes up when meeting friends or strangers who hear about the progress we’ve made on our year-long odyssey. It’s also the hardest question to answer, considering the nearly 30,000 miles we’ve covered en route to 90 different destinations.

Leah and I often joke and reflect about our day at its conclusion, just to gauge if our recollections match.

“Was it a top 10 day for you today?” I’m likely to ask.

Certainly more than 30 times to date, she’ll respond with, “I don’t know if it was ‘top 10’, but definitely among the top 20.”

Looking back–with help from impressions of places from past posts–I’m now ready to answer the question, and reveal my top five favorites thus far, in chronological order.

1) August 2, 2017: Jasper National Park, Alberta Canada–Athabasca Glacier

Athabasca Glacier currently recedes at 16 ft. per year, and has lost over half its volume over the past 125 years.

2) August 21, 2017: Corvallis, Oregon–Total Solar Eclipse

Totality of the eclipse lasted one minute, 40 seconds.

4) August 29, 2017: Lassen Volcanic National Park, California

The 750 foot ascent up the 35% grade of loose gravel to the rim of the Cinder Cone took 35 minutes.

4) October 4, 2017: Valley of Fire State Park, Nevada

7 minutes lapsed between the sun setting behind the Muddy Mountains to the moon rising over the Valley of Fire.

5) October 14, 2017: Albuquerque, New Mexico–Balloon Fiesta

The hot air balloon was aloft over Albuquerque after 13 minutes of inflation.

Although each adventure is fundamentally different from the others, collectively, they represent before and after transitions.

The ephemeral existence of each event is temporary in its own special way, with its own time-stamp carved in soap. Fortunately, the moment can be captured and preserved in words and pictures, lest there be any doubt that something significant happened in our lifetime.

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.

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