We knew we wouldn’t be able to drive all the way to Tucson in such a short period of time so we pored over the map of New Mexico. Always looking for something new to discover we skipped over places where we’d stayed before. That put us south of Socorro and north of Las Cruces. Finally we decided to check out Elephant Butte, a place we had driven by many times before. Though fossilized mammoths and mastodons have been uncovered in the area the name comes from a distinctive landform; a large volcanic core—now an island in the lake—that purportedly resembles an elephant. I dunno, we stared at the misshapen rock but couldn’t find the elephant. Maybe we needed a different angle.

There are three entities that share the name Elephant Butte: a tiny community, the state’s biggest lake, and New Mexico’s largest state park. Of the three we were most familiar with the lake since it had piqued our interest when we skirted it on I-25 on road trips past. The town, the lake and the state park all owe their existence to the Elephant Butte Dam that impounded the Rio Grande in 1915. The embankment was authorized in 1905 as part of the Rio Grande Project (a water compact between three U.S. states (Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas) and Mexico.

The Project, originally designed to control flooding and provide water for irrigation, now also generates power through the hydroelectric plant at Elephant Butte. Though all water projects in the arid southwest have downsides, one positive effect of the dam was the creation of a recreation and tourism industry in the area. Simply put, the town and state park wouldn’t exist without the lake. Though we aren’t into fishing or water sports the sparkling water of the lake enticed us to stay and play.

By play I mean we caught up on work, did laundry, cleaned, shopped, and prepared for our return to our recently purchased home in Tucson. Actually, for most of our visit the weather encouraged us to stay in and tend to our obligations—it was extremely windy. We did manage a few exploratory trips mainly to check out sights in and near Truth or Consequences, Elephant Butte’s bigger and older sister.

If you’ve ever heard of T or C it’s probably because it is the only city in the country named after a radio show. It was the result of a publicity stunt by a popular quiz show called Truth or Consequences. In 1950 the host, Ralph Edwards, announced a challenge to the nation: the program would air from the first town that renamed itself. I can’t imagine it working today but back then the residents of Hot Springs voted to change the name of their town. As the Geronimo Springs Museum proudly recounts, what was slated to be a one time event turned into an annual one. Edwards continued to broadcast the show from T or C once a year, even after the show made the leap to TV.

Other than its zany name-changing stunt T or C’s other claim to fame was the inspiration of its previous name, hot springs. There are several natural hot springs in the town with a combined flow of ninety-nine liters per second (more than double the flow of the famous springs in Hot Springs, Arkansas). As with other geothermally heated waters across the continent the springs had long been visited by those who believed in the restorative powers of the springs.

In the center of what is now a city park is a jumble of boulders known locally as Apache Rocks. Bands of Apaches from all over the Southwest would trek to the hot springs to soak in the healing waters. The boulders bear silent witness to these visitations; there are deep impressions ground into the rock, evidence of food preparation, and smoke stains coating the roof of a small overhang from their cooking fires. What we were most surprised to learn is that these pilgrimages by the Apaches continued into the 1940s!

These days you don’t have to camp out in the park in order to soak in T or C’s springs (in fact, they discourage that). Of the forty or so spas that existed in town before WWII roughly eight still offer soaking opportunities. Though it sounded awfully tempting we decided not to test the waters. That week we preferred quiet walks along the Rio Grande (which I believe is quite a misnomer since the river is truly not grand or large). It was a welcome change as we shifted gears from our RV travels of the summer to planning to pick up where we left off on house work. Painting? Yard work? We’re looking forward to it!

Photos: View our photos from Elephant Butte, New Mexico.

Dates: We stayed in Elephant Butte, New Mexico from 09/27/09 to 10/02/09.

We spied this unique vehicle assemblage in St. Louis and thought it a fitting time of year to share it with you. He looked like a nice enough guy but his license plate leaves things a bit open to interpretation. I mean, is he offering the passenger seat or the casket?

Two events during the winter of 1811-12 disrupted life in the quiet river town. The first was a bit of a geologic rarity, an intraplate earthquake. Dubbed the New Madrid Earthquake, it was actually a series of large tremblors that shook the entire Mississippi River Valley. Rated at magnitude 8 these quakes and their aftershocks devastated the region: whole islands disappeared, huge holes appeared in the earth, rivers were re-aligned, and the roiling, churning water of the Mississippi seemed to run backwards. Attesting to the strength of these quakes, church bells rang in Boston and chimneys fell down in Maine. Thankfully, the area was sparsely populated; though boats capsized, entire towns were destroyed, and a number of people were killed, there wasn’t a catastrophic loss of life.

The other earth-shattering event was the arrival of the first steamboat on the Mississippi River. The New Orleans left Pittsburgh in September of 1811 and traveled down the Ohio River to its confluence with the Mighty Miss. Somehow the boat successfully navigated storms, snags, floods, low water, and the New Madrid earthquakes. Against all odds the New Orleans arrived safely in its namesake city in January of 1812. Not surprisingly, the passengers were relieved to have survived their nightmarish journey. Though it would be five years before the first steamboat docked in St. Louis, the age of the steamboat had begun and no town along the river would ever be the same.

During the 1820s the population of St. Louis and the surrounding area doubled as steamboats made travel easier for Americans. People eager for a new beginning flooded into the territory. In 1821 Missouri was finally admitted to the Union as a state. It had been a contentious struggle for Missouri to reach statehood since the question of slavery had divided the country into free states and slaveholding states. The admission of one more state would upset the precarious balance, so under the Missouri Compromise Missouri was admitted as a slave state while Maine entered as a free state. The legal maneuvering did little to resolve the question of slavery, which continued to simmer as a divisive issue.

In 1826 the Jefferson Barracks Military Post was established south of St. Louis to provide protection for the inhabitants of the new state. At the time life at the military outpost was relatively uneventful. Though now of historical relevance, it was merely a small matter of business when a surgeon at the outpost, a Major John Emerson, purchased a slave by the name of Dred Scott in 1832.

St. Louis continued to thrive as Americans who continued to flood west were joined in the 1840s and 50s by German and Irish immigrants. Many of these foreign-born residents were highly skilled craftsmen, notably in the trades of beer brewing and brick-making. Some settled in St. Louis fulfilling the needs of the rapidly growing city: bricks to build houses for the people, beer to quench their thirst. The location of St. Louis along the Mississippi River meant easy access to beer’s most crucial ingredients, grain and water. One of those German brewers was Eberhard Anheuser (a name you might recognize) who eventually took over ownership of the Bavarian Brewery Company.

In 1843 Jefferson Barracks welcomed a new group of recruits, including an undistinguished young West Point graduate by the name of Ulysses S. Grant. Grant broke up the monotony of his days at the post with visits to the family home of a West Point friend. Though Grant had been raised in an abolitionist family he enjoyed spending time at White Haven, the Dent family plantation. Situated in the Little Dixie area of Missouri, the plantation’s holdings consisted of close to a thousand acres and over thirty slaves; Colonel Dent considered himself a southern gentleman. In 1844 the frequency of Grant’s visits increased after he met Colonel Dent’s daughter, Julia.

1844 was a big year in St. Louis and other riverside communities as the Missouri and Upper Mississippi Rivers poured over their banks. By volume the Great Flood of 1844 was the largest deluge on record with 1,300,000 cubic feet per second flowing past St. Louis. Citizens upset by the devastation wrought by the raging water demanded that the incorrigible Mississippi be tamed; it was the first such request, but not the last.

By 1846 St. Louis residents had returned to their daily lives when two slaves, Dred Scott and his wife Harriet, sued for their freedom at what is now known as the Old St. Louis County Courthouse. The lawsuit, which eventually took over eleven years to resolve, disrupted lives and pitted neighbor against neighbor. Though Missouri had been admitted as a slave state many of the new immigrant residents of St. Louis were abolitionists. The premise of the case was that since his owner, John Emerson, had moved Dred (and later his wife Harriet) from a slave state to a free state they were entitled to their freedom. Their suit had legal precedence as slaves had been freed on the same basis in other states. Unfortunately, the Scotts’ case was murkier since they didn’t file their suit in a free state.

During the time period that the Scott lawsuit was winding its way through the courts Grant married Julia at White Haven. Their wedding received the blessing of neither set of parents; Grant’s folks were aghast that he had married into a slave owning family and Julia’s father doubted Grant’s ability to earn a living. Somehow the couple found common ground in their relationship, even as family, friends, and the nation were increasingly at odds with each other over the slavery issue.

In 1850 after numerous delays the lawsuit was decided. At the courthouse where slaves had once been sold on the front steps, the Scott family was declared free. The widow Emerson, stunned by such a huge loss of “personal property,” appealed the court’s decision. Two years later the Missouri Supreme Court (which also heard cases in the Old Courthouse) overturned the lower court’s decision. In 1853 Scott appealed to the federal court. I think it safe to presume that slaveholding families, such as the Dent’s, kept a close eye on the Scott case. Slaves were quite valuable, at that time an able-bodied male could fetch over $1,000.

By the 1850s St. Louis had grown into the eighth largest city in the country and the torrent of incoming settlers showed no sign of stopping. In 1854 Grant began farming at White Haven. In an effort to provide for his young family he worked out in the fields with the Dent family slaves (much to the horror of neighbors). Meanwhile, the Scott case worked its way up to the United States Supreme Court. The court’s decision in 1857 rocked the nation with the ruling that slaves were personal property, that imported Africans and their descendants were not—and could never be—citizens, and therefore the Constitution did not apply to them and further, that as non-citizens, they had no access to the court system. The decision polarized the nation.

Though the Scott family was finally emancipated by Dred’s original owner on May 26, 1857 it did little to calm the country down. Sadly, Dred’s hard won freedom was short-lived as he succumbed to tuberculosis on November 7, 1858. 1858 was the same year that Grant acquired his first and only slave. The slave is thought to be a gift from his father-in-law, as Grant had hardly two nickels to his name. The next year, after Grant moved his family to Illinois (a free state), he set the slave free. There is evidence that Grant had desired to free his slave earlier but Missouri law required the posting of a substantial bond that Grant could ill afford. Though Grant’s in-laws were slave owners at the outbreak of the Civil War his decision was easy; the Union had to be preserved. The South had no legal right to secede.

The nation, Missouri, St. Louis, and the Dent family were all divided in their loyalties, as were many others during the War Between the States. Towns along the river changed dramatically. For the first time in fifty years the bustling waterfront of St. Louis was empty as few steamboats ventured up the contested waters of the Mississippi. Though much subdued, life carried on for residents. In 1861 the daughters of Eberhard Anheuser, the successful brewery owner, Lilly and Anna married the Busch brothers, Adolphus and Ulrich in a double ceremony.

After the war ended in 1865 the reunited country did not have time to celebrate. Like other cities across the country St. Louis had to restart commerce and replant fields (this time without slaves). Though many wounds took generations to heal St. Louis rebounded with a flourish. Railroads took the place of steamboats, reducing travel time and expanding access throughout the nation. As goods and people flowed across the country, a new age of interstate commerce was embraced. In 1876 Adolphus Busch, a partner at his father-in-law’s brewery, introduced a new lager crafted to suit the taste of all Americans. As Budweiser poured across the country it soon became a national favorite. A few years later the brewery changed names one last time, and Anheuser-Busch was born.

In 1882 another flood inundated the Mississippi River Valley, though lucky for the residents of St. Louis they escaped the worst of the damage. Unlike previous floods this one, “The Chocolate Tide” as Mark Twain called it, wreaked havoc on a large population. In an area that had not yet fully recovered from the aftermath of the war, roughly 100,000 people were left homeless. Mark Twain was on the river during the deluge, aboard a relief boat as a journalist for the Times-Democrat. His reports of the devastation are sobering, the suffering of the people in the inundated region is hard to fathom. On a lighter note, Twain recounted a conversation he had while in St. Louis. “What is a person to do here when he wants a drink of water? Drink this slush?” “Can’t you drink it?” “I could if I had some water to wash it with.” Even in non-flood times the water of the Mississippi was filled with silt and sediment leading some to charmingly describe it as “too thin to plow, and too thick to drink.”

By the turn of the century St. Louis had grown into the fourth largest city in the nation. It was fitting that the metropolis hosted the 1904 World’s Fair. Officially titled the Louisiana Purchase Exposition the fair sprawled across Forest Park and spilled over onto neighboring land. Over 1,500 buildings were built to house the representatives and cultural and technological exhibits of sixty-three participating nations. As one of the most successful fairs the Saint Louis World’s Fair attracted a torrent of visitors (over 19 million) during its seven-month run.

Continuing the cycle the next big event in the story of St. Louis was yep, you guessed it another flood. This time the raging waters encountered a large population dwelling in lowland areas thought to be protected by levees. Over 27,000 square miles were under thirty feet of water for almost eight months, 246 people died and 700,000 people were left homeless. The Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 still rates as the most destructive deluge in U.S. history.

1927 ushered in a new type of flood to St. Louis, this one on U.S. Highway 66. More familiarly known as Route 66 it was one of the first U.S. Highways in the country. The road connected Chicago to Los Angeles and soon became a heavily traveled thoroughfare. It ran right through downtown St. Louis until the late 1930s when a bypass route crossed the Mississippi River via the Chain of Rocks Bridge north of town. It was a precursor of the tide of automobile traffic to come, as four interstates now pass through the area (I-44, I-55, I-64, and I-70). Various kinds of floods have altered the landscape of St. Louis over the centuries—no doubt they will continue to do so in the future.

Photos: Explore our photographs for St Louis, Missouri.

Dates: We stayed in St Louis, Missouri from 09/13/09 to 09/26/09.

There were two obstacles in ID-ing this bird, first it was a young bird that did not yet have its flashy—and readily identifiable—adult markings, and second we are not used to seeing this particular species hopping along a river’s edge. We usually see White-crowned Sparrows in dense shrubs.

A shout out to Rich who ventured a guess—a possum would’ve been cool! Other than road kill we still haven’t seen any possums. Tune in next month for another exciting installment of our Travel Challenge…

Revealed photo

(Click photo for larger version, or compare to the original photo.)

Detail photo

White-crowned Sparrow (Zonotrichia leucophrys)

(Click photo for larger version.)

Instructions: When you think you have figured it out, enter your guess in the comment field below. Be sure to check back next week to see if you were right.

The photo has not been doctored; it is the glorious combination of two things, my lack of ability as a photographer and the subjects’ stubborn refusal to be photographed. Happy guessing!

I spent an entire morning wandering through the museum and exploring the grounds. The exhibits answered many of my questions, including my main one, “Why here?” The answer is—like they say in real estate—location, location, location. Rivers were the highways of the time and Cahokia was near the confluence of the Mississippi, Missouri, and Illinois rivers. These rivers and others in the network provided access to the Gulf Coast, the Great Lakes, and the East Coast. Then there is the fact that the soil—the fertile American Bottom, a rich floodplain—was well-suited for the amount of agriculture needed to sustain a large population. Clearly, the placement of St. Louis was not random, the location has been popular with humans for thousands of years.

The first evidence of human habitation are artifacts that date all the way back to the last ice age, about 10,000 years ago. The artifacts were few and far between leaving scientists to presume that the earliest people merely traveled through the area. For several thousand years the archaeological record shows only small encampments scattered along the rivers, but the sporadic pattern changed markedly around 1,400 years ago. During the Late Woodland period more permanent habitations began to appear and by the start of the Early Mississippian, around 1000 CE, the settlements had grown in size.

During the roughly two-hundred-year span of the Early Mississippian the population gradually increased, as did the role of agriculture, and earthen mounds emerged as a common feature. Cahokia was founded during this time as an urban center with a strong centralized authority. By 1250 CE Cahokia had morphed into a massive city covering over 4,000 acres (roughly six square miles). At the heart of it all was a palisaded compound dominated by the largest prehistoric man-made structure north of Mexico. At 100 feet tall, with a base that covered fourteen acres, Monk’s Mound was the largest in North America. More correctly I should say it is the largest as it is still standing.

It was an impressive undertaking, especially when you consider that it was all built by hand. Until the arrival of the Spanish in the 1500s the indigenous cultures of North America did not have the assistance of beasts of burden or the wheel. It is estimated that over 22 million cubic feet of earth was moved to build Monk’s Mound. Dirt and clay was carried to the site by the basketful; careful excavations have even identified individual basket loads. Researchers estimate that it took between fourteen and fifteen million basket loads over several hundred years to build the great mound. That is mindboggling! Just as I have trouble envisioning the culture that built the great pyramids of Egypt, I struggle to imagine this ancient society.

Unfortunately the people of Cahokia did not leave behind a written record. Most of what is known about their culture has been pieced together from artifacts, the journals of Spanish explorers who recorded stories told to them by the tribes they encountered, and native groups believed to be the descendants. Though Cahokia and most of the other Mississippian sites had been abandoned by the time the Spanish arrived, some of the native peoples living in the Southeast still retained many of the shared cultural practices. It is from these sources that a picture of life at Cahokia has emerged.

At its peak Cahokia had anywhere from 10,000 to 40,000 inhabitants. To put that in perspective, it was larger than London at the time and was the largest city in the United States until roughly 1800 when Philadelphia finally exceeded 40,000. Of course any population of that size needed structure and Cahokia was no different: it had a highly organized, centralized, and stratified society. There were chiefs, artisans, workmen, warriors, farmers, and traders among many other roles. It was an advanced culture with a far reach—their trade goods have been found at archaelogical sites across eastern North America. It was also a sophisticated society: Cahokians produced high quality works of art and there was even time for games.

The best known game from Cahokia is chunkey. Several Native American tribes in the Southeast were playing versions of the game at the time of European contact (and some still do). While the rules of the game differed from group to group the basic concept was that two athletes would chase after a hand-carved, donut-shaped stone and then throw their specially made chunkey sticks. When the chunkey stone came to a stop, the owner of the closest stick was declared the winner. It might sound easy but the name of the game was once translated as “running hard labor.” The whole community was involved, cheering and betting on their favorite player. The stakes in the game could be quite high, some losing players were known to commit suicide and winners have been depicted holding the loser’s detached head.

All in all it appears that it was a rich and full life led by the residents of Cahokia, which makes one wonder why they ever left. In the early 1300s, not long after the city had reached its peak, the residents of Cahokia began to leave. Cahokia entered a decline that eventually led to abandonment of the once vibrant and populous city. As with the ancient population centers of the Southwest that declined around the same time no one is entirely sure why the site was deserted. One thing is certain, the people did not just disappear, instead they dispersed across the landscape in smaller groups. With some credence various Sioux tribes consider themselves to be descendants of the builders of Cahokia.

By the time Father Jacques Marquette and Louis Jolliet arrived in 1673 the original inhabitants of Cahokia had been gone for several centuries. Living nearby was the Cahokia clan of the Illiniwek so the explorers applied their name to the area. The Illiniwek were the first of many people to take up residence at the long abandoned city. The first non-indigenous people to live in the area were French fur traders who established a small outpost along the east bank of the Mississippi River. Apparently, the site was quite overgrown which led people to assume the mounds were natural hills. They had no idea that the area was once the location of an ancient city.

It wasn’t until the late 1700s that the mounds were recognized as man-made and described as belonging to an ancient culture, but still the area’s importance was overlooked. In 1809 French Trappist monks moved into the area and settled atop one of the smaller mounds. To avoid seasonal floods they established a farm on the lower terrace of Monk’s Mound (which was later named after them). Though a wealth of archaeological information had been unearthed around the mounds the area was still farmed, leveled for a railroad, a small airport, and even a sixty home subdivision. Finally in 1925, after extensive efforts by archaeologists and organizations a small portion of the ancient city was protected by the state of Illinois. Nearby mounds continued to suffer damage until 1982 when Cahokia was chosen as a World Heritage Site by UNESCO, at which time the park began to acquire more land.

I was so fascinated by all that I had learned that I convinced Lance to visit the site and tour the grounds with me. At the time of our visit the Cahokia State Historic Site consisted of 2,200 acres which included seventy of the eighty mounds that remain (some of which were rebuilt according to specifications found in historic surveys). As we wandered the site we were amazed by the sheer size of Cahokia, and we only saw half of the main city—none of the small villages that once surrounded it. These satellite communities were scattered across the landscape, including several on the far bank of the Mississippi River. St. Louis earned its nickname of Mound City as there were once twenty mounds in the downtown area, remnants of one of Cahokia’s outliers.

The only mound in the park that visitors are allowed to climb is Monk’s Mound. As the tallest eminence in the area, it must have been an impressive sight at the center of the ancient city. It is easy to imagine it commanding the respect of all who encountered it. Lance and I welcomed the chance to gain a different perspective, so up we went. Though it was a hazy day we could see for miles. Living atop the mound the Chief could have easily monitored most aspects of life at Cahokia. Our vantage point at the top of Monk’s Mound enabled us to see across the Mississippi River to another impressive man-made monument, the Gateway Arch.

Also called the Gateway to the West, the impressive structure is the centerpiece of the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial in downtown St. Louis. Among other things the monument honors both President Jefferson, who presided over the April 30, 1803 Louisiana Purchase and the Corps of Discovery expedition that explored part of the new acquisition.

Jefferson stunned the country when he announced the huge purchase of land from France. Not only did it double the size of the U.S. but much of it was uncharted territory. Jefferson had long pushed for exploration of the land to the west and with the purchase Congress finally agreed to fund an expedition. Under the auspices of the War Department the Corps was charged with following the Missouri River in hopes of discovering the Northwest Passage. Along the journey they were to map the region as well as report on the plants, animals, geology, and indigenous peoples they encountered and assess the influence of other countries (notably England, France, Spain, and Russia).

It was a tall order but Jefferson felt his personal secretary Meriwether Lewis, a seasoned outdoorsman who had previous military experience, was up to the challenge. To help Lewis prepare for the trek Jefferson arranged for him to be tutored by experts in the fields of medicine, botany, and geology. In light of the daunting task Captain Lewis requested approval to hire a co-Captain and invited his old commanding officer, William Clark. The expedition was set quickly in motion, in August of 1803 Lewis headed west from Pittsburgh. Clark joined Lewis on the Ohio River in October and by December the Captains and several crew members had reached St. Louis. Just as the Corps was on the verge of the western frontier they met the first of many obstacles.

The Spanish governor in charge of St. Louis refused to allow the expedition access to the Missouri River. The governor denied the Corps because Spain and France had never officially recognized the 1800 French acquisition of the territory which France then sold to the U.S. Stymied, the Corps established a winter camp on the east side of the Mississippi River near the Wood River, across from the mouth of the Missouri. The Captains used their time at Camp Dubois to train their men, explore the area, and gather information from the various traders and native peoples that traveled through.

Though we have visited several sites along the Lewis and Clark Trail over the years, we definitely did not follow it in order. Our first stop along the trail was in Clarkston, Washington in September of 2006 which was just several hundred miles from the westward end of their journey. Then in July of last year we toured Fort Clatsop near the Pacific Ocean where the Corps spent a cold, wet winter before returning home. Now we finally had a chance to learn more about the beginning of the expedition. The Lewis and Clark State Historic Site in Hartford, Illinois protects the land where the Corps built Camp Dubois in December of 1803.

Though no physical evidence of their buildings remained a small camp was recreated based on sketches in Clark’s journal. There was quite a bit of information for us to absorb as we toured the museum. I found the numerous excerpts from the Captains’ journals the most interesting. It seems that precious little escaped their attention. In January of 1804 Clark wrote, “I discovered an Indian Fortification…9 moun(d)s forming a Circle two of them is about 7 foot above the leavel of the plain… I found great quantities of Earthen ware & flints—about 1/2 m. N. is a Grave on an Eminence.” Though the location isn’t entirely clear the mound cluster that Clark mentions is probably one of the outliers of ancient Cahokia.

After months of preparation and training the Corps finally received permission to proceed up the Missouri River. In March 1804 the Spanish governor presided over the Ceremony of Three Flags—the Spanish flag was lowered, and the French flag was raised, then it too was lowered and the American flag was finally flown over St. Louis. The Corps had to wait two more months for the weather to improve before setting out on their historic journey.

In his journal Lewis noted that the mouth of the River Dubois (Wood River) on the eastern side of the Mississippi was the official starting point of the expedition. Though the Gateway Arch commemorating their journey is in Missouri, it is technically across the water from the official starting point. It is a fact that Illinois proudly proclaims.

One of the things we love about traveling is discovering interesting connections. Take this one for instance: remember those French Trappist Monks that the large mound at the center of ancient Cahokia is named after? One of them baptized Sacagawea’s son Jean Baptiste Charbonneau a few years after the expedition’s successful return. As you can tell the St. Louis area has a fascinating history, and I’ve yet to tell you about the later years.

Photos: View our photographs from At the Confluence, the Early Years.

Dates: We stayed in the St. Louis region from 09/13/09 to 09/26/09.

This one might take a second—try saying it out loud. It might help you to know that it’s located on the Wisconsin side of the Mississippi River.

Someone has a sense of humor!

We began at the beginning, as we are wont to do, at the Mark Twain Birthplace State Historic Site in tiny Florida, Missouri. The state operates a museum and library which includes the clapboard house where Sam was born. The Clemens family had recently moved to the new town seeking a better life after it had eluded them in both Kentucky and Tennessee. Years later he explained his birth thusly, “Missouri was an unknown new state and needed attractions.”

Sam was born a bit prematurely and as a result was a sickly child. His concerned mother often tried various patent medicines and quack cures on him. In his autobiography he recounts a conversation he had with his mother, Jane, in her later years about his frailties. When he asked if she had been afraid he wouldn’t live she replied, “No, afraid you would.” Ah, so that’s where he picked up his sense of humor!

Though Sam’s father, John, was a storekeeper and elected to the county court he struggled to provide for his growing family. In 1839 the Clemens family moved to the bustling river port town of Hannibal where they hoped their fortunes would improve. After touring the informative museum and watching the short film on Sam’s life we followed the Clemens family to Hannibal.

Once in town we learned about the next stage of Sam Clemens’s life by touring the Mark Twain Boyhood Home and Museum. Unfortunately, the move to Hannibal did not improve the financial situation of the Clemens family and in 1841 they were forced to sell their last remaining slave. Though a well-respected man, John’s ventures as a storekeeper, farmer, and lawyer had all failed. Even though he was poor, Sam’s childhood years were similar to other boys’: there was school, chores, daring adventures and naughty misdeeds. With one major difference: life in Hannibal revolved around the Mississippi, specifically boat traffic on the river.

The town was once an important stopping point and though steamboats were a common sight, the entire population would turn out to meet them (in 1847 over a 1,000 steamboats landed in Hannibal). Life on the muddy water fascinated young Sam and his friends, he later wrote, “When I was a boy, there was but one permanent ambition among my comrades in our village on the west bank of the Mississippi River. That was to be a steamboatman.”

Sam’s life of rough and tumble play changed after his father died in 1847. Jane struggled to keep the family together but in 1848 she had to apprentice twelve-year-old Sam to the printer of the Hannibal Courier. No longer was he free to attend school and tramp around with his friends. Nor would he spend any more summers on his uncle’s farm listening to the slave, Uncle Dan’l, tell fascinating stories. Instead, as the “printer’s devil” Sam spent long days in the printshop, working in order to earn his room and board. Perhaps it was a stroke of luck, as Sam learned first-hand the power of the written word. He often took it upon himself to fill the empty corners of the paper with silly stories and overheard bits of conversation.

In 1853, at the age of eighteen, Sam left Hannibal and headed east eventually reaching New York where he worked for a short time as a printer. That was the same year that his mother moved the family to Iowa, and it was the last time any of the Clemens family would live in Hannibal. Not satisfied with his job Sam headed back west with a few dollars in his pocket. Looking for adventure Sam hopped aboard a steamboat headed for New Orleans. Along the way he was struck by the urge to work on a boat. Not only would it fulfill a childhood dream but the salary was fantastic, a pilot in those days made a substantial sum, roughly equivalent to $150,000 annually in today’s dollars.

Sam begged, pleaded and cajoled Horace Bixby, a skilled steamboat pilot, into teaching him the Mississippi from New Orleans to St. Louis. It was a daunting task with over 1,300 miles of constantly changing river to navigate (this was before the channel was marked or cleared of hazards). Though he was often overwhelmed Sam stuck with it and finally earned his pilot’s license in 1859. Living on the river afforded Sam a sense of accomplishment but it was also the source of one of his deepest regrets. In 1858 Sam had arranged for his younger brother Henry to come work with him on the steamboat Pennsylvania. Shortly before the boat left port Sam was sent to crew another boat since he and the pilot had exchanged fisticuffs. Sam’s new assignment was a few days downriver when he received the news that the Pennsylvania’s boilers had exploded, sinking the ship near Memphis. Sam reached Memphis a week before Henry died from severely scalded lungs and skin.

Sam states that he would have been content to live his life on the river but fate intervened, in 1861 the Civil War ended boat traffic on the Mississippi. Out of a job Sam joined his older brother on a trip to Nevada where Orion had been appointed secretary to the territorial governor. Looking for a way to make money Sam tried his hand at silver mining but he failed to strike it rich. Instead he began working for a local newspaper, Virginia City’s Territorial Enterprise. In 1863 Sam published his first article using the pen name Mark Twain, a holdover from his river years. It was a term meaning two fathoms (twelve feet) which was considered a safe depth for a steamboat.

Though he wasn’t immediately famous Sam had found his calling. In 1865 Mark Twain hopped onto the national stage with the publication of The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County. It was a story he had gleaned from his trip west with his brother in 1861 and for years his writings were based on his travels. In the 1870s, after settling down in Hartford, Connecticut with his wife Olivia, Sam turned to his roots for inspiration in his writing.

Published in 1876 The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, a novel woven out of his childhood memories, was an instant success. Other books soon followed but it wasn’t until Sam again revisited the days of his youth that the author reached the top of his craft. In 1884 Adventures of Huckleberry Finn hit the shelves. The book, which was liberally sprinkled with local dialects, humor, and social commentary, was eventually hailed as the first Great American Novel. Though never really humble the author’s acclaim apparently did not go to Sam’s head; in his notebook he wryly wrote, “My books are water: those of great geniuses are wine. Everybody drinks water.”

In his novels Sam changed his hometown of Hannibal into the fictional town of St. Petersburg. Hannibal has embraced its starring role, as evidenced by the town slogan, “The Stories Started Here.” Many of the locations mentioned in the classic books such as the jail, the cave, the island, and Sam’s home have been marked with interpretive signs. The Clemens family home and other related buildings, such as the home of Laura Hawkins who was the basis for Becky Thatcher and a replica of Tom Blankenship’s house, the boy who Sam modeled Huck Finn after, have been preserved. Sam pulled many other characters from his memory; Tom Sawyer’s Aunt Polly was based on his own mother, Jim was influenced by Uncle Dan’l—the slave owned by a relative—and as for that scamp Tom Sawyer, he was Sam’s likeness in many ways.

Touring the buildings and exhibits we learned about other aspects of Sam’s life, not just his Missouri years. The life of Sam Clemens seemed to be full of adventure and travel yet it was often filled with sadness: his only son died in infancy, he lost all his money on bad investments and was forced to file bankruptcy, and he lived through the deaths of his beloved wife and two of his three daughters. Though prone to depression in his later years, Sam managed to retain some of his youthful demeanor and wit.

Sam died of a heart attack in 1910. His exit from this world was marked by Halley’s comet streaking across the sky, just as his entrance had been. During the previous year Sam had commented,

I came in with Halley’s Comet in 1835. It is coming again next year, and I expect to go out with it. It will be the greatest disappointment of my life if I don’t go out with Halley’s Comet. The Almighty has said, no doubt: “Now here are these two unaccountable freaks; they came in together, they must go out together.”

We whiled away the rest of the afternoon aboard the Mark Twain riverboat on the Mighty Miss. In between pointing out local landmarks, such as Jackson’s Island, our pilot regaled us with Twainisms and hard-to-believe stories. He also mentioned that our boat was built in 1964 by the Dubuque Boat and Boiler Works. Talk about coincidence, we just learned about that boatyard the week before when we were in Dubuque.

Out on the water it was impossible to imagine the hustle and bustle of river traffic that Sam Clemens grew up with, we were the only boat within sight. Nor was it easy to imagine the navigational challenges pilots faced back then; these days the water is deeper due to the twenty-nine locks and dams on its upper stretch, the channel is well marked and free of snags and debris. The only thing that we could relate to was Sam’s description of Hannibal, “the white town drowsing in the sunshine of a summer morning…[and] the great Mississippi, the majestic, the magnificent Mississippi rolling its mile-wide tide along, shining in the sun…”

We finished our day with Mark Twain Himself, a one-man stage show put on by Richard Garey. We were entranced: it very well could have been the real man up there, telling tall tales and poking fun at human nature. In his unique way Sam Clemens took stories from his life, mixed them with painfully true observations and patently absurd exaggerations and captured the world’s attention. We cannot think of the Mississippi without thinking of Mark Twain, nor would we want to.

Photos: View the photographs from our visit to Mark Twain Country.

Dates: We visited Florida and Hannibal, Missouri on 09/18/09.

We spent our afternoon exploring the remnants left behind by a group of long-ago people. We toured the north unit of Effigy Mounds National Monument where we walked among the amazing hand-sculpted piles of dirt. Around 2,500 years ago members of what archaeologists call the Woodland culture began heaping baskets-full of earth over their burials, creating conical mounds. Through time the design and purpose of the mounds changed, conical mounds were connected into long compound ones, linear mounds, and even animal shapes were built. Though some mounds continued to be used for burial, most were used for other purposes.

By the time the Woodland culture disseminated, some time around 1200 AD, thousands of mounds dotted the landscape of the Mississippi Valley. Though mound building had ceased, the area was still inhabited, this time by a culture group that archaeologists call the Oneota. Whether they were descendants of the moundbuilders or recent immigrants is uncertain, for they left no written record. By the time of European contact in the late 1600s the Oneota had either split into, or been replaced by, several separate yet linguistically connected tribes such as the Dakota, Ho-Chunk, Otoe and Ioway. Of course, it is from the latter group that the state derives its name. Interestingly, the only tribal group that remains in the state is not one of the aforementioned but one that was pushed from the east by the U.S. government.

I’ll finish that thought in a minute but first a quick bit of history: in 1673 the French were the first Europeans to claim the area that is now Iowa, in 1783 they ceded the land to Spain who did very little with it, the Spanish signed it over to Napoleon Bonaparte in 1800 and in 1803 Iowa became part of the United States through the Louisiana Purchase. A few years later the U.S. attempted to assert its rule over the land only to be thwarted by the local tribes who sided with the British, their longtime trading partners. After the War of 1812 the American government took firm control and signed multiple treaties with the various tribes. The idea, though they did not comprehend it at the time, was that the native people had sold their land and would need to move west of the Mississippi River once settlers arrived.

In the 1830s Americans flooded into the area and it became time for the tribes to relocate. Many of the native people were shocked by the provisions of the treaties; they protested them as invalid. Most of the Sauk or Meskwakie people, who at the time lived in present-day Illinois, packed up their belongings and moved across the river to avoid an unwinnable war. A group of roughly 1,500 men, women, and children chose to stay. They were led by the warrior Black Hawk who had proved his battle skills while fighting alongside the British during the War of 1812.

The Black Hawk War, the only one in U.S. history named after an individual, lasted just four months. By August of 1832 it was over, the U.S. military had won and in retaliation the government demanded that all native people move even further west into Indian Territory. No Indians were allowed to remain in what is present day Iowa. Two decades later a small group of Meskwakie moved back into Iowa and surprisingly, they were allowed to stay. Thus the state’s only Native American settlement is not that of one of its original populations.

Since Iowa was no longer considered Indian Territory, it too was open for settlement. Things progressed quickly for Iowa, the tallgrass prairie soil was incredibly fertile and perfect for agriculture while the Mississippi River was an excellent transportation route, just as the native people had known for thousands of years. In 1838 Iowa became a territory and by 1846 it was a full-fledged member of the Union. American settlers chose the same great places to live that the ancient people had and for many of the same reasons: access to water, good soil, tall trees, and plenty of game. In the process of clearing and plowing the land (once John Deere invented a plow that could handle the thick prairie sod) Iowans destroyed thousands of the mounds that the earlier inhabitants had so carefully crafted.

In the late 1800s a survey mapped over 10,000 mounds in the state, by the time Effigy Mounds National Monument was created in 1949 less than 1,000 of Iowa’s mounds remained. Of the Monument’s 206 mounds (the biggest grouping in the country), thirty one of them are effigies: twenty four bears and seven birds—the animal shapes are distinctive. Mounds have been discovered in almost every state east of the Mississippi, but – excepting two effigy mounds in Ohio – only this area of Iowa (and sections of neighboring Minnesota, Wisconsin and Illinois) are known to have effigy mounds. The creation of these mounds was no mean feat, they average three feet tall, forty feet wide, and eighty feet long.

Some of the settlers who streamed into the state were members of the Society of Friends, or Quakers. They established small villages in this new frontier based on their shared principles of peace, equality, and simplicity. West Branch was one of these communities and there on August 10th of 1874 Herbert Clark Hoover was born. As we wandered through his birth cottage—preserved as part of the Herbert Hoover National Historic Site—it was hard to imagine a family of five living there. Hoover’s childhood was disrupted after his parents died within a few years of each other which made him an orphan at the age of ten. Different relatives took in Hoover and his two siblings, eventually Hoover was sent to live with an uncle in Oregon.

In 1891 Hoover enrolled in Stanford University where he was a less-than-stellar student though he quickly proved his merit. Since Hoover didn’t make the baseball team as he had hoped, he became its manager. After a game in 1894 Hoover discovered that someone had failed to pay so he confronted the person, word has it that Benjamin Harrison (yes, that Harrison, former President of the United States) promptly paid his quarter. A year later Hoover graduated with his geology degree. His first job in the field was less than enjoyable, he hauled ore out of a mine by hand for very poor wages.

Hoover was not easily discouraged, perhaps there is something to the “Iowa Stubborn” label that Iowans use to describe themselves. Hoover grew a beard, bought a new suit and presented himself to a British mining company who was hiring “a man of at least thirty-five with a lifetime of experience”—he was twenty-three at the time. Hoover landed the job and with hard work and his exceptional organizational skills he soon shot to the top of the company. Hoover’s mining career met with much success, he was a millionaire by the time he was forty.

Life took a dramatic turn for Hoover in 1914 with the outbreak of war. Over a hundred thousand Americans were living in Europe at the time and had no way to return home. Hoover stepped in, arranging ship transport and lending money. Then he turned his prodigious skills to feeding the Belgians who were under siege. In recognition of Hoover’s hard work President Wilson named him head of the U.S. Food Administration. Thus began Hoover’s long career as a public servant.

Later President Harding selected Hoover as his Secretary of Commerce, a fairly new and poorly defined position. Hoover attacked the job with great energy, and he set about organizing and standardizing a variety of industries. Soon milk bottles, nuts, bolts, auto parts, and lumber all across the country were manufactured to the same dimensions. Roads? Radios? Construction sites? Dams? Corn fields? Hoover was there, clearing out inefficiencies, improving safety, and increasing profits—the press described him as “the Secretary of Commerce… and Under-Secretary of Everything Else.”

In 1927 the Mississippi River Valley experienced the most destructive flood in U.S. history. Over 27,000 square miles were under at least thirty feet of water. Residents in seven states were displaced: over 700,000 were homeless and hungry and 246 people died. Hoover led the relief effort and by the end of the year everyone across the country had not only heard of him but most admired him. For the first time in his life, Hoover ran for elected office, and in 1928 he became the thirty-first President of the United States. His Presidency was not nearly as successful as his previous ventures—less than a year into his term the stock market crashed.

The market crash coupled with a severe drought sent the country into the Great Depression. As President, Hoover set in motion some policies to help, but the suffering of the American people turned to anger. Needless to say, he did not get reelected, though some of Hoover’s plans were continued as part of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s New Deal programs. A tidbit that we discovered as we toured his Presidential Library and Museum: Hoover never took his Presidential salary, he either gave it back to the Treasury or donated it to charity. Hoover’s Presidential record was stained but he retains two distinctions; he was the first President born west of the Mississippi River and the only one thus far from the state of Iowa.

During our time along the eastern edge of Iowa we were forced to revise some of our perceptions of the Hawkeye State. Although over 60% of the state is covered in fields it isn’t just corn fields and pig farms, agriculture amounts to less than half of Iowa’s economy. Though Iowa is squarely in the Corn Belt of America’s Heartland we wouldn’t have known it since we were tucked amongst rolling hills along the Mississippi riverfront. In keeping with the theme of our trip we focused most of our forays along the river (with a few exceptions, like our visit to West Branch).

After all it was the river that was pivotal in the early days, Des Moines may be the capital and the state’s largest city but the port town of Dubuque is the oldest. While there we visited the National Mississippi River Museum and Aquarium which celebrates the river’s magnificence while also warning about its capacity for destruction (as evidenced by the Great Floods of 1927 and 1993). Fittingly, the museum is located on the edge of Ice Harbor in the building that once housed the acclaimed Dubuque Boat and Boiler Works.

We might as well end our Iowa story with a few things we picked up from an exhibit created by Iowans. They have an odd sense of humor! I-O-W-A stands for “Idiots Out Walking Around” (their words, not ours). An old-time saying was, “Mush is rough, mush is tough, thank the lord, we’ve got enough.” These days it’s more like this, “I hate to break it to you buddy, but my tractor is worth more than your Porsche.” And then there’s that trait they affectionately call “Iowa Stubborn.” All silliness aside, our Iowa experience was a pleasant one.

Photos: View the photographs from our Eastern Iowa Explorations.

Dates: We stayed in Iowa from 09/08/09 to 09/13/09.

Allow me to set the stage: it was a hot and humid afternoon—muggy is putting it nicely—probably one of the last few such days left in the summer for the St. Paul area. We were strolling around the Bruce Vento Nature Sanctuary just east of downtown. Since it was so close to the Mississippi we had hoped to catch sight of at least some of the amazing birds that call the area home.

After striding along in the hot sun for a few minutes we acknowledged that our chance of sighting any wildlife was virtually non-existent. We were trudging along the last part of the loop, relishing the ample shade provided by a row of large cottonwoods, when we spotted it. Up high on a dead branch perched a Bald Eagle! We were not the only ones seeking respite from the mid-day sun. Though the eagle was clearly not thrilled with our proximity, it was too busy panting from the heat to move.

Revealed photo

(Click photo for larger version, or compare to the original photo.)

Detail photo

Bald Eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus)