My goodness! I assumed this would be a really big house but I didn't quite expect such a conspicuous display of consumption. Small wonder this estate has become a self sustaining, um...business, I guess you could call it. Who could afford to run a house like this these days? But with the cost of admission $60 a person along with $12.95 for a pictorial guide to the house and grounds and $20 for one lunch and $10.95 for a digital postcard (and the lady said I could copy the pictures if I wanted to so I'll try to upload pictures for all to see), all of which is what I spent today, I can well imagine that they are raking it in and doing a fine job of sustaining this historical masterpiece.
I've been to visit Newport, Rhode Island's summer 'cottages' where the great and wealthy tried mightily to outdo each other in building the biggest and most elaborate and sometimes downright tasteless mansions they could possibly afford. As big as those monsters are, I do believe this one is bigger. In fact, it's described as America's largest residence with 250 rooms in it. There are 33 family and guest bedrooms, 43 bathrooms (with toilets and running hot water, amazingly enough), 65 fireplaces, three kitchens, an indoor bowling alley, a billiards room, a two-story library with 10,000 volumes in eight languages and an indoor pool. There's also a Pellegrini ceiling painting in the library, The Chariot of Aurora, which came from the Pisani Palace in Venice. The house is settled cozily on 125,000 acres of forests, farms and a dairy, a 250-acre wooded park, five pleasure gardens, and 30 miles of roadways. I think this member of the Vanderbilt family out-Vanderbilted them all!
Where do I begin? I woke up late and got there around 12:00 am with a 1:00 appointment to see the house. With such a short time before my tour time began I walked through the Italian Gardens which were right off the left side of the house. Lots of leafy bowers, busts and statues, flowers I couldn't name and lily ponds all over the place. I then wandered back over to the side of the front entrance where all the cafe/coffee/ice cream vendors were and rested with a cup of coffee before starting my tour. I had been warned that the house would take about 1 1/2 hours to see and I wanted all the rest I could get.
Some background information here. George W. Vanderbilt opened this house in 1895 and brought his bride, Edith Stuyvesant Dresser, to live there three years later. They had one child, Cornelia, who was born there and who would later marry the Honorable John Francis Amherst Cecil and they would both remain at Biltmore with Edith after George died in 1914.
The house became open to the public in the 1930's both to increase area tourism during the Depression and to offset the costs of preserving the estate. Even wealthy heiresses need a handout sometimes, I guess. This tradition became a family business and today Biltmore is owned and run by William Cecil, Vanderbilt's grandson, and his son and daughter assist the board of directors as CEO and advisor. There are 1,800 employees (when the Vanderbilts lived there, they had at least 35 servants in the house alone) who work to continue the preservation of this incredible home.
So why bother preserving it? Lordamighty! Thank heavens I've taken several art history classes because there was an incredibly diverse collection of different furniture styles, tapestries, carvings, porcelain vases from all over, cutlery and dishes by well known and expensive (think Baccarat crystal, for example), statues, a chess set owned by Napoleon, and countless paintings by well known artists such as John Singer Sargent, Giovanni Boldini, and James McNeill Whistler. The place is a walking treasure trove of historical art! Even the wallpaper and fabrics are of historical interest and have been either restored from the existing remnants or reproduced by the same company that produced the originals. I mean, you can't spit without hitting something that should be in a museum, which is actually what this house now is.
The bedrooms were decorated in wildly varied styles from Louis XVI to Neoclassical to Baroque to Rococo. In one of the bedrooms is a hand-painted 18th century Swiss porcelain tile chimney which Vanderbilt asked the architect to incorporate in the plans. It's pretty amazing, I'll admit. In the Louis XV room there is ornate cut and uncut silk velvet wallcoverings and is also where Cornelia was born and later on where Cornelia would give birth to her own two sons. Pretty elaborate furnishings to have around you while you scream the bloody walls down, ya?
Oh, I forgot to mention there is, of course, several sitting rooms and salons where guests could gather to chat, write letters, play games, etc. There was also a music room and a gymnasium and beside the indoor swimming pool were several dressing rooms where the guests could change into clothing considered proper for these activities. Think one-piece suits covering most of the body for both ladies and gentlemen and you'll get the picture.
There was also a smoking room where the male guests enjoyed their after-dinner cigars, pipes and brandy and where the women didn't come in; the gun room where Vanderbilt and his guests would select guns for their hunting expeditions on the estate; an indoor winter garden where guests could indulge their noses with exotic smelling flowers; a fountain in the entrance hall which had (and still has) a glass ceiling; and a bachelors' wing hallway where the single men could gather and talk dirty, I suppose.
The grand staircase goes all the way to the fourth floor and has an iron chandelier that hangs all the way down to the first floor. That must be one heck of a butterfly bolt hanging that baby up there! While walking down from the fourth floor I thought about sliding down the bannister but I think I would have been asked to leave if I did. But what a ride it would have been!
The banquet hall has a seven-story high ceiling and the table in there which could be expanded to an even larger size was set for a mere 32 people. Those would be your most intimate friends, of course. There were three different fireplaces heating the area at one end and at the other was a HUGE pipe organ in a loft. There were also Flemish tapestries hanging on the walls from the 1500's. Pretty darned nice, if I must say so.
The servants who worked here had it good, by the way. For those of you familiar with the Victorian era (or the Eduardian era as this actually was) or who have even watched "Upstairs Downstairs" on BBC, you will note that the servants' rooms were at the top of the house, unheated, and most slept two to a bed without much privacy. In this house, the servants had private rooms at the top of the house that were very nicely furnished and they were heated!!! It would have been ghastly cold in the winter without it but these folks had kind and thoughtful employers. They also had a sitting hall at both the top of the house and in the basement and a separate large room where they ate their meals. The chefs and the head housekeeper were the only ones who had rooms in the basement and they were very nicely furnished. Compared to the rooms above them, they were exceedingly plain, but the furniture matched and was of good quality. It wasn't just castoffs that the family no longer wanted to use which is what filled most servants' halls. These folks had it good!
Well, after the house tour I was pretty worn out so I cheated and did a drive-by photographic shooting of the gardens I could see from the road. I know I missed a lot but by then I was sincerely pooped. I drove another three miles down never-ending roads to Antler Village where I had my $20 lunch and where I took the pictures of the clematis, a robin bathing in a bird bath and other flowers that I liked. And after that I just went back to the RV site 'cause I wanted a shower, a nap and some coffee, in that order.
I'll upload the rest of the photos on Facebook so you can see everything. I wish I could upload more on this site but I'm limited. Oh, well.
Tomorrow I head towards Virginia where I'm stopping to see friend Jeanne, and then friend John. I don't know how far I will get so that will be a surprise to us all. Until tomorrow, expect a fantastic day!
Lessons Learned:
Just because Chopper is the kitty who throws up most of the time doesn't mean that NakedButt won't add to the mix. Right in the middle of my bed, of course.
Make sure the sewage hose from the RV is well connected to the extension hose when you pick it up. Undesirable biohazard accidents can occur if you don't. Thank heavens for gloves!
Observations:
A sign by the Blueridge Parkway that I drove to Biltmore Estates: Billy Graham Training Center. Does that mean that you get training to become Billy Graham-like?
Why at the Biltmore Estate does the elevator (original to the house) only go up to the second floor when there are more guests and family rooms on the third? This meant that I had to walk up that damned grand staircase to get to both the third and the fourth and it was pretty tiring. Poop.
NakedButt is no longer sleeping in the litter box but she still has yet to sleep in the nice little cozy bed I made for her. Today I found her tucked away in a little carpeted area that I had thoughtlessly not stuffed anything into. I guess I'll just leave it open for her. Sigh...
Showing posts with label Victorian Era. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Victorian Era. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Friday, September 25, 2009
Days 24th & 25th - Frankfort, Kentucky and Sweetwater, Tennessee
Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary
Days 24 & 25 - Frankfort, Kentucky and Sweetwater, Tennessee
I’m writing this on the 25th since I was not able to get a signal last night. And though I was able to upload the 23rd on the proper day I couldn’t access Yahoo or Facebook to let anyone know. Some of you might have already popped over and have read it, but for those who didn’t, the 23rd is there, in all its glory.
But on the 24th I was ensconced in the lovely Elkhorn Campground which was, I was assured, on the beautiful Elkhorn Creek. Since I could see a creek from my rear window, and it was lovely from what I could see between raindrops, I was inclined to believe them. This campground was outside of Frankfort proper, which is the capital of Kentucky. For those of you who didn’t know this (and that probably means most of you, including me even though I lived here for five years), this is where Senator Mitch McConnell reigns over his conservative constituency. And does a pretty good job of taking care of his constituents, I have to admit.
I hopefully have only two more days on the road where I plan to stop near Knoxville, Tennessee (that would be Sweetwater, where I am now), and after that I should be able to make the drive to Blairsville, Georgia, in one day. It’s so lovely here in this area! Kentucky has been a beautiful state in my mind from the first time I moved here, and after being raised primarily in Tucson, was the second state to awaken me to the incredible beauty of the spring season. In Tucson, if we had enough rains, than we would see umpteen flowers in the wilderness around us come the spring season. And the desert was and always has been lovely to me, no matter what the season, but spring was always the best, at least in my mind.
However, spring also meant the coming of higher temperatures which is something I have always struggled with physically. But Kentucky and Salt Lake City, Utah, the first area, actually, were the areas that made me most aware that the spring season could be lovely, because both offered the flowering trees and shrubs in a display that reminded me anew each year that I could rejoice in the sun's rays and not hide from them in fear. I had not felt that before in my memory and how I grew to love spring after a winter of snow and ice.
Maine also added to my perspective of how the sun gave life instead of wilting everything in it. After a long winter of snow and ice and extreme cold temperatures, even the resulting 'mud season' and "black flies" which proclaimed the melting of the ice-clogged rivers, did not dampen my rejoicing in the increasing rays of the sun as its brightness gave life to the fields once again.
And now it’s autumn, which has always been my favorite season, because I have seen it as no less beautiful or necessary than spring. Because I have always been deeply introspective and because my soul has always gone 'within' to sort things out and to lay fallow for awhile until I've rested and healed and have then become fruitful once more and could share my joy and my love... Because this season has always reflected the natural cycles of the earth and of we, the inhabitants, who are the farmers and the protectors, and who have become as much the natural 'product' of the earth as much as the corn, the hay and the soybeans... This is the season that I have loved most of all.
On this journey, I’ve seen reddish-orange vines changing, and a multitude of trees shifting from dusky green to red/brown as they have entered the season of their change. But there has still been plenty of green around me, and lots of yellow still, especially in the ripening soybean fields and the odd tree that has only begun to change with the tips of its branches. Kentucky has always been a lovely state, in my mind, there has never a question about it. And Tennessee is just as lovely.
And now segue to a different subject. I stopped in Frankfort, KY at the Chamber of Commerce/Tourist Information site to get some information regarding local campsites, there being no KOA‘s in the area. The restored house in which this business was installed was an old Victorian with lots of scroll work and tall windows and tin ceilings. If you have a mind to admire such architectural oddities, than you would have loved this house!
Still known as the “Gooch House,” it was constructed during the 1890’s by merchant John T. Buckley. So where is the Gooch tie-in, you might ask (as I did). Well, George and Sarah Gooch purchased the building in 1919 and it remained in their family until 1978. George died shortly after purchasing the house but his wife continued to reside there and operated a boarding house called the ‘Green Hedges Tourist Home.’ This lasted well into the twentieth century and established the building as a local landmark.
The house, which I greatly admired, is a restored Queen Anne style with the “irregular massing and asymmetrical façade typical of the period.” I put these words in quotes because, even though I’ve taken art history and have studied architectural developments, I mean, really, do you think that I would talk this way? I don't think so!
It’s now painted in an overall color of colonial blue (at least as I perceived it) with a lighter blue and a dark burgundy highlighting the scroll work. There is a lovely wooden veranda which wraps around the front and sides of the house and there are bay windows and scrolled trim with brackets and elaborately decorated posts everywhere. It’s perfectly charming and the tall windows have long, lacey curtains drawn back with complementing tie-backs. Really lovely, if you like this particular period.
Whenever I see how small the rooms are from any time periods from the past, I have to remember just how small we as a people were at that time. I’m an Amazon when compared to the ladies of this time, who grew usually no more than 5 feet tall, perhaps a few inches taller, though there were actually some who grew quite tall when compared to their sisters. They were not the norm at that time, naturally. I would like to be able to equate height with extraordinary independence and individual thinking, and that of great creative minds, but that has not necessarily been the truth. Some of our female leaders in the past were very petite though their bodies housed personalities that were giant in nature. I’m speaking of Lucy Staton and Susan B. Anthony, as I write, both who were ladies with a huge involvement in our womens' rights development and who led the way to what we take for granted today. And they were both of average height with feet so much smaller than mine that I wonder where my height and foot size came from. Huh.
Anyway, back to the Gooch House. Inside you would find the original woodwork, which dropped my jaw with its ornate polished beauty, and included molded trim, chair-rail, wainscoting and lincrusta-treated walls. I had to look this last word up and I found one definition. By the way, we’re referring to wallpaper in this particular context - who knew? And this is from Wikipedia: “Lincrusta is made from totally natural materials, the primary ingredients being gelled linseed oil and wood flour.” Well, of course I had to go look up ’wood flour,’ never having heard of that before.
Likewise from Wikipedia: Wood flour is finely pulverized wood that has a consistency fairly equal to sand, but can vary considerably, with particles ranging in size from a fine powder to roughly the size of a grain of rice. Most wood flour manufacturers are able to create batches of wood flour that have the same consistency throughout. All high quality wood flour is made from hardwoods because of its durability and strength. Very low grade wood flour is occasionally made from sapless softwoods such as pine or fir. Wood flour is commonly used as a filler in thermosetting resins such as Polyoxybenzylmethylenglycolanhydride (you pronounce this first!), also known as Bakelite; and in Linoleum floor coverings. Wood flour is also the main ingredient in wood/plastic composite building products such as decks and roofs.
Well, I'll be darned. You learn something new every day!
To continue, lincrusta was originally manufactured in Sunbury-on-Thames until 1918 when it moved to Darwen, Lancashire. It is now produced in Morecambe, Lancashire using traditional methods and many of the original rollers, with the same care and attention to detail as when it was first produced.
Ok, so this is pretty useless information unless you want to restore your house to its pristine original, but at least here’s the source you should begin with.
Some of the gas light fixtures I saw were original to the house and there were, and still are, two double parlors located off of the entrance hall (both now being used to disseminate information). The second floor still contains four bedrooms and a bathroom but they have been changed to offices - well, all except for the bathroom.
The lady with whom I spoke told me that Rebecca Gooch, who founded the popular (?) Rebecca-Ruth Candies, did this in partnership with Ruth Hanly Booe. What they made was bourbon-based candies. The thought did not instill in me a wild desire to run out and taste one of these treats. I had rum balls when I was a child and I did not find them very palatable. In fact, they knocked me flat with their high concentration of rum. And they didn’t taste very good, either. However, these two lovely ladies apparently sold bourbon-balls (and you may assume the level of bourbon was VERY high), among other confections, and the lady with whom I spoke yesterday afternoon confided in me with a whisper that, oh my gawd, she didn’t like bourbon! I assured her this secret was safe with me (yeah, right) but I had to agree with her. The thought of bourbon-balls just did not make me salivate in anticipation. I mean, eew.
Anyway, she gave me information as to where I could find a reputable campground and so now I’m set up in Elkhorn Campground, not far outside of Frankfort. I think one more night on the road should get me to Knoxville, possibly Cleveland, Tennessee, and then I should be able to make it easily to Blairsville.
I had trouble, as usual, getting a signal for both wifi and phone, but I managed to get a connection with Sharon yesterday afternoon and we had our usual marathon phone call before my phone died from lack of a battery charge. The phone was then set to 'recharge" but at least she knows I will be there the day after tomorrow. Yaaaayyy!
I need a break, the kitties need a break, and Le Van Gogh requires a thorough scrubbing, inside and out. While at Sharon’s I need to see to minor repairs (the windshield and two upper windows have minor leaks somewhere and there are other tidbits to be attended to) and it needs to just dry out. And because I’ll be staying in it while everyone gathers at Sharon's, this won’t occur until after everyone has departed. Once everyone’s gone I can move EVERYthing out and let Sharon’s cleaning ladies take over and get it detailed, and possibly acquire a new paint job. At the least it requires a massive outer cleaning and a wax job and I’m quite willing to pay someone else to do this. My body needs a break, so I'm very happy to let someone else do it.
The kitties also need to dry out and their fur has been taking on a slight greenish tinge since we've entered humidity central. Fluffbutt has never experienced this level of water in the air before and she is presently flat out in the front passenger seat and panting, poor thing. Even though she will look a site, I’ve actually been thinking of having her, um, “trimmed’ during the summer months. She suffers so with her long fur, ya know. Then again, she does have her dignity and I will spend my summer months far, far north. We shall see on this subject...
Chopper, who has lived in Maine, Kentucky and now Washington, has been pretty tolerant to the changes in climate. That and her fur is much, much shorter than Fluffbutt’s so she has dealt with the changes a wee bit better. But neither kitties are comfortable, and neither am I, as far as that goes. I’ve never liked humid weather and although Washington was really mildly humid as compared to Kentucky, Maryland, Florida and Puerto Rico, but I could still feel it. And now that I’m back in the south I’m reminded all over again why I have never liked living in humid weather. Yuck.
Perhaps it's the necessity of having a washcloth in reach constantly so I can wipe my brow and neck. Or most likely it was because I was raised from age 4 to 23 such a very dry climate that my body has permanently decided that it's 'inner humidity scale' is set to that of a required dry climate. I can’t remember NOT suffering physical health problems whenever I've been stationed in humid areas. Just one more pointer for me to ultimately stay in the West. Not that I don’t appreciate the beauties of the areas that are more humid, it's just that I don't know that I can live there and make my body happy. And hence, with an unhappy body, I can’t be happy. So, Westward Ho!
Anyway, I have not taken any new photos since it was drizzling all day from Santa Claus, Indiana to Frankfort, Kentucky. And now I’m in Sweetwater, Tennessee and though it's not raining it’s so humid out that just stepping outside the van induces a flood of perspiration that threatens to drown me. I’ll see what I can find in the ‘free photo’ section of both states. If not, you’re stuck with the ones from Santa Claus, Indiana. Oh, well.
Lessons Learned:
That I keep forgetting how sensitive the steering wheel is to the slightest movement.
That if my head turns left, the van will likely follow.
That it’s that sensitive.
That when I combine the lightness of its weight, its height and its width along with the sensitivity of its steering wheel, it’s really a pain in the butt to drive.
Oh, well.
That when Chopper gets bored with lying around waiting for me to finally stop and park some place, she will come up to be cuddled by me.
That this generally poses a problem because it’s really hard to cuddle a cat in your lap when you can’t keep your legs together for her to get comfortable on and she ends up wandering around the front area and generally heads for the dashboard where she’s sure to get your attention. Namely, blocking your vision so you can’t see over her, which means I must take one hand from the steering wheel and lift her up and to the back. And then the cycle begins all over again.
Heavy sigh.
Observations:
I had missed breakfast and stopped at a Burger King to use their facilities and hopefully get a breakfast meal. Unfortunately, I had not moved my watch forward so I did not know that they were now serving lunch. Phooey. And when I ordered a combo meal, the young lady didn’t quite hear me and kept asking me if I wanted the “mill.” “Mill?” I asked, repeatedly, until finally I understood that she was referring to meal! Oooohhh! Yeah, that’s what I wanted!
Yep, I’m back in the south, fer shur!
And speaking of southern, everyone’s accent has shifted (no kidding, Lea). And that I have to remember this and reacquaint myself with the accent. And understand that they might not understand me as well. Interesting.
And déjà vu!
At the last campground in which I stayed, there were more ‘residents’ installed but one really drew my interest. This gentleman had a log cabin which had been raised on blocks (it was never meant to move around, I could see) and was now a definitely permanent resident. I think it was the large propane tank installed outside his cabin, and the permanent sewer connection that convinced me. Interesting.
I figured out where St. Meinrad Abbey is. It was just down the road from Santa Claus. I’ll go visit it when I come back.
That I’ve always had real problems keeping my ‘time’ sense correct when I write. Has that been because I have often shifted between past, present and future in what I have seen and have forgotten to catch myself up? Or has it just meant I'm a lousy writer. Whatever the reason, I no longer have a copy editor to help me, so when you see me shifting in time I hope you will have patience. I try to catch it but I just don’t always see it. Having a really strongly developed imagination makes it difficult sometimes to figure out which time sense I have been actually writing in. Heck, if I've been confused, how could you not be?
That I finally found the button that will shift the speakers from the back to the front. And, I blush to admit it, it was a button right under my nose but was hidden under different uses. I hope you’ll forgive me (blush blush). Larry, I thank you for your generous offer to install a new system for me but apparently it won’t be needed. But I do thank you with all of my heart!
And since I discovered this ‘hidden’ button after fiddling around with the danged radio for the umpteenth time, I have used this 'discovery' to listen to some of the cassette tapes given to me by my friend, Marilyn, and they have referred to development of the spirit, cultural creativity and Donna Eden’s methods of energy healing. What a gift to listen to these while I drive! Thank you, Marilyn!!!
As I think of what I wish to do with my life for the rest of my days, it always comes back to living a life of spirituality, simplicity and one that engages with others in a meaningful way. This mad dash to Sharon’s has been an example of exactly what I don’t want to experience. I don’t want to just stay one night in one place only to wave at the folks and engage them in a very short conversation of who they are and where they have been and where they believe they are going. I want to stay in one place so I can get to meet others, get to know them at a deeper level, whether of like mind or not, and to go on vision quests with them and of my own and explore the sociological and anthropological history and the heart of the people with whom I share a space for a time.
It has occurred to me that I’m something like a sociological anthropological mystical explorer. That I not only want to see the history of a place, I want to feel it. And I want to see and feel how it has impacted the people who still live in this area and I want to know how their culture and old traditions have transcended these times and helped them to adjust. Or not adjust. And I want to know what is not right about today and how we can learn to live in a right-mind thinking, if we put our hearts and our souls to it.
I want to experience on my own the feeling tones of the places I visit. I have been given the gift of sensitivity to the past and present and future, and I want to use this gift in a way that helps others in some kind of worthwhile way. Or not, as I can hear one teacher say. LOL! I have no idea at this time how this will play out - it is simply my intent. We shall see what, as many folks I’ve met describe it, that Spirit decides I shall encounter. And yet beneath it all, I remember that I still create my own reality and it is a joyful one regardless of the limited perspective which I sometimes inflict on it.
Although the journey has already begun, it took this introduction to help me carve out a direction for my own life. I have no desire to view the casinos, the schlock, the souvenirs, the tawdry, and yet I can’t forget that within these sites are people, my people, who are longing and yearning for something more than just the daily drudge. They want something beautiful in their lives and I can't help but agree. And though I know it is futile to seek for beauty in money, drugs, material goods or one-night stands, I sympathize with their journey. Because this has been my journey, and are we not all brethren under the skin?
Days 24 & 25 - Frankfort, Kentucky and Sweetwater, Tennessee
I’m writing this on the 25th since I was not able to get a signal last night. And though I was able to upload the 23rd on the proper day I couldn’t access Yahoo or Facebook to let anyone know. Some of you might have already popped over and have read it, but for those who didn’t, the 23rd is there, in all its glory.
But on the 24th I was ensconced in the lovely Elkhorn Campground which was, I was assured, on the beautiful Elkhorn Creek. Since I could see a creek from my rear window, and it was lovely from what I could see between raindrops, I was inclined to believe them. This campground was outside of Frankfort proper, which is the capital of Kentucky. For those of you who didn’t know this (and that probably means most of you, including me even though I lived here for five years), this is where Senator Mitch McConnell reigns over his conservative constituency. And does a pretty good job of taking care of his constituents, I have to admit.
I hopefully have only two more days on the road where I plan to stop near Knoxville, Tennessee (that would be Sweetwater, where I am now), and after that I should be able to make the drive to Blairsville, Georgia, in one day. It’s so lovely here in this area! Kentucky has been a beautiful state in my mind from the first time I moved here, and after being raised primarily in Tucson, was the second state to awaken me to the incredible beauty of the spring season. In Tucson, if we had enough rains, than we would see umpteen flowers in the wilderness around us come the spring season. And the desert was and always has been lovely to me, no matter what the season, but spring was always the best, at least in my mind.
However, spring also meant the coming of higher temperatures which is something I have always struggled with physically. But Kentucky and Salt Lake City, Utah, the first area, actually, were the areas that made me most aware that the spring season could be lovely, because both offered the flowering trees and shrubs in a display that reminded me anew each year that I could rejoice in the sun's rays and not hide from them in fear. I had not felt that before in my memory and how I grew to love spring after a winter of snow and ice.
Maine also added to my perspective of how the sun gave life instead of wilting everything in it. After a long winter of snow and ice and extreme cold temperatures, even the resulting 'mud season' and "black flies" which proclaimed the melting of the ice-clogged rivers, did not dampen my rejoicing in the increasing rays of the sun as its brightness gave life to the fields once again.
And now it’s autumn, which has always been my favorite season, because I have seen it as no less beautiful or necessary than spring. Because I have always been deeply introspective and because my soul has always gone 'within' to sort things out and to lay fallow for awhile until I've rested and healed and have then become fruitful once more and could share my joy and my love... Because this season has always reflected the natural cycles of the earth and of we, the inhabitants, who are the farmers and the protectors, and who have become as much the natural 'product' of the earth as much as the corn, the hay and the soybeans... This is the season that I have loved most of all.
On this journey, I’ve seen reddish-orange vines changing, and a multitude of trees shifting from dusky green to red/brown as they have entered the season of their change. But there has still been plenty of green around me, and lots of yellow still, especially in the ripening soybean fields and the odd tree that has only begun to change with the tips of its branches. Kentucky has always been a lovely state, in my mind, there has never a question about it. And Tennessee is just as lovely.
And now segue to a different subject. I stopped in Frankfort, KY at the Chamber of Commerce/Tourist Information site to get some information regarding local campsites, there being no KOA‘s in the area. The restored house in which this business was installed was an old Victorian with lots of scroll work and tall windows and tin ceilings. If you have a mind to admire such architectural oddities, than you would have loved this house!
Still known as the “Gooch House,” it was constructed during the 1890’s by merchant John T. Buckley. So where is the Gooch tie-in, you might ask (as I did). Well, George and Sarah Gooch purchased the building in 1919 and it remained in their family until 1978. George died shortly after purchasing the house but his wife continued to reside there and operated a boarding house called the ‘Green Hedges Tourist Home.’ This lasted well into the twentieth century and established the building as a local landmark.
The house, which I greatly admired, is a restored Queen Anne style with the “irregular massing and asymmetrical façade typical of the period.” I put these words in quotes because, even though I’ve taken art history and have studied architectural developments, I mean, really, do you think that I would talk this way? I don't think so!
It’s now painted in an overall color of colonial blue (at least as I perceived it) with a lighter blue and a dark burgundy highlighting the scroll work. There is a lovely wooden veranda which wraps around the front and sides of the house and there are bay windows and scrolled trim with brackets and elaborately decorated posts everywhere. It’s perfectly charming and the tall windows have long, lacey curtains drawn back with complementing tie-backs. Really lovely, if you like this particular period.
Whenever I see how small the rooms are from any time periods from the past, I have to remember just how small we as a people were at that time. I’m an Amazon when compared to the ladies of this time, who grew usually no more than 5 feet tall, perhaps a few inches taller, though there were actually some who grew quite tall when compared to their sisters. They were not the norm at that time, naturally. I would like to be able to equate height with extraordinary independence and individual thinking, and that of great creative minds, but that has not necessarily been the truth. Some of our female leaders in the past were very petite though their bodies housed personalities that were giant in nature. I’m speaking of Lucy Staton and Susan B. Anthony, as I write, both who were ladies with a huge involvement in our womens' rights development and who led the way to what we take for granted today. And they were both of average height with feet so much smaller than mine that I wonder where my height and foot size came from. Huh.
Anyway, back to the Gooch House. Inside you would find the original woodwork, which dropped my jaw with its ornate polished beauty, and included molded trim, chair-rail, wainscoting and lincrusta-treated walls. I had to look this last word up and I found one definition. By the way, we’re referring to wallpaper in this particular context - who knew? And this is from Wikipedia: “Lincrusta is made from totally natural materials, the primary ingredients being gelled linseed oil and wood flour.” Well, of course I had to go look up ’wood flour,’ never having heard of that before.
Likewise from Wikipedia: Wood flour is finely pulverized wood that has a consistency fairly equal to sand, but can vary considerably, with particles ranging in size from a fine powder to roughly the size of a grain of rice. Most wood flour manufacturers are able to create batches of wood flour that have the same consistency throughout. All high quality wood flour is made from hardwoods because of its durability and strength. Very low grade wood flour is occasionally made from sapless softwoods such as pine or fir. Wood flour is commonly used as a filler in thermosetting resins such as Polyoxybenzylmethylenglycolanhydride (you pronounce this first!), also known as Bakelite; and in Linoleum floor coverings. Wood flour is also the main ingredient in wood/plastic composite building products such as decks and roofs.
Well, I'll be darned. You learn something new every day!
To continue, lincrusta was originally manufactured in Sunbury-on-Thames until 1918 when it moved to Darwen, Lancashire. It is now produced in Morecambe, Lancashire using traditional methods and many of the original rollers, with the same care and attention to detail as when it was first produced.
Ok, so this is pretty useless information unless you want to restore your house to its pristine original, but at least here’s the source you should begin with.
Some of the gas light fixtures I saw were original to the house and there were, and still are, two double parlors located off of the entrance hall (both now being used to disseminate information). The second floor still contains four bedrooms and a bathroom but they have been changed to offices - well, all except for the bathroom.
The lady with whom I spoke told me that Rebecca Gooch, who founded the popular (?) Rebecca-Ruth Candies, did this in partnership with Ruth Hanly Booe. What they made was bourbon-based candies. The thought did not instill in me a wild desire to run out and taste one of these treats. I had rum balls when I was a child and I did not find them very palatable. In fact, they knocked me flat with their high concentration of rum. And they didn’t taste very good, either. However, these two lovely ladies apparently sold bourbon-balls (and you may assume the level of bourbon was VERY high), among other confections, and the lady with whom I spoke yesterday afternoon confided in me with a whisper that, oh my gawd, she didn’t like bourbon! I assured her this secret was safe with me (yeah, right) but I had to agree with her. The thought of bourbon-balls just did not make me salivate in anticipation. I mean, eew.
Anyway, she gave me information as to where I could find a reputable campground and so now I’m set up in Elkhorn Campground, not far outside of Frankfort. I think one more night on the road should get me to Knoxville, possibly Cleveland, Tennessee, and then I should be able to make it easily to Blairsville.
I had trouble, as usual, getting a signal for both wifi and phone, but I managed to get a connection with Sharon yesterday afternoon and we had our usual marathon phone call before my phone died from lack of a battery charge. The phone was then set to 'recharge" but at least she knows I will be there the day after tomorrow. Yaaaayyy!
I need a break, the kitties need a break, and Le Van Gogh requires a thorough scrubbing, inside and out. While at Sharon’s I need to see to minor repairs (the windshield and two upper windows have minor leaks somewhere and there are other tidbits to be attended to) and it needs to just dry out. And because I’ll be staying in it while everyone gathers at Sharon's, this won’t occur until after everyone has departed. Once everyone’s gone I can move EVERYthing out and let Sharon’s cleaning ladies take over and get it detailed, and possibly acquire a new paint job. At the least it requires a massive outer cleaning and a wax job and I’m quite willing to pay someone else to do this. My body needs a break, so I'm very happy to let someone else do it.
The kitties also need to dry out and their fur has been taking on a slight greenish tinge since we've entered humidity central. Fluffbutt has never experienced this level of water in the air before and she is presently flat out in the front passenger seat and panting, poor thing. Even though she will look a site, I’ve actually been thinking of having her, um, “trimmed’ during the summer months. She suffers so with her long fur, ya know. Then again, she does have her dignity and I will spend my summer months far, far north. We shall see on this subject...
Chopper, who has lived in Maine, Kentucky and now Washington, has been pretty tolerant to the changes in climate. That and her fur is much, much shorter than Fluffbutt’s so she has dealt with the changes a wee bit better. But neither kitties are comfortable, and neither am I, as far as that goes. I’ve never liked humid weather and although Washington was really mildly humid as compared to Kentucky, Maryland, Florida and Puerto Rico, but I could still feel it. And now that I’m back in the south I’m reminded all over again why I have never liked living in humid weather. Yuck.
Perhaps it's the necessity of having a washcloth in reach constantly so I can wipe my brow and neck. Or most likely it was because I was raised from age 4 to 23 such a very dry climate that my body has permanently decided that it's 'inner humidity scale' is set to that of a required dry climate. I can’t remember NOT suffering physical health problems whenever I've been stationed in humid areas. Just one more pointer for me to ultimately stay in the West. Not that I don’t appreciate the beauties of the areas that are more humid, it's just that I don't know that I can live there and make my body happy. And hence, with an unhappy body, I can’t be happy. So, Westward Ho!
Anyway, I have not taken any new photos since it was drizzling all day from Santa Claus, Indiana to Frankfort, Kentucky. And now I’m in Sweetwater, Tennessee and though it's not raining it’s so humid out that just stepping outside the van induces a flood of perspiration that threatens to drown me. I’ll see what I can find in the ‘free photo’ section of both states. If not, you’re stuck with the ones from Santa Claus, Indiana. Oh, well.
Lessons Learned:
That I keep forgetting how sensitive the steering wheel is to the slightest movement.
That if my head turns left, the van will likely follow.
That it’s that sensitive.
That when I combine the lightness of its weight, its height and its width along with the sensitivity of its steering wheel, it’s really a pain in the butt to drive.
Oh, well.
That when Chopper gets bored with lying around waiting for me to finally stop and park some place, she will come up to be cuddled by me.
That this generally poses a problem because it’s really hard to cuddle a cat in your lap when you can’t keep your legs together for her to get comfortable on and she ends up wandering around the front area and generally heads for the dashboard where she’s sure to get your attention. Namely, blocking your vision so you can’t see over her, which means I must take one hand from the steering wheel and lift her up and to the back. And then the cycle begins all over again.
Heavy sigh.
Observations:
I had missed breakfast and stopped at a Burger King to use their facilities and hopefully get a breakfast meal. Unfortunately, I had not moved my watch forward so I did not know that they were now serving lunch. Phooey. And when I ordered a combo meal, the young lady didn’t quite hear me and kept asking me if I wanted the “mill.” “Mill?” I asked, repeatedly, until finally I understood that she was referring to meal! Oooohhh! Yeah, that’s what I wanted!
Yep, I’m back in the south, fer shur!
And speaking of southern, everyone’s accent has shifted (no kidding, Lea). And that I have to remember this and reacquaint myself with the accent. And understand that they might not understand me as well. Interesting.
And déjà vu!
At the last campground in which I stayed, there were more ‘residents’ installed but one really drew my interest. This gentleman had a log cabin which had been raised on blocks (it was never meant to move around, I could see) and was now a definitely permanent resident. I think it was the large propane tank installed outside his cabin, and the permanent sewer connection that convinced me. Interesting.
I figured out where St. Meinrad Abbey is. It was just down the road from Santa Claus. I’ll go visit it when I come back.
That I’ve always had real problems keeping my ‘time’ sense correct when I write. Has that been because I have often shifted between past, present and future in what I have seen and have forgotten to catch myself up? Or has it just meant I'm a lousy writer. Whatever the reason, I no longer have a copy editor to help me, so when you see me shifting in time I hope you will have patience. I try to catch it but I just don’t always see it. Having a really strongly developed imagination makes it difficult sometimes to figure out which time sense I have been actually writing in. Heck, if I've been confused, how could you not be?
That I finally found the button that will shift the speakers from the back to the front. And, I blush to admit it, it was a button right under my nose but was hidden under different uses. I hope you’ll forgive me (blush blush). Larry, I thank you for your generous offer to install a new system for me but apparently it won’t be needed. But I do thank you with all of my heart!
And since I discovered this ‘hidden’ button after fiddling around with the danged radio for the umpteenth time, I have used this 'discovery' to listen to some of the cassette tapes given to me by my friend, Marilyn, and they have referred to development of the spirit, cultural creativity and Donna Eden’s methods of energy healing. What a gift to listen to these while I drive! Thank you, Marilyn!!!
As I think of what I wish to do with my life for the rest of my days, it always comes back to living a life of spirituality, simplicity and one that engages with others in a meaningful way. This mad dash to Sharon’s has been an example of exactly what I don’t want to experience. I don’t want to just stay one night in one place only to wave at the folks and engage them in a very short conversation of who they are and where they have been and where they believe they are going. I want to stay in one place so I can get to meet others, get to know them at a deeper level, whether of like mind or not, and to go on vision quests with them and of my own and explore the sociological and anthropological history and the heart of the people with whom I share a space for a time.
It has occurred to me that I’m something like a sociological anthropological mystical explorer. That I not only want to see the history of a place, I want to feel it. And I want to see and feel how it has impacted the people who still live in this area and I want to know how their culture and old traditions have transcended these times and helped them to adjust. Or not adjust. And I want to know what is not right about today and how we can learn to live in a right-mind thinking, if we put our hearts and our souls to it.
I want to experience on my own the feeling tones of the places I visit. I have been given the gift of sensitivity to the past and present and future, and I want to use this gift in a way that helps others in some kind of worthwhile way. Or not, as I can hear one teacher say. LOL! I have no idea at this time how this will play out - it is simply my intent. We shall see what, as many folks I’ve met describe it, that Spirit decides I shall encounter. And yet beneath it all, I remember that I still create my own reality and it is a joyful one regardless of the limited perspective which I sometimes inflict on it.
Although the journey has already begun, it took this introduction to help me carve out a direction for my own life. I have no desire to view the casinos, the schlock, the souvenirs, the tawdry, and yet I can’t forget that within these sites are people, my people, who are longing and yearning for something more than just the daily drudge. They want something beautiful in their lives and I can't help but agree. And though I know it is futile to seek for beauty in money, drugs, material goods or one-night stands, I sympathize with their journey. Because this has been my journey, and are we not all brethren under the skin?
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Days 21 & 22 - Somewhere east of Columbia, Missouri and now at Mt. Vernon, Illinois
Earthship Le Van Gogh Diary
Days 21 & 22 - Somewhere east of Columbia, Missouri and now Mt. Vernon, Illinois
I added photos from the free stock offered on St. Louis web sites. There wasn't anyplace for me to pull over safely to take my own pictures, so I faked it. I did keep the photo of Fluffbutt just because these were the only two photos I could find that accurately represented what I had seen. Oh, well.
I didn't see the arch of St. Louis until I was headed towards the turn-off to I-64. I hadn't seen any sign of it up to then and I wondered if I would see it at all as I passed by. I shouldn't have despaired because there, over a hill, it rose up before me and shone brightly in the mid-day sun. I'll be back in the future to actually go up to the top and experience what it's like to be inside such an historic site. I also plan to climb to the top of the Statue of Liberty - how could I not?
Segue to another subject. The previous night when I stayed in a campground just east of Kansas City (no city proper was around), I noticed that there were several RV’s, mostly trailers, that had appeared to grown roots and were there for the long haul. I think it was the very large gas grills set up outside the side doors, the planters of flowers that bordered the ‘patio’ area, the awnings that were out and looked like they had been out for awhile, and the lawn art. No one puts out lawn art if they’re just hanging around for a couple of days. I think. And yes, there was even a pink flamingo. My old buddy.
I asked the manager, a very young man who looked to be no older than 21, 22, somewhere in there, if folks were living in the campground. He said, yes, there were many who stayed here for long periods since they rented sites by the month, and there was one man who had lived there for years. Huh.
I wondered to myself if this were by choice or more a matter of convenience. I’ve always studied the sociological and economical patterns I’ve seen as I have moved around and this pattern intrigued me. Considering the state of the economy, I’d hazard a guess that this might not have been a choice for some. Perhaps having lost their homes to foreclosure, their trailers were now their sole residence. There were children here, as well as young and older couples, but there were also those who, like me, were just traveling through. Lots of dogs, some on leash, as they have always supposed to be. and some not. No roaming for the kitties here!
Anyway, on I traveled to just a bit beyond Columbia, Missouri, to a little campground called “Lazy Day.” It was a nice campground, well tended, and there were no permanent residents in evidence. And the owner was glad that I was only staying for one night. I hadn't made a reservation since the two I made when I first started out over the Labor Day Weekend. It simply had not been necessary and my little bitty van has always been able to be squeezed in somewhere. As long as I signed up for just one night, I was welcome. Beyond that the campgrounds were always anxious about getting me out of there, and the earlier the better. Ok, I got the hint, and thanks for letting me stay!
In the future, when I probably will rent a site by the month so I can stay in an area to explore, I will definitely make reservations before I do so. Since just using electric and water is very different from a site that also has a sewer hookup, I’d have to specify that as a necessity. Full hookups have included these three offerings as well as cable, satellite and wifi. Wifi has usually been free, however, and I’ve always asked for it when it has been made available. I have not been able to log on with their code to their service, but I have been able to sometimes glom on to their network by picking up their ‘roaming’ signal. Whatever they have wanted to call it, as long as I could access the dratted thing, I have not cared.
Tonight I’m just east of Mt. Vernon, Illinois and this campground is the only one in the area. If I wanted to go on I’d find another one in 19 miles, but I’m too tired to go that far. This campground isn’t as well tended as the ones I’ve stayed in previously. The KOA’s have always been well groomed and most of the independent campgrounds have been ok, especially if they were Good Sam Club members.
But here I’ve only asked for water and electric (I’m going to have to dump at the next stop, wherever that is...) and I’m parked between two trailers (How come the ‘residents’ always seem to be living in trailers? Is it because their vehicles always seem to be pickups?) and neither of the occupants are very tidy. But I keep to myself and my doors are locked and unfortunately the kitties won’t be able to wander today. Right across from me is yet another resident and two sweet doggies - well, they’re sweet to me, anyway - are pegged out on lines. Fluffbutt climbed up on the dashboard to her usual perch and immediately hissed when she saw these pups. I really hope the next campground is nicer and I can let the kitties out for a slink. They’ve been cooped up for three days now and I’d like for them to get more exercise and entertainment value, but until I’m in an area in which I feel safer for myself and for them, no one goes out.
I just checked my phone for the time (I haven’t yet set my computer to the Central time zone) and realized that my danged radio clock was off again by an hour. Heavy sigh. I’ve tried every method I know to reset the time on that danged clock and I haven’t hit the right combination yet. Either I’m going to have to order a copy of the Owner’s Manual for this radio - assuming one still exists, that is - or install a newer and more modern system. Since I loaded up with cassette tapes before I left so I could use the existing system, I’m not inclined to get a new one. How many vehicles do you know that still play cassette tapes? Denise gave me many of hers, a friend, Marilyn, gave me many educational tapes to listen to, and I had a few of my own since I had found a tiny cassette player in the Exchange at the VA Hospital in Seattle. I haven’t invested a HUGH amount of money into cassette tapes but still - while I have the opportunity to play them, why not?
Anyway, I stopped at a Wal-Mart this afternoon and picked up another extra four feet of head phone extension cord so now I have plenty of room to reach from the back speakers to the front. I also picked up a better set of headphones that actually encloses my ears. I was playing my MP3 and listening with the headphones that came with it but they plugged into my ears and my ears were growing weary of this. Hence, the higher-cost-but-easier-on-the-ears headphones I purchased.
And what’s so frustrating about all of this is that I have speakers mounted in the driver and passenger doors up front, BUT I CAN’T FIND THE SWITCH! I have looked everywhere I could think of looking and I simply can’t find where I can turn it from back to front. I’d most likely still have to use headphones even if I did since the van is noisy when I’m driving, but still. The only thing I’ve seen that just might be what I’m looking for is a broken off dial-kind-of-thingie that I can’t budge on my own and is located under the back speaker panel. This is where I plug in headphones and there’s a switch to dial so I am no longer on speakers. But this broken-off-thingie is the only thing I’ve seen. Whatever! At least now I have a long enough headphone cord to read and can comfortably listen to the cassette tapes. About bloody time, don’t you think?
Tomorrow I continue on towards Louisville (pronounced ‘Loo’vill’, ‘Loo-uh-vill’, ‘Looey-vill,’ and frankly however you wish to pronounce it). I don’t think I’ll make it to ‘Loo-vill,” but I’ll make a dent in the mileage. I’ve been able to drive about 150 miles a day before I’ve felt the need to find a campground, which is pretty good. I’m tired when I pull in but feel okay after a good night’s sleep. By the way, last night I was treated to a very nice, small thunderstorm and light rain. It put me to sleep just like that! What a pleasure to hear...
Lessons Learned:
That the Indicator Panel sometimes gives me a false reading on how much more I can go before I need to a) get propane; b) dump the holding tanks; and c) take on fresh water. It has something to do with how level the ground is where I park for the night.
That I’m not sure if it’s just my city water hose or the strength of my hands, which granted, aren’t very strong, but every time I hook up to a faucet I have to use a wrench to tighten the connector.
That the hose has a reverse-screwing-on pattern.
Which means that “leftie-loosey-rightey-tighty,” which I learned in the military, has gone out the window.
At least for the fresh water hose, that is.
Sigh.
Observations (albeit lengthy observations):
While driving through Missouri I spotted two Circle K convenience stores (which I haven’t seen since I was last in Tucson, Arizona), five Hooters (which might have been in the states I have already passed through and I just didn’t see them), and Larry Flynt’s Hustler’s Club. No comment on this last one.
For the first time I’ve seen red leaves in addition to the yellow, gold and brown leaves I’ve passed so far on my drive. Red leaves are so beautiful, don’t you think?
I drove by another one of those “Vending Machine” road signs and again there was no turn-off in sight. Is this just someone’s idea of a bad joke?
That Missouri is another state just cram-jammed full of history all over the place! Mark Twain, one of my favoritists authors, was born here, and Daniel Boone and his wife, Rebecca Bryant Boone, moved here in 1799. There’s a community here that I passed by called Boonville, and guess who it’s named after? No cheating!
I stopped yesterday at a very large ‘country’ store called “Ozarksland” because I was curious to see what they would sell that would reflect the Ozarks area and the folks who had lived there. Perhaps even traditional offerings would be there for me to see and enjoy and appreciate. Alas, I was to be greatly disappointed, I’m sorry to say. The store had nothing for sale that I hadn’t already seen at many ‘country stores’ since I left Washington. Phooey. They just had a bigger selection of them. The same freakish dolls that wore overly ornamented in Victorian dress (see below for comments on this) - these dolls gave me the creeps, by the way, especially the ones that were almost 5 feet tall! Ack! Who wants an unresponsive short person or tall child staring at you all day? And an overdressed small adult or tall child, mind you, but still! Just too creepy.
Anyway, they also had the same crappy wood carvings, the same too-cute-sayings on anything that would hold still for it, the same shot glass collections, the same “Native American” junk that I feel certain would have embarrassed any reasonable Indian man or woman who became aware of how they were being represented - in short, this was your basic generic souvenir shop but with a larger selection. They did have salt water taffy for sale, which surprised me. I had crossed the Missouri River, not once, but twice, and I had not been aware that this was a salt-water river. Perhaps it could be if we were closer to the coast, but here? Nah.
Back to my comments on the Victorian dress of the dolls. Being an amateur (extremely amateur) history buff, I’ve always been fascinated by the Industrial Era and the incredible sociological and economical changes in the population from agricultural to a more urban focus. Hence, I have been more aware of the huge changes that occurred in the lives of the basic middle-class-in-the-making population in England and Europe and I’ve always wondered why “The Good Old Days” was something that we would want to return to.
Mind you, I enjoy knowing how to raise my own vegetable and herb garden, and since I haven’t been able to keep goats or cows, I still enjoy knowing how to make my own yogurt from milk I‘ve purchased from folks who raise their own goats and cows. And I enjoy learning how to cook from scratch and learning how to use simple, old-fashioned remedies to take the place of more modern, but ecologically-harmful store-bought remedies.
But all of this requires WORK, and TIME, and very few folks I know have that kind of existence where they can pursue a lifestyle that makes putting food in their mouths and clothes on their backs such a time-consuming and physically demanding effort. The 'Good Old Days' meant back-breaking work, and in the middle-to-upper-class ladies, wearing such finery meant giving up a whole lot of freedoms that women today take for granted. But don't get me going on that - I'll wear your ear off with the subjects of women's liberation!
But one subject has long made me wonder how and why we could ever think the ‘olden’ days were wonderful, and that has been the subject of hygiene. We, as Americans, at least in the last couple of generations, have mostly been raised to bathe daily, or at least frequently, and to use underarm deodorant and to keep our ‘private parts’ shaved, clean and dry. Commercials in this day are not shy about referring to what would previously have been considered scandalous in the ‘personal hygiene’ area.
So, from everything I’ve read about the ‘olden days,’ we must have been not so clean and really, really whiff! Women were expected to wear not one, but two and even sometimes, three petticoats to maintain their ‘purity,’ and this had to be hotter than heck to wear! Even if all you had to do was consult with the cook to determine the day's menu or go out to the opera at night, it had to be hot! And the amazing number of underclothes worn before the overdress was finally put on, not to mention the corsets that confined womens' organs, including their diaphragms and lungs, would have made it absolutely necessary to always have with them some kind of 'smelling salts' because they would have passed out routinely from a lack of oxygen. How fun was that??!!
And the gentlemen might have sloshed their head and shoulders at the end of a day of working, whether they were in agriculture or in one of the ‘finer’ employments in town. Daily bathing was not considered a requirement until the early years of the 1900’s (and, of course, I could be wrong about this), and might not have been considered an everyday event. Even the ‘aristocracy’ only bathed on an ‘as-needed’ schedule, and ladies did not begin shaving their armpits or legs until the ‘flapper‘ era.
I really don’t give a hang about the leg shaving part, but the armpit shaving has gone a long way towards increasing the hygiene in that area. And since deodorants have been a relatively new market concept, I have to conclude that in the ‘good old days,’ we stank. A lot. A whole lot. And I don’t even need to go farther into how women coped with monthly menstruation (rags strapped to their hips that were afterwards set to soak in a chamber pot for further cleaning).
And while we’re on the subject, has anyone ever asked themselves what using a ‘chamber pot’ meant? I doubt it. We all, men and women alike, had to squat, set aside our pants, skirts, and petticoats, to sit on the danged pot while we used it, and I’m still not sure how we wiped ourselves, or even if we did. No mention has been made in the literature that I’ve read so I’m left wondering if we ever wiped at all. I mean, eew. Again, our hygiene wasn’t wonderful, especially since the chamber pot was generally emptied out by the maids through the bedroom window and into the streets below and woe be unto the innocent passerby who just happened to be strolling below at that time. Yuck.
Some wealthier families actually had the beginnings of a sewer system dug in their estates but this was by no means common. Small wonder that the streets and rivers of London and Europe reeked with the effluvia of the masses. It would not be until the plagues that decimated the population that modern man began to wonder about the connection between the open sewers of the cities and the spread of diseases that could be passed on by the local water systems.
So you see now why I view these Victorian dolls, which are so overtly and opulently decorated, with an amazement and derision for the folks who prefer to see this era as nothing more than an elegant and mannerly time? Phooey!
But enough of that. If I go on I’ll start waxing on the political and sociological place of women in the overall structure of the Victorian society. And you really don’t want to go there. Not with me, at least.
Days 21 & 22 - Somewhere east of Columbia, Missouri and now Mt. Vernon, Illinois
I added photos from the free stock offered on St. Louis web sites. There wasn't anyplace for me to pull over safely to take my own pictures, so I faked it. I did keep the photo of Fluffbutt just because these were the only two photos I could find that accurately represented what I had seen. Oh, well.
I didn't see the arch of St. Louis until I was headed towards the turn-off to I-64. I hadn't seen any sign of it up to then and I wondered if I would see it at all as I passed by. I shouldn't have despaired because there, over a hill, it rose up before me and shone brightly in the mid-day sun. I'll be back in the future to actually go up to the top and experience what it's like to be inside such an historic site. I also plan to climb to the top of the Statue of Liberty - how could I not?
Segue to another subject. The previous night when I stayed in a campground just east of Kansas City (no city proper was around), I noticed that there were several RV’s, mostly trailers, that had appeared to grown roots and were there for the long haul. I think it was the very large gas grills set up outside the side doors, the planters of flowers that bordered the ‘patio’ area, the awnings that were out and looked like they had been out for awhile, and the lawn art. No one puts out lawn art if they’re just hanging around for a couple of days. I think. And yes, there was even a pink flamingo. My old buddy.
I asked the manager, a very young man who looked to be no older than 21, 22, somewhere in there, if folks were living in the campground. He said, yes, there were many who stayed here for long periods since they rented sites by the month, and there was one man who had lived there for years. Huh.
I wondered to myself if this were by choice or more a matter of convenience. I’ve always studied the sociological and economical patterns I’ve seen as I have moved around and this pattern intrigued me. Considering the state of the economy, I’d hazard a guess that this might not have been a choice for some. Perhaps having lost their homes to foreclosure, their trailers were now their sole residence. There were children here, as well as young and older couples, but there were also those who, like me, were just traveling through. Lots of dogs, some on leash, as they have always supposed to be. and some not. No roaming for the kitties here!
Anyway, on I traveled to just a bit beyond Columbia, Missouri, to a little campground called “Lazy Day.” It was a nice campground, well tended, and there were no permanent residents in evidence. And the owner was glad that I was only staying for one night. I hadn't made a reservation since the two I made when I first started out over the Labor Day Weekend. It simply had not been necessary and my little bitty van has always been able to be squeezed in somewhere. As long as I signed up for just one night, I was welcome. Beyond that the campgrounds were always anxious about getting me out of there, and the earlier the better. Ok, I got the hint, and thanks for letting me stay!
In the future, when I probably will rent a site by the month so I can stay in an area to explore, I will definitely make reservations before I do so. Since just using electric and water is very different from a site that also has a sewer hookup, I’d have to specify that as a necessity. Full hookups have included these three offerings as well as cable, satellite and wifi. Wifi has usually been free, however, and I’ve always asked for it when it has been made available. I have not been able to log on with their code to their service, but I have been able to sometimes glom on to their network by picking up their ‘roaming’ signal. Whatever they have wanted to call it, as long as I could access the dratted thing, I have not cared.
Tonight I’m just east of Mt. Vernon, Illinois and this campground is the only one in the area. If I wanted to go on I’d find another one in 19 miles, but I’m too tired to go that far. This campground isn’t as well tended as the ones I’ve stayed in previously. The KOA’s have always been well groomed and most of the independent campgrounds have been ok, especially if they were Good Sam Club members.
But here I’ve only asked for water and electric (I’m going to have to dump at the next stop, wherever that is...) and I’m parked between two trailers (How come the ‘residents’ always seem to be living in trailers? Is it because their vehicles always seem to be pickups?) and neither of the occupants are very tidy. But I keep to myself and my doors are locked and unfortunately the kitties won’t be able to wander today. Right across from me is yet another resident and two sweet doggies - well, they’re sweet to me, anyway - are pegged out on lines. Fluffbutt climbed up on the dashboard to her usual perch and immediately hissed when she saw these pups. I really hope the next campground is nicer and I can let the kitties out for a slink. They’ve been cooped up for three days now and I’d like for them to get more exercise and entertainment value, but until I’m in an area in which I feel safer for myself and for them, no one goes out.
I just checked my phone for the time (I haven’t yet set my computer to the Central time zone) and realized that my danged radio clock was off again by an hour. Heavy sigh. I’ve tried every method I know to reset the time on that danged clock and I haven’t hit the right combination yet. Either I’m going to have to order a copy of the Owner’s Manual for this radio - assuming one still exists, that is - or install a newer and more modern system. Since I loaded up with cassette tapes before I left so I could use the existing system, I’m not inclined to get a new one. How many vehicles do you know that still play cassette tapes? Denise gave me many of hers, a friend, Marilyn, gave me many educational tapes to listen to, and I had a few of my own since I had found a tiny cassette player in the Exchange at the VA Hospital in Seattle. I haven’t invested a HUGH amount of money into cassette tapes but still - while I have the opportunity to play them, why not?
Anyway, I stopped at a Wal-Mart this afternoon and picked up another extra four feet of head phone extension cord so now I have plenty of room to reach from the back speakers to the front. I also picked up a better set of headphones that actually encloses my ears. I was playing my MP3 and listening with the headphones that came with it but they plugged into my ears and my ears were growing weary of this. Hence, the higher-cost-but-easier-on-the-ears headphones I purchased.
And what’s so frustrating about all of this is that I have speakers mounted in the driver and passenger doors up front, BUT I CAN’T FIND THE SWITCH! I have looked everywhere I could think of looking and I simply can’t find where I can turn it from back to front. I’d most likely still have to use headphones even if I did since the van is noisy when I’m driving, but still. The only thing I’ve seen that just might be what I’m looking for is a broken off dial-kind-of-thingie that I can’t budge on my own and is located under the back speaker panel. This is where I plug in headphones and there’s a switch to dial so I am no longer on speakers. But this broken-off-thingie is the only thing I’ve seen. Whatever! At least now I have a long enough headphone cord to read and can comfortably listen to the cassette tapes. About bloody time, don’t you think?
Tomorrow I continue on towards Louisville (pronounced ‘Loo’vill’, ‘Loo-uh-vill’, ‘Looey-vill,’ and frankly however you wish to pronounce it). I don’t think I’ll make it to ‘Loo-vill,” but I’ll make a dent in the mileage. I’ve been able to drive about 150 miles a day before I’ve felt the need to find a campground, which is pretty good. I’m tired when I pull in but feel okay after a good night’s sleep. By the way, last night I was treated to a very nice, small thunderstorm and light rain. It put me to sleep just like that! What a pleasure to hear...
Lessons Learned:
That the Indicator Panel sometimes gives me a false reading on how much more I can go before I need to a) get propane; b) dump the holding tanks; and c) take on fresh water. It has something to do with how level the ground is where I park for the night.
That I’m not sure if it’s just my city water hose or the strength of my hands, which granted, aren’t very strong, but every time I hook up to a faucet I have to use a wrench to tighten the connector.
That the hose has a reverse-screwing-on pattern.
Which means that “leftie-loosey-rightey-tighty,” which I learned in the military, has gone out the window.
At least for the fresh water hose, that is.
Sigh.
Observations (albeit lengthy observations):
While driving through Missouri I spotted two Circle K convenience stores (which I haven’t seen since I was last in Tucson, Arizona), five Hooters (which might have been in the states I have already passed through and I just didn’t see them), and Larry Flynt’s Hustler’s Club. No comment on this last one.
For the first time I’ve seen red leaves in addition to the yellow, gold and brown leaves I’ve passed so far on my drive. Red leaves are so beautiful, don’t you think?
I drove by another one of those “Vending Machine” road signs and again there was no turn-off in sight. Is this just someone’s idea of a bad joke?
That Missouri is another state just cram-jammed full of history all over the place! Mark Twain, one of my favoritists authors, was born here, and Daniel Boone and his wife, Rebecca Bryant Boone, moved here in 1799. There’s a community here that I passed by called Boonville, and guess who it’s named after? No cheating!
I stopped yesterday at a very large ‘country’ store called “Ozarksland” because I was curious to see what they would sell that would reflect the Ozarks area and the folks who had lived there. Perhaps even traditional offerings would be there for me to see and enjoy and appreciate. Alas, I was to be greatly disappointed, I’m sorry to say. The store had nothing for sale that I hadn’t already seen at many ‘country stores’ since I left Washington. Phooey. They just had a bigger selection of them. The same freakish dolls that wore overly ornamented in Victorian dress (see below for comments on this) - these dolls gave me the creeps, by the way, especially the ones that were almost 5 feet tall! Ack! Who wants an unresponsive short person or tall child staring at you all day? And an overdressed small adult or tall child, mind you, but still! Just too creepy.
Anyway, they also had the same crappy wood carvings, the same too-cute-sayings on anything that would hold still for it, the same shot glass collections, the same “Native American” junk that I feel certain would have embarrassed any reasonable Indian man or woman who became aware of how they were being represented - in short, this was your basic generic souvenir shop but with a larger selection. They did have salt water taffy for sale, which surprised me. I had crossed the Missouri River, not once, but twice, and I had not been aware that this was a salt-water river. Perhaps it could be if we were closer to the coast, but here? Nah.
Back to my comments on the Victorian dress of the dolls. Being an amateur (extremely amateur) history buff, I’ve always been fascinated by the Industrial Era and the incredible sociological and economical changes in the population from agricultural to a more urban focus. Hence, I have been more aware of the huge changes that occurred in the lives of the basic middle-class-in-the-making population in England and Europe and I’ve always wondered why “The Good Old Days” was something that we would want to return to.
Mind you, I enjoy knowing how to raise my own vegetable and herb garden, and since I haven’t been able to keep goats or cows, I still enjoy knowing how to make my own yogurt from milk I‘ve purchased from folks who raise their own goats and cows. And I enjoy learning how to cook from scratch and learning how to use simple, old-fashioned remedies to take the place of more modern, but ecologically-harmful store-bought remedies.
But all of this requires WORK, and TIME, and very few folks I know have that kind of existence where they can pursue a lifestyle that makes putting food in their mouths and clothes on their backs such a time-consuming and physically demanding effort. The 'Good Old Days' meant back-breaking work, and in the middle-to-upper-class ladies, wearing such finery meant giving up a whole lot of freedoms that women today take for granted. But don't get me going on that - I'll wear your ear off with the subjects of women's liberation!
But one subject has long made me wonder how and why we could ever think the ‘olden’ days were wonderful, and that has been the subject of hygiene. We, as Americans, at least in the last couple of generations, have mostly been raised to bathe daily, or at least frequently, and to use underarm deodorant and to keep our ‘private parts’ shaved, clean and dry. Commercials in this day are not shy about referring to what would previously have been considered scandalous in the ‘personal hygiene’ area.
So, from everything I’ve read about the ‘olden days,’ we must have been not so clean and really, really whiff! Women were expected to wear not one, but two and even sometimes, three petticoats to maintain their ‘purity,’ and this had to be hotter than heck to wear! Even if all you had to do was consult with the cook to determine the day's menu or go out to the opera at night, it had to be hot! And the amazing number of underclothes worn before the overdress was finally put on, not to mention the corsets that confined womens' organs, including their diaphragms and lungs, would have made it absolutely necessary to always have with them some kind of 'smelling salts' because they would have passed out routinely from a lack of oxygen. How fun was that??!!
And the gentlemen might have sloshed their head and shoulders at the end of a day of working, whether they were in agriculture or in one of the ‘finer’ employments in town. Daily bathing was not considered a requirement until the early years of the 1900’s (and, of course, I could be wrong about this), and might not have been considered an everyday event. Even the ‘aristocracy’ only bathed on an ‘as-needed’ schedule, and ladies did not begin shaving their armpits or legs until the ‘flapper‘ era.
I really don’t give a hang about the leg shaving part, but the armpit shaving has gone a long way towards increasing the hygiene in that area. And since deodorants have been a relatively new market concept, I have to conclude that in the ‘good old days,’ we stank. A lot. A whole lot. And I don’t even need to go farther into how women coped with monthly menstruation (rags strapped to their hips that were afterwards set to soak in a chamber pot for further cleaning).
And while we’re on the subject, has anyone ever asked themselves what using a ‘chamber pot’ meant? I doubt it. We all, men and women alike, had to squat, set aside our pants, skirts, and petticoats, to sit on the danged pot while we used it, and I’m still not sure how we wiped ourselves, or even if we did. No mention has been made in the literature that I’ve read so I’m left wondering if we ever wiped at all. I mean, eew. Again, our hygiene wasn’t wonderful, especially since the chamber pot was generally emptied out by the maids through the bedroom window and into the streets below and woe be unto the innocent passerby who just happened to be strolling below at that time. Yuck.
Some wealthier families actually had the beginnings of a sewer system dug in their estates but this was by no means common. Small wonder that the streets and rivers of London and Europe reeked with the effluvia of the masses. It would not be until the plagues that decimated the population that modern man began to wonder about the connection between the open sewers of the cities and the spread of diseases that could be passed on by the local water systems.
So you see now why I view these Victorian dolls, which are so overtly and opulently decorated, with an amazement and derision for the folks who prefer to see this era as nothing more than an elegant and mannerly time? Phooey!
But enough of that. If I go on I’ll start waxing on the political and sociological place of women in the overall structure of the Victorian society. And you really don’t want to go there. Not with me, at least.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
