Day 19

Besides too much driving, today was a Presidential Finale. We ended our trip with a detour to see the houses of some Ohio Presidents. We arrived at Rutgers B. Hayes’ house when it opened—an hour before the first tour. So we had time to explore the museum first.

Spiegel Grove was build by Rutherford B. Hayes’ uncle, Sardis Birchard. Spiegel means ‘mirror’ in German. After heavy rains, puddles would form on the property that looked like mirrors, hence Birchard naming it Speigel Grove. He had no children and Hayes’ father died of Typhus before he was born, so Birchard was like a father to Hayes.

Hayes fought in the Civil War. His wife worked as a nurse on the battlefields. She was the first First Lady to have a college degree. The couple had eight children, only one of whom was a girl, and three children died very young.

Hayes ran for President in 1876, and his was the first seriously contested election. When the polls closed on election night, Tilden had won the popular vote. However, to win, he needed 185 electoral votes and he only had 184. Election results in Florida, Louisiana, and South Carolina were in dispute. But more egregious problems had occurred. As the Republican party feared, the South did not play fair. African-Americans were prevented from voting, in some areas there were more votes than voters, and Hayes had been left off the ballot in some towns. It took practically until inauguration day to declare Hayes the winner.

Hayes was the first president in the White House to have a phone. HIs first call was with Alexander Graham Bell. He was also the first to have the Easter Egg Roll at the White House.

The Hayes second son, Webb, joined the military after his father left office. He loved collecting things, especially weapons, and he collected them all over the world. He brought weapons home from the Boxer Rebellion in China and the Philippine Insurrection. Many of the weapons were on display in the museum. Would you like to guess what G3’s favorite part was? Hayes also was a collector and an avid reader. When he died, he had over 10,000 books. (Kerry you would have loved his library as much as I did.)

Also in the museum was a replica of the Resolute Desk. It was the desk that Queen Victoria gave to President Hayes. The original was made from the timbers of the H.M.S. Resolute and it is in the Oval office. Most of the presidents who took office after Hayes have used it. It played a key role in the movie National Treasure, which G3 was obsessed with when he was little. If we had never seen the movie, the Resolute Desk would have meant nothing to either of us.

From Fremont we drove two hours to Mentor to see James A. Garfield’s house. I knew very little about Garfield. He’s one of the forgotten presidents. No one ever mentions him, not even the school textbooks, probably because he was shot four months into his term and died two months later from his wounds. He ran in 1880 and followed Hayes as president. He only lived in the house we saw for four years before moving to Washington, and it was much smaller when he last saw it. His wife made major renovations after he died.

Garfield and his wife had seven children. Like the Hayes, they only had one girl. The eldest son and the youngest died very young. Garfield fought in the Civil War and was given the rank Major General after fighting heroically at the Battle of Chickamauga. That stood out for G3 since we went to that battlefield last summer after he had read the short story by Ambrose Bierce. Garfield was still serving in the Army when he was elected to Congress. He hesitated to resign so that he could be seated in Congress. Before doing so, he sought Lincoln’s advice. Lincoln told him he would be more useful to him in Washington. In Congress, he was able to give advice regarding the war based on his experience.

He ran a front porch campaign. In the summer and fall of 1880, 17,000 people came to his house to listen to him give speeches from his from porch. HIs mother—who lived with him—was the first president’s mother to see her son inaugurated. And his first act as president was to kiss his mother. I can’t imagine that made his wife too happy. The last letter he ever wrote was to his mother. After Garfield died, his wife continued to take care of her.

On July 2, 1881, Charles Guiteau shot Garfield. After giving a couple of speeches during the campaign in favor of Garfield, he thought he was entitled to a job. This was, after all, the hight of the patronage system. Garfield, who wanted to reform government and give jobs to those who deserved them, refused to see Guiteau. Angry, Guiteau bought gun that would look good in a museum and practiced using it. While he got off two shots—one in the arm and another that broke a rib and lodged in his abdomen—neither were initially deadly. For two and half months Garfield suffered as an infection took root and slowly got worse. While he was bedridden, he wanted to escape the heat of Washington. He always loved the sea and wanted to be near the cool ocean air. Eventually, the doctors agreed that he could be moved to Long Branch, NJ. And that is where he died on September 19. Today, doctors would have easily been able to treat his wounds and he probably would not have died. According to the guide, Regan’s injuries were worse.

I had wanted to get G3 to McKinley’s house in time for a tour, but I was also very much overdue—mile wise—for an oil change. Sadly, by the time my oil change was done, we couldn’t get to McKinley’s house for a tour, but even if I hadn’t gotten the oil change, I probably wouldn’t have gotten there early enough anyway. However, I still took G3 to the house—it’s only a replica anyway—and we peered inside the window. G3 said that was enough for him to count the house as having been visited. That means he has now seen 32 Presidents’ houses. He only has thirteen more to go. I had no idea that when I first took him to Grover Cleveland’s house—oh so many years ago—that I was embarking on such an incredible journey. But it’s been fun—and educational. Hopefully, I can get G3 to the remaining thirteen in the next few years.

And while we’re talking numbers, after this trip he has been to 41 states. Only nine more to go.

The drive home felt eternal. Pennsylvania, at night, in the dark, is endless, especially with so many trucks on the road. But I told Kati I’d be home Wednesday night and I walked in the door at 11:40. We were on the road for 19 days. We hit five states and I drove 5,181 miles. It’s now time for bed.

Day 18

Last night was the first time the temperature was comfortable in our tent. I had to tuck myself inside my sleeping bag to stay warm. When we woke up this morning, it was 63°. If only had been like this the entire trip the both of us would have slept so much better.

We visited Elephant Rocks State Park this morning. We got there at 7:51, nine minutes before the gates opened. The weather, the temperature were perfect today. It’s the type of weather you can hike all day. The last thing I want to be doing is heading home and spending much of the day in the car. But at least we got to spend some time with the Elephant Rocks first, even though they were somewhat anti-climatic. We were hoping to see rocks that really looked like elephants. Allegedly, the boulders resemble elephants lined up head to tail, as if in a parade. I suppose if you really twist your imagination, you can get them to look like elephants, but mostly they look like huge boulders. We walked the trail around the rocks, which is short, only a mile. And then we climbed on the rocks for awhile before getting back into the car. G3‘s favorite part of the visit was climbing the rocks.

Next, was a long drive through rural Illinois. I had no idea they grew so much corn. For many long miles there was nothing to see but farms. Our destination was right across the Wabash river in Vincennes, a quaint historic city in Indiana. Grouseland was President William Henry Harrison’s home when he was Governor of Indiana Territory. He named it Grouseland because of all the grouse that used to wander around on the property. Plus grouse and asparagus was his favorite meal. It was the first house in Indiana built from bricks.

When we told the tour guide we were from New York and New Jersey she told us that Harrison had ties to that area via his wife. Anna was born in Morristown, New Jersey. Her mother died when she very young. Her father couldn’t take care of her so he dressed as a Redcoat and smuggled her across British lines during the Revolutionary War. He delivered her to her grandparents in Long Island and they raised her.

Harrison was born in Virginia. He was the last American president to have been born a British subject. His father signed the Declaration of Independence. Harrison went to school to be a doctor. It was his father’s ambition for him. However, his father died before he could finish school, and without funding to continue, he dropped out and joined the military.

At 25 he became Governor of the Indiana Territory. President Jefferson told him he needed to tend to the “Indian Problem.” At the time Tecumseh, the Shawnee warrior, was the biggest threat since he was trying to put together a confederacy of Native American tribes. Harrison met with him right outside Grouseland and tried to get him to sign a treaty. Tecumseh refused. They met again on the battlefield at Tippecanoe. While casualties were equal on both sides, the Americans claim victory because they drove the Natives out of Indiana. This victory would come back in the election of 1840 with the slogan of “Tippecanoe and Tyler too.” Harrison and Tecumseh would fight once more in the Battle of the Thames in Canada during the War of 1812. Harrison drove off the British and defeated Tecumseh’s Confederacy. Tecumseh was killed in the battle.

William Henry Harrison gave the longest inaugural speech of any president, he also served the shortest amount of time—32 days. He was sworn in on March 4, 1841 and on April 4th he became the first president to die in office. For years, it was believed that he died of pneumonia contracted on inauguration day after standing outside in the freezing air without a jacket. Now, science believes he died from drinking water contaminated by sewage. His wife never officially served as First Lady. She was sick when he moved to Washington. She intended to join him when she got better, but he died before she got there. Still, she was the oldest First Lady until Joe Biden was elected and Jill Biden served as First Lady.

As I was driving to Grouseland, I noticed a sign for George Rogers Clark National Historical Park. So of course, once we finished the tour, I had to check it out. I never heard of George Rogers Clark, and therefore, I couldn’t resist the urge to learn something new. We got there a half hour before they closed so my time was extremely limited which severely cut down on how much I could learn. But some knowledge is always preferable to no knowledge.

During the Revolutionary War in 1779, Clark and his men defeated the British who served under Lieutenant Governor Henry Hamilton. Clark captured Vincennes and greatly weakened British influence in the Northwest Territory. He is known as “The Conqueror of the Old Northwest.” He hated the Native Americans and executed the Native American prisoners who had sided with the British. After his campaign, native raids did not occur as frequently. However, Native Americans fought against Americans who invaded their territory until the end of Black Hawks War in 1832. While I had no idea who Clark was. I am very familiar with his younger brother—the guy who accompanied Lewis on an excursion out west.

I would have loved to have spent more time in Vincennes. Not only did it appear to have a certain charm, there was a great deal more history to explore since it was the capital of the Indiana Territory. But Kati is not please that I am away and she wants me home tomorrow—a day earlier than I planned to be home to get G3 ready for camp—in order to help with moving. So instead of lingering there for the night as planned, I pushed on until I got to Ohio.

Day 17

Since the park is a National Scenic Riverways and the Ozarks are known for their lakes and rivers, I wanted to get G3 on the water for a day. There is no white water rafting this time of year so we opted for a kayaking trip instead. I didn’t know which company was best so I randomly chose one online. The person I spoke to on the phone was friendly and suggested the eight mile float/paddle down the Jacks Fork River. We went with it because it was the shortest excursion and G3 didn’t want anything too long.

I had an extremely pleasant time on the river. We were the only ones who had signed up for the 9:00 o’clock time slot. I was surprised considering it’s still summer, but the guy who drove us to the starting point said we’re at the very end of the season. Out here school starts soon. On the water, we passed only one group of people. Otherwise, we were all alone—us and the turtles. And wow, were there a lot of turtles. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so many many before. They were all hanging out on logs jutting out of the river. If we got too close we spooked them and the slipped into the water to escape our curiosity.

The current moves at a slow gentle pace. I thought we’d paddle most of the way and we did do some paddling, but there were also stretches where we drifted, floating along on the current. Of course we reminisced about Dad and how he always enjoyed the drifting part—and gazing at the scenery—most. The scenery today was pretty, though G3 thought it was redundant—trees, trees, and more trees. Most of what we drifted through was National Park so there was absolutely no development. It was also quiet—oh so quiet. Only the birds and cicadas provided a sound track for our excursion. I thoroughly enjoyed the peacefulness of it. I need more of that in my life. Being on the water, away from people, and noise. Pure happiness! G3 had fun for about the first half, then he was bored and couldn’t wait for the journey to end. He was happy to return. I was not.

The water was chilly. I had expected G3 to want to stop periodically to go swimming, but he didn’t. Today, of all days on this trip, was the coolest. While we were on the water it didn’t get out of the 70s. Plus the sky was covered the entire time with clouds. G3 was disappointed. He commented that today was the one day he wanted it to be hot. There were a few places where the water looked somewhat deep, but mostly it was shallow. The kayaks scraped bottom a few times. The river had an aquamarine tint—I assume from the springs that feed into it—and it was incredibly clear. Even in the deeper places we could see the bottom and the fish swimming below us. G3’s favorite part of the trip was when we hit the Class I whitewater ripples. He enjoyed the jolt of speed and navigating around fallen trees and hanging branches.

My memory on Facebook was a comment about kayaking with Dad and G3 ten years ago. How fitting. Those are sweet memories. Dad used to bring the boats to our favorite beach in Peconic. He and I would then take them into the inlet and G3 would sit on my lap—he was only a toddler, way too little to paddle on his own. The first year we took him in the kayak he wasn’t yet potty trained, and when he wore his bathing suit, he didn’t wear a diaper. On those early trips he always peed on me. He laughed about it then. Today, when I reminisced about it he was not happy with me. I miss days at the beach with Dad. I think G3 does as well.

We finished kayaking around 1:30 and went to lunch. After we ate, I asked G3 if he wanting go back to Rocky Falls to go swimming. He said no, so I headed back toward the campground. I asked him what he wanted to do and he said he was really tired and needed a nap. So he’s in the tent. It took him about thirty seconds, from the time he laid down, to fall asleep. I always thought children were supposed to exhaust their parents, not the other way around. While he sleeps, I’ll have a little time to read. The campground isn’t deserted, but the sites around me are empty. It’s quiet—the loud people are probably sleeping off their hangovers. There is a cool breeze. I will enjoy this time outside reading since the next two days will involve far too much driving.

I am not good about sitting still for long periods of time. I never have been. There is a trail behind the campground that runs along the river. I decided to take a walk. G3 was still tired and not up for it so he stayed behind. I was only gone an hour. I felt guilty leaving him behind, but I didn’t want to force him to walk, especially if he’s not quite feeling up to physical activity.

We went to Subway for dinner. The woman behind the counter was friendly. She called me ma’am and then apologized and asked me what my pronouns were. She said she didn’t want to offend me. I was taken aback because we’re in rural Missouri and I didn’t expect to find such sensitivity here. She then asked her co worker to change the music—they were listening to rap music—because it wasn’t child friendly. I told her she didn’t need to change it for us because G3 listens to Eminem in the car. That got her excited. Apparently, she is a huge Eminem fan. She even showed us the E tattooed on her hand because she loves his music so much. Why just the E, I don’t know. I wanted to ask what happened to the other letters, but I was afraid it would sound too obnoxious or sarcastic.

Pumpkin is the campground’s pet. She is a turkey. G3 and I have seen her walking around the last few nights. Tonight, as the campground hosts were making their rounds they stopped to chat. They told me she has lived here the last three years. When the last campers left last summer, she chased after them not wanting them to go. During the winter months, the rangers come to check on her and spend some time with her so she doesn’t get lonely. Her first year here, there were two turkeys. But only she came back.

G3 recovered enough to play frisbee with me for awhile. When it got dark he wanted a fire so we made one. He sat with me for awhile telling me how much he does not want to go back to school. He’s afraid the new school won’t be much better than the previous school. He’s afraid it will be boring, especially history. I’m afraid he’s right. Learning from a textbook is quit dull compared to learning it at the places where it actually unfolded. It would be nice to think that maybe this year his teachers will actually be able to meet him where he is instead of bringing him down. We’ll see. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Maybe luck will penetrate the dark clouds rumbling overhead.

He is now back in the tent sleeping while I am still sitting at the fire. Once I finish here I’ll get back to the Shinning. I’m about half way through.

Day 16

We started the day with a short hike along the Slough Trail to Big Springs. It is the largest spring in Missouri, and one of the largest in the world. It is a beautiful, aquamarine color due to all the minerals in the water. Pictures do not do it justice. On the trail I got stung by a hornet or wasp. It got stuck in the sleeve of my tee shirt and stung me thee times—which is how I know it wasn’t a bee—before I could remove it. My arm swelled and turned a nasty shade of red. It still hurts, and it’s still red, but the swelling has gone down.

G3 was up for a cave tour, and since the park is known for its caves we headed up to Round Spring Cave. En route we came across as tortoise crossing the road. I swerved to make sure I didn’t kill him. I then pulled over and carried him across to the other side in hopes that he would avoid getting squashed by someone else. It’s something Dad always did. He was conscious of saving the tortoises he encountered in the middle of the road. I have many memories of him doing so in Long Island.

The cave tour was spectacular. The guide was amazing and the cave formations were beautiful. The guide was informative and G3 kept her engaged with his curiosity and questions. He was very observant, pointing out things in the cave and asking for explanations of what they were or how they came to be. The guide was impressed by his knowledge and inquisitiveness.

There are 7,000 caves in Missouri and 400 of them are in this park—along with 300 springs that will someday, when the water runs dry, also become caves. The Round Spring Cave was discovered in 1863 by a Union Civil War surgeon. For a period, it was privately owned and offered commercial tours. Then it became a state park until the 1970s when it fell under the National Park jurisdiction. Part of the cave is a biological preserve. It is closed to tourists and the animals—specifically bats and salamanders—are studied by scientists. Sadly, white nose syndrome—which has up to a 95% mortality rate amongst some species—has decimated the bat population. We saw several salamanders on the cave walls and in the streams but no bats There were piles of guano—bat poop. Scientists tested the guano in one pile and found that bats were present in the cave 7000 years ago. When they do make a cave home, they roost in places where there are no stalactites because that indicates a dry section of the cave.

As we walked through the cave we could hear and feel water dripping from the roof. It has produced hundreds of stunning stalagmites and stalactites. These formations grow, on average, a quarter of an inch every 100 years in the midwest. Some of them are a shinny white that looks almost like ice. It’s not. The caves are rich in calcite and in certain areas, where the calcite concentration is higher than other minerals, the formations resemble snow or crystals. A greater presence of iron will turn them various shades of yellow, orange, or brown depending on the level of the concentration.

The skeleton of a female short face cave bear was found in the cave. It had been curled up as if it had been hibernating when it died. Cave bears became extinct during the last ice age. Also in the cave were claw marks that evidence indicates belong to the same species. On bear paws, between the claws, are scent glands. When bears scratch, sometimes it is intentional in order to mark the territory with their scent. Inside a cave it is completely dark. Bears can’t see. But if they leave a trail of their scent, they can find their way out.

When the tour was over, we went to Alley Spring because the Visitor Center there has a gift shop. It might have been the worst National Park gift shop we’ve ever been to. They hardly had anything. G3 wanted to get matching hats, but the only color we liked was sold out. The other two were ugly. Even the shirts weren’t great. But G3 wanted us to get shirts, especially since we couldn’t get hats. I liked one design. G3 liked the other one, so we went with his preference. I was just happy he wanted something that matched me.

At Alley Springs, I wanted to hike the overlook trail. It was only a mile and a half, but G3 had no interest. He wanted to sit in the shade and read instead, so he took one of the camping chairs out of the trunk and set it under a tree. He’s reading Misery and not liking it as much as he liked the other two King novels he has read. The hike was peaceful. It was hot, so few people were out. The spring, like the one we saw this morning, was a pretty aquamarine color. Beside it is a red mill that used to grind wheat. There is also a historic one room school house near the mill. A ranger was inside to welcome visitors and answer questions. But she was aloof, and seemed to have no interest in talking or discussing the school. I made a comment about the students just learning three subjects—the three Rs—and she argued with me saying they learned more than that. So I pointed to the interpretation sign right outside, the one I read before entering, and told her she was giving information contrary to the sign. She shrugged and said, “Oh.” Most of the rangers here—the guy who ran the program last night and the tour guide were the exceptions—have no personality. I’ve never encountered so many rangers at a park who so blatantly either dislike their jobs or possibly just hate people.

G3 and I had not showered or swam since the hot springs and we have been sweating profusely. Getting in the water today was imperative. Therefore, we drove over to Rock Falls to go swimming. The falls were disappointing. They weren’t much more than a gentle stream rolling over the rocks. I’m sure it’s amazing after a heavy rain, but it’s been relatively dry. The water was pleasant—a perfect temperature—and it felt cleaner than the lake at Chickasaw. G3 had fun climbing up the rocks and exploring.

We got back to the campsite after dark and since the heat wasn’t as bad as it has been I started a small fire. We brought wood from home—really dry wood that burns nicely, wood I took from Mattituck when Mom sold the house. It seems silly to bring it back home, especially since it would just be more for us to move. As I pulled into our site we realized G3 never put the chair back into the car. I had brought the old camping chairs because they are slightly smaller than the newer ones, and since we don’t need the old ones anymore, the plan had been for me to leave them behind at the end of the trip. It’s a good thing or I’d have been angry that G3 forgot to put it back into the trunk. But without a chair he didn’t enjoy the fire as much because he had to sit on the ground with the bugs.

Quiet hours started an hour ago. Of course there is one large group that is being loud. I don’t understand why people are so rude.

Day 15

We turned north this morning to make our way back home. On the way, we stopped at a gas station in some small mountain town in rural Arkansas so I could get a cup of coffee. I brought it to the counter and the woman smiled and said, “You’re good.” Puzzled, I insisted, “But I have to pay.” She shook her head, “No, have a great day.”

I had wanted to visit the Ozarks for awhile now. It’s the main reason—when I realized we’d have less than three weeks between the World Championship and G3’s Boy Scout Camp—that I planned our trip around Missouri. What I didn’t realize, until about a week ago, was that Laura Ingalls Wilder’s final home was in the Ozark Mountains. It was the house—or rather houses—in which she penned her classic children’s books. Getting to her house required a two hour detour from my original route. Did I take it? Of course I did. Seeing where she lived on the Prairie, that was one thing—my childhood dream. Seeing where she wrote, well, as a writer, that was something entirely different.

Laura—her middle name was Elizabeth, how did I not know that?—lived in DeSmet, South Dakota until July 1894. That’s when she, Almanzo, and seven year old Rose moved to Mansfield, Missouri. They had $100 to their name, which they used to purchase 40 acres of land in order to start a dairy, fruit and poultry farm. Laura named it Rocky Ridge Farm.

Rose was a writer before her mother. She was a journalist for the San Francisco Bulletin. After World War I, she lived in Europe where she wrote articles and short stories for a living. In the 1920s, she returned to Missouri. At the time, she was the second highest paid author in America. (G3 had to Google who was the highest and his search yielded F. Scott Fitzgerald.) She thought her parents had worked hard their entire lives and felt they deserved a comfortable retirement. Therefore, she built them a modern house made of stone—called The Rock House. It even had electricity—quite a step up from that Little House on the Prairie. Even though it was a lovely thoughtful gesture, neither Laura nor Almamzo wanted a new house. They were content in the farm house.

In the Rock House—which I love, especially the gorgeous view from the front—Laura wrote her first four books, the first of which was published in 1932 when Laura was 65. It was, however, not her first foray into the world of writing. Between 1911 and 1923 she was a staff writer for The Missouri Ruralist. Her ability to write so descriptively is attributed to her long ago promise to Mary,after Mary went blind, that she would be her eyes and describe everything to her.

When her parents moved into the modern house, Rose settled into the farm house to write novels. Young Pioneers was her most successful novel, but according to the tour guide, she plagiarized, copying copiously from her mother. In 1936, Rose left Missouri to go live first in NYC and then Connecticut. Her parents moved out of the Rock House and back into the farm house. That’s where Laura wrote the rest of her books. She died on February 10, 1957, three days after her 90th birthday.

Laura was born two years after the Civil War. She lived in a tiny log cabin and traveled by wagon. In her childhood, she carried water from a well, wrote on a slate in school, and read at night by candlelight. Yet, for ten years, her life overlapped with my mothers. Born in an age when the American military still had a cavalry, she lived long enough for America to develop nuclear warfare. In her lifetime, the world became a completely different place. It’s incredible to think of her having written her last book four years before my mother was born.

There is some speculation among geneticists that the family suffered from Fragile X syndrome considering no male children survived. Laura’s brother died in infancy, as did her son. And her grandson—Rose’s child—was stillborn. Mary never got married, but Laura’s younger sisters, Carrie and Grace, never had any children. Scarlet Fever may not have been the cause of Mary’s blindness. Now, there is some belief that it might have been meningitis.

G3 was as bored in Laura’s Missouri home as he was in her Independence home. He did go on both tours with me, but he had no interest in the museum—where I spent way too much time. He did, however, admit that it was really cool to see Charles’ fiddle. We were both surprised to find out how short Laura was. She was only 4’11” and Almanzo was 5’4”.

We are Camping at the Ozark National Scenic Riverway. When we arrived, G3 wanted to set up the tent by himself. I didn’t object. It gave me time to look over the map and begin thinking about what we might do tomorrow. I can already tell that two days won’t be nearly enough time to do everything. But two days is definitely better than not getting here at all.

We attended a Ranger Program this evening about Springs and Caves. In 1964, this park became the first river system protected by the National Park. It has the highest concentration of first magnitude springs in the entire world. (A first magnitude spring releases 64 million gallons, or more, of water a day.) The bedrock here is made of dolomite which formed from the calcium of prehistoric dead animals. Water enters the dolomite forming springs. Over time, the water wears away the rock and when the water vacates, it leaves behind a cave.

Quiet hours were supposed to start at ten. it is almost 11 and there are two parties going on, each blasting music. A barking dog is accompanying the music at one of the parties. There is no number to call for a ranger to come and break it up. I suspect I am going to get no sleep tonight. Tomorrow, I will have to get a number. Why are people do damn rude? If you want to have a party don’t come out into the woods. It defeats the purpose of being in nature and it totally ruins the experience for everyone else.

Day 14

This morning I got up early and was hiking before 7 o’clock. G3 did not want to come, so he stayed behind at the campsite. I was a little disappointed. I enjoy hiking more when I have company. But I was not going to force him to come because then he would have been miserable and neither one of us would have had any fun. I walked the Oretel Trail. it’s convenient having the hiking trails at the campsite. This way, I didn’t have to drive to get there and leave G3 alone for a longer period of time. At such an early hour, it was really quiet on the trail, just me and the birds. There was nothing special to see. The hike was the same as yesterday, and short—only about an hour and a half. Enough to get me saturated with sweat and feel like I got some exercise. I didn’t want to be gone long because G3 was waiting for me and we had other things planned for today.

As I walked, all I could think about was how much I dread going back home—more so than any other summer. When we moved out of the condo, we were supposed to be moving forward, eventually finding ourselves in something better. This house is not much bigger than the condo—the living space might actually be smaller—and once again, I find myself trapped. It’s not where I want to be. How can you possibly be happy in a place that makes you everything but happy? I’m stuck again, and I know that’s not going to be good for my mental health. So what do I have this year to look forward to: a house I don’t want, one that makes me feel trapped, and a job where I get no respect and they won’t let me teach the subject I am mast passionate about. What do I have to look forward to that’s actually going to be good? I’d say, just being with G3 would be enough to make me happy, but he’s at that age where he wants to spend less and less time with me. And there’s my writing group, but we only meet once a month. Being on the road and traveling—learning new things, seeing different places—makes me happy. I don’t want the trip to end, because when it ends, my happiness will go with it.

I am a murderer. I killed a bird—accidentally. When we stopped for breakfast, G3 pointed out the bird corpse stuck in the front of my car. I had to yank it out with my hand. Yuck! I feel awful. This can’t be a good omen.

We visited Bill Clinton’s birth home in Hope, Arkansas. It was not terribly exciting—in fact, it was rather disappointing. There was a Ranger in the house, but the tour was self guided. There was very little information given about the house and the former president. I tried to engage the Ranger in a conversation, to extract more information, but she either didn’t know much or didn’t care to talk.

I didn’t remember ever hearing that Clinton had a brother. The one bit of information I was able to extract from the Ranger was the fact that Clinton’s brother had several run-ins with the law for selling drugs. Each time, Clinton pardoned him. That sounds like an abuse of power. I know—they all do that. But it doesn’t make it right. It must have been in the news at the time, but I have no recollection of it. All I remember regarding Clinton and drugs was Clinton’s absurd response, “I didn’t inhale.” Yeah, I was an adult when Clinton was president, but that doesn’t mean anything. I wasn’t politically aware—not even a little. G3 probably knows more at 13 than I knew at 21.

Clinton was born three months after his biological father was killed in a car accident. His mother named him William Jefferson Blythe III after him. He only changed his name when his younger half-brother—-who was a decade younger— started school. He wanted them to have the same name.

Since his father was dead, Clinton and his mother moved in with her parents. For the first year of his life, he hardly saw his mother. She was in New Orleans finishing up her degree in nursing. Clinton’s grandmother taught him how to read. When he was four, his mother remarried and they moved out—first to another house in Hope, then to Hot Springs.

In the house, on the table in Clinton’s room, was a picture of him as a real young kid dressed in a cowboy outfit, complete with a cowboy hat. I did a double-take because there is a picture of my Dad around the same age dressed similarly. (They were contemporaries—Clinton was born two years earlier than Dad). I looked on my phone and social media because I wanted to see how similar they really were or if my memory was inaccurate, but I couldn’t find it. I even messaged my cousin to see if it was in her file-it wasn’t. I will have to check my computer when I get home. Anyway, both Dad and Clinton loved Hapalong Cassidy. It was a favorite show for them during their childhoods, Dad didn’t care for Clinton much. In those days he was still a Republican. So I’m not really sure why this matters. Maybe it’s just that the picture reminded me of Dad and that was enough. It also reminded me that Dad died while Clinton still lives. Life isn’t fair. It never was and never will be.i’m

Clinton remembers his grandparents being in favor of integrating the schools, and angry when the Governor shut them down in an attempt to prevent it. I guess it was fitting that he—also a former Governor of Arkansas—signed the legislation that designated Little Rock Central High School a National Historic Site. That was the only thing regarding his presidency that was present anywhere at the site.

It seems when presidents are alive—we’ve now been to the homes of two living presidents—there is less the museums are willing to say about their terms in office. Perhaps it’s because they want to avoid controversy, or maybe simply honor them quietly in their latter years.

After Clinton’s house, we returned to Hot Springs. Since it was incredibly hot—104 degrees—we stopped along the way for an ice. Once we got back we went to the Gangster Museum. We thought it might be fun to take a tour and learn about Hot Springs’ shady past. Boy were we wrong. The tour was an hour and a half and while we learned a few interesting things along the way, the tour as a whole was dreadfully boring. We were ushered into a series of rooms—each with some pictures and other cool memorabilia—to watch dull videos about different segments and aspects of the city’s history. And the guide wouldn’t even take any questions. How can you give a tour and not have time for questions. That’s my favorite part.

Starting in the 1920s and continuing for four decades, Hot Springs was a gaming paradise. Illegal gambling was so big and influential that lawmakers and police closed their eyes to it. Rich and famous people flocked to the area and it became America’s first resort. Allegedly, the Strip in Vegas was modeled on Hot Springs. Gambling continued to bring in a great deal of money until 1967 when Governor Winthrop Rockefeller finally took it down.

My mother often mentioned that John Kennedy’s father, Joe Kennedy, got his money in the bootlegging business. It always troubled her that the family was so well respected and well regarded when the patriarch was nothing more than a criminal. It is ironic, maybe even hypocritical, that a man who made his fortune flouting Federal Law should use that money to help seat his son in the White House. Anyway, Joe Kennedy and Al Capone were business partners in Hot Springs. They discovered that by using the thermal water to produce moonshine it came out as clear as water. They set up an operation at Belvedere Dairy and named their product Mountain Valley Spring Water. At the time, Mountain Valley Spring Water was a favorite of President Coolidge and Congress. To differentiate their product from the real thing, Kennedy and Capone affixed the labels upside down.

Capone wasn’t the only person of ill repute in Hot Springs. John Dillanger, Bonnie and Clyde, Alvin Karpis, Pretty Boy Floyd, and Lucky Luciano all spent time there. Many were able to hide and evade arrest with the assistance of the Hot Spring’s police. In order to travel unseen, they utilized tunnels that ran underground.

Criminals weren’t the only ones who made use of Hot Springs. It was home to the original Spring Training for baseball. I wonder if Dad knew that. Dad knew everything about baseball so he probably did, but I find it odd that he had never mentioned it. Or did he and I don’t remember? In the middle of the baseball part of the tour, I could feel tears seeping into my eyes because what I wanted to do most was pick up the phone and say, “Hey Dad, did you know…” But of course, I can’t do that anymore. Yet, I really really wanted to hear his response.

In 1886, Cap Anson from the Chicago White Stockings—now the Cubs—thought it would be a brilliant place to train because the hot spring water would be therapeutic and help get the athletes in shape. He took his team to prepare for the upcoming season and soon the other teams followed. Babe Ruth trained there as did the Negro League players. While there, the ball players also partook of the vices in town, such as gambling and drinking. Hot Springs stopped playing host to Spring Training when teams moved to states with better weather and more room.

As far back as I can remember, G3 has wanted a cane that conceals a sword. And he found it in one of the shops along the main street. Hot Springs was once home to some of Americas toughest gangsters. Where else would you find an old-school concealed weapon? I am either the coolest mom or the worst because I bought it for him. I did, however, tell him that I will keep it until he gets a bit older.

G3 has been looking for the perfect Indiana Jones type hat. And he found it in the same store as the cane. He also found about a dozen other dress hats—tops hats, fedoras, bowlers, etc.—that he really liked and wanted to own so he could start dressing up again for school. But they were all expensive and he could only afford one. He ended up going with the hat he wanted initially. I told him to make a mental note of the others and perhaps ask Santa for one—or two—when Christmas rolls around.

Day 13

We are at Hot Springs National Park. This morning we got up early to hike because, well, what else do you do in a National Park. Plus, I really enjoy hiking. I wanted an early start because it’s going to be 100° again, and I wanted to hike before the heat got too oppressive. G3 was not as excited about hiking. From the moment we started, he complained. He said this was a boring national park, and there’s nothing to see that he couldn’t see at home. Part of me agrees with him. The trails here aren’t anything special, but they are in a different place, a different state—which for me is enough. I tried to explain that sometimes going to a place you don’t like isn’t bad because you were lucky enough to have been there. You still got to have that experience. How would you know if a place was good or bad if you never saw it yourself? He didn’t agree with me.

When we started out, I let him choose the trail, hoping that might make him a little more enthused—or at least feel like he had some voice. It did not. We walked part of the Hot Springs Mountain Trail, but after 40 minutes of walking, it was apparent G3 didn’t want to walk anymore. I told him we could turn around and his mood immediately improved. He became very chatty and wanted to talk about Stephen King. I walked back part of the way with him and then he went back to the campsite alone where said he was going to read. I headed off to do a little more hiking, this time along the Upper Dogwood Trail. It is already hot out, but at least the trail is shaded, and there is a slight bit of breeze to keep me from overheating.

In 1921, Congress designated Hot Springs as the nation’s 18th National Park. G3 and I seem to agree that it is the least interesting of all the national parks we have been to. Too bad Dad never got a chance to get here. He might’ve suddenly had a better opinion of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

I take it back! Dad would’ve loved it here. The reason it’s called Hot Springs Nation Park is because there are Hot Springs. However, the only way to enter the Hot Springs is to pay to go into one of the bath houses. There are two active ones, only one of which requires you to wear a bathing suit. Obviously, that’s the one I took G3 to. In the bath house, Quapuw, there were three hot pools each a different temperature: 98°, 102°, 104°. When you go to the beach, you sit on the sand until you get hot and then you go in the water to cool off. In the bathhouse, you sit in the air-conditioning until you get cold, and then you go into a hot tub. I was surprised at how long we ended up staying. I thought we’d be there an hour, maybe two, but we ended up staying more than three. We alternated between going into the hot tubs and reading. I think G3 very much enjoyed the experience, he certainly seemed to enjoy it more than hiking this morning. Yes, Dad would’ve been very happy here, too, because Dad always loved soaking in a hot tub.

People have been coming to Hot Springs to soak in the thermal water since the 1830s. The original bathhouses were simple structures, some not much more than a tent. Later, the structures developed into beautiful elaborate Victorian buildings, but they were made of wood which tended to catch fire easily and was susceptible to rot. The years between 1911 and 1939 are considered the Golden Age of Bathing. During that time, bathhouses were constructed in a mix of Spanish mission and neoclassical architecture. And some of them are impressively beautiful and grand. The Buckstaff Bathhouse is the only one still around from the Golden Age, and from what I was told, the bathhouse is run in a more traditional way—hence not the one we went to.

We popped in at the National Park Visitors Center. Once upon a time, it was the Fordyce Bathhouse, but the National Park converted it into a museum. I walked through the exhibits on all three floors in about ten minutes. G3 took much longer. I waited patiently for him on the porch. When he finished, he was mad that I was quicker than him. I admitted honestly, “I was bored.” Bathhouse history—beyond the surface—just wasn’t interesting. (I can almost hear you all gasping—me admitting something historical is…boring!) G3’s mouth fell open and his eyes bugged a bit, “But it’s from the 1920s. That’s my favorite time in American history.” I had no idea. If there was a tour or if a ranger was giving a talk, I probably would have had more interest, but just looking at display after display is dull.

Next, we walked on the touristy side of the street because G3 wanted to look in the gift shops. Tourist towns all have the same crap, they just stamp a different name on it. I was ready to be done after five minutes, but G3 had to go into each and every store.

Back at the campsite, it was too hot, again, for a fire. So we played frisbee for awhile and then cards. It is incredibly hot even now at 9:00 at night. I am laying in my tent, not moving, and I am still sweating profusely. Beads of sweat are trickling down my skin everywhere. I feel so icky, it’s like I didn’t shower—or sit in baths—at all today.

Day 12

My thumbs are sore, they actually hurt from writing so much last night. I need a portable keyboard that connects to my phone because typing with just my thumbs is too tedious.

I slept decently until about 5:00, which was more than I expected. I tried to fall back to sleep, but by then there was a steady stream of traffic on the road and I couldn’t force myself to sleep through the noise. I will be tired today, but maybe I can get to sleep earlier tonight. G3 is still sound asleep. Noise doesn’t impact his ability to sleep as it does mine.

Yesterday, G3 finished Salem’s Lot. Misery—he will only read King at the moment—is only 300 pages. He was worried that he might finish it before we got home and then he would have nothing to read. I totally understand the fear. He asked me if I would please take him to the bookstore to buy a back-up book. How could I say no? I am happy he wants to read. Upon arriving, he went right for the horror section and started reading the back of several King books. After awhile he settled on Carrie and Pet Sematary.

From the bookstore, we drove to Little Rock Central High School National Historic Site. And wow! This is why I like going to multiple places that allegedly tell the same story. When people talk about how history should only be taught by telling the facts, the question that should always follow is: Which ones? Depending on which facts you reveal, which you omit, or what order you place them in can change the narrative completely. Over the years, in my travels with G3, I have come to realize that National Parks try to tell a balanced story. They attempt to give visitors all the facts, or at least facts that are important to various perspectives. The history at the National Parks no longer simply follows the narrative of the European settlers. Even if the truth depicts Americans in a negative way, they tell it. However, privately run museums—like Eisenhower’s House and museum in Kansas—tend to shift the narrative so that the person they are “selling” is depicted in the most positive light possible. They want us to love—or at least not criticize—the person whose life they have put on display.

The story we got today regarding Eisenhower’s role in integrating the schools was much different than the one we learned at his house. In this narrative, he was not the shining hero some history books—and his museum—would have you believe. I spent over an hour at the National Park taking to two rangers and then G3 and I spent a half hour walking through the museum. Eisenhower appointed Chief Justice Earl Warren to the Supreme Court as a political move. Warren was planning to run for president on the Republican ticket. To keep him out of the race, Eisenhower promised him a spot on the Supreme Court. While the Supreme Court was deliberating on Brown V. Board of Education, Eisenhower pulled Warren aside at a dinner and said, regarding Southern white, “These are not bad people. All they are concerned about is to see that their sweet little girls are not required to sit in school alongside some big black bucks.” A comment like that definitely paints Eisenhower as a racist.

I further learned that Eisenhower did not agree with the Supreme Court decision, but he said he would uphold it because his first duty was to serve the Constitution. I guess there is something to be said for him doing his job. When it came to the conflict in Little Rock, he didn’t disagree with Governor Faubus. At first, he had no desire to get involved. But the United States was embroiled in the Cold War with the Soviet Union. We were trying to prove to the world—allies and enemies—that we provided more freedom for our citizens than the Soviet Union provided for theirs. Jim Crow seemed to demonstrate a different truth. White people could claim freedom, African-Americans could not. And the Soviet Union latched on to our hypocrisy in their own propaganda.

When the National Guard refused to let Elizabeth Eckford, and the rest of the Little Rock Nine into the high school, journalists from around the country covered the story. The gas station across the street from the school had a phone the journalists used to communicate with their headquarters. From there, word of what was occurring spread at rapid speed for the 1950s. (G3 struggled to comprehend the significance of the gas station and that one phone. I guess even though he knows phones were different, the concept of news not traveling the speed of light through social media is still strange/foreign to him.) Eisenhower knew the world was watching—judging. He sent in Federal Troops because he knew it would look good on the world stage. He chose the Army’s 101 Airborne Division because they were integrated and because they had training in riot control.

What I didn’t realize, because I’ve never been great about the dates part of history, was that the integration of Little Rock high school occurred two years after a white mob killed Emmett Till. The students knew the consequences of pissing off white southerns, but they wanted to give themselves as much opportunity as possible. They are known as the Little Rock Nine, but there were originally ten students. On girl didn’t persist because her father worked for the railroad. His bosses told him if his daughter continued to try and integrate the school they would fire him. He put his daughter back into the black school, but they fired him anyway. Elizabeth Eckford had to fight her mother first. Her mother didn’t want her to be involved, but Eckford wanted to go to college and felt that the white school would increase her chances and opportunities. Once the students were finally admitted, after being escorted by the army, they were verbally, emotionally, and physically abused by the other students—all year. Yet they kept showing up for school because they wanted something better for themselves. For instance, when the African-American boys were showering the white boys would continuously flush the toilets so the showers would get too hot. They would then spread broken glass on the floor so when the boys would run out of the shower their feet would get cut.

On the first day of school in 1957, the Little Rock Nine were supposed to meet to walk into school together. They didn’t want parents to show up because they were afraid what might happen. The ranger asked G3 how I would have acted if someone didn’t want him to walk into school. G3 didn’t hesitate, he shook his head, “She’d kill someone if they tried to stop me.” He’s probably not wrong. Last minute the plans were slightly altered. Elizabeth Eckford didn’t have a phone so no one could reach her. Therefore, she arrived first. Governor Faubus had told everyone he called in the National Guard to protect the citizens. So Eckford thought they were there to protect her. It was only on her third try to get passed them that they told her they were really there to prevent her from entering.

White people feared desegregation was a communist plot intent on destroying family values. Sound familiar? It makes you think that these family values the conservatives so fiercely protect are all about hate and discrimination. At the end of the school year Faubus utilized a new state law enabling him to close any school forced to integrate. Schools remained closed for a whole year. This prompted white flight and the economy took a hit. White women were angry that their kids weren’t in school. So four women formed the Women’s Emergency Council. At first they operated in secret. They managed to call for a special election and succeeded in getting rid of the segregationist board members. The following year schools opened.

In the museum there was a rotary phone. G3 asked me to show him how to use it. It made me feel old. Really old because it was the exact same phone my grandfather had. After the museum, we walked across the street to the school. It’s a gorgeous building. We couldn’t go in since it’s still an active school, but that was okay because the action took place outside along the sidewalk.

Next, we went to ATA Taekwondo headquarters to walk through the museum. The founder, Eternal Grand Master Haeng Un Lee, met American airman Richard Reed on the Osan Air Force Base in South Korea. Reed sponsored him to emigrate to the United States to teach “Korean Karate.” It always troubled me that ATA often uses Taekwondo and Karate interchangeably. They are different styles of martial arts. Taekwondo is Korean, Karate is Japanese. Having lived in Korea, I cringe when Karate is used because the Koreans do not—or did not—like the Japanese. There was a great deal of bitterness from years of being invaded and occupied. So many times in Korea, I would visit a historical site and the plaque would read something like: “This is a replica. The original was burned by the Japanese in the year xxxx.” Koreans were fiercely proud of their own culture but would never pretend that something Japanese was their own. Today, I asked why he referred to it as “Korean Karate.” One of the masters explained—as I had suspected—that it was a marketing ploy. Americans knew Karate, but not Taekwondo.

When Reed ask the Eternal Grand Master where he wanted to go, he looked at a map and pointed to Omaha, Nebraska. Odd choice, right? Not really. Omaha is close to the geographic center of the country. Eternal Grand Master wanted to start in the center and spread out across the country. In 1969, he opened his first school under the label Midwest Karate Federation. However, while in America he developed Songahm, a new style of Taekwondo. At that point, he changed the name to American Taekwondo Association. He is the first martial artist to document the development of an entire style. In 1977, he relocated to Little Rock, Arkansas.

We also went to the H. U. Lee International Gate and Garden. The gate is a pretty traditional gate, the kind I grew familiar with in Korea. The garden had two Dol (stone) Hareubang statues from Jeju Island. Seeing them took me back to my vacation on Jejudo. (For those of you who have not read my essay about Jejudo, you can find it here: https://www.eckleburg.org/mr-kim-by-elizabeth-jaeger/)

Since it was another 100 degree day, and G3 was melting in the heat, I let him talk me into going to another movie. The Haunted Mansion was—to be blunt—stupid, but not as stupid as I expected. Surprisingly, I did laugh and enjoy parts of it.

We ate dinner at a Mexican restaurant in Hot Springs. I was excited to eat a cactus taco. I never had cactus before and thought it would be fun to try. Sadly, there was so much salsa and cheese on the taco I couldn’t taste the cactus. Somehow, I feel like that is a metaphor for my life. I just need to work out the details. G3’s favorite part of the meal was the chips and queso. He loves queso and he said it was the best he ever had

Kati closed on the house today. Neither of us are happy. We put in a bid out of desperation. Then our real estate agent harassed Kati to sign the contract the day her dad died. Kati, flustered and in mourning, signed without being clear headed enough to read carefully. I’ve been there. I know what grief does to the brain. Later, she realized she committed to a ridiculous down payment. After the inspection, when we learned how many things were wrong, we made it clear to our agent and lawyer that we wanted out. But instead of working for us, it was apparent that they were working for the seller. They pushed the sale through manipulating and lying to us every strip of the way. The details would make for a long essay. I may feel compelled to write it when I get home. I just wish I knew where to send it to expose the unethical behavior. Anyway, I’ve never felt so violated and taken advantage of. I don’t like living in New Jersey and having to live in a house I greatly dislike will only exacerbate my unhappiness. I don’t think I will ever have a home I love as much as I loved Mattituck.

Day 11

The setting of our campsite really was peaceful. I wish we could stay but we have a time constraint. G3 needs to get back for summer camp. And I need to be able to do his laundry and he needs to pack. I slept as well as I could on rocky ground. I did wake up in the middle of the night thinking someone was shining a flashlight in my eyes, but it was the moon. It looked full, or almost full, and the light was super bright.

Without the rain fly, nothing was there to block it. I guess I didn’t mind. In a deserted campsite, miles from anything, it was preferable to being in total darkness.

I love waking up near the water. My dream house—if I am ever lucky enough to have it—would be on the water. Today we will continue east to Sequoyah cabin. When I was initially planning the trip, we were going to be getting there yesterday, but it is closed on Monday, which is why we spent an extra day in Chickasaw. It probably worked out for the best because I doubt Robbers Cave would had been as pleasurable if we had gotten there on a Sunday. The weekend crowd would have soiled the experience.

We stopped at another cafe in the middle of a tiny town. G3 ordered biscuits and gravy. The waitress asked if he wanted white gravy or brown chocolate gravy. I am sure you can guess what he went with. Years ago, when he wasn’t much older than a toddler, he complained one morning that I never let him eat chocolate for breakfast. I posted about it on facebook and David, who my brother was dating at the time, commented that biscuits and chocolate was a common southern breakfast. He even emailed me his mother’s recipe for both buttermilk biscuits and chocolate sauce. When I first made it, G3 was really excited. I still make it on occasion because who doesn’t love chocolate. So I knew biscuits and chocolate were a thing in the south, I just never encountered in a restaurant until now. Of course, I too needed to have that for breakfast. It was a nice change from hot cereal or eggs.

I was really excited about the prospect of learning about Cherokee history at Sequoyah’s cabin. G3 and I got there when they opened and we were the only ones there. It was great because we had a private tour that lasted an hour and a half. G3 was not quite as enthused. I am sure the tour doesn’t last that long on average. I just had so many questions and the tour guide seemed to enjoy telling me stories. At one point she even said to me—I don’t usually give so much information, but you seem to really be interested. Yep, that’s me, the history nerd. Kerry, if you are reading this, you would have loved the visit as much as I did.

Sequoyah is an important historical figure because he created the writings system for the Cherokee language. It isn’t an alphabet like we have. It is a syllabary—each syllable has its own character. There are a few different stories relating why he felt the need to produce a writing system. One states that he was fascinated by the Bible, this idea that stories could be seen in a book. Another states he was intrigued by missionaries teaching children how to write. A third says soldiers at war writing letters home caught his attention. Regardless of his reason, it took him 12 years—ending in 1825–to complete. An incredible accomplishment, especially since he wasn’t a linguist, or educator, or scholar. He was a blacksmith and silversmith by trade.

The first person he taught the writing system to was his young daughter. He figured if she could learn it then adults should have no problem. While he was away traveling, they wrote each other letters. The village was shocked that she could know what her father was doing while he was away. It seemed so outlandish the village accused them both of practicing witchcraft.

They then had to go before the chief to prove they were innocent. They did that by demonstrating the writing system The chief was so enthralled that he insisted Sequoyah teach everyone. By the the time Jackson issued his order of removal, Cherokees had reached a 90 percent literacy rate—higher than Americans at the time. Sadly, the percentage dropped during removal when Cherokee had more pressing matters—survival—to tend to.

Sequoyah was born in Tennessee, but he was part of an earlier wave of Cherokee who had moved out to what is now Oklahoma. Feeling suffocated by white settlers, they moved west hoping to get away from greedy white people. During the War of 1812, Sequoyah joined the cavalry. In 1814, he fought under Andrew Jackson—future enemy of the Cherokee—at the Battle of Horseshoe Bend. The battle resulted in the death of 900 Creek warriors. Sequoyah died in his 80s, but no one knows where his body is. He was on a diplomatic mission to Mexico where he hoped to rekindle ties with the Cherokee who fled the United States. If possible, he hoped to convince them to return to the Cherokee nation. While in Mexico he caught Yellow Fever and died. His traveling companions put his body in a cave intending to return for it at a later date. Unfortunately, when they tried, they couldn’t find it.

The Cherokee did own slaves. It was on the Trail of Tears, recognizing the horrors of being subjugated by another group for reasons of race, that they ended the practice and offered former slaves citizenship in their nation. When the order of removal was first issued, the Cherokee appealed the order all the way up to the Supreme Court. The Supreme Court rules in their favor, declaring removal to be unconstitutional. But Jackson didn’t care. He essentially said, stop me if you dare. Needless to say, no one dared.

As a matrilineal society, women had far more rights and a much greater voice than white women. This was part of the problem in dealing with the American Government. American representatives always wanted to deal with men, have them sign their treaties, but that went against Cherokee culture. Traditionally, villages had a war chief and a peace chief both of whom had to report to/consult with a council of women. It’s important to note that in traditional Cherokee culture gender was not binary. it was much more fluid than Europeans constructed it. When DeSoto came across a Cherokee village that had biological men dressing and “acting” like women he fed the gender benders to the dogs.

In 1905, The Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Seminole, and Muskogee (Creek) held a Constitutional Convention in Muskogee. In an effort to retain some authority over their own people, they drafted a Constitution and appealed for Statehood. They would have called their state Sequoyah, in honor of the man who gave them a written voice. Congress, of course, rejected them.

The Cherokees are still protective of their culture and language. Only 3000 first speakers—men and women for whom Cherokee was their first language—are alive. They had 5000, but COVID killed 2000. These men and women are still active trying to teach the younger generation to ensure the language survives.

What G3 found most fascinating is that he can get the Cherokee alphabet on his iPhone keyboard. I thought he was playing on his phone—but when our guide mentioned that apple and android supported her language, G3 had to check it out for himself.

Our next stop was across the border in Arkansas. Fort Smith was built between 1838 and 1842 in and effort to keep the peace between the Osage, who were native to Indian Territory, and the Cherokee, who pushed—some willing and some by force— onto their land. Jackson is demonized—and rightfully so—for the Indian Removal Act, but he was not the first president to envision it. After acquiring the Louisiana Territory, Jefferson thought it would be a great idea to relocate all the tribes east of the Mississippi to “Indian Territory.” He just lumped them all together, giving no consideration to cultural differences.

During the Civil War, Natives fought on both sides. There are some who argue that Jefferson Davis was a better friend to the Natives than Lincoln. And think about it, the Confederacy was a new nation that didn’t carry the baggage of years of broken treaties. Anyway. after the war, the US didn’t care who sided with whom, they treated all the tribes like crap. No surprise, really. In September 1865, the Fort Smith Delegation met at the Fort. Delegates of 12 native nations met with President Johnson’s representatives. New treaties were issued that further cut native land and further undermined tribal authority. The US Government paid Creeks and Seminoles for their land claims and took 1.8 million acres of land. This land was given to white settlers which eventually led to Oklahoma becoming a state. Then in the 1890s the Dawes Act was forced upon the Natives which resulted in even more loss of land.

Following the Civil War, outlaws moved into Indian Territory. Two hundred deputy marshals were sent in to bring order. One of the most famous outlaws was Belle Starr. Her only conviction was for horse theft. She spent a year at the Detroit Department of Corrections. Her daughter, Pear Starr, was known for opening and operating a bordello near the river. Belle’s son became a marshal and was killed in an attempt to arrest whiskey peddlers.

Again, G3 was less than excited. He wanted to sit and read Salem’s Lot, but I didn’t bring him here so that he could spend the time doing what he can do at home. He did, however, finish the book in the car. He did, however, finish the book in the car. The one moment of excitement came when we were walking through the museum, and in a display of Civi War artifacts, G3 spotted the exact sword he bought last week. Seeing it somehow authenticated it for him and made him happy.

We are camping at Hot Springs National Park. It is the WORST campground we’ve stayed in all summer. We are near the bathroom and people keep walking through our site to get there. (When I booked the site I had a choice of only two sites and something was better than an expensive hotel.) We are near the main road and cars are passing non-stop, plus the street lamps mean there won’t be darkness. Thank god for eye masks and ear plugs

Most of the campers hav RVs, but the guy at the site next to us is in a tent. He’s on a long road trip from California. I guess after two days of G3 making friends, it was my turn. He said hi first and we got to chatting. He offered me a beer and we talked for well over an hour. He is a middle school math and science teacher—older than me—who is tired of testing and ridiculous expectations and can’t wait to retire. Years ago, his father was a scientist at Oak Ridge, Tennessee—known for its role in making the nuclear bomb. He told me that as a kid he and other kids were asked by the scientists to collect lightning bugs so they could be studied. The glow sticks kids play with today are a product of that research.

It is super late. G3 is snoring. I need to try to sleep as well.

Day 10

We woke up early this morning to get on the road before it got too hot. I suppose we had reached our turnaround point and so today we began to make our way back east. After driving for nearly two hours, we stopped at a cute cafe along the side of the road. After our last experience in Kansas, my expectations were low. However, I was pleasantly surprised. G3 ordered a Philly cheese steak for breakfast. He rated it a 8.2 on a scale of 10. Not bad, considering we are in rural Oklahoma. My omelet and home fries were also good.

When I was planning this trip, I asked G3 if there was anything specific he wanted to do while on the road. He said he’d like to visit a cave. I immediately set out to look for one to visit en route. (Somehow I missed the Mark Twain cave where I got sick.) That’s how I came across Robber Cave State Park in Eastern Oklahoma—our destination for the day. I am so glad we came here. This was definitely one of our best, most enjoyable days this trip. And both G3 and I like it so much more than Chickasaw National Recreation Area. If I had known how nice it was going to be, we’d have spent one less day there and one more here. As far as state parks go, this is definitely one of the nicest I have been to. It’s no Custer or Lewis and Clark, but it still make for a great experience.

The park is called Robbers Cave because there really is a cave and between 1865 and 1890 gangs of outlaws—robbers—used to hide out in the area and rob travelers. Belle Starr was a woman who lived around here. She used to welcome the outlaws into her home. In 1889, she was murdered, but her killer was never identified. According to the guy in the nature center, Jesse James and his gang hid out in the cave. G3 thought that was cool—seeing two caves on this trip, both of which harbored Jesse James.

We have FDR to thank for the park. In 1933, when he was trying to keep men employed through various government programs, the Federal government decided to make this a state park. Much of the improvement on the land was completed by the CCC, which at this location was comprised predominantly of World War I veterans. Men in the CCC were paid not just in cash (a paycheck) but also with clothes. food, medical care, training, and opportunities in education.

Since it was another extremely hot day, and we got here when the heat was already feeling oppressive, we didn’t want to spend the day hiking—which had been my plan when I decided on the stop. However, not hiking wasn’t really an option, especially since it hadn’t quite hit 100 degrees—only 96 or 97. We first took the Rough Canyon Trail which was relatively easy. There were rocks and roots along the path wanting very much to trip me, but they didn’t. The path was also layered with small pine cones and dried pine needles. The smell was delightful and not at all what I had expected in Oklahoma.

Next we climbed up to Robber’s Cave. It was not the coolest cave we have seen, but G3 had a blast going off trail and climbing up the rocks. He was like a spider scaling the stone. A few times he went too close to the edge or climbed in places that didn’t look climbable, but he made it look easy. The rocks were pretty, as was the view from the top. The rocks formed a labyrinth and I could totally see how outlaws could hang out and hide, waiting patiently for their next victim.

After sweating in the heat, I got G3 an ice so that he could cool off. We then hit Lake Carlton. Boat rentals were cheap—only $10 and hour so when G3 asked if we could go out on the water I didn’t hesitate to say yes. He initially wanted to go kayaking, until he discovered they had paddle boards. He got really excited and asked if he could do that instead. He had done it once before, years ago, at Cub Scout camp and he enjoyed it. I had never done it, but I always wanted to try. I remember sitting at Veterans Beach in Mattituck with Dad while he watched people—completely amused—trying to maneuver on the boards. Some people—falling into the water, holding themselves as stiff as statues, crashing into things—made it look really difficult, impossible even. Dad always got a good laugh as some people fell repeatedly, unable to balance themselves even in the placid bay. Dad always said it looked like it might be boring own a board, but he too always wanted to try. COVID made sure he never had the opportunity.

G3 admitted he was looking forward to me falling. Then, when he saw I could handle the board as well as he could, he admitted that he was disappointed I didn’t fall. Sorry G3, but I have always told you that when it comes to sports I can hold my own—even in my old-age. I may not be the best at any sport, I may not have mastered any, but I am yet to find one I can’t at least do decently. Okay, I can hear Dad laughing at me. Water skiing is the exception, but I was very young when I tried—and failed. Given another opportunity, perhaps I would be able to get up. I had fun paddling around the lake. It was small so we made our way around most of it. But I’m not sure I’d be eager to do it again. I prefer kayaking.

After our hour was up, I asked G3 if he wanted to stay on the board or even go kayaking, but he wanted to swim. I went in the water with him for a bit, but when he started jumping off the dock I got out to read. There were chairs along the lake so I could sit this time. I wasn’t out long when he started playing with other boy’s again. He seemed to have fun. He played with them for over an hour. I enjoyed the quiet of the lake. The scenery was pretty and The Shining isn’t terrible. The park was practically empty all day. If it had been crowded, I am sure we wouldn’t have enjoyed it half as much.

We ate dinner in the restaurant in the park. It was not expensive and it was much easier than driving back into town. It had a rustic feel to it and the food was good. Actually, my pizza was okay, but G3 said the chicken Alfredo was the best he ever had—better even than the place he likes in Delaware. He also wanted the cheese and bacon fries. I told him he could order them if he finished his pasta and was still hungry. He polished off the Alfredo and still managed to eat a hearty portion of fires.

Our campsite is right on Lake Wayne Wallace. It was nearing sunset when we set up. Since we are leaving early tomorrow we didn’t bother with stakes. G3 suggested we leave the rain fly off as well since it’s so hot. There is no rain in the forecast so I thought it was a great idea. Although, it is so hot and there is no breeze—not even a hint—it still feels like an oven. However, the night sky was pretty. We couldn’t see the sun set, but the clouds were streaked with pink. The cicadas are as chatty here as they were in Chickasaw.

So the motor boats out on the water sound like monsters. I may not sleep tonight.