G-70 China or I-70 Missouri?

Posted by Ted:

It was not I-70, but rather G-70 that carried me south into Fujian State.  I had entered this Inter-state highway after landing in Nanchang in Jiangxi State.  I would be traveling on G-70 for 4 hours – the same time it takes to drive across Missouri on I-70. I immediately was struck be the similarity between G-70 in China and I-70 in Missouri.  I imagined what it would be like to do a book like Driving across Missouri for this stretch of highway.  If we did do such a book, an amazing number of the stories would be the same for both books. With this thought in mind, I made a list of how many stories would be the same as the ones in the Missouri book.  That list of identical topics included:

1) transition areas between urban and rural land use,

2) powerlines,

3) rest stops,

4) wetlands,

5) forests,

6) soil conservation,

7) terraces, 

8) grain crops (in this case rice instead of corn),

9) cemeteries,

10) power plants/cooling towers,

11) railroads,

12) quarries,

13) major rivers and associated stories (shipping, irrigation, etc.)

14) Interstate Ponds,

15) cellphone towers,

16) rock cuts

17) tree farms

18) wind farms

19) a mysterious brick chimney

20)  Billboards!

More than anything else the most prominent and common link to I-70 in Missouri were the plethora of billboards.  In China, as in Missouri, it is a challenge to look beyond the billboards.  China may even exceed Missouri with their record number of billboards per mile. Apparently China, like Missouri, doesn’t tightly regulate billboards. Even the first glimpses of the Great Wall as you approach on the highway are blocked by billboards! 

Billboards blocking view of the Great Wall of China

I expected to see Missouri-style fireworks stores since all of the Missouri fireworks are made in China. But I didn’t expect to see a lonely brick chimney like the one described in the Missouri book. It seemed the only story lacking was the RV dealers story!  Of course, Winnebagos are larger than most Chinese homes and are hard for the rickshaw drivers to pull. 

Power lines and Interstate ponds

 

The drive stimulated more roadwriting questions than answers. Are Interstate highways by their nature universally similar? In China’s strong central (and only recently capitalistic) government are there laws governing billboards? In one of the most exotic countries in the world who would have thought that their interstate would look basically the same as it does here in the Midwest, and that over just a few hours of driving there would be at least 20 stories that occurred in the Missouri book that could be lifted for use in a China highway book.  The stories that would differ, of course, are those dealing with history and place names - although this genre of stories is in the Missouri book too. Is there anything new along highways on the other side of the planet?

Roadside cemetery

Would a book “Driving across Jiangxi” be significantly different from “Driving across Missouri”? Apparently not…

Then it occurred to me that a “Driving across Jiangxi” book is exactly what I needed to see the beauty of China beyond the billboards. I needed to know why things were the same, and if indeed they really were the same. So LuAnn doesn’t know this yet, but she better start studying up on rice production and how Jiangxi got its name!

Run for the Wall

This week I set out with my family on a two-day drive to Virginia. We traveled Missouri’s I-29 down to meet my old friend, I-70, in KC. Not long after we merged onto I-70, we noticed some people standing on the overpass ahead. One woman, with a happy anxious smile, was waving an American flag-- using the full length of her arms and twisting her torso slowly back and forth to keep the flag in motion. Cool morning air and moisture from pregnant rain clouds had brightened her big ruddy cheeks.

Within the next 5 miles we saw a lighted sign supporting veterans. At the next overpass we encountered more military supporters sporting rain gear and waving flags. We began to anticipate each overpass, wondering how many people, 6 or 12 or 20, would be there waving flags, smiling, and laughing. Caught up in their joy, we began to honk and wave at each bridge of supporters, inviting ourselves into their circle of camaraderie.  We wondered how far behind us the heroes followed. Who were they? They must be close. Assuming they were flying into KCI from the Middle East, when did their plane land? Who was on the overpass—their sister or brother or parents or spouse?

While most “welcome home” messengers were atop bridges, one couple had parked on a frontage road. The white-haired man paced in the grass away from his pick-up truck, his hands crammed into his blue-jean overall pockets and his baseball cap bowed towards the earth, while the woman stood near the front headlights rigidly facing the oncoming traffic.

Just before the Concordia exit, we enjoyed our last celebration with strangers above us. This time they held a huge flag that draped over ¼ of the length of the bridge. At the Concordia exit, a policeman stood next to his motorcycle and two rows of flags lined the exit road like runway lights leading these soldiers home. The flags continued down the street to the downtown.

We were sad to see the welcome parade end, but it seemed a fitting spot. Just over the other side of the exit is the St. Paul Lutheran cemetery of which Ted and I had written about in our I-70 book. Here in this cemetery 25 men were laid to rest after they were killed defending their home, their families, and their town. Fifteen Civil War soldiers are also buried here. On October 10, 1864, Bushwhackers (southern sympathizers) led by William Quantrill neared the German town of Concordia intending to kill those who were opposed to slavery. A group of brave townspeople rode to meet them. Of that group, 25 would give their lives for the freedom of others.

 

The smiling flag-wavers were also awaiting a group of people that were willing to give their lives so that others could be free. They were there to welcome a group of over one hundred motorcyclists who were veterans of wars and friends of veterans. Their tour, “Run for the Wall,” was stopping in Concordia to fuel up on gas and food on their journey from Los Angeles to Washington, D.C. Their 2-week journey would culminate at the Vietnam Wall in D.C. on Memorial Day weekend. Concordia means “harmony.” What a beautiful place to be welcomed—where the soil claimed brave men who defended freedom and where that pride and honor to freedom still lives on. 
Learn more about "Run for the Wall" at http://www.rftw.org

Hidden Logos

Posted by Ted:

I recently attended a session by Shea Lewis from Arkansas State Parks about graphic design. It changed my life… and not for the better. I am cursed with seeing the arrow in the FedEX logo. Have you seen it? Now I am obsessed with seeing the arrow when a FedEx truck drives past. And, to make things worse, I am spreading the disease.  All the way to Chicago on our recent I-55 trip I kept asking LuAnn, “Look! Do you see the arrow?” Other strains of the disease include seeing the 31 in Baskin Robbins signs and noticing nothing but O and U’s (for University of Oklahoma) in the Conoco signs. LuAnn and I will use the websites below to spread the “do you see it?” disease to our readers.    Actually we think it will be a fun diversion for road readers to spot and discern the deeper meanings of these amazingly creative symbols. You might want to check out the websites yourself to see how clever graphic designers make their logos contagious.   

http://www.famouslogos.org
http://www.graphicdesignblog.org/hidden-logos-in-graphic-designing

From Wind Farms to the Windy City

Posted by Ted:
If there was one constant on our trip through Illinois it was wind.  As the prairie zephyr buffeted our vehicle mile after mile, I was struck by how this invisible force has influenced people both past and present. Pioneers sailed across the sea of grass on prairie schooners – the wind filling the sails attached to their wagons. This same force turned windmills that pumped life giving water from the ground for people and livestock. Without these windmills, settlers would never have been able to settle away from lakes and rivers.  The same breezes that cooled, carried, and quenched prairie dwellers, also brought destruction in the form of tornados and wind-swept wildfires. Today wind is still both friend and foe.  Sometimes we want it to blow and other times we go to great effort and expense to stop it from blowing.  The most obvious interaction with wind along I-55 is the wind farms that harvest energy from the atmosphere and convert it to electrical energy.   These modern day windmills come with controversy LuAnn is working on that story for the book.  I recently did a story on how farmers block the wind with rows of trees called shelterbelts or windbreaks. These are planted to hold soil in place and to keep homes and farmsteads warmer in winter and cooler in summer, as well as to reduce the wear and tear of the wind on farm buildings.  Much of life in this part of Illinois is still devoted to capturing or blocking something many of us take for granted - the wind.

What's in a Name?

Today is my daughter’s 12^th birthday. Her name is Rose. The choice of her name didn’t originate from the delicate, yet thorny shrub in the garden; although it was sealed after a rose banner was unfurled in our church a few weeks before her birth. The choice of her name sprang from her mother’s literary desires. I named her after Rose Wilder Lane, daughter of Laura Ingalls Wilder, who became a successful journalist in San Francisco and then helped her mother write the memoirs of her childhood. Was it my hope that if I didn’t become a writer my daughter would become one, or would even help me find my way there?

Ted and I drove I-55, from Springfield to Chicago, this week. We rolled through towns named Shirley, Joliet, Elkhart, Bloomington, Coal City, Lincoln, Odell, Funk’s Grove, Towanda…each of them with their own story of how they were named. Many towns were born along the lines of the railroad, the steel Caesarean section that sliced across the belly of the prairie and opened up communications from town to town. Some towns were simply named for the person who ground his boots into the soil first: like the railroad engineer, William H. Odell, or the settler Isaac Funk. Funk’s Grove may be my favorite town along this stretch—a beautiful area of sugar maple trees still tapped for their sirup (not “syrup”), an oak savanna dotted with prairie wildflowers, an old family cemetery, and a peaceful chapel under the cathedral-like canopy of the woods. Lincoln—well, that one is obvious in this state with the slogan of “Land of Lincoln.” 

Other towns were named for their landscapes; surveyed with a nostalgic eye that searched for a comforting piece of their former home in the strange new land they were settling. Jesse Fell brought the name Towanda from his birthplace in Pennsylvania. Atlanta was named for Atlanta, Georgia.

My literary side delighted that Mrs. Corydon Weed named the town of Shirley after the heroine of a novel. The same was for Divernon (south of Springfield), the heroine, Di Vernon, of Sir Walter Scott’s Rob Roy. While Joliet would naturally be named for the French colleague of Marquette, there is another story that it was once Juliet, to complement the town of Romeo (now Romeoville) nearby. Aw, the romance! Elkhart was also recorded in the name of love. According to one story, the daughter of an Indian chief had to choose between two suitors. When an elk wandered by, she said she would choose the one who shot the arrow closest to the elk’s heart—and she did.

The fact that my alma mater, Illinois State University, sits near an area once called Keg Grove, seems too ironic. Like any name, we see the connections of that name to its place even hundreds of years later. It seems we always name well—we find the right connection to see its significance.

Rose is twelve today and her tenderly mature heart balances with the thorns she wields when she must. And speaking of Romeo(ville) and Juliet (Joliet), “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Patience...

“Patience, patience, patience,” says Anne Morrow Lindbergh, “is what the sea teaches.” I must say that patience is what I’m learning in writing a non-fiction book like this. Research, writing, interviews, more research, more interviews, more research, and then finally the writing… My writing hand must be patient until it can get the accurate accounts and details. Then my creative pen (or typing fingers) can weave the facts with imagination—that’s where the patience proves plentiful. 

I’m researching information on the Lewis Thomas mansion on I-55 at mile 76 Northbound. When I was in my early teens I remember passing by this mansion often as my father drove from Springfield to Gillespie to pick up my niece on the weekends. My brother would tell me it was a haunted mansion. My mother told me that slaves used it during the Underground Railroad. Well, now as a grown woman, I’m finally trying to unravel the truth about this intriguing mansion situated so prominently along I-55, just 20 miles south of Springfield. The Montgomery County Historical Society has been extremely generous in helping me find the history of the first homeowner of the residence, Lewis Thomas. 

In 1851, Lewis Thomas’ estate covered these interstate lines and spread out for 970 acres across Montgomery County. Before he built this mansion, he built up the grounds of his estate with natural fences and timber groves. His estate became known as the Union Grove Stock Farm where they managed horses, sheep, cattle, hogs, and chickens along with other atypical farm animals such as peacocks, deer, and bears. This most impressive estate in the county even had its own boardwalk connecting it directly to the Illinois Central Railroad station that was built just west of his home. Thomas lived here until his death in 1909.

Two fires, many owners, and almost 150 years of wear have made the mansion almost indistinguishable from the design that Elijah E. Myers created in 1863 for landowner Lewis Thomas. Myers, who had designed the Macoupin County courthouse in Carlinville and the George Brinkerhoff home in Springfield, designed this home with Italianate Villa features that were popular in the 1850s and 60s. This mansion was once dressed with arched windows, eaves that dripped with intricately carved brackets, and a very ornate top to the tower. But in 1888, a fire destroyed much of the home; and when it was rebuilt, Italianate had been booted from the architectural runway and replaced by Queen Anne, the new fashionista of the time. Just like straight hair and bellbottoms were replaced by fluffy perms and parachute pants, Queen Anne’s rectangular windows straightened out the Italian curves,… 

Now, I await the latest news of this mansion. Who owns it now? What has happened to it since 1909? It looks like it is for sale. What will happen to it? Will the next owner renovate it, try to find the stories hidden in the walls, nurture it back to health? The phrase, “if walls could talk…” perfectly describes the intrigue that this house has aroused in local communities. Until bricks grow lips, I will have to dig in for some research, interviewing, and patience, patience, patience, until those long-awaited stories find me or I find them.

Funeral Train

This past week I was in Springfield, Illinois-- brought home by the passing of my grandmother. Each day as my mother and I made our daily trips through downtown, coming home from a day of  packing memories into boxes at my grandmother's apartment, I passed the train station where Abraham Lincoln's body was brought back to Springfield.  Today it is the Amtrak station and rush hour traffic disregards the famous depot where on May 3, 1865, his friends gathered to say their tearful farewell to him. The railway tracks along I-55 are perhaps just as casually and unintentionally forgotten as a place of such historical significance-- seen as a commuter railway from Chicago to Springfield rather than a famous funeral route in US history. This week I also read an article sent to me by Bill Kemp, a librarian from the McLean County Museum of History, which details that train ride home. Kemp wrote of funeral arches that spanned the railroad tracks..."The Bloomington arch carried the message, "Go to thy rest," while the town of Lincoln's read, "With malice to none, with charity for all," and the one in Williamsville, "He has fulfilled his mission." Thanks, Bill, for those incredible images that decorate our vision and bring an emotional attachment to those steel rails!