Day 9 (Sunday, 9/18) Dale and the Boyhood Home
A day of rest awaited me as I awoke in a motel room instead of a log cabin.
No alarm was set, but I still awoke before 8 am. I walked across the parking lot; the restaurant menu in my room had indicated the artery-clogging opportunity awaiting me there and I eagerly placed my order for biscuits and gravy. I was disappointed to hear that there was only one "half order" left. I suggested it must be pretty good and the waitress acknowledged it's their most popular item. Then she brought out a 10-inch plate with three biscuit halfs entirely filled with gravy and I could only be grateful that a full order wasn't available.
I used the morning to catch up on email and paperwork and just goof off.
I planned to spend much of the afternoon walking around the Lincoln Boyhood Home National Memorial, about four miles south of the motel. As I took my first steps toward it, a little rain started falling and I wimped out. After all, I had been to the Boyhood Home twice in the past and as recently as summer 2003; I didn't need to see it again. I headed to some stores near the motel to pick up a few supplies (my GPS is a battery eating machine) and to avoid the raindrops. I brought the stuff back to the room.
As soon as I got to the room, with new resolve, I decided, rain or no, I could not leave out from this particular trip the place Lincoln lived for 14 years, a place that was so important in his intellectual, social, and political development. As soon as my foot hit the pavement, the rain stopped and by the time I got to the site, there was hardly a cloud to be seen.
My route started with US 231 South. There was a billboard whose content had severely deteriorated but I could piece together the missing letters and get the message: Instead of a Sunday drive, take a Sunday walk." I said "Okay!"
Shortly before approaching the northern entrance to the Boyhood Home, I passed a house with a sign over its side yard identifying "The Lincoln Homestead Store." I wandered toward the doorway - there was a handsome bust of Lincoln beside it - but the sign said "Closed," so I turned away. A few steps, and I heard a woman say, "Can I help you?" The owner had seen me and, I guess, thought I might be a potential customer. I explained my situation and the fact that I wasn't buying anything that would add to the weight of what I was carrying. Nonetheless, she invited me in to see the few Lincoln items she had on hand (most of her inventory was typical of what you'd encounter in any midwest antique store). A unique item she showed me was a handmade doll with a ceramic Lincoln head, its hair, eyebrows and beard painted black and lips red. It was clothed in a handmade, herringbone suit - a pattern the real President Lincoln probably never wore. I took a picture of the doll and promised to let the owner know if I could learn anything aboout it.
I then entered the park from the north, sort of the opposite of the normal entry by car at the visitor center. I walked quickly past the reconstructed farmstead and the pioneer cemetery where Lincoln's mother rests and went directly to the visitor center. It is in a handsome curved memorial structure entirely constructed of Indiana natural materials. Four sculpted panels on the concave front show Lincoln in Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois and Washington, DC. Inside, there are beautiful function rooms at each end of the arc. The Nancy Hanks Lincoln room to the left accomodates small groups around a conference table while the larger Abraham Lincoln room at the other end serves as a small auditorium seating 200 or so. That room is rented out frequently for local weddings.
I took my time exploring the museum exhibits that fill the long curved corridor and took close-up photos of some documents that I had not seen previously. I also succumbed to a gift shop purchase, recognizing the additional weight but deciding it was worth it. I bought a baseball hat and tee shirt featuring a young Abe Lincoln with an axe in hand and the legend, "Indiana's Lincoln."
I headed back up the hill at a more leisurely pace. I paused to pay respects and take a few photos at Nancy Lincoln's grave. I also decided to offend perhaps the solemnity of the site and use my cell phone to call Austin, Texas and speak with my friend and national library Commissioner Jack Hightower; Jack's genealogical research has shown him to be part of the Hanks family. As I used new technology to connect him, in a way, with his distant cousin lying in rest a few steps away, I learned also that he was using new technology to connect with distant family as he watched on satellite tv his grandson, Drew Brees, quarterback the San Diego Chargers in Denver. What a world. When the mother of 9-year old Lincoln died in 1818, from drinking milk from a cow that had eaten a poisonous plant, it likely took 2 weeks or longer for the news of her death to reach her family back in Kentucky.
I then continued on to the site of the reconstructed farmstead. A number of log structures comprise the site and Park Service Rangers in period costume carry on the daily activities of a frontier family. Bacon was cooking in the main cabin, while wood was being sawed in the woodshop, and a small number of farm animals whiled away the day in their fenced-in yard. Soon attention would turn to collecting and putting away seed for next year's planting. The Lincoln Boyhood farm is a great place to visit even if you don't have any special interest in Lincoln; it offers an up-close look at the lives of the people who expanded our nation in its earliest days.
Across from the farmstead is the actual site of the Lincoln homestead discovered by archeologists. A copper casting of the footprint of the cabin and of the original fireplace are contained within low stone walls. I spent a few moments there and then headed back to my home for the evening.
Except for the last few hundred yards on US 231, most of the walk back was on a ruler straight agricultural road heading due north. Brown cornstalks filled most of fields on either side of the road, but at times a rise in the road would give me an opportunity to see miles in all directions. I talked to some family members on my cell phone while I was on this walk; the mostly flat terrain provided excellent reception. I told my wife Carolyn that when I was on the lower parts with the corn stalks towering above, I got the feeling of the scene in North by Northwest when Cary Grant(?) was buzzed by the small plane. Fortunately, the sky remained plane free throughout my walk.
I concluded the day with a dinner at Windell's, a popular restaurant in downtown Dale. Unfortunately, nobody was near enough to strike up a conversation, so I occupied myself with good food and people watching. I especially enjoyed watching 3 high school couples at a distant table. I'd guess the guys were athletes based on the physiques and the number of trips to the buffet. I especially enjoyed watching one girl whose cell phone conversation kept her just as absorbed with some distant friend as the other five were with each other.
A second good night's sleep in the motel in Dale, and I would be on my way to Jasper early the next day. Biscuits and gravy?
No alarm was set, but I still awoke before 8 am. I walked across the parking lot; the restaurant menu in my room had indicated the artery-clogging opportunity awaiting me there and I eagerly placed my order for biscuits and gravy. I was disappointed to hear that there was only one "half order" left. I suggested it must be pretty good and the waitress acknowledged it's their most popular item. Then she brought out a 10-inch plate with three biscuit halfs entirely filled with gravy and I could only be grateful that a full order wasn't available.
I used the morning to catch up on email and paperwork and just goof off.
I planned to spend much of the afternoon walking around the Lincoln Boyhood Home National Memorial, about four miles south of the motel. As I took my first steps toward it, a little rain started falling and I wimped out. After all, I had been to the Boyhood Home twice in the past and as recently as summer 2003; I didn't need to see it again. I headed to some stores near the motel to pick up a few supplies (my GPS is a battery eating machine) and to avoid the raindrops. I brought the stuff back to the room.
As soon as I got to the room, with new resolve, I decided, rain or no, I could not leave out from this particular trip the place Lincoln lived for 14 years, a place that was so important in his intellectual, social, and political development. As soon as my foot hit the pavement, the rain stopped and by the time I got to the site, there was hardly a cloud to be seen.
My route started with US 231 South. There was a billboard whose content had severely deteriorated but I could piece together the missing letters and get the message: Instead of a Sunday drive, take a Sunday walk." I said "Okay!"
Shortly before approaching the northern entrance to the Boyhood Home, I passed a house with a sign over its side yard identifying "The Lincoln Homestead Store." I wandered toward the doorway - there was a handsome bust of Lincoln beside it - but the sign said "Closed," so I turned away. A few steps, and I heard a woman say, "Can I help you?" The owner had seen me and, I guess, thought I might be a potential customer. I explained my situation and the fact that I wasn't buying anything that would add to the weight of what I was carrying. Nonetheless, she invited me in to see the few Lincoln items she had on hand (most of her inventory was typical of what you'd encounter in any midwest antique store). A unique item she showed me was a handmade doll with a ceramic Lincoln head, its hair, eyebrows and beard painted black and lips red. It was clothed in a handmade, herringbone suit - a pattern the real President Lincoln probably never wore. I took a picture of the doll and promised to let the owner know if I could learn anything aboout it.
I then entered the park from the north, sort of the opposite of the normal entry by car at the visitor center. I walked quickly past the reconstructed farmstead and the pioneer cemetery where Lincoln's mother rests and went directly to the visitor center. It is in a handsome curved memorial structure entirely constructed of Indiana natural materials. Four sculpted panels on the concave front show Lincoln in Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois and Washington, DC. Inside, there are beautiful function rooms at each end of the arc. The Nancy Hanks Lincoln room to the left accomodates small groups around a conference table while the larger Abraham Lincoln room at the other end serves as a small auditorium seating 200 or so. That room is rented out frequently for local weddings.
I took my time exploring the museum exhibits that fill the long curved corridor and took close-up photos of some documents that I had not seen previously. I also succumbed to a gift shop purchase, recognizing the additional weight but deciding it was worth it. I bought a baseball hat and tee shirt featuring a young Abe Lincoln with an axe in hand and the legend, "Indiana's Lincoln."
I headed back up the hill at a more leisurely pace. I paused to pay respects and take a few photos at Nancy Lincoln's grave. I also decided to offend perhaps the solemnity of the site and use my cell phone to call Austin, Texas and speak with my friend and national library Commissioner Jack Hightower; Jack's genealogical research has shown him to be part of the Hanks family. As I used new technology to connect him, in a way, with his distant cousin lying in rest a few steps away, I learned also that he was using new technology to connect with distant family as he watched on satellite tv his grandson, Drew Brees, quarterback the San Diego Chargers in Denver. What a world. When the mother of 9-year old Lincoln died in 1818, from drinking milk from a cow that had eaten a poisonous plant, it likely took 2 weeks or longer for the news of her death to reach her family back in Kentucky.
I then continued on to the site of the reconstructed farmstead. A number of log structures comprise the site and Park Service Rangers in period costume carry on the daily activities of a frontier family. Bacon was cooking in the main cabin, while wood was being sawed in the woodshop, and a small number of farm animals whiled away the day in their fenced-in yard. Soon attention would turn to collecting and putting away seed for next year's planting. The Lincoln Boyhood farm is a great place to visit even if you don't have any special interest in Lincoln; it offers an up-close look at the lives of the people who expanded our nation in its earliest days.
Across from the farmstead is the actual site of the Lincoln homestead discovered by archeologists. A copper casting of the footprint of the cabin and of the original fireplace are contained within low stone walls. I spent a few moments there and then headed back to my home for the evening.
Except for the last few hundred yards on US 231, most of the walk back was on a ruler straight agricultural road heading due north. Brown cornstalks filled most of fields on either side of the road, but at times a rise in the road would give me an opportunity to see miles in all directions. I talked to some family members on my cell phone while I was on this walk; the mostly flat terrain provided excellent reception. I told my wife Carolyn that when I was on the lower parts with the corn stalks towering above, I got the feeling of the scene in North by Northwest when Cary Grant(?) was buzzed by the small plane. Fortunately, the sky remained plane free throughout my walk.
I concluded the day with a dinner at Windell's, a popular restaurant in downtown Dale. Unfortunately, nobody was near enough to strike up a conversation, so I occupied myself with good food and people watching. I especially enjoyed watching 3 high school couples at a distant table. I'd guess the guys were athletes based on the physiques and the number of trips to the buffet. I especially enjoyed watching one girl whose cell phone conversation kept her just as absorbed with some distant friend as the other five were with each other.
A second good night's sleep in the motel in Dale, and I would be on my way to Jasper early the next day. Biscuits and gravy?
posted by Bob Willard @ 10:00 AM
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